Right now I shouldn’t be writing this post, because I’m on deadline for a restaurant review. Restaurant critic is an intriguing job, and everyone wants to know how it works, so I put together this handy FAQ.

**Q: Do you tell the restaurant who you are and when you’re coming?**

A: Of course. Otherwise I might not get special treatment, and I *live* for special treatment. Generally I call several days in advance and ask the restaurant to procure the largest possible lobe of Grade A foie gras and begin marinating it in grand cru Sauternes. On the day of my meal, I call to confirm that they have sufficient Iranian beluga on the premises. So pretty much the same thing you do when you go out.

**Q: Who do you bring with you to the restaurant?**

A: Generally it’s me, Kid Sensation, PLB, Maharaji, and Larry. Larry is a white guy, but he is a real estate investor who makes a lot of money, so we bring him along to cover the caviar.

**Q: Isn’t the newspaper supposed to pay for your meal?**

A: If you’re implying that our bankrolls aren’t fatter than the foie gras, this interview is over.

**Q: Do you tell your guests what to order?**

A: Yes, with the caveat that Larry is a vegetarian, and he is getting *seriously* tired of grilled portobellos.

**Q: How do you decide how many stars to award the restaurant?**

A: I take into account the food, the service, the decor, and intangible factors, such as:

* The restaurant’s name is the same as its address (e.g., 727 Pine): minus one star
* Waitress is smoking hot: plus one star
* Prices on the menu lack decimal places or dollar signs: this must be a cool place, plus one star
* Grilled portobello: minus one star

**Q: Do you ever wear a disguise?**

A: I have a closet full of hand-tailored gorilla suits.

Seriously, now, I watched Kitchen Confidential before it went on hiatus, and one episode had the most awesomely misinformed restaurant critic plotline I’ve ever seen. The New York Times reviewer made a reservation and everyone knew it was her; she came to the restaurant alone on opening night; and the review ran the next day. Plus she was hot.

Today was the last day of the Broadway Farmers Market until next June. Last year we had to schlep to the U District, but then this year they opened a new market blocks from our house, and some of our favorite farmers were there, along with some new faces like Alvarez Farms. Everything Alvarez sells is organic and inexpensive, and it’s probably the best of its genre you’ve ever had. They specialize in peppers, but they also have the best corn and eggplants. It’s new world produce. Earlier in the year they had remarkable purple tomatillos, good enough to eat raw, and today they had firm and flawless red onions.

I asked the Alvarez guy whether they do a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture, where you buy a share of the farm and receive a weekly box of produce), and they said, sure, just pick the basket up at our farm in Mabton, which according to Google Maps is 181 miles from our house. Luckily, Alvarez is going to be at Pike Place Market through December.

Mabton is in the high desert of eastern Washington. I once overheard the following banter between two of the guys behind the counter while they were unloading sacks of dried peppers:

> **Younger guy**: What do you do with these, anyway?

> **Older guy**: You grow up in the desert and you don’t know dried peppers? What’s wrong with you?

I got some red onions and went chasing after Iris. It was foggy this morning, and on the way down to the market she was speculating about whether she would be able to see the vegetables through the fog. Today the market coordinator had brought her chickens, and Iris patted the rooster. Then Iris said we should get some carrots, so I got some at Willie Green’s, along with some celery root.

Celery root is a vegetable I admire because it’s so standoffish. When people talk about cooking simply with fresh ingredients and doing as little to the food as possible, they’re not talking about celery root, because for god’s sake, the thing looks like a shrunken head.

We just got the 2005 bound edition of Cook’s Illustrated, and it has an article about root vegetables with the subtitle: *Could we turn “boring” turnips, celery root, and parsnips into exciting side dishes?*

One of the recipes is Glazed Celery Root with Onions, Grapes, and Pistachios. I guess the grapes and pistachios make it exciting. I didn’t have any grapes or pistachios on hand, the combination sounded gross anyway, so I left them out, but I threw in some carrots along with the celery roots and used those Alvarez red onions. In other words, I took their “exciting” side dish and made it boring again, and of course it was perfect.

