Belgian Chocolates

This is a continuation of our Belgian food series.

Belgians love their chocolate. Order a coffee at any cafe and you'll be given a piece of chocolate to accompany it. Walk into any grocery store and observe the numerous brands of chocolate and chocolate hazelnut spreads. You can even get a chocolate beer, though this is mostly a gimmick for tourists. Nevertheless, chocolate is as ubiquitous as mayonnaise in this tiny country.

Belgium was first introduced to chocolate in the 17th century by Spanish rulers. Since, Belgian chocolatiers have become internationally renowned for their high quality chocolate and pralines—chocolates filled with various flavors of nougats or cream. Instead of the mass production techniques used by American companies like Hershey's, most Belgian chocolatiers hand make their chocolates in the shops where they are sold.

Whether in fairytale-like Bruges or bustling Brussels, entering a Belgian chocolate shop is like going to the Willy Wonka factory. Mounds of truffles, pralines, and every chocolate-dipped food you can imagine fill the counters. Nearing winter, chocolate molds of Sinterklaas and intricate fruit-shaped marzipan also begin appear on shelves. White-gloved employees navigate the stacks of goodies assembling boxes for customers who look on drooling. Observing the mix of shoppers, you see tourists with bags from other chocolatiers, presumably preparing for a highly caloric comparison between the various shops, and locals picking out their favorites. There is something magical about the experience that undeniably adds another dimension to enjoying the chocolates.

While abroad in Leuven, Belgium, I enjoyed trying and re-trying the most famous Belgian chocolatiers like Neuhaus, Godiva, and Leonidas. Even the grocery store brands like Côte d'Or and Galler are notoriously good, and, of course, I tried these as well to validate the hype. When my chocolate-saturated, among other Belgian delicacies, semester ended, I checked a 36-pound bag of chocolate on my flight home. You can imagine I was definitely the favorite cousin at Christmas.

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Fine Belgian Beer

This is a continuation of our Belgian food series.

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. - Benjamin Franklin

Any beer connoisseur knows Belgium brews some of the finest beers in the world. Beers of every variety are brewed in Belgium, from cherry-flavored to those with upwards of 11% alcohol by volume (ABV)—nearly the same ABV as a glass of wine! Visiting breweries is a popular tourist attraction in Belgium, and a fun way to spend the afternoon.

Fun fact = Belgians consume, according to one estimate, 93 liters of beer per person a year, compared to the US at 81.6 liters per person

During the 19th century, there were over 3,000 registered breweries in the country. But after two World Wars and a depression in the first half of the 20th century, the number of breweries dropped to 755. Later, with the growth of industrialization, many breweries merged and were taken over my larger concerns, dropping the number of remaining breweries today to around 100.

Fun fact = In Belgium and other parts of Europe, the words "café" and "bar" are used interchangeably to denote what we would call a bar in the US.

Belgian beers can be classified by their style, differences in taste and color created by variants of the brewing process, and type, details like the brewing location and alcohol content.

Styles:

• Blonde, Amber, and Brown ales are beers differentiated based on their color. A beer's color is dependent on the color of the malts (the germinated and dried grains like barely used to make beer) used in brewing, and is unrelated to the alcohol content. My favorite of these ales were the Blondes; I recommend trying Leffe Blonde, La Chouffe Achouffe, and Delirium Tremens.

Fun fact = Délirium Café in Brussels holds the Guinness World Record for the bar with most beers available at 2,004.

• Pilsner is another popular style of beer and is characterized by its light color and hop flavor. Stella Artois, Jupiler, Maes pils, and Cristal are all Belgian Pilsners. Stella Artois originates from Leuven, the town I studied abroad in, and is still brewed there today. In student bars you could get a glass for 80 Euro cents, about $1.05 US dollars—much cheaper than the $5 and upwards you’ll pay for a Stella in the US!

Fun Fact = Belgians, as I observed, drink beer around the clock. On sunny days, the Oude Markt (an historic central square filled with bars/cafes and restaurants) would be full of people drinking at tables by 11 a.m..

• Lambic beers are produced using spontaneous fermentation by exposing the beer to wild yeast in the air in large, open vats. This unusual process results in a characteristic cidery flavor with a sour aftertaste. Some of the more interesting Lambics I tried in Belgium were fruit flavored, like cherry-flavored Kriek and raspberry-favored Framboos.

