Yuzu – Why Sarah Could Never be a Professional Food Critic

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca

>Yuzu Restaurant
1231 Cabrillo Avenue
Torrance, CA 90501

Every once in a while, I get an email from a reader who thanks me for The Delicious Life – for providing basic address/telephone information about restaurants around LA, sometimes providing a little bit of entertainment, and for writing such thorough reviews. Hm. Reviews. That word makes me squirm a little, but I get over it, and I always write back because I do appreciate the kind words and thanks. It’s always encouraging to hear and read nice things.

Sometimes, the reader ends up writing something along the lines of “You should be a food critic!”


I love hearing/reading that because in my heart of hearts, nothing would make me happier than to write about food and restaurants for a living. I would love to do it, but I would never seriously admit how much I want to do it. Sure, I joke and I say it somewhat flippantly – even in my About section. But I can’t seem to make myself admit that I really do want to do it. I always respond to that last sentiment slightly untruthfully. I say “Thanks!” I take it as compliment, but “I couldn’t be a restaurant reviewer,” I modestly say. That’s what I say, because I’d never admit that deep down inside, I would love to be a restaurant critic. Good gracious, that would be like my dream come true. But I could never admit that. I can’t. I won’t.

You see, I have a bit of a self-esteem problem when it comes to writing. I have a fear of rejection, if that’s the right identification. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say fear of failure. I want to tell everyone, “Oh yeah, I am totally aspiring to be a restaurant and food critic,” but I can’t because I’m afraid of being completely laughed out of the blogosphere. First of all, who doesn’t want to lead the glamorous lifestyle of a restaurant critic? It’s like hearing someone say she’d love to be rich and famous. Well, duh. Flying around the world with just a Louis Vuitton carry-on and my over-sized Prada sunglasses on for anonymity, dining at fabulous restaurants, drinking bottomless bottles of wine, and getting paid!?!?! Yeah. Duh.

But I am afraid that people would look at me thinking, “WTF? Why do you think you could even try to be a restaurant critic? What makes you think you could even aspire to be one?” That’s like Britney Spears telling people she wants to be a great Mom. You have no culinary training! You don’t have a degree in writing! You have no talent! You have…no taste. *ouch* That last one would hurt, but it’s also kind of true. But I’ll get to that later.

So though secretly I long to be a restaurant critic, I never tell anyone about it seriously. I joke that I do, but it’s a joke.

But it’s not.

Now, the thing is, though I secretly aspire to be a food writer, I kind of know that I really don’t have what it takes. Or rather, I have more than what it takes.

I am opinionated. I have strange, deep loyalties to cuisines and people that have been shaped by personal history. I am biased. I go into a restaurant with expectations, instead of giving it the same chance as every other restaurant. I am judgmental. I am not objective. I am passionately affected by the atmosphere, the service, and the company.

When it comes down to it, I am emotional.

Professional restaurant critics seem to block those things out and review the food objectively. A sauce was too salty. The meat was dry, overdone, cooked at too low a temperature. The greens weren’t fresh. The service is a part of it, too, but a professional food critic treats service and food as mutually exclusive.

I, on the other hand, totally let my emotions take over my judgment when I dine out. If the hostess was cold and condescending, then suddenly, the entire space feels chilly, even if there is a fireplace blazing like the tropics in the center of the room. If the server is uninformed, unintelligent, rude, then somehow, even a technically perfect medium-rare steak becomes brutal and gory. The converse is also true. I could have ordered a bloody rare steak that comes to the table as shoe leather, but if I’m laughing my ass off because my dinner companion is re-telling a riotous story, I relish every bite along with every word. By the end of the meal, I’ll have polished off the shoe leather, sopped up every drop of industrial pre-packaged mix sauce with stale bread, and will walk out of that restaurant thinking it was marvelous.

I am affected by the entire experience. I try to review restaurants in a vacuum, but I can’t. Dining out is an experience, not just a meal. If all I wanted was merely a great meal, I would make that at home and eat it by myself in front of the TV watching Michael Chiarello…walking through the vineyards, in his jeans and California casual button-down shirt, caressing the grapes, snipping herbs in his garden, then going into the kitchen and making…risotto. *dreamy sigh*

Oh, alright. So I guess watching Michael Chiarello is an experience, too. ;)

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca
its not black and white

So it is difficult for me to write an unbiased “review” of Yuzu, a relatively new Japanese restaurant in Torrance. I don’t even like saying “review” because the word alone imparts the idea of neutral professionalism, and there was absolutely nothing neutral nor professional about me, my behavior, or my opinions about Yuzu. Nothing.

