Jillian Schouten

English 1010
10/19/2015
Analysis for Caf ArtScience Restaurant Review

This review is given by Corby Kummer, a food critic who does a very good job
establishing his credibility by telling us that he is an editor at the Atlantic in Boston, the author
of The Pleasures of Slow Food, and has been reviewing Bostons top restaurants in Boston
Magazine since 1997. Furthermore he used his vast knowledge and previous experiences to set
the stage of this review by introducing us to the people behind Caf ArtScience, from biomedical
engineers who invented inhalable insulin then continued on to make inhalable flavored liquids
and other odd inventions, to a chefs whos food is so renowned that he was hired on without his
employers even having to taste his cooking.
It is very evident that his intended audience is first and foremost his regular readers and
followers, but also people who live or visit the Boston area, affluent, probably ages 25-45, and
looking for something adventurous, exciting and novel. Within that, this demographic is
probably familiar with French cooking and terminology, as many of the dishes have French
names and the ingredients are not typical to American cooking such as foie gras (fattened liver of
a duck or goose), chicken liver, rabbit meat and black perigord truffles.
The organization of this article is chronological and makes sense. He starts off giving a
detailed background of those involved with the restaurant, and then brings us to the entrance of
the restaurant where the very same people have their names on the wall in 3-D white-on-white
letters. We get a walk-through of the overall appearance and dcor or the restaurant, giving you

the feeling of a clean, open space. He then details the staff and their training to ease new
customers into this potentially strange dining experience, taking care to tell us that this is not his
first time. Soon we move on to the first course, then main dishes that were brought to him after
and finally the desserts.
While he sings the praises of many of the dishes, using beautifully descriptive words, he
describes each specific color, shape, size, wonderful spices, textures and consistencies; he also
brings balance and honestly by reporting on the inconsistencies and weaknesses of the kitchen.
This mainly seems to be the pork and all seafood. While I love amazing descriptions of beautiful
food, I also really appreciate all the gory details of failed dishes; sentences like, flabby and dull,
with undercooked, rubbery pieces of squid in an unappealing, liquidy squid-ink broth. really
paint a great picture for me.
Throughout the piece he also includes the price of each dish (ranging from $16 to $24),
location, website, phone number and full color pictures. Overall, I think this was a well written
review; I think he connects with his intended audience well and answer any question that one
might have about what kind of experience to expect. Even with the descriptions of the not-sogreat dishes, he notes that this is amply compensated for by everything else you will try and
really encourages you to give it a shot, promising a unique and satisfying experience.

Jillian Schouten
English1010
10/19/2015

Ye Ole Chuck Wagon

Its hard not to be drawn to the appeal of a small town restaurant. The first attraction to
this particular establishment, Ye Ole Chuck Wagon (more commonly referred to as simply
The Chuck Wagon) is the cute country theme. On the outside a covered wagon is painted on
the side of the building. Inside, the tables, chairs and booths are all made of pine, stained light
enough to still see the grain of the wood. Horse shoes adorned the walls here and there, a glass
curio filled with freshly baked pies stood near the corner, bringing back the nostalgia of
Grandmas kitchen and the allure of having possibly just discovered a hidden gem in the small,
touristy town of Lava Hot Springs, Idaho. Unfortunately for the Chuck Wagon, all of this was
quickly replaced with disappointment. We were greeted by not a person, but by a sign saying
seat yourself, which I normally dont mind doing. As we walked in a patron suggested that we
check out the buffet, available in the other room. So, I wandered over there, took a quick glance
and really just wasnt quite sure what I was looking at in those warming trays, but it seemed sad.
Deciding to skip the buffet, I moseyed on back the way I came and opted to order off the menu.
My husband and I grabbed a seat and a few friends came and joined us. We waited
patiently for a server to acknowledge our presence; we already knew exactly what we wanted, on
account of the menus that were still on the table from the previous customers. The breakfast
selection was exactly what you would expect it to be. They offered chicken fried steak, breakfast

