Yinz needs tell Doctor, "Yinz Welcome."

Uh-huh. Rudeness in the Burgh.

It is no secret that there are quite a few small things that I find a little irritating about my being a transient resident of Pittsburgh. One such no-see-um, I swat at it but can't squish it, bugger-like-annoyance has been the Burghish variant of manners. Now, I recognize that mannerisms are certainly regional. And I am all right with the fact that there is a variant of English spoken here that I will probably never really understand (but you can read all about it other places online, or have yourself a little fun at home with your very own Yinzer doll (you should totally follow this link, btw)). But one thing that I find overwhelmingly frequent, and rude, is the prevalence and use of the colloquial, "Uh huh."

What does this rambling crap even mean?

I will tell you.

Gimme a sec.

Ok.

The local vernacular includes the use of the slang phrase "uh huh" in many situations in which others might say, "I'm sorry!" or "Excuse me!" or "You're welcome."

This might not seem like much, but after my being smacked with a grocery cart by a soccer mom, in shock I exclaimed, "Excuse me!"
She replied, "uh huh."

In a shop, if I pay for something and the clerk hands me my change, I say, "Thank you." Where I am from, a reasonable reply to this might be, "You're welcome."
But on many occasions here in the Pitt, in lieu of a respectful return nicety, I have been told, you guessed it, "uh huh."

Uh-huh, to the uninitiated, sounds dismissive. It is paramount to your saying aloud, "you owe me, bitch."

a little review of a little bistro: Legume.

Highs and Lows. Magic Meat & Pork Salad.

I had a mixed experience at Legume a little while ago. I loved the space - small, intimate, familial and unpretentious. I loved the service - the hostess greeted me by name when I walked in with my party (wow!), and the waiter was informative-but-not-snotty, prompt-but-not-pushy, and seemed like a nice guy in general. The food, however, was a mixed bag.

I will start by saying that I thought that only one of the two appetizers we ordered was worth eating, and that the portions for both were very small for the price. In a town where nearly everything is supersized, I can appreciate a degree of restraint. However, I would typically imagine that two apps to be shared among four people is more than enough to start a meal. In this case, they were both smallish. We ordered a fig and fruit and cheese dish that was tasty and bright, albeit simple. It was fine but unspecial, but (and as a general theme for our entire experience at Legume), the ingredients really shined.

The second app was what I can only describe as a ham salad. Pork rillette turned into toast points containing what tasted like Hellman's mayonnaise diluted with bits of unseasoned canned ham. Like, the kind wrapped in paper with a little devil on the package... Blech. I hated it and felt like I was being served an attempt at recycling a bad leftover. I think I actually spat it into my napkin. Just not worth the effort to chew it.

So I was kinda feeling bummed and unenthusiastic when my entree arrived.

Good thing that it cheered me right up, as the wafting earthy smell of butter and mushrooms and thyme rose from the enormous bowl of steaming goodness set before me and defrosted my critical little soul.

I was served a house-made wide noodle with braised Kobe beef. The fatty marble of the meat had fully rendered away during the long cooktime and yielded an amazingly soft, aromatic, soul-warming treat atop the flavorful and rustic pasta. The pasta was toothy, buttery, and just plain good. The sauce was simple, homey and mild, and the vegetables (mostly mushrooms) were tender and tasty. I think it is a real trick to turn a one-bowl meal of comfort food into a gourmet experience, but Legume did it in a way that felt effortless with this one. A winner.

(and it reheated very nicely the next day, the serving was too big for me to finish as the dish is quite rich and hearty. I added a touch of beef stock, tossed it in a skillet, heated it all through, and served it over some parsnip puree with a micro-poached egg on top. The kind of brunch meal that makes you just feel nourished in a genuine way. nummy!)

A salad of lovely mixed greens and a tangy dressing rounded out the meal, I was too full to enquire about desserts. Wine was b.y.o.b. which I loved.

All in all, I liked Legume, I loved the space and the service, and I would go back. Next time, I'll skip the apps and order dessert. If you try it, I hope you'll let me know how it went. And if you see this tiny girl taking mental notes in this tiny bistro, be sure to say, "hi." Legume is that kind of a friendly place, perfect for a cold night with friends.

The sleeper must awaken...

I have been missing the autotherapeutic effects of venting my angst and snack-lusts here over the past many weeks. Sorry, dear friends, who actually subscribed to this blather rag, that I have left you so high and dry. More is coming. In fact, I wrote two posts on a plane yesterday, and will post 'em later.