I was going to try to hate Yuzu because the drive from West LA to Torrance down the 405 freeway during pre-dinner rush hour is not a “drive” because “drive” implies “movement.” It is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad parking lot that happens to slide forward a few feet due to plate tectonics. Yuzu is also difficult to find because way back in the day, Torrance’s city planner decided to map out its streets by dropping Pick-up Stix in a sandbox. We eventually found Yuzu. I was about one quarter of the way to a bad mood coming up the escalator from the underground parking garage.

But mymymym
y my, how one’s mood can flip like a light switch with the promise of ice cold sake!

As we walked toward the restaurant, the scene out front belied the “review” that I had read in the Los Angeles Times. Under normal circumstances, I try not to do that – read a review before going to a new place – but I had to make sure that a road trip from hell wasn’t going to end up at a crapeteria. Yuzu serves “washoku,” a retro step backward to traditional Japanese-style food, or in the polished words of the professional, a “revival of pure Japanese flavors and traditional cooking methods.” For some reason, I chose to focus on the word “traditional” in the review, letting it conjure images in my whacked out brain of ancient feudal Japan, the shogun era, samurais guarding the palace door, and geishas in tube socks and flip flops conducting tea ceremonies in strained, utterly fearful silence.

On Yuzu’s front patio, there was a table of shiny, red-faced twenty-something-year-old Japanese kids dressed in so-unfashionable-it’s-fashionable street fashion, smoking, laughing, and chattering away in ultra high-pitched, high-decibelled conversation that had I not been sober, I would have sworn was coming out in giant black-and-white cartoon balloons over their heads in kanji characters. It looked like a page right off manga.

Definitely no “traditional” kimonos there.

Yuzu’s interior is oddly bright, as if it were a cafeteria, but the decor is modern and almost sexy, as if the place should have been lit with candles instead of tiny, powerful halogen bulbs. The center space is wide open, with an open “kitchen/grill” area that is surrounded on three sides by bar seating. We took a seat at one of the few regular tables along the wall. The opposite wall has tables that are halfway hidden behind wooden slats – sort of kinky in that modest-on-the-outside-because-I-have-something-to-hide-on-the-inside way.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca
yuzu is a citrus fruit
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca
where’s upapi?

Though the term “washoku” was new to me, the foods on the menu were not. I had eaten many of the foods before – sushi, shabu shabu, soba, nabeyaki – but still, there were things that didn’t look as traditional as I would have expected. Most of these were under the izakaya-style section, which Yuzu labels “umami.” Normally, when I eat sushi, I eat sushi; when I eat shabu shabu, I eat shabu shabu; but here at Yuzu, there was a little bit of everything. I had a few questions for our server about how and what to order.

Our server was not a geisha. Mostly because he was a “he” and not a “she,” but neither was he a shogun. He was a young Japanese guy whose name sounded like it was from Street Fighter, though I cannot remember it exactly – Ryu? However, he certainly didn’t look like a Street Fighter – more like a japanime rockstar, with his goofy smile that exposed very bad teeth, piercings, tattooes, and hair that looked like the dirty crossbreed of Zoolander on top and a mullet on the bottom. On anyone else, it would have been a Glamour “Don’t,” but strangely, it worked for him.

I asked Ryu questions. He answered every single one of them in his half-laugh/half-speaking tone, but I could not comprehend about 98% of what he said. I am sure his explanations of butamiso were textbook, but unfortunately, they were Japanglish textbook. All I would hear is “ramen-sushi-geisha-domoarigatomisterroboto,” then “butamiso,” then burst out laughing because, well, “butamiso” is a very funny word when you’re slightly buzzed. In the end, we decided on omakase. Because we’re special like that. Because it sounds way sophisticated to say “omakase” as if we were part of some special club. Because it is much easier to simply trust the chef than to make sake-marinated decisions based on attempts to decipher a rockstar’s Japanimated descriptions.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - tuna sashimi
obscenely fuschia
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - tofu
quivering like a virgin

The meal came out in what I now realize was a very well-thought-out progression, though at the time, I was unaware of how carefully planned it was with respect to flavor, temperature, texture. Mild to strong. Cold to hot. Soft, smooth, slippery down the throat to thick, coarse, and requiring a thoughtful mastication. Our first course was tuna sashimi – perfectly uniform slices of an obscene fuschia that was even more pronounced in a puddle of barely there ponzu. It tasted as bright as it looked, and had the added aftershock of microscopic chives and a dollop of yuzu kosho, an intense, bitter paste made from yuzu zest and pepper. Yuzu kosho. I’d even eat a chicken’s heart if it had yuzu kosho on it.

