“The critics are coming! The critics are coming!” The hostess ran through the restaurant in a state of alarm. The Chambrulee restaurant in Beverly Hills was hopping, chefs were busy making masterpieces in the kitchen, bartenders giving drinks to distressed workmen, and waitresses running laps around the restaurant trying to please every person that stepped foot in the fabulous establishment. Everyone who walked even a block away from the restaurant could smell the intoxicating flavors from the food.

Including me.

I am a New York City critic. Some people might say I’m too harsh in my critiques, however they don’t know good food. I have only had one experience with food that meet to my expectations. And that was at the Chambrulee Restaurant.

It was Christmas Eve and I decided to make an unexpected drop in at The Chambrulee. Immediately after I got there people recognized me and started treating me like a King even though there was chaos all around me. I got full service bar access, hot towels before every course, and fantastic service.

The dish I received had perfect presentation and fabulous piquancy. I could almost feel the flavors exploding in my mouth, like a symphony of taste. I could see the heavens aligning in front of me. The most perfect dish laid out in front of me. Everything from the loud conversations around me to the clanging dishes in the kitchen all faded away. I could feel the smooth, moist textures on my tongue and all of my worries, fears, and hopes just faded away. All I wanted was more.