Dining Out is Out

As I look to Tampa in preparation for the return of the Great American Pastime, restaurant workers in New York are just concluding their own favorite pass time: complaining about Restaurant Week. Never mind that struggling establishments reduce their prices a whole fifty cents, serve mediocre menus, sneer at the patrons, and still find their covers doubled! No, the added hours and pathetic patrons are sufficient catalysts for a self-righteous rage extending into mid-February. A typical industry one-liner goes something to the effect of, "Table Nine just ordered a coffee, and asked for four straws!"
A second love of those in 'da biz' is trashing Amanda Hesser a la "Her palate will improve when she hits puberty!"
Such laments are not without warrant; of course, Ms. Hesser temporary editorship lasted slightly shorter than Maximillien Robespierre's stewardship, but succeeded in being slightly more damaging to the entity's long term well being. Indeed, the Old Grey Lady's Food coverage is still slipping closer and closer to the USA Today standards of journalism!
In today's issue, we are presented with an entire article devoted to the finger bowl. To be exact, Alex Witchel squanders column inches attempting to impress someone out there by boasting about the Bourgeois dinner parties that he attends replete with wait-staff and ubiquitous Foie-Gras. While restraining himself from name dropping, he does find the time to insert some self deprecation in the form of an anecdote detailing his ignorance metal finger bowls... really!
Res Ipso Locquitor!
The Finger Bowl Article
(The article is followed by a threat that we'll be subjected to Witchel's writings on a monthly basis.)
Next, we are asked to read a blatant filler piece on Chicken Soup which I simply refuse to dignify through discussion.
I do enjoy Eric Asimov's Wine pieces as well as the host of oenological all-stars who comprise his tasting panels. However, these pieces are too seldom (roughly twice a month) and wine, too often, appears to be the product of some journalistic equivalent of affirmative action (quality pieces grudgingly inserted, but not too many lest we upset the power structure.)
Florence Fabricant's work is excellent, but for reasons unbeknownst to this humble blogger, they rarely receive the space they deserve. Today, La Tour d'Argent's demotion to Michelin One Star Purgatory was given only a footnote amidst a shockingly scant 343 word effort on the new Michelin ratings. (Who would care about that?)
The Times is shockingly scarce in articles that are either practical or substantial! I must wonder whether this fallen standard can be attributed to its new bearer, Frank Bruni. After several years, Bruni has almost exorcised the specter of the infamous Babbo debut fiasco, and his writing is informative, insightful, and never fails to serve up the necessary historical data. All the same, it lacks a true eloquence (or elegance!) Bruni's obvious search for self and voice manifest itself not only through clumsy writings, but even worse through such Z-Axis experiments as his weeklong stint/gimmick as a waiter in New England.
Gastronomy is an inherently sensual, if not spiritual field, and Mr. Bruni has not yet mastered the all important art of writing that allows semantic expression of this essence. Therein lies the roots of the Dining In/Out Section's decline.
Alas, Billy T. where art thou?