A bowl of creamy, pale ivory tofu was next. I am not usually one for bland flavors, but tofu’s refreshing mildness is always an exception. It tasted that much better, too, when I realized that the tofu, naked with nothing more than a simple adornment of pale green scallions, was quivering in the bowl with virginal anticipation. I felt like Mrs. Robsinson. And I loved it. Oh yeah, and I loved the tofu, too.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - salad
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - crab
i don’t eat crab

Neither crab nor salmon are dishes I would have ordered myself. Crab makes me wonder whether I am really related by blood to three-fifths of my family. They can dive into a crate of crabs with bare hands, come out with flecks of pink and red and white flesh all over their faces and fingers, and say it was positively delectable. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t go near what I see as far too labor-intensive for their taste. I used to think of them as enormous spiders, but now, I only think of screeching Alien beasts that explode out of human abdomens. *shudders* But sake had temporarily turned off my movie memory. The crab salad was much less a salad with a garnish of crab and more the inverse – a fortune of fresh, mild crab garnished on the bottom with lightly citrus-dressed greens and a few spears of bitter gobo.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - salmon
like a creamsicle
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - sake
better than berlitz

Salmon in a restaurant is the ocean’s equivalent of chicken breast. It is boring, “safe,” and very rarely done well because it is always well-done. Even salmon served as sushi is merely raw, dead fish when compared to the sparkling personalities of other fish. Yuzu’s chef presented salmon sashimi in beautiful repetition. Each individual slice was creamy ribbons of fat breaking the monotony of pale orange in perfect intervals, then the plate altogether was precise placement of slices in overlap, like striations upon striations in infinite illusion. If we eat first with our eyes, my tastebuds were dizzy with delicious anticipation. Salmon. Well, I never.

Through the evening, Ryu was never more than a look away. In fact, we had only to think we needed something and as if by telepathy, he was at the table, smiling his goofy smile, clearing plates, delivering dishes, and most importantly, pouring sake. The sake list was a joystick, which we’d flip open, quick left, quick right, then a hard point, and Ryu would go bouncing off to the front sake room to return victoriously with another bottle of what promised to be smooth and delicious and dry/sweet, light/full-bodied, and floral/herbaceous.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - shabu shabu prep
chem lab
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - for shabu shabu
mise mise for shabu shabu

A strange thing happened with the sake. With each shot, it was becoming easier to understand Ryu’s words. I swear I think sake infuses a Japanese English dictionary into the bloodstream. Suddenly, when Ryu giggled – yes, he “giggled,” but Japanese guys can get away with that – his way over to the table with a hot plate, I knew we were having shabu shabu. Oh right, that’s not the sake. That’s just because I can reckanize like that.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - yuba
yuba duba doo
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - duck
i am not eating duck

I can do crab if I forget about Alien. I can do salmon when it looks like a creamsicle. Unfortunately, I squirmed when I saw the accompanying plates of “ingredients” for shabu shabu. Oh duck. Though, I wasn’t actually thinking “duck” in my head when I saw it. I was thinking more like something that rhymes with “duck.” I don’t like duck. And I had absolutely no clue what the army green blocks were – they looked like moldy tofu. Oh those crazy Japanese and their interesting foods.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - shabu shabu duck
ok, maybe this one time
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - yuba shabu shabu
looks like dirty laundry

It had to be done. I had to ask Ryu what everything was. I guessed on the yuba, gossamer-thin sheets of fried tofu that looked like torn tissue. The green, however, was a noodle. At least, that’s what it sounded like Ryu said, though it came out something like “eets-who-japangee-sty-noo-doh.” Eet’s who wha? He repeated himself a few times before I laughed out loud and he ran off to go cry in the sake room. Actually, he went to back to the chef, returned, and slipped me a note like it was 3rd period study hall. “ ‘Hu’ are made from glutin of flower. It is remaining solid separated when flower is put into hot water.” I loved it. I still have the note.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - hu
hu’s that girl?
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - shabu shabu
perfection in a pot

