Restaurant Week

So it's probably bad form to start out a new blog with a major bitch session, but I'm just that kind of punk food writer who would do it. Here goes.

Arizona Restaurant Week. Had a conversation with a fellow food writer this morning about it and we were finishing each other's sentences because we know it oh so well.

This is the time for restaurants to shine, to strut their stuff, to dazzle. Instead, we get a monotonous parade of (for starters) tired salads, soups and boring bruschettas, and (for entrees) glazed salmon, seared scallops, some kind of banal poultry or a yawn-inducing march of meat that inevitably includes short ribs or an inferior cut of steak -- hangar, flank, etc. Instead of providing a firecracker ending, desserts almost always flame out with an interpretation of (usually, but not always) chocolate cake, maybe a creme brulee, a bread pudding or some berries in cream. Instead of a $60 meal for $39, as my colleague said, you're getting a $39 meal for $39.

I'm painting with a wide brush here; there are exceptions. (The Mission, I'm eyeing you and your almejas al vapor and pork shoulder, rrrrarrr!) But overall, we see little creativity in the dishes and even less passion in the preparations.

Also, virtually without exception, employees hate restaurant weeks, which they call "amateur hour." The attitude doesn't just seep into the service, it gushes like a broken dam of resentment. Not without good reason sometimes, I admit -- the checks are much lower than usual, so tips sink correspondingly, even when well-meaning diners leave 20 percent. They tend to make eye-rolling demands, like asking for filet to be cooked well-done, or failing to call ahead and then proclaiming they are vegetarian/vegan/gluten-free/allergic to nuts/you name it.

And let's be honest, a lot of the RW diners don't get out much and think 10 percent on the already-discounted prices is just fine. They're not always the best-behaved or most appropriately dressed lot, either. (One manager told me that regulars ask her, "What's with the Denny's crowd?")

It's not just a Phoenix thing, either. I've been let down time and again during San Francisco restaurant weeks.

Why, then? Why do they keep having them? Why do we keep going?

Obviously, restaurant owners like the infusion of business in a still-slow season. It's the same reason they agree to half-off coupons on daily deals sites. It brings in the bodies. And they hope -- optimistic bunch that they are -- that these newcomers will be so impressed with their place that they won't be able to resist coming again and again and spending oodles more money.

Diners, meanwhile, like to give a new place a try before committing to a "real" dinner. And it's a way to get a deal, if the quality is there. I see myself as the canary in the coal mine, slinking in for a relatively cheap three-course meal to check it out before dragging my husband back for the regular menu. It's worked a few times for me -- I probably would never have gone for anything but happy hour at Chaya in San Francisco if it hadn't been for an outstanding restaurant week lunch. But too often, I grouse over my dry short ribs or overdressed frisee and decide to boycott the place.

Let's mix it up a bit next year, shall we? Let's offer up the best ingredients, let's put the best cooks on the line, let's trot out a new dish or two and not the tired old "favorites." I can't hold a gun to diners' heads, but I promise I will do my best to spread the word about proper attire, behavior and tipping practices. I don't expect miracles from either side, but we have to start somewhere, right? And I'm sorry, but that starter is NOT going to be a bowl of tortilla soup or a Caesar salad.