Fun fact = Almost every brand of beer has its own unique glass, ranging from elaborate hour-glass shapes that require a stand (see photo), to branded chalices and goblets. Broken glassware, as you can imagine, is a huge expense for the bars, who have to stock the different glasses for all of their beers.

• The last style, but certainly not the least, of beer I’ll describe are White beers, which are made with a blend of herbs (mainly of coriander, orange, bitter orange, and hops), wheat, and barely. They get their name from the pale, cloudy color they have when cold. My favorite of this variety was Hoegaarden.

Types:

• Some will be familiar with the term “Trappist beer,” but fewer know the history behind it. Trappist is a Roman Catholic religious order of cloistered monks, and it was Trappist monks who first brewed beer in Belgium during the Middle Ages. There are strict criteria to label a beer as Trappist, and today only six Belgian monasteries selling Trappist beer remain: Achel, Chimay, Orval, Rochefort, Westmalle, and Westvleteren. I tried the famous Westmalle Tripel, a strong pale ale; it was the most alcoholic beer I had while in Belgium at 9.5% ABV.

Fun fact = “Cheers!” in Dutch is “Proost!”

• Certified Abbey beers are beers brewed by other non-Trappist monasteries, or by commercial breweries in connection with an existing or abandoned monastery. (Remember, neither the terms Trappist nor Abbey signify a style of beer, but rather they tell where the beers come from.)

Fun fact = In 2008, Anheuser-Busch, an American brewery known for its brands like Budweiser and Natural Light, was acquired by Brazilian-Belgian brewing company InBev (which brews Stella Artois and Hoegaarden, among other beers) for a total value of $52 billion

•The terms Tripel and Dubbel indicate the percentage alcohol content of the beer. A Dubbel has double the alcohol content of your average beer at 6 – 7.5% ABV, and a Tripel, you guessed it, has triple the alcohol content at 7% - 10% ABV. My favorite Tripel was the Tripel Karmeliet (8.4% ABV).

Luckily, Philadelphia is full of bars offering a variety of fine Belgian beers. City Tap House in West Philly serves an impressive 11 Belgian beers, including Tripel Karmeliet!

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The Best Fries in the World

This is a continuation of our Belgian food series.

Let’s get one thing straight: French fries are not French. They are Belgian. The history behind the misnomer is hazy, but the most dispersed story is that American soldiers in World War I tasted fries in French-speaking Belgium and subsequently misnamed them as “French.” In the Netherlands, they are accurately named Flemish fries, but unfortunately for the Belgians, few other countries credit them for their tasty invention.

Belgian fries, “frieten” in Flanders (Dutch-speaking region) and “frites” in Wallonia (French-speaking region), are not like American French fries. Before heading to Belgium, I was never a fry enthusiast. But once I had my first Belgian fries, I understood why they were the best in the world and had eateries solely devoted to them, known as “frietkots,” “frituurs,” or “friteries.” True Belgian fries are never pre-cut or frozen like in the States, but are cut fresh, preferably using local bintje potatoes. The fries are shorter and thicker, about three times the width of a McDonald’s fry. And most importantly, they are fried twice, resulting in a soft inside and crunchier outside. One famous friterie in Brussels, Maison Antoine, actually fries their frites twice in beef fat.

Not only is the cooking method different, though. Some may know the famous scene from Pulp Fiction when John Travolta tells Samuel L. Jackson that the Dutch eat their fries with mayonnaise instead of ketchup. Many may find this combination unappetizing, a sentiment I shared before trying it myself. But once again my prejudices were proven wrong. Genuine Belgian mayo is nothing like the processed slop you see in stores here, and has a creamier texture and richer taste. And Belgians are fond of their mayo—fries are traditionally topped with a very hefty serving of sauce and served in a paper cone. Try as you might to eat them with your fingers, it is probably best to use the tiny forks normally served with them to avoid getting sauce all over you.

But the sauces served with fries are not limited to mayo—Belgian frietkots usually offer at least ten different options, including:

• Aioli: garlic mayonnaise
• Andalouse: mayonnaise with tomato paste and peppers
• Americaine: mayonnaise with tomato, chervil, onions, capers and celery
• Bicky: mayonnaise, white cabbage, tarragon, cucumber, onion, mustard and dextrose
• Cocktail
• Curry mayonnaise
• Ketchup: yawn
• Curry Ketchup
• Pickles: a yellow mayonnaise-based sauce with turmeric, mustard and crunchy vegetable chunks
• Samurai: mayonnaise with chili sauce, my personal favorite
• Tartar

Belgian fries are a must try, and thankfully many eateries in Philadelphia claim to serve their fries Belgian style. The best reviewed are Monk's Café in Rittenhouse Square and Eulogy Belgian Tavern in Olde City.

