I received an e-mail the other day about one of my reviews. Actually, I can only assume it was for me — the message was addressed only to Cynical Asshole. That's certainly not the most insulting thing I've been called while working at this job, nor the most creative. But I took offense.
I'll let you in on something: Most of the time I don't think of myself as strictly a restaurant reviewer. I'm more a consumer advocate. According to the USDA, the average person spends more than $1,600 a year dining out. Most of the time, that money is going to come out of your wallet in the form of delivered pizzas, fast lunches and a regular pilgrimage to the local Outback. Sometimes you break out the nice pants and head for a fancier spot, shelling out a few dollars more for, hopefully, a better-than-average experience.
Six Tables at the Peninsula Inn in Gulfport is an ideal example. It's $80 per person, prix fixe. Dinner for two with a moderately priced bottle of wine, tax and gratuity can set you back almost $300. How often do you spend that much on dinner and pay the check with light heart and happy palate? Think you'll be satisfied at Six Tables?
Certainly not with a first course of fried soft shell crab, even though it's cooked correctly. For such a simple presentation, the flaky breading is too subtly salted and the accompanying Thai peanut sauce reminds me of nothing more than bland catering food. You know, that ubiquitous brown liquid that accompanies the inevitable skewers of grilled chicken at every mid-level charity event. It's fine, but it ain't great.
The second course of chilled mango soup is more accomplished, but still not very impressive. Mint, subtle mango and a tart blast of lime are balanced but boring. I get the feeling I could make this at home with a blender and five bucks' worth of produce from Publix. I can certainly find better at other restaurants.
You have plenty of choices when it comes to spending your hard-earned dining budget — Verizon lists more than 1,800 restaurants in the Bay area — so why suffer through mediocre meals? Do what I do and approach every meal in terms of value: How can I get the best culinary and atmospheric bang for my buck?
Six Tables' prix fixe menu includes five courses — counting the salad — so I immediately start doing the math. Half a crab with mediocre sauce? I guess that would be about $12. Tasty but simple mango soup? Maybe $10. That leaves $10 for the salad, $10 for the dessert, and a whopping $38 for the entrée.
There is a beautiful hunk of ruby red tuna with the salad, barely seared then chilled, and tender enough to cut with my fork. That's almost worth $10, even when eaten with greens overwhelmed by mustardy vinaigrette.
But $38 for a half a duck, some decoratively piped potatoes and green beans? Not feelin' it. In this town, $38 should bring me unmatched culinary virtuosity, not another catering vibe evoked by swirls of mashed potato crisped under a broiler. It is a hefty quantity of duck with beautifully bronzed, crackling skin, but at the cost of desperately overcooked meat. No amount of luscious fat can rescue a breast cooked until the meat becomes gray and chewy.
On the other plate is "chateaubriand" resting on a puddle of sauce that tastes like it came pre-mixed. It probably doesn't, but you wouldn't know it by the over-seasoned, one-dimensional, bulliony beefiness that is the identifying characteristic of this bad gravy. And the steak could use some more salt.
Let me sum up: This meal isn't worth $80. It's fine dining with training wheels, featuring food that only manages to hit the culinary heights of the last catered wedding I attended. In my cost-benefit analysis, Six Tables Gulfport's food doesn't have a lot of value.
For the person who e-mailed me complaining about how many words I devote to the food, this section is for you. Although the food may not work, the thoughtful and personable service of Peninsula Inn owner and Six Tables server Karen Chapman goes a ways toward compensating. She manages to gauge her customers with a practiced eye that lets her be familiar where it suits and coolly efficient where it's needed.
There is also a surprisingly good wine list anchored by an extensive list of red Bordeaux featuring some of the best vintages of the last two decades. Prices aren't low, but they are reasonable, with finds like a '94 Segla and a baby Verget Chassagne-Montrachet white Burgundy coming in below $60.
Six Tables Gulfport is actually part of a mini chain empire started in Dunedin by Roland Levi. Now there are eight locations as far-flung as Seattle and Las Vegas, mostly franchised like the Gulfport location. All have the same general conceit: high-priced, high-style dining in small rooms. And yes, each one has only six tables.
I don't mean to single out this cute little restaurant, but Six Tables Gulfport is a prime example of what a restaurant review is for. The food was adequate, the service was efficient and welcoming, and the restaurant manages to be posh and comfortable at the same time. So why would two reasonable people — OK, one reasonable person and one cynical asshole — walk out of the place feeling let down after two hours and $300 worth of wine and food?
It's because we know better. We know we could spend the same amount of money — or considerably less, truth be told — and have many better versions of that dinner elsewhere. It's the same basic criterion I apply to every restaurant I eat at, from the Saturday morning pancake house to a place like this.
I may be an asshole, but that attitude isn't cynical. It's practical.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. Creative Loafing food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Nov 1-7, 2006.