Now, almost a year later, I'm again at my keyboard on a Wednesday morning, trying to lend some coherence to the scattered thoughts that somehow result in a restaurant review. Last week, I learned from my editor that we got the green light to start doing them again, part of a larger push to get our food coverage back near full capacity. Considering that only a year ago there were real questions as to whether or not the RFT would continue to exist, this was cause to celebrate.
However, it also raises serious questions about restaurant criticism during and (god willing) post-pandemic. Even if I hadn't been furloughed last March, there was no way I could have done a traditional review. For starters, I had (and still have) serious ethical questions about whether or not it is appropriate to encourage the dining public to head out and about when doing so is fraught with risk. It's a balance, for sure, that puts public health concerns at odds with the livelihoods of restaurant owners and employees. That restaurant employees have worked their tails off to figure out how to operate safely is the only way, in good conscience, I can encourage the public to enjoy their wares. For those who balk at safety protocols, it will be a very long time before I can comfortably recommend anyone patronizing their establishments.
The other question that arises is whether or not it is ethical — even moral — to write a critical review while restaurants fight for their lives. Though a critic has a responsibility to a reader to give an accurate assessment of a place, it's utterly tone-deaf to criticize someone for underseasoning their ratatouille when they wake up every morning wondering if their business is going to make it. These establishments have had to develop new business models on the fly and have been hemorrhaging money for the past year. Even as business picks up and the world starts to turn again, it's going to take a very long time to dig out of that hole. That's why, in my opinion, it's not the time to write traditional, critical reviews, and it won't be that time for the foreseeable future.
What does this mean for RFT restaurant reviews? Over the past year, I've been asked more times than I can count for my advice on where people should eat. More than the usual request to know what's good, people have been more interested in knowing who is doing what and how. Which dining rooms are safely open? Who has an inviting outdoor space? What are some great takeout options — especially out-of-the-box ones? Who has shown leadership and innovation during this crazy time, and who needs help? The fact that I am able to help find answers to those questions and add a little joy to the slog that is this horrendous "new normal" is an absolute privilege.
Finding that joy, when the restaurant experience has gone from being relational to transactional, has been difficult. I often think back to Little Fox, which I refer to as "the review that never happened," and reflect on the sheer enjoyment I felt that evening last March. Surrounded by friends, attended to by a service staff that knew their stuff in and out, and enjoying chef and co-owner Craig Rivard's magnificent food (oh how I long for those Italian fish sauce riblettes and garlicky pancetta crostini), the restaurant was the total package of amazing atmosphere, outstanding food and impeccable hospitality.
It was exactly the restaurant Craig and Mowgli Rivard had long dreamed of owning. After moving to St. Louis from Brooklyn in 2017, the husband and wife had only opened the doors to Little Fox for three months before all pandemic hell broke loose. They completely closed down the week of March 16, reopened in May for grocery pickup and some prepared foods, then set up a natural wines shop. They were fortunate that they had obtained an option from the city of St. Louis to use the vacant lot across the street from the restaurant, and turned the space into a covered outdoor dining area, which ran from July through November. To an outside observer, it looked like Little Fox was doing all right.
