OVER THE YEARS, I’ve seen diners register displeasure with a meal, or a certain dish, in all sorts of ways. There’s the standard huffy call to the server when a steak is too bloody or a delicate piece of fish is overcooked, of course. There’s the subtle pushaway favored by professional eaters like me, which tends to be quieter and more discreet the more reputable the establishment and the chef. There are the time-honored facial expressions telegraphing various levels of distress—the archly cocked eyebrow, the rolling of the eyes, the sour-lemon look of distaste. At the polite review dinners that I convene, these outbursts tend to be rare, especially during the covid era, and usually involve one or two dyspeptic souls (hint: Usually that’s me), though every once in a long while you’ll get a dish or two where the frowns and subtle eye-rolling and sour-faced looks occur all at once.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة April 25-May 8, 2022 من New York magazine.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
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هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة April 25-May 8, 2022 من New York magazine.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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