Our editor-in-chief says I’m too nice in my column. What? Has he ever read any of my columns?
Today we received some lunchboxes at the office from Chez Patrick. “Bribes,” he scoffed, as he devoured a FREE mini custard mooncake delivered straight to us by a five-star-hotel. “Are you going to write about them?”
As if by writing about them, I’ve somehow sold my soul. As if by writing about them, I’ve thrown all journalistic integrity out the window. Oh puh-lease. I’m worth more than that. Gimme a table for six at Robuchon, at least. (Call me! =))
Today I also received a pretty bouquet from a nice fella named Dave Chaput, who owns a new fish‘n’chips restaurant called Seasalt up on Mosque Street in the Mid-Levels. Our editor-in-chief came over and asked, “Who sent those?” and when I told him it was this nice fella named Dave Chaput, who owns a new fish‘n’chips restaurant called Seasalt up on Mosque Street in the Mid-Levels, he looked straight at me and said, “That fucker.” (I think he was joking.)
In the meantime, he’s pushing for more quality coverage. “You can inject your own opinion into the column,” he told me. He gave me an example, too. “There was this one time I was walking around LKF and came across this really ugly, rundown-looking place called D26 off of D’Aguilar Street. Like, how does a shabby place like this, that doesn’t even have a sign, exist in the middle of the supposedly upmarket, high rental area of LKF? That’s a story.”
I’ll tell you what a story is, I wanted to tell him. A story is how I’m spending my lunch hour subsisting on mini custard mooncakes and free lunches, because I’m writing up the last twenty places I went to check out, which I can’t do this evening because part of my job is schmoozing my ass off at media dinners every single night.