In the meantime, I would like to suggest a local radio station that is actually good. Pittsbugh's WYEP is terrific. You can even stream it to your desk wherever you are (like I am right now) and get happy. Last night I enjoyed an hour of Bhangra in the car, and they play my not-quite-latest-but-still-great musical crush, Yoav.

WYEP is definitely something good in Pittsburgh. Enjoy.

The (new) Red Room Can Bite Me.

Patchwork Couscous? Seriously?

When I was in college, I had the unfortunate sensory experience of having to learn to avoid a Tufts specialty referred to artfully on the weekly menu as “patchwork rice.” For those of you uninitiated, let me explain - Patchwork rice, as it was called, is the nasty result of unartful food recycling, and appeared in dining halls as dinner on Friday nights. Conveniently, you can make it yourself at home: simply save the leftovers from your dinner plate from Monday through Thursday. On Friday, nuke up some instant Uncle Ben's and then toss in the aforementioned scraps. Salt, pepper, lemon juice to taste. Et Viola! Patchwork Rice!

Why am I starting with such a luscious recipe?

Because I was served patchwork couscous at the Red Room. And it was not good. I never would have thought that the lunch ladies at Tufts (hey chickie chickie... ya wanna chickie chickie?) could one-up the new chef (my Pittsburgh food-crush, Kevin Sousa, has moved on to a new project) at The Red Room, but when it comes to the side dish served to me from the new, as-yet unpublished menu (more on that in a sec), along with my overcooked seared Ahi and 4 mushrooms (yup, count 'em, four)... well, the ladies in hairnets may have won that one.

So, here's how it went down:

I made a reservation for the Red Room as I was doing a little entertaining for work, since previously it was my favorite restaurant here in the burgh. We arrived at 6:30 p.m. Despite the fact that the dining room was near-empty (two other tables were seated) and the entire bar area was empty, we waited to be seated. Once seated, the hostess/waitress explained that “there are many new changes to the menu” but did not share (although when I saw the food I new it at once) that there is a new chef. She then rattled off essentially that the ENTIRE menu was changed or unavailable. Well, except for the Wagyu. Being that they had only 2 appetizers that they were actually serving, I asked if we could order off the happy hour app menu - and was told, rudely, that, “oh no. We never serve happy hour food in the dining room...” Only, since this is Pittsburgh, she went on her litany of explanations for over a minute, pretending to apologize. I'm a true northerner. Just say, “no. sorry.” and in two words, we're all happy.

But I digress.

We basically had no idea what we were ordering, since the entire menu has “been updated” (that's bullshit-speak for “our chef quit”) but they've not bothered to just print a new one. So, I bought the tuna, since that sounded like a safe choice, and the waitress made no reference to the fact that the entire preparation had changed until after I ordered it.

Here's what I was served:

a 6oz piece of overcooked tuna. This was fine. I ordered it “very raw” since that is how I like it. It was simply seasoned (s&p) and then seared to medium doneness. very dry on the outside. fine but boring, and I could have made it better myself at home. I was annoyed to have paid about $29 for it.

on a bed of the aforementioned patchwork couscous: This was a mistake. Firstly, the couscous was heavy, clumpy, and oily. I make couscous at home all of the time, because I am extremely tired and lazy. So when I go out, I have very little (read: zero) respect for when a chef would serve it to me for money. But at least when I make it (which takes five minutes and no talent whatsoever), I make it properly. At the Red Room, it was mixed with pieces of dried apricot, thin slices of asparagus spears (which were overdone and sulfury), salt, pepper, too much olive oil (!!), and SEAWEED. This was bad. I get the allusion to the sea in using seaweed with a fish dish, but it was a horrid pairing with the apricot-sulfur-citrus (lemon zest, I think, but am unsure) vaguely north-African reference of the couscous.

garnished with FOUR mushrooms. I like mushrooms at baseline. But these tasted like they'd been poached in sesame oil, and since sesame oil is so fragrant and overpowering, it sort of displaced whatever the natural flavor of the mushrooms might've been with the strong perfume of sesame seeds. Which, again, is an ingredient that I like, but not at this volume and, to my palate, not in this dish. It lent nothing and was not synergistic.

summary of the Tuna entrée: vague ideas of the classic Japanese-style pairing of tuna with seaweed and sesame got lost in the nod to badly done Moroccan couscous. Fish was tough and fishy from overcooking, asparagus drowned in its own sulfury over denatured stink, and the couscous looked and tasted like leftovers in my college caf.

