The Food Bandit

Diets, Junk Food, and Why the Man Can't Stop Us Getting Fat

Some of you may have realised that I have been very quiet in the past few months, others may have taken this as some form of godly reprieve, but which ever way you look at it I'm back, and raring to fill your internet screens with food related nonsense. 

I can hear you ask, "Where have you been oh food writing genius? Our lives have not been the same without you."  Well firstly let me tell you that I don't like to fly in the face of public opinion, so if you think I am a genius then who am I to argue with you? The truth is that I have been struck with the bug to lose some weight, and reviewing restaurants and suckling at the teat of gastronomy is not great for the waist line. Let's not kid ourselves here people, food is the cause of why we put on weight; burgers, pizzas, kebabs, chocolate, pasta, bread, curry, cakes, and all manner of baked delights contribute to our ever expanding waist lines. It may even come as a shock to you, but McDonald's isn't healthy. I know, shocking news isn't? Of course it isn't a fucking shock. We know this, we have known this for ages, but the truth is that we don't give a shit because we enjoy the taste. This isn't to say that I don't except that people get fat due to medical reasons such as taking steroids, but eating pie and chips everyday isn't a medical reason... 

As humans we want instant gratification over potential future gain. That's why if you tell us that a cake is going to kill us we still eat it, but if you took us to the top of a building and said jump we wouldn't do it; although I can think of many people who I wish would accept such an offer. Dieting is not fun because we don't see the results quickly enough. If you told me I could stop eating chocolate for a day and tomorrow I would have a six pack I would be all for it, but life isn't that fair, and why should it be?

So if we know all of this why do we continue to blame other people for us getting fat? Who are these people that think it is acceptable to sue fast food chains because they got fat from eating it every day? Should I sue the French for creating delicious pastries, or the Italians for the pizza I cram into my delightfully appointed Bouché? No I shouldn't, because if I do I would be a fucking idiot. It's not the fault of the lawyers for getting involved in such actions, they are just feeding off the stupidity of humanity. We are responsible for our own actions, and if I decide tonight that I will gorge myself on a feast that could force my heart to jump up through my neck and strangle my brain then it is my fault. 

The joke is that the authorities, or "The Man" for short, want to propagate this myth that everything is someone else's fault. Only the other day I heard of local councils wanting to put health warnings on take-aways and calories on menus. The over reaching stupidity of this amazes me. The people who are surprised when they go into a curry house and see that the food isn't healthy deserve their obesity and all the complications that come with it. The Man needs to step back and allow people to succeed or fail on their own, just as a child does when they learn to walk. The funniest part is that since government have got so involved in our diets obesity rates have increased to epidemic levels.

So this is a plea to the people of this country; eat whatever you want, enjoy the taste of everything, don't limit yourself the things you enjoy, but don't ever complain when you get fat because it is totally your fault.

Now get me a burger because these jeans aren't going to hold themselves up.  

Gower Cottage Brownies

 

I could see my life spinning away in front of my eyes. Everything I worked for was falling apart. The future was bleak. My wife would leave me, my business would fail in a matter of months, I would lose my house, and be shunned by all my friends. I could see it all now; the life I once had would drift away and leave me for dead. Soon I would be hauled up in an east london squat, half dressed, drifting from one hit to the next while the music from the strip bar below infected my brain. How could it get so bad? I had to stop this before it happened; I had to save myself and the life I had built. 

It had happened so quickly. I had been wandering around the Real Food Festival debating which free food I would feast upon when I came across a stall manned by two sweet innocent looking people; it's always the innocent ones you need to watch. Like Adam in the garden of eden they tempted me with a kindly looking basket containing small segments of midnight coloured brownie lightly dusted with a substance that made cocaine seem like playground sherbet. This hit of sweet and bitter chocolate consumed my soul, and I knew my life would never be the same again. Like a fiend we exchange cold hard cash for bag that would bring a tear to the eye of the most hardened Junkie.

 

Gower Cottage Brownies are the drug for this decade. They are the best tasting brownie I have ever eaten and clearly the work of truly devilish mind. The picture above shows the mastermind (left, Kate) who created these works of art. Each brownie has a slight crispness to the outside that delicately leads into the darkest moist centre that I could happily drown into. I don't believe that any food is better than sex, but these come pretty close, and were I celibate I would happily spend my days with these delights. 