The duck wasn’t bad, though I only tasted a piece of a piece, then left the rest for those of us who really enjoy it. The yuba sheets were interesting, though I didn’t find any outrageous enjoyment in them. They were somewhat too insubstantial to have any lingering effect on the palate, sort of like cotton candy. The hu, as well, were interesting, and though Ryu had passed along the information, it was still a bit of a textural shock to bite into something that was sticky, like a noodle, and not slippery like tofu. It didn’t matter about the ingredients because like the true third world Korean that I am, I slurped up the broth straight from the shabu shabu pot like I was eating jji-gae. That made everything okay. Even the duck.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - grilled shrimp
chrimp on the barbie
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - crab
what did i say about crab?

From the robatayaki, Ryu brought us shrimp and crab in their shells. I didn’t touch the shrimp because though I am likely not truly allergic to them, I have been traumatized by the thought of oatmeal in places on my body that oatmeal should never be. I tasted the crab, which had been thoughtfully cracked open.

yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - saba
my dessert – saba roll
yuzu, torrance, los angeles, ca - yuzu ice
their dessert – yuzu ice

It doesn’t seem like there were too many courses, but food coupled with liquid in the form of alcohol can be very filling. We whispered to Ryu that we would have only one more course. *pause* Not true! No one whispered! It seemed like whispering would have been appropriate in a “traditional” Japanese setting, but I basically shouted it out loud, even though he was standing right next to me. He nodded, skipped away, and came back with the most beautiful saba rolls I had ever seen. Rice was topped with bitter, intense vegetables that could stand up to the fishy, oily mackerel that was camouflaging the entire thing with its silvery skin and a thin, sheer veneer of something that I don’t know. The saba was a strong finish. It was my dessert. I needed nothing else except to chase it with sake. I was glowing, and I don’t even have Asian/alcohol glow.

Of course, the saba wasn’t really the end. The final course truly is a dessert of yuzu ice served “up” in a martini glass. Yuzu is a napoleon of citrus, a strong, sharp sour flavor that belies its tiny size. Ice cold, sweet, and tart, it was meant to refresh the mouth after the saba, the way pickled ginger does for sushi. The yuzu ice was good, but what a shame to lose the flavor of this fish.

If we had chosen from the menu ourselves, only the saba would have made it to the table. I would never have ordered those things, never believing that they would taste as good as they did. But then again, did they really taste good? I don’t particularly like the texture of crab. I am “allergic” to shrimp. I find the flavor of duck to be a little too gory. And yet, I enjoyed every single thing. It was, dare I say it? It was *inhale* fabulous, baby, fabulous.

Maybe Yuzu is actually quite horrible. Maybe it’s a sparkling testament to washoku. I don’t know. I’m an amateur biased by sake.

** a year ago today, three, yes three, sprinkles cupcakes **

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{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }

1 Phil June 16, 2006 at 5:57 pm

I joined your club. Unemployeed. Such is the way of the world. The job I was going to was just a handful of magic beans, and I wasn’t buying. I thought I had it under control. Get a job before you leave one. Woops! Now I have time to…what? Already applied for several jobs. We’ll see. I need to take out the trash and do dishes. That’s my goal for today. I have more time to…read your blog. You are not so secretly doing what you secretly want to: review food. Think outside the plate. Not restaurants. Food. You can do this. All you need is a push-up bra for your self-esteem.
Kiss, kiss,


2 onetomato June 17, 2006 at 7:47 am

so jealous i’m turning green looking at the pics. unforunately, i have absolutely no patience for long drives, so my chance of hitting this place up is slim, but thanks sarah for the daydreams.


3 FooDcrazEE June 17, 2006 at 9:19 am

ur blog is always a pleasure to read. Thanx for all the good stuff…..chuckle!


4 Scribe LA June 17, 2006 at 5:07 pm

Fantastic post. Fantastic blog. If “it” – being a professional food/restaurant reviewer – is your passion, I’m convinced you can make it happen!


5 Tim June 19, 2006 at 4:23 am

Food is not one of my special interests. I stop in here from time to time because the writing is so good.