Then we ordered dessert. There were three options. My husband got the chocolate bread pudding. I love chocolate. No lie. I actually LOVE it. But, like everything that matters to me, I can be kinda picky about it. So I'll leave you with this thought: it was bland, rubbery, and seemingly microwaved with a distinct spongy eggy-ness that readily staved off any remote desire I might have had for a second bite. At least I'll remain slimmer for another day.

the new Red Room breaks my heart. Boring food with mediocre preparation served by a confused waitstaff (I am wondering if my beloved server, Jim, disappeared with the prior chef?) doesn't engender customer loyalty. Especially at these prices. Especially in Pittsburgh.

Dinner for three, drinks, and two desserts, no apps, came to $164.

Up and Down and Patience

I recently learned that the chef of my up-til-now favorite burgh restaurant has moved on. While I am thrilled to know that Kevin Sousa has begun the process of branching out on his own (and I very much look forward to checking out this new endeavor), I am also kinda bummed out.

So, dear friendly readers and those who've noticed that I haven't had much to say recently, please know that more is coming. My first comment (I really am writing it, I swear...) will be a review of the new Red Room. Suffice it to say, I ate there last night and immediately noticed the lack of stellar service, that the food has become quite average and lacking in creativity (albeit well prepared), and that the dining room was... well... empty.

One for Bambi (or... Famous Dave's!)

It has recently come to my attention, that when I talk with my friends from home about my experiences in Pittsburgh, particularly when discussing my culinary and fashion adventures, that I can turn a bit... snarky. So, just to prove that I am not eternally nasty (and perhaps thus give some credence to the negative things I do say) I will take a cue from Bambi.

I had previously thought it was Bambi's mother, but perhaps it was Thumper, who said, "if you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all."

All double-negatives aside, I think at times there may be some value in that concept.

Just not as a blogging food critic. Nontheless, here's something nice for ya.

Famous Dave's.

Seriously. I would say that, to date, the dinner I enjoyed at Famous Dave's was, arguably, the best (I think it comes in a short second to The Red Room, actually, but more on that later...) that I've enjoyed in Pittsburgh.

I had never seen a Famous Dave's before my arrival in the Steel City, and from what I have observed, it seems to be a small local chain. The restaurant branch which I visited was in the Waterworks shopping complex, in Fox Chapel near the UPMC St. Margaret Hospital. I found myself in the neighborhood, later than anticipated, with one very mean and headachy husband (who had gotten quite hungry while he kindly and patiently found me a pink and purple tennis racket with a 4.25 in. grip for only $25! I call my racket "my little pony" now...) So, to Famous Dave's we went, since it was the closest edible-looking thing.

and

it was good.

actually, I'd say for a simple, honest, not-at-all fancy meal, it was a terrific bargain. Our server was prompt, friendly, and efficient. The table, floor, and ladies' room were all immaculate. But most importantly: the food was genuinely good.

Todd ordered a brisket and chicken dinner, which arrived complete with a cornbread muffin, a small ear of corn, and choice of two sides - he chose the amazingly sweet (too sweet for my palate) and buttery yams and the spiced green beans (which were the only thing we were served that I thought was bad - they were limp and not very tasty). But the real superstar was the meat. The brisket was beautifully seasoned and sauced, cut-with-a-fork tender, and not at all gristle-y or fatty. All tasty, soft, edible. The chicken was just as nice.

For me, as my appetite is smaller, I ordered what has to be the most adorable thing on the menu: 5 little slider-sized sandwiches, each filled with a different little taste of a barbeque meat offering. I will confess that I enjoyed the spicy sausage the most, although it is a bit greasy. There were also little samplings of chicken, pork, brisket, and I forget the last one... or maybe there were only 4. The point, dear friends, is this: they were good! My one critique, if this is even a real negative, is that I found the little buns my babywiches arrived on to be too soft and potato-ish and too buttery-tasting for me. I think most people would find them delicious.

Oh, and just about everything on the menu comes with their special spicy pickle chips. Ordinarily, I do not like southern-style pickles since I find them to be too sweet, and I do not like pickles presented in a chip format since they're often not crisp. But, Dave, I can see why you're famous, because even the pickle chips were good. They were cold, crisp, and very tasty with a bit of sweetness that was tempered by the combination of vinegary acidity and a spicy bite of heat. After I downed all of mine, I ate most of Todd's. Those pickles are green gobs of joy.

