A while back, I wrote about having the restaurant equivalent of gaydar. Resdar? Cafedar? Anyway, within seconds I can tell if a place is going to be good or bad. Sure, there are obvious signifiers: laminated menu, disengaged staff, those plastic banners outside, or an A-board quoting “The best steaks in town!” without bothering with tiresome attribution.
But some are more subtle: increasingly (and to my chagrin, because I shelled out for the originals 10 years ago), knock-off Tolix furniture. Anywhere that still uses Philippe Starck Louis Ghost chairs: brrr. “Brick” walls that are fake brick tiles. Over-long menus. “Medleys” of this and “nestling on beds” of that. Menus featuring the foods of too many counties. Outbreaks of boards and slates and jamjars. I could go on.
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