6 Jon June 20, 2006 at 3:33 am

All I have to say is that Sara has the talent to write her own experiences (not reviews). For years very unskilled people have been deemed professionals in a field because they excel in something. Do you think every newspaper’s advice columnist has a PhD? Doubt it.

The fear of failure is only there because you are viewing yourself as a finished product. Apply for the job of your dreams and go into it thinking that you’re actually going to learn while you work. You might not be professional writer or chef, but if you become a food critic, you’ll be just as educated as them.

I’m not in L.A., but I find your stories and food a good mix. I get a sense of the atmosphere and the food, kind of like how a friend tells me about their experiences. I’m sure you’ve seen “Sex and the City” on HBO a few times. The real-life author was a sex columnists, but she often lightened the clinical explinations with stories, details, and some quirky zingers. You’re totally the Carrie Bradshaw of food. Get your butt out there!


7 sarah June 21, 2006 at 9:24 pm

l.a.c: no boysenberries. those things are gross.

phil: isn’t joblessness kinda…AWESOME!?!? well, for the first three months, at least. :)

onetomato: i have zero tolerance for long, painful drives, too. and to be honest,i doubt i will go back to yuzu on my own accord. however, if i happen to be lollygagging around torrance, i might stop back in.

foodcrazee: aw, thanks!

scribe la: i hope i can make “it!”

tim: wow, thank you so much for reading! i am always tickled when non-food folk find their way here!

jonathan: such encouraging words! from everyone, in fact! thank you. and WHAT A COMPLIMENT – carrie bradshaw of food. LOL! though i have to admit, i have *ahem* never seen an entire episode of sex and the city. eek! i know. i am awful.


8 LACheesemonger June 27, 2006 at 11:53 pm

After reading the full entry here, I still have to disagree. Some ‘fear of flying’ anxiety I see. After having read hundreds of reviews for both wines and food over the years, I always read reviews with a grain of salt. Virtually all writers are suspect, regardless of their background or university degrees (escort service women have MBA’s & PhD’s too you know, doesn’t mean they have good taste).

All writers are biased, period. Whether or not they show it, or the severity of bias is obvious is another matter. Judges are supposed to be as unbiased in their judgments as jurist, but this means little in the ‘real’ world day-to-day situations. I know of a Harvard Law School grad, former LA DA prosecutor for more than a decade, who sits as a Superior Ct. Judge in our county. Read his Daily Journal profile (volumes can be found at your local law library) and it is said such a judge is so admired for his legal knowledge, that other judges seek his opinion that he is of ‘Supreme Ct caliber’. Load of BS as far as the reality of day to day situations, this is one of the worst, most easily swayed by scandalous, innuendo, allegations that you could never, ever believe possible. But I know all too well, said judge was temporarily working in a different dept. for a vacationing judge that was the primary judge initially working a case I was involved with. Without more than ONE nights review of opposing attorney’s list of lies, mistruths, misrepresentations; this judge had the audacity to mention to me how he just sentenced a long time criminal heinous child pedophile to a “235yr prison sentence” (well, in his excitement in ranting like a complete moron sucker, he actually forgot that the very day before he had sentenced said monster, to 265yrs—you know how anal I’m, and it was necessary on appeal to mention this…friggin frothing mouth idiot). Judges can be biased as hell, and the get away with s**t that would make your jaw drop in outrage, trust me, I know ;).

I have not read a wine writer or food writer yet that does not have some level of bias, and it’s usually no better or worse than Sarah’s self-distrust in her own abilites. The trick is in getting a feel for said biases so you know not to rely as sternly on those opinions. But you can usually get a ‘feel’ for the writer’s tastes/inclinations, and make adjustment to match your own preferences. Just as I wouldn’t necessarily like all the wines Sarah would like, I have tasted enough of them, such that after having enough background knowledge about what she likes or does not like; I can usually offer a recommendation that will come close to be something she does like…not that I would drink such on a regular basis, but it is possible to recommend better wines of a certain style or varietals. I don’t drink Sauvignon Blanc much, because most of them a bland, insipid waste of money down the drain examples. But there can be made from such a varietal, excellent examples of differing styles that are quite tasty with a complimentary food/meal.