Each of the branded sauces was special, had a reasonable amount of well-balanced heat (except, sadly, for their supposedly fire-hot XXHELLXX burn-yinz-mouf-down version, which I did not find particularly hot. Todd did. Then again, I put siracha on cucumbers as a salad. Incidentally, if you haven't tried cukes (cut a seedless or "Japanese" cucumber paper-thin with a mandoline) that way, you should, with a bit of kosher salt and a tiny chiffonade of fresh mint and fresh lime juice if you've got it). I tasted each one alone thought that they were all good, but I did find that for a nice balance of sweet, salty, acid, roastiness, and heat, the Famous Dave's eponymous classic sauce would be hard to beat. It was way tasty, I like it better than the stuff I have in my fridge. Feel free to send me some as a gift.

I was too full to eat all of the cuteburgers, but Todd ravenously devoured his entire meal (and the portion sizes were very generous!) and ordered dessert. If you are a sweets person (and as you know, I do not pretend to be one, so I know that I am hard on desserts), this dessert is for you: pecan-praline bread pudding with vanilla icecream. It was HUGE. So huge, that despite my usual two bites, and Todd's typically superhuman capacity for snacks, we left more than half of it on the table. I think one would feed a sugarjunkied family of four. Dang, that thing was sweet. But it smelled amazing, and had a rich flavor. It was too sweet for me (did I mention that it was stickily, toothrottingly sweet?), I admit, and I would have enjoyed it more, perhaps, if the bread pudding had been lightly smoked and caramelized on the grill or served with a shot of espresso. But even the icecream was of high quality (not that strangely yellow over-crystallized cheap catering-quality mass produced crap I would have expected), with a rich creamy texture and full, natural vanilla flavor.

So, if you find yourself in the vicinity of a Famous Dave's and you want something well-prepared, unpretentious, and flavorful to eat, I'd say to go for it. This is probably the best chain-style vests-with-flair kind of place I've ever tried.

Even if you buy into that Bambi line, you won't be forced into silence with this one. Yum Yum.

P.S. I forgot to mention the baked beans, which I chose for the side to my bbq-munchkins. They're far from vegetarian - there were huge honkin' pieces of pork in there - but they were delicious. The beans weren't overcooked or mushy at all, the sauce was thick and tasty, and the flavor was smoky, sweet, savory, and well balanced. And the beans were clearly well prepared, as they did not leave me feeling at all musical later.

Beverage Nirvana

Today I discovered a most tasty beverage. In fact, since I quit diet Coke (more on that later...), I have yet to find anything so satisfying. Now, I know that I should just drink water, and that the B-vits in my new superjuice are a health-farce. Admitted.
BUT, Propel fitness water in the delectable Black Cherry flavor is rocking my world today.

Wieners!

just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...
or
food shopping
you may find that
here in Pittsburgh, at my local Shadyside supermarket...

THERE IS AN ENTIRE CASE OF WIENERS AND SAUSAGES.

Is this a sign of the apocalypse?
or merely that I live in a culinary wasteland?

Nine on Nine - Part Three (Are We Done Yet?)

If you know me, then you know how I like to test limits. Imagine a two-year-old with a new babysitter. Now grow her up and take her out to dinner...

and so, such is what happened at Nine on Nine.

When the waiter finally approached our table to check on the food, he clearly expected that our mouths would be too full to tell him how it sucked. But, I didn't eat it, so I was prepared to offer up my little test. I said to the waiter, “I am not going to eat this, so I don't need you to do anything about it, but if I were the chef here I would certainly want to know that the pasta is completely raw. Not al dente, but raw. This dish in inedible.” I was nice about it, but he clearly knew I thought the food was bad. The amazing part was his reply. “Oh, ok.” and then HE NEVER CAME BACK UNTIL HE TRIED TO SELL US DESSERT! huh? What kind of fine dining establishment leaves a patron clearly and obviously unhappy? I was curious what they'd do with my making their fixing it optional. And apparently, the bare minimum, aka nothing.

As I often say to my friend Kathleen, words are nice but what really matters is action. And from the folks at Nine of Nine, I got shockingly no action whatsoever.

We did not order dessert, I was too disappointed to be bothered.