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What makes a REAL Belgian waffle? And where in Philly can you find one?

Though Belgium is typically under the radar when discussing the world’s best cuisines, spending the past semester abroad in Dutch-speaking Leuven made for many great food experiences. As a University town with 40,000 students, Leuven had no shortage of the culture’s most famous street foods, waffles and fries. During my four-month sojourn, I also got my fill of Belgium’s legendary beers and chocolates. I will be discussing these phe-nom-enal foods in a series of posts—starting with waffles, a treat enjoyed by both the Dutch-speaking and French-speaking regions of Belgian.


The name waffle, or wafels in Dutch and gaufres in French, comes from the 12th century French word “wafel” for “honey bee hive” and emerged from the treat’s resemblance to a honeycomb. The first waffles were sold by street vendors during religious celebrations, and were made mainly from water and flour. Still today, waffles are not eaten by Belgians at breakfast, but instead are sold as street snacks.

There are actually two varieties of Belgian waffles, Liège and Brussels—neither of which resembles America’s “Belgian” breakfast waffles. Our Belgian waffles—crusty, circular, and often served with ice cream, syrups, and fruit toppings—are in reality a far cry from authentic Belgian waffles.

The Liège waffle, invented in French-speaking Liège in the 17th century, is considered the original Belgian waffle and my personal favorite of the two. It is made from a thick dough that results in a dense and chewy waffle with uneven edges. The key attribute of the Liège waffle is its crunchy and golden exterior, formed when chucks of sugar in the dough caramelize. As you can imagine, the smell of hot pressed Liège waffles carrying through the streets is mouthwatering, and around midday in Leuven people can be see lining up for the warm and sweet treats from vendors.




The Brussels waffle, a more recent 19th century creation from Dutch-speaking Ghent, is made from a thin, yeast-leavened batter, resulting in an airy waffle with an even rectangular shape and deep pockets. Brussels waffles are traditionally served with a dusting of powdered sugar and are lighter and less dense than the Liège variety. To the chagrin of some locals, Brussels waffles can often be found in tourist areas topped with whipped cream, fruit, or chocolate syrups. The Brussels waffle was the precursor to the American-style Belgian waffle, making its debut at the 1962 Seattle World's Fair.

Curious to test out a Belgian waffle yourself? Here in Philadelphia, Bonté Wafflerie & Café claims its waffles are authentic Belgian, street-vendor style. If you want to experience a truly authentic Liège waffle, order the Sugar Waffle. For those that are not ready forgo toppings, Bonté also offers its waffles with a variety of nut, fruit, and chocolate toppings, as well as ice cream.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 5: Glamorous Beyond Anything

Number 61 on my Life List is "go to a gala." Tucked between "hike in a rain forest" and "sing karaoke," it represents the modern day lingering of any Disney Princess fantasy I might have indulged as a child and a desire to have some sort of standard for knowing when I'd really "made it."

Well, consider it "made." On Thursday I attended the Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts opening night gala at the Kimmel Center. It was the second time in the past week that I got all dressed up to air-kiss and make small talk with Philly's high society.

It started on Tuesday night. Chef Georges Perrier was the guest of honor at the Flavors of Philadelphia dinner benefiting the American Liver Foundation. Since Georges was going to be there, so was I. The event started, naturally, with a cocktail hour that was much more about schmoozing than it was about eating. Sponsors like It's a Cupcake served up bite-sized savory options such as cornbread topped with pulled pork and the like. Chef Perrier arrived surprisingly early, inspiring Patti to ditch our conversation and chase after him calling "Chef! Chef!"

I presume she eventually tracked him down but by then dinner was being served up inside the Loews Hotel Millennium Ballroom. A series of tables formed about a dozen semi-circles around the room. At the break in each circle a cooking show style mini prep station was manned by head chefs from respectable restaurants around the city. I was at the Le Castagne table where Chef Brian Wilson served up asparagus topped with a poached egg, mushroom risotto and seared Ahi Tuna. Everything was delicious - the mushroom risotto in particular made the whole event worthwhile - and paired with a selection of wines that even my unsophisticated palate appreciated.