I’d like to tell you that Iris loves brussels sprouts, but she doesn’t. She does love broccoli, which doesn’t taste any more bitter to me than sprouts, so go figure. Sometimes she likes the creamy braised brussels sprouts from All About Braising, but probably more for the cream than the sprouts.

I, on the other hand, could easily eat a bowl of brussels sprouts for dinner. Here’s how I usually make them. Halve two cups of brussels sprouts. In a large skillet or saute pan, fry a couple of strips of bacon, crumble and reserve the bacon, and leave some fat in the pan. Raise the heat to medium high and throw in the sprouts and some salt. Cook for a few minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sprouts are lightly browned. Deglaze with chicken broth, cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and cook to desired tenderness. Stir in fresh ground pepper and the reserved bacon.

Until recently, I would make this only occasionally (because brussels sprouts are a big pain to trim), and only when I could get good sprouts at the farmer’s market (because supermarket sprouts are generally old and tattered, and old specimens are probably responsible for brussels sprouts’ bad reputation). Now I make them all the time, thanks to Mark Bittman, who reminded me in a column last winter that frozen brussels sprouts exist and are almost always better than fresh:

> At a meal last fall at Citronelle, the great Washington restaurant, I was served a delicious plate of brussels sprouts. When I asked the chef, Michel Richard, where they were from, he said without hesitation, “the freezer.”

Buy “petite” frozen sprouts (I get Safeway Select brand) if possible.

Brussels sprouts at Broadway farmers market, Seattle

In Julie Powell’s book Julie and Julia, there are a couple of references to Domino’s bacon-jalapeño pizza. This must have been a special, because it’s no longer on the [Domino’s](http://www.dominos.com/) web site, although I did find the Bacon Cheeseburger Feast pizza and the Steak Fanatic Pizza:

> The Steak Fanatic Pizza combines guys’ ultimate food cravings — steak and pizza — into one delicious arrangement. The new Steak Fanatic Pizza is crafted with Domino’s signature hand-stretched dough piled with Angus steak — on top of more steak — and smothered in American and provolone cheeses.

This pie is also described as “man-fuel,” and you can add extra steak for $2. In conjunction with the Steak Fanatic pizza, Domino’s also introduced the Domino’s Pizza Steak Fanatic Pizza Couch. I’m still not joking. The couch is not made out of steak, which is total bullshit.

Anyway, Iris loves pizza, bacon, and chiles of all kinds, and I sure liked the idea of bacon-jalapeño pizza, so I decided to make some. Everything you need to make this pie is at Trader Joe’s. Get their new cornmeal pizza dough, a jar of pickled jalapeños, a package of low-moisture whole-milk mozzarella, some Niman Ranch bacon, and the tomato sauce of your choice. This isn’t exactly what I did, because I already had some bacon and spaghetti sauce in the fridge, and I forgot the mozzarella.

Preheat the oven to 500°F with a pizza stone or tiles on the bottom rack. Slice three rashers of bacon crosswise into half-inch pieces. Cook it in a pan until just starting to crisp, then transfer to a paper towel-lined plate.

The cornmeal dough tears easily, so you can’t fling it in the air, but it’s a snap to roll out with a rolling pin. Roll it out thin on a sheet of parchment and then cut off the excess. Top the pizza with sauce, shredded mozzarella, and a liberal dose of bacon and jalapeños (I didn’t use enough of either). Bake for seven minutes or until the cheese is browning and bubbly. Iris loved it, though not as much as Laurie did.

I considered taking this in a more Southwestern direction by putting chili powder in the sauce or something, but decided that would be veering into Domino’s Taco Fiend Pizza territory. Probably a crumble of Mexican hard cheese over the top wouldn’t hurt, though. I did try fresh jalapeños against pickled, and pickled won hands-down.

Now, I’m going to collapse on my Steak Lover’s Couch and take a nap.