Apparently, that which defines “fine dining” in Pittsburgh is your being served a bunch of free shit with your meal. In addition to the amuse and the intermezzo, we were served (with the bill) a PB and J themed sweets plate (freebie #3 for those of you who are counting). This was a cute idea. Peanut butter truffles (too big, rock hard and still a little frozen, but with good flavor albeit amateurish – reminiscent of the peanutbuttercuppish chocolates my mom made in the 80's) alongside white-grape jellies (plain and sweet) were offered. As my mother always said, there's no such thing as a free lunch. And in the case of Nine on Nine, all three of the freebies actually detracted from the meal.

The total came to about $100 for 2 drinks, one app, two entrees before tax and tip.

Now, I don't mind at all paying $300 to Ken Oringer for an occasional meal - because when he's in the kitchen, I enjoy sublime food art. But for this hoity-toity pig's swill... well, actions matter more than words, so

We don't plan to go back.

Summary judgment for Nine on Nine: not worth the time and money. Dishes are overthought and underexecuted. Some aspects of menu planning seem odd. Service was bizarre and negligent. Did a nice job with fish skin and fennel and not much else.

Nine on Nine - Part Two

This is part two of my review of Nine on Nine. Part one appears below.

So, after we had drinks (well, we ordered drinks, I will confess that mine was too unpalatable to drink, and the server took it away without offering me anything else even though it was 80% full. Frankly, it was flavorless and just not worth the calories)...

For an appetizer, we went for the “Filet on Filet” - an obvious and lame play on the name of the restaurant. We were served a sad, bland pile of macerated meat (without onion, egg, capers, lemon... ) dressed with some greens atop some slightly dried-out-on-the-edges halfway-to-braseola pieces of meat. For a mostly-vegetarian, it is rare that I order beef, but as some of you may know, I prefer my meat raw if I am going to eat it. The quality of the ingredient was there, but the flavor was so bland, I actually asked the waiter to bring me some lemon. The addition of acid really improved the dish.

Freebie #2 (freebie #1 was the amuse, in part one) was then presented as an intermezzo of “watermelon soup” which was a shotglass of room-temp watermelon puree with water and a bit of mint.

I pondered the cosmic question: spit or swallow?

It was repulsive. I admit that I spat it out at the table, manners be damned. It was that nasty.

Now for the piece de resistance: for my entree, I ordered the barramundi. By eavesdropping on a nearby table (populated by loud marble-mouthed yinzers, but hey, they got service so they clearly know something I do not) I learned from their server that the barramundi was supposed to be served with a house-made saffron-tinged pasta and kalamata olives, and topped with fennel. Right up my alley. So I ordered it. What I was served was a major disappointment. The fish was just slightly overcooked, but it was flavorful and served with a crisp skin that I appreciated. The fennel was nicely seasoned and absolutely delicious. And that is where the praise ends. Where were the olives? (I will confess to you that when I altered and reheated the leftovers – which were at least 85% of my dish, I did find one (one olive!) the next day). But the biggest let-down was the pasta. It was painfully undercooked and cold.

House-made pasta! For you at home who have never made pasta, I will share that the reason I was so stunned by this is that homemade pasta is so naturally moist, you just flash it in salted boiling water until it is heated through, and typically worry about overcooking it – so, how in the realm of the laws of physics and the culinary universe they managed to undercook it, well, I will never know. And I am no pasta pussy. I understand the concept of al dente. It just was an unflavored (not a sprig of saffron, I would testify - mystery ingredient #2), dry, cold, stiff, inedible mass. To be sure I wasn't being overcritical, I fed a bite to Todd, who exclaimed, “ew. what was that?”

What was that, indeed?

Nine on Nine - Part One

In my search for a well-prepared, graciously-served meal in da burgh, I made a reservation at Nine on Nine. After all, this place has received top billing among Pittsburgh's top restaurants from all of the local guides and newspapers. As I have been writing this, I noticed it got superlong. I'll be presenting it to you in parts, so you can savor the flavor over a few days. (That, and I am too lazy to edit).

We arrived about a minute before the hour of our reservation and the hostess offered us what was arguably the worst table in the restaurant (behind the host's station and directly in front of the curtain-door into the kitchen) or an “at least 20 minutes' wait.”

Interesting, especially because the dining room was about half empty and it was 8:30 p.m. on a weeknight. But, um, ok... we accepted the crappy table, figuring that I would enjoy the clear view into the goings-on in the kitchen. I did get to see the guy who did the final plating wipe his nose and forehead with his bare hands and then continue to work. Excellent vantage point, indeed!