If I read enough of the reviews of Indian fare, if I know from reading about the other nations cuisines, and more importantly have a familiarity with some of the kinds/style of food (*ehh, Sarah hasn’t really gone to what I call a ‘real Thai’ food restaurant yet, so the Americanized fare she eats from those restaurants, I can get a ‘feel’ for what I may or may not like) you make adjustments to match your own opinions. It comes down to a matter of trust in the writer’s ability to discern certain levels of quality in food (or wine); then you as the reader can get a feel for what you might end up liking. As far as Sarah’s tastes, I can just tell from reading past reviews, that I would most likely, have felt nearly exactly the same about Ame. http://thedeliciouslife.com/2006/05/ame-new-american-is-new-fusion-imho.html

Same can be said for many of her reviews. Doesn’t mean I always agree with the assessments, just that I have enough confidence to say that I’ll find her reviews as helpful (if not as informative from a factual knowledge investigation to the origins of a cuisines or chef’s/owners ‘vision’ of the kind of food they are trying to present). With respect the major difference I see between a DL review and LA Times staff review. The Times reviewers will typically spend more time with owners/chef’s in asking them as much as they can get in the time it takes to dine once or more times, get all the info about history, ingredients, all written down, such that they can make for a more impressive review (even if they really don’t know much more that Sarah…it’s all in the research).

A person I have some respect as far as professional food writers (and forget Chowhounds owner, what a fool) would be Jonathan Gold, but is he biased…you bet! He’s developed an addiction for the Mexican mole, something neither Sarah or I have developed that ‘acquired’ taste for (nor I suspect will either of us ever develop that ‘acquired taste’ for stout beers like Guinness ….sheeesh, tastes like shoe polish, fox ache! Sarah gets emotional? Like what, the humorous line in the recent K-drama series ‘Which Star Are you from” where the lead male actor says “Korean’s are too emotional & impetuous” while philosophizing with the lead female character Bok-Shil/Hye-rim, who is far more emotional and charismatic that Sarah (cries a whole lot more too, seems all the female characters, sans the cold hard be-otches, cry all the time…must be a Korean thing ;) ).

Does damn good, well researched, food writer Jonathan Gold get emotional?? Does, brainy and somewhat demonically possessed, “Fruit Detective” David Karp get emotional??? Read the links and you tell me: Karp rants on poor tasting commercially grown fruit (which is what the majority of vendors at Farmer’s mkts’ are selling), apricots and “a woman’s breasts”, hehe.

J. Gold, rants on Sushi Roku

Sushi Roku is my single least favorite restaurant in the world–horrible food, contemptuous service. When I reviewed the place last year, the editor had to remove a passage where I daydreamed in print about splashing the place with kerosene, lighting a match, and sowing the ashes with salt so that nothing could ever again arise on that accursed spot

J. Gold on ‘LA Eats’

(please Mr. Gold, don’t hold back, tell us what you really… your vitriolic, venomous rant):-)

IMHO (one which is extremely finicky/persnickety, topnotch specific, about ‘just right’ flavor, ripeness, traditions that should not be played with, etc, etc) Sarah only lacks opportunity, and some self-confidence…a diamond in the rough—all the necessary ingredients are there, especially the enthusiasm for exploration. She has the ability, the intelligence, and a gift for witty gab, I would read her reviews in the LA Times, and trust them must as much as any other writer on their staff. She can always cling to her own blog for holding on to the past glories of ex-b/f’s and the like, but she’ll have to edit out much of that for a ‘professional review’ in a respected publication… like Gourmet (someday, maybe it will happen ;) ).

Yes Sarah, could be a professional food writer…no doubt about it (and damned better more than a few that I shall not mention here).


9 sarah June 28, 2006 at 11:18 pm

thank you, l.a.c. my confidence has gone up. not a lot, but it has gone up. :)


10 LACheesemonger December 25, 2006 at 5:44 am


I have ***always*** had faith in you Sarah, you are the only one lacking in self-confidence.

I’m sure the ‘other’ Jonathan we both know of, would agree (no other has been invited, you know that, you’re the ‘one’ that inspires interest even with in the circle of the best with your storytelling capabilities; awesome, terrific sense of humor that brought a smile to my face on more than a few bad days, returned my appetite when I thought I had lost it, not unlike that man you aspire to be…yes you are on that level).

Dreams and aspirations can come true, best wishes for all of yours…




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