Chef Perrier made a brief speech thanking the organization for the honor and recognizing the participating restaurants...in his own unique way ("I hate chu! Chu zteal all my buziness!" he said of the French chef in attendance).

Two days later, I joined Georges, Patti, Mayor Nutter, and 850 of the best-dressed Philadelphians at the Kimmel Center to celebrate the first ever PIFA. This year is Parisian themed which means first, that Le Bec-Fin and Chef Perrier are the center of the epicurean component and second, that there was a crepe cart and an overwhelmingly decadent display of French pastries set out during the cocktail hour.

The event was glamorous beyond anything I've ever witnessed in real life. I sipped champagne and wondered about the relevance of jugglers and stilt-walkers while a quartet serenaded the black-tie attendees. In due time, we filed into the vaulted Verizon Hall to witness Chef Perrier receive the festival’s first annual Cculinary Visionary Award and settled in for a joint performance by the Philadelphia Orchestra and Pennsylvania Ballet.

The only drawback was that at $750 a pop for tickets, my press pass didn't cover the Wolfgang Puck catered dinner. Fortunately, a press lounge and the light show featured on the replica Eiffel Tower kept me sufficiently entertained long enough to witness the aerial acrobatics (performers suspended from the ceiling scaled the Kimmel Center walls and danced at a gravity-defying impossible angle) over dessert.

I'll be heading back to the Kimmel Center on Monday for the press welcoming of the eleven chefs from France paired with French chefs around Philly for the duration of the PIFA celebration. And even though I missed out on dinner on Thursday, I've heard a rumor that Wolfgang Puck will be catering this press event as well.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 4: Time to Start From the Beginning

I didn't have any crazy adventures with Chef Perrier or Chef Elmi or even Patti the PR woman since the last time I've posted. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't been working on "LBF: the Life and Times" - my faux working title until I get a better idea of the story's arc. Quite the contrary. There have been interviews to transcribe and logistics to maneuver for the remaining visits and, oh yeah, a 7000 word story to consider.

Some of the best experiences are (I hope!) yet to come. But as excited as I am, I'm trying to go against character here and not indulge my giddiness by spilling all the details before they're worked out. Instead, I figured it's about time that I gave this crazy guy who flirts uncontrollably and smokes in the kitchen some context, the sort of context that explains why, in spite of those idiosyncrasies, he is one of the most well-respected men in the city.

Local legend remembers him as the man responsible for Philadelphia’s Restaurant Renaissance in the 1970s and since then for maintaining a standard that refuses to let Philly’s food scene be reduced to cheesesteaks and tastykakes. Recent years have seen Le Bec-Fin falter under the weight of economic realities and critics who don’t think people should have to spend a fortune or put on a jacket and tie just to eat out. The young crowd with new money doesn’t want to celebrate the hallmark moments of their lives at the same old restaurant on Walnut with the overbearing chandeliers and gilding that recalls the ballroom on the Titanic, where their parents and grandparents dined out in their best pearls and cufflinks. With the ethos that newer is better sweeping the nation and hot celebrity chefs opening “concept” restaurants it seemed that the short French chef with the even shorter temper might be reduced to a relic, or worse, a joke.

Eventually, despite lightening the dress code and holding promotions to defray the costs of dinning there, even the notoriously stubborn and self-assured Georges Perrier couldn’t ignore that with big names like Stephen Starr, Jose Garces, and Marc Vetri offering patrons a dinning experience that is hipper, younger, and sexier that the once-classic Le Bec-Fin was becoming obsolete. Last July, Georges Perrier announced that after forty years, Le Bec-Fin would be closing the upcoming May. That is, until he changed his mind.

In perfect Perrier style, he announced the non-closing on New Year's Eve to so much fanfare that it doesn’t take much of a cynic to infer why the line cooks rolled their eyes at any mention of the potentially tragic closing. Maybe they knew something the rest of us didn’t and had reason to retrospectively not take the would-have-been loss of a job seriously. But just because the foodies of Philly let out a sigh of relief on January 1st and tsk tsked the rest of the city to respect their elders doesn’t mean the scene is changing. Le Bec-Fin is just as out of place amid the unpretentious BYOs and monthly new Starr creation as it was this time last year. Maybe the threat of closing and the slowly stabilizing economy is the wake-up call the city needs to reclaim her epicurean icon. But if LBF is to last another half a century--as Chef Perrier assures me it will--something’s got to change.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 3: Oh the Food!