skillets, eggs benedict, scones (too everyone else in the world this is actually Indian fry bread,
for some reason this is what we call them in Utah and Idaho), breakfast sandwiches and of course
various combinations of typical breakfast meats with a side of pancakes and eggs. After about
10 minutes of waiting and trying to draw the attention of not just our server (whoever that was),
but any of the staff, I was forced to walk up to the counter where a waitress was serving coffee
and tried and place an order. Rather than hear those sweet words Hello, Ill be with you in just a
moment! I received the silent treatment, something I have only come to expect from my 4 year
old son. Having failed in my mission, I returned to my seat and gave a shrug to the rest of my
party, when finally a hostess at the register asked if we had been helped. She apologized for the
wait and seemed genuinely sorry that no one had been over. She quickly brought us our first cup
of coffee (adding that she would comp it), which at this point didnt seem half bad and
immediately offered to take our order. While feeling slightly satisfied that we were getting
somewhere, I still found it quite strange that not even one of the 3 visible waitresses had
attempted to so much as make eye contact with us.
I was however, pleased to discover a scratch-off lottery ticket machine just inside the
entrance. I made my way over to the dispenser and got a few scratch cards to pass the time.
Being from a state that doesnt allow this, it is somewhat of a treat and a guilty pleasure of mine.
The longer I sat there, the more I became aware of the slightly musty, dingy smell of the carpet
and the dust on the fake plants that must have been collecting there for some time. Every now
and then the very same hostess would return to fill up our coffee, until we eventually got our
very own server bringing out our food45 minutes later. You may be asking yourself, why
didnt you just leave? well, as much as I would have loved to do just that, Lava Hot Springs
really only has about 3 restaurants in total and Im fairly certain theres only one that serves

breakfast on a Sunday...this one. We were a captive audience, hostages of an oppressive staff,

continuously reminded of just how long we had been there with each pang of hunger and growl
of our stomachs. It brought to mind my last experience in this town when I had forgotten to bring
a swimming suit. I found the only store in town that sold them and bought the cheapest one I
could find at your friendly, small town price of $89.99. At least I had just won four dollars on my
scratch cards.
Upon my dish being set in front of me, I thought that it looked appetizing enough. Its a
meat lovers skillet, what could possibly go wrong? I quickly discovered that just like the quaint,
welcoming appearance of the restaurant, this too was just a faade. After only a few bites I
finally make the connection to the name chuck wagon, transporting me back to the Wild West
when a cowboy-on-the-trails only option for dinner was a meager meal with little to no flavor,
prepared with the culinary genius of the cow poke chefs of old, who obtained their jobs simply
for their lack of skill with a horse and a rope. I began questioning if I should have in fact, gone
with the mystery buffet.
Now, I am by no means a food writer for Bon Appetite magazine, but I do consider
myself to be a pretty serious foodie. Having eaten at the many different homes and restaurants of
people from various cultural backgrounds, countries, ethnicities and all the culinary delights they
have to offer, I think I have a pretty good scope on what a country style breakfast should look
like. That being said, my Meat-Lovers Skillet(costing $9.99), consisted of a medley of bacon,
rubbery diced ham and ground sausage that had a crumbled, gritty texture I have never before
encountered with sausage, all over a bed of cubed, fried, and painfully dry potatoes, topped with
two eggs over-easy and a very stingy amount of cheese. It was hard to decide which was less
appealing, the fact that the only seasoning or spice in the entire dish was a heavy hand with a salt

shaker, the perplexing matter of not being able to distinguish the differences in flavor from one
meat to the next, or the barely lukewarm temperature of the entire dish itself. I have no idea how
it was possible that my freshly made meal was already so tepid. But there it was; Cold and
depressed. Its a special and rare occasion when breakfast actually makes a hangover worse and
Im not sure I would have believed it even possible had I not experienced it for myself.
After losing my appetite about seven bites in, and simultaneously realizing that the coffee
actually wasnt that great once you woke a bit, the waitress asked how is everything tasting?,
rather than further my disappointment and frustration by waiting another 45 minutes for an
attempt to have something else unappealing prepared, I dodged the question and politely asked
for the check and a to-go box. At this point I was only taking it home for the pure novelty of
seeing if my Akitas taste buds might also like to be transported back to the old west. Chopper
loves cowboys.
Throughout our dining experience a tall, silver-haired man patrolled the floor with
owner written all over his face. He seemed to be suspiciously avoiding our table, and my gaze;
a technique that he has surely perfected for all non-locals. After paying my tab, I took the four
dollars of scratcher money I had won and split it in half, giving a very generous two dollars to
my server and the rest to the only person readily willing to help us, the hostess, taking great care
to make sure that my server was witnessing this. I then promptly went in search of the nearest
mimosa.
So, if you ever find yourself in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho, at an overpriced hotel, trying to
enjoy the wonderful natural hot springs, or maybe the company of friends and family, I would
recommend picking a hotel with a continental breakfast or possibly driving the hour or so to

Pocatello. Save yourself and your senses from wasting an hour of your life on mildly coffeefavored brown water, a sad meal, and a very cold shoulder.