Immaculate mis-conception

I've been making excuses about why I won't start a blog for sometime now. Chiefly among these is that I think it's self-promotional and no one reads them anyway. The latter is usually true and in so far as the former is concerned, I suppose if the writing is garbage it's actually self-DEmotional and that I feel more comfortable with. However, given my aspiration of eventually becoming a food writer/consultant blogging is a natural first step and though I think it will take me a while to wholly embrace the process from it's unedited and banterific standpoint, it's possible that I might come to enjoy it.

The conversation that ultimately swayed me to take this final leap happened last night with my dear friend Morton Robert Bearman III. He and I were celebrating Christmas in the typically Jewish fashion: Chinese and a movie. Two topics dominated our dinner conversation, our futures and how terrible our food was. It is no small coincidence that from those loins this page was delivered. Between pot-stickers whose excessive doughiness could not be outshined by their gleaming coats of oil, we discussed that being a paralegal was not my calling and I asserted my affinity for food writing. Bearman suggested I start informally reviewing restaurants. I countered that I don't eat in restaurants often enough while skeptically eyeing his cashew chicken. The dish resembled the interior of a Hungary Man pot-pie complete with the colors of the Irish flag in small dice. He maintained it would still be worthwhile even if it was just once every two weeks. I looked at my House Vegetables with Bean Curd, it's glossy sheen implied it would be not so much spicy (specifically requested) as well lubricated. I resubmitted that I didn't eat in restaurants even that often. To be quite honest, that's probably not true. Particularly not now as I am spending my work weeks in Southern California, living in a hotel and eating chain restaurant food every night. And even when I am in the city my roommates and I get cravings for Star of India's Baingan Bharta far more often than once a month. But how many times can you review the same thing? That particular dish doesn't need a review, it needs a one liner: it's like heroin, be careful. As we walked out of the restaurant I still wasn't sold on the idea of starting this blog. Bearman cracked his fortune cookie open on the street, "Men don't fail. They cease trying." For final closure on a notably sub par meal, Bearman's comment was timely, "that's not even a fortune."

The final catalyst for this venture occurred mere moments ago while I was eating a lunch of leftovers from last night's disappointing meal. You might wonder why I would A) take home food that I disliked the first time I ate it B) eat it a second time even if the reason for taking the leftovers was the guilt I felt because there was so much of them. 30 minutes after punishing myself a second time, I'm wondering the same thing. Although I should note that the only thing that bothers me more than bad food is wasting food (although if this critic thing pans out I suspect I'll have to re-prioritize). It was the re-mix of this terrible meal that propelled The Kitchen Assassin into it's inception. How could I assault my stomach again inside of twenty four hours? I deserved to be punished. Easy answer: start the blog I've been resisting.

Like many other folks in my position the most limiting factor in my eating experience is money. And I'm not prepared to acquire a reputation this early on in the game as a critic who eats at low-end places and then writes candidly about how reprehensible they are. I'm cynical enough without trying; setting myself up to deliver cynical prose will not be terribly beneficial. So that leaves me in a bit of a pickle I guess...

Here's what I've deduced: this blog is going to be about food, though not necessarily restaurants and hence the name The Kitchen Assassin. To give myself more material, I figure I'll critique my own cooking. I like to cook and during my stint working at home would often make mutli-course meals for my housemates. To my credit I am pretty confident in the kitchen but as we know, confidence can't always substitute for ability. Also, lately I haven't been chefessing nearly as often and time constraints often trump the desire for variation-- though I do make an ass-kicking salad employing all but the kitchen sink. I'm hoping that the fear of nothing to say will inspire me to get back to the stove and thus regale you with tales of how I lead ingredients to their final resting place.

Welcome to The Kitchen Assassin. If this doesn't land me a fatty job as assistant to or replacement for Ruth Reichl or Jeffrey Steingarten I will consider myself a failure, though not for lack of trying.