New York's Premier Alternative Newspaper. Arts, Music, Food, Movies and Opinion

Hmmm. No Matt Taibbi column this week, but somehow this giant snark attack shows up without a credit?

40. Frank Bruni
Food Critic, New York Times

Eat this, Frank. The former political reporter has been doling out stars like the Lucky Charms leprechaun. Bruni should be making fearful hostesses drench their panties, but instead he's a literary laughingstock more wont to dole out gilded reviews for pretty wallpaper than a chef's sweet knife skill. Such is Bruni's gonzo-style review regime, one in which he finds it "calamitous" to have olive juice dribble down his hand while fidgeting with a martini and creams his pants over a "pastry cart brimming with lollipops." Bruni's more intent on catering to Platinum American Express Card–wielding uptowners than informing passionate foodies. His "trend" pieces on the proliferation of mega-Asian emporiums and super-sized menus are as painfully obvious as his story ideas are ill-conceived. (Hey! let's visit a landmark famed for porterhouse and berate its lunch hamburger!) Restaurant industry veterans are perplexed that such an influential post has been granted to someone sans a formal culinary background. Bemoaned one chef: "If I had a nickel for every time I've rolled my eyes at that guy's column, I'd probably be able to afford a meal at Per Se." Which Bruni gave four stars, by the way.

Link