The kitchen at Le Bec-Fin is hot - the hottest in the city, one of the line cooks tell me, having reached 130 degrees last July. The kitchen is cramped - renovations this summer will open up what is currently barely enough room for the servers to pick up dishes handed over by cooks confined behind a prep line that creates a tight hallway to work in. And the kitchen smells, not of fois gras or rosemary essence or the browned butter that coats each piece of meat before being plated, of cigar smoke.

Chef Georges Perrier, who at 68 no longer slices, dices or plates at lightning speed, is smoking a cigar. Smoking a cigar and releasing a tirade of obscenities at the staff. He yells with such sincere disgust that I'm left cowering and hoping he'll forget I'm there; but the moving target of his anger - now it's Geno, the nineteen year old cold-prep cook who warned me that he would be fired (nominally, of course) before the end of the night; then a sluggish server; then a dishwasher to "clean zis shit up!" - barely bat an eye. They're used to him. And there are enough stories ("all the stories true," the new head Chef, Nicholas Elmi tells me) they could have been used to him before they even started working there. The only thing Chef Georges Perrier is more famous for than his attitude is his food.

And, oh the food! The first day of my spring break I spent nine hours (until I just couldn't stand up any longer!) in the kitchen at Le Bec-Fin. How was it? Exhausting. Hey! When was the last time you were on your feet, on your game and in the heat for that long!? I don't know if I could be there six days a week like so many of the amazing people I met. But as a once-in-a-lifetime experience it was so worth it.

Upstairs in the predominantly-female, Katy Perry-soundtracked, much cooler, and all around sweeter pastry kitchen a mere mention that I had never tried the coffee cake earned me a slice and less than perfect strawberry macaroons were left to me to dispose of.

Back down amidst the frantic hustle and bustle of the main kitchen, all the twenty-something guys working the line offered up tastes of everything they made (even rabbit loin stuffed with shrimp paste!) as side dishes to the bucket of fries meant to sustain me and give me a chance to taste the many sauces. Before the dinner rush, 24-year-old Moses (my stand-in big brother all day) set me up with a plate of turkey meatloaf and mashed potatoes, like only Le Bec-Fin can make.

Over the course of nine hours I learned that everyone smokes out back, that drama abounds when Moses can only afford enough five hour energy for the back of the house, and a whole new supply of curse words. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that on the other side of the swinging doors is a dinning room full of people on their best behavior. But ultimately, it's the guys in the back who are responsible for the food worth paying for -- and they know it. Out back in the ally, to catch my breath for a moment, I see 24-year-old Tyler desperately banging on the doors of other restaurant kitchens that let out back here. Inside, they've run out of spinach, but at Le Bec-Fin, you can never let the guest know that you ran out. Because, as Moses reminds me gesturing at my tape recorder, "people somewhere are talking about us."

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 2: Dinner with Georges

"You show me better ice cream in Philadelphia and I'll retire today!" Retirement might not be such a bad idea since Chef Georges Perrier is already in his late 60s; but it looks like he's stuck with the long hours for at least a little while longer - the ice cream truly is the best in Philly. In fact, the challenge was modest if anything - with ice cream that good he could have wagered against the whole world. The single scoop of vanilla ice cream is served alongside Le Bec-Fin's "Costa Rica" - Praline Crunch, Bailys Cremeux and Coffee Marscarpone Mousse layered together to what amounts to absolute perfection. I'm indulging despite the fact that over the past two hours I've had four other courses of incredible Le Bec-Fin food because when Chef Georges Perrier himself says "You like dessert? She'll have our Costa Rica," you have their Costa Rica.

But let me explain.

When I started to settle into the idea of writing about Le Bec-Fin during this semester, realizing that I had become too emotionally invested to not write about it, I could never have imagined it going this well. As soon as I confirmed with Patti Klein, owner of the Restaurant Collection PR firm, that I would, in fact, be meeting the one and only Georges Perrier I made reservations for my (shh! don't tell) first meal at LBF. Sitting in the vaulted dinning room that calls to mind the ballroom from Titanic, I had an amazing meal of escargot, striped bass with a french brioche encrusting, roasted wagyu beef, and a milk chocolate mousse cake with a layer of creme brulee in the middle. How was the food? "I mean, it's Le Bec-Fucking-Fin!" my date said when I asked him that same question at the end of our dinner. Translation: extremely high expectations exceptionally well met. I wholeheartedly agreed.