First a comment on service, since it is easy: the service was hurried, snide, and a little curt. Our waiter arrived at our table and hurriedly offered us menus with no introduction nor explanation, and no advertising of specials as we had seen offered to others nearby. Must've been the table. Either that, or I have developed a hideous pong. Who can say? I suggest this since we were treated in a curt and hurried manner throughout the remainder of the evening. The food runner even cleared a plate from which I was still eating!

As I have mentioned before, I am noone important. And clearly, at Nine on Nine, they wanted me to know it.

And now, the snackeroos:

We were served together, at one time, a stale and dull breadbasket and an amuse bouche that was stated to be panzanella. A rant: why on earth in EVERY DAMN PLACE we go out to eat in Pittsburgh do the servers imagine that we have never eaten food other than sausages before? Nine on Nine was no exception, and we were offered the terse explanation (though we did not ask...) that it was a “bread salad.” Ok. a breadbasket with a bread salad? To the chef: plan the menu. It helps.

I ordered a drink, a cherry blossom martini. It was described as Effen cherry vodka and a splash of almond liquor with house-made cherry sours. Sounds delectable, right? wrong. It was, in reality, watered-down and bland, and I solemnly swear that there was definitely no almond in there. Almond is hard to miss. Almond is a clear and easy-to-detect aromatic. It is distinctive. It was also absent. This brings up something I will have to expand upon later – but I have noticed, that in da burgh, mystery ingredients abound. By this, I can only guess that (see server's behavior above) many folks here must have no idea what they're tasting most of the time. Because we (Todd and I) have both noticed several instances of our being told that an ingredient was in a dish that absolutely and certainly was not. But more on the fact that my nose knows later...

Before I lapse into a hyperglycemic coma, I should describe how you can make Nine on Nine's version of panzanella at home: get flavored croutons. lightly rehydrate them in water and bland vinaigrette. plop on a plate and toss 1/8 cup of microgreens on top. claim it is panzanella. Perhaps they felt the need to explain the amuse (rather haughtily for peasant food, I might add) lest we wonder if it was an error of their having washed the food sent back by others and just served it again.

more to come...

A little about me

I figure that there is little point of my blasting the blogosphere (who the hell came up with this word?) with my foodie opinions and musings about Pittsburgh without first offering a sense of who I am, and why you might care about what I think. So, here're my qualifications:

I have none.

Which is precisely why you should care. I am not paid by advertisers, I am not the e-whore of a friend in the local restaurant biz. I'm just a girl in the world, as Gwen Stefani said so many years ago. I moved to the 'burgh about a month ago from a larger, northeastern city. And I will confess to you a few truths about me: I am a food snob. I am very choosy about what I eat since I watch my weight like it's my job. I have a nature-given extremely accurate sense of smell, and as a result, my palate is extremely accurate - both a blessing and a curse. I am a self- (and mommy-) taught high-end home chef with a passion for great ingredients, and I am impressed by creativity and thoughtfulness in preparation (so long as flavor isn't sacrificed). I've been exploring "molecular gastronomy" at home. I care about the nutritional content, eco-sourcing, and integrity of the food I eat. Well, except for Cheetos. Those things are amazing, and we all are imperfect, after all.

Since moving to Pittsburgh, I have been disappointed by the restaurant experiences (as well as a few fascinating cultural and ethnic phenomena) I've had here, as a whole. I keep griping about how totally paid-off and biased the usual sources of snacktime reviews have been (as this can be the only explanation for the high-falutin' crap I have been served by strange and surly waitstaff at the purported finest of Steeltown). So I am trying to do something, however small, about it.

Up next: my review of one of Pittsburgh's top spots, where I had dinner (well, dinner was served to me, but more on that later) last night. Nine on Nine, I hope you are reading. 'Cuz dinner sucked.

Steeltown Girl on Saturday Night...

I hearken back to Flashdance and sing along... "just a steeltown girl on a saturday night..."

This newly minted Steeltown girl likes to eat out - I am just kinda lazy and am not always up to cooking. I also enjoy a leisurely dinner with friends. So when I recently relocated to Shadyside, one of Pittsburgh's more chic neighborhoods, flush with well-reviewed dining hotspots, I figured I would never lack for a hip place to eat.
but
then I started going out.
and
lots of the food here is bad.

or, worse than full-on bad. I have, to date, only had one meal in Pittsburgh's "finer dining" establishments that I felt was better-than-mediocre.

so I hope that you'll join me as I explore and offer my unbiased reviews of wine, cuisine, and a few other musings as I get to know my new home of Pittsburgh. Just wait... I am no midwestern girl, which is to say that I am not always nice.