A week later I ventured downstairs to the swanky Le Bar Lyonnais to meet the legendary chef, tape recorder in hand. We spoke for nearly an hour about LBF's legacy and his plans for the future. Then, while I spoke with Le Bec-Fin's executive chef Nicholas Elmi, Georges schmoozed with various patrons and settled in at the bar with Patti and a friend of his. After wrapping of the interviews, I stalled for a fortuitous time looking over my notes, "'annah! 'annah! Come have a drink wit' us!" Georges called to me. And how could I refuse?

It started with wine. But eventually, as Georges implored to "'ave the chef," Chef Elmi, that is, "bring us more food - I'm starving!" and, despite Patti's maternal protests that he was only to have a plate of vegetables in compliance with his supposed diet, everyone complied and the evening turned into a showcase of the new(ish) Chef's ideas for new menu options. We ate things like artichoke cappuccinos and shrimp in duck gelee and the most amazing steak that I remember nothing about except how melt-in-your-mouth tender it was while Georges boasted loudly and made inappropriate comments that sent Patti into a frenzy about whether or not my tape recorder was off.

The thing is, it was. I have plans to spend plenty more time with both Chef Perrier and Chef Elmi on the record (and share the details here!), but the dinner at Le Bar Lyonnais was just for fun - and to forever have a story about my dinner with Georges Perrier.

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The Insatiable Journalist Part 1: I Write Food

I like food. And I like words.

At my home growing up, we had an archive of Bon Appetit magazines dating back to the '80s. Sometimes, when I was cooking for a birthday or a special event, I would delve into them in the hopes of uncovering a vintage delicacy. Hours later I would end up with too many options spread out around me, tracing out a trail from whatever I started off looking for into increasingly less relevant but equally tempting options.

When I left for college, I signed up for my own subscription to Bon Appetit - even though I spent my first two years eating dinning hall food on the meal plan - just to read and drool over. Now that I'm finally cooking for myself, I've begun acquiring my own enviable stack of Bon Appetits and cookbooks that rest alongside classics like The Odyssey on my bookshelf.

I have a collection of Craig LaBan restaurant reviews that I read cover-to-cover, like a novel.

What I'm trying to say is, I don't just eat food - I read food, I talk food and, as an aspiring journalist, I write food.

Restaurant reviews, mostly. But this semester I've been given a wonderful opportunity (courtesy of ENGL 170) to research and write about whatever I want in popular culture. And what I want is to report some sort of breaking news in the comprehensive and under-appreciated Philadelphia restaurant scene.

The idea was simple at first: find a restaurant opening right at the end of the semester-long project and follow it from now until then, documenting the inevitable ups and downs of the process. This idea presented two major obstacles: knowledge and access. I need to know about an intended restaurant opening several months in advance, and I need the opportunity to find out more than just what's in the press clips.

Overcoming the first of these obstacles is currently underway courtesy of various professional contacts and a healthy dose of not taking no for an answer. In fact, the process of opening a new restaurant may yet be the story I write if the right characters reveal themselves. But along the way I've become emotionally invested in a story that has nothing to do with opening.

If you're interested in these sorts of things (and if you're reading this, you probably are) you've heard that Philadelphia culinary landmark, Le Bec Fin, was supposed to close this year. After 40 years of waking up at 4 am to bring freshness to the restaurant that started a Renaissance, Chef and Owner Georges Perrier was giving up the fight to stay relevant in a food scene that is becoming more about hip celebrity chefs and concept dishes and less about the old-school glamor of dining out that he so famously brought to Philly. But earlier this month, Chef Perrier announced that Le Bec Fin will no longer be closing. Instead, the restaurant will be celebrating its 40th anniversary with a new lease on life. As a self-proclaimed foodie I'm curious: can an old dog learn new tricks? Is this a much-needed wake up call--that newer is not always better and there is still a place for classically good food? Or is this just the final stand of a man who refuses to accept that pride comes before a fall?

I don't yet know how this will turn out, or even which story I'll be writing. I've spoken with the public relations people for Georges Perrier but also the people representing Jose Garces and numerous other restaurants and restaurateurs in the city. I'm excited to get started--to become an investigative journalist entrenched in even just a single aspect of the the Philly food scene. And I'm excited to share the entire experience right here.

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