Unlike any dealer I know Kate is happy to dispatch you my new drug of choice the very next day from her website. I can see this is going to be an expensive habit for me, and it will be a shame to lose all the things I love for this chocolaty narcotic, but I warn you once tried you will understand how worthwhile it is...

 

The Real Food Festival, Earls Court

This weekend was the annual Real Food Festival at Earls Court in London, and having not had many opportunities to increase my chance of gout in the last few weeks I thought I would try my luck. 

Having not been before I was looking forward to see what was on offer, and see some of the chefs demonstrations that where happening throughout the day. The tickets that I bought for my wife and myself included a copy of the festival's cooking book which on inspection would seem to be worth the value of one ticket, well maybe half a ticket...

On entering the venue we were confronted with several stands which seemed to have no discernible order and very little planning. The selection of stalls was impressive with a number of foodstuffs on display and ready to sample such as oils, dips, smoked meats, pastas, cakes, brownies, alcohol, and large numbers of sausages. Although the produce was fantastic and some of the tastes truly stunning the festival had the feel of a market such as Borough, and the relentless attempts to sell made me question why there was such a high entry fee. 

One of my interests for the show was to see Nic Watt of Roka give a demonstration as advertised on the shows web site. Disappointingly he had been replaced by a chef from Iberica who while interesting was fairly difficult to understand although, I hasten to add, his English is far superior to my Spanish. He made a selection of dishes including the potato and clam dish (above) which smelt fantastic, but was only allowed to be looked at like a painting in a gallery. Teasing people with food should be considered a form of mental bullying, and be reported to the court of human rights. After this underwhelming display we decided to not waste anymore time being mentally abused and instead decided to eat and shop our way around the stalls. 

I would say if you want to experience the Festival save yourself the money and visit Borough market, or one of Real Foods upcoming street markets. There were for me a couple of producers who were the standout of the show. The first was Gower Cottage Brownies who I will be writing a separate blog about, and Simply Ice Cream who made a delicious selection of ices that once available in my area will cause me to be well on the way to gout...

The Food Bandit Reviews Dough, 75-77 High Street, Northern Quarter, Manchester

 To me a name should mean something. If, for example, I was named the worlds best looking man I would expect that you would think I was quite the looker. What would you think if my dog was named Killer? Maybe you would think I was being ironic in much the same way that "little John" was not so little, but I believe you would think it was one of the two.

A name means even more when you talk about people's jobs.  You would expect someone who calls themselves a medical doctor to have some form of training that could save your life. At the very least you would hope they are who they say they are while checking your prostate. We have created language to explain things to one another, but we constantly feel the need to misuse and confuse it. Maybe the confusion of language is mainly in the written word? I myself have wondered how my tone or the tone of email is meant to sound. Without verbal inflections the written word can confuse. Many a text has been dissected trying to determine the underlying message, or any hint of sarcasm.

It was on a dark Tuesday night in Manchester's Northern Quarter that I came across Dough, and from the crowds of people inside I decided to make a reservation for the next night. My time working in the north had led me to find few eating establishments of any note, but upon reading the website I felt encouraged that this could be my first. Dough, according to its website, is an award winning pizza kitchen that prides itself on focusing on the base as much as the toppings. It must be great, I thought, so great that they have named the establishment after this humble part of the pizza. I was soon to be disappointed.

After what seemed like an eternity waiting we were shown to our table. Although half empty, it was deemed that the best table was in front of the cutlery bar; this was only a problem when anyone eating needed to use silverware; thankfully the waiters only barged past a matter of 15 times, looking at us in disgust as if we the nerve to sit in their way.  The paradox of our seating arrangement was that although waiters seemed to be there all the time it took twenty minutes to get someone to take our drink order. When they did we thought it safe to order our entire meal in case they managed to avoid our black hole for an even longer period.

The food it seemed was being created in another area of the space time continuum, and as such it was a wonder how it manged to arrive at our table still hot.  Thankfully the wait had made us hungry which only made the disappointment of the food greater. I had decided on a buffalo mozzarella salad, my guest had a bruscetta, and we shared some homemade dough sticks and dips. my starter had an overwhelming flavour of cold while my guests tasted of salt. Quite the achievement I thought, but at least we had the famous dough to taste. The dough sticks were magical, not magical in a good way though, magical in the fact that they had been able to create a food that had no discernible taste at all. It was if all the taste buds in my mouth vanished as the dough approached, maybe for fear of having to search for flavour. This I am afraid was the highlight of the meal. We had both ordered the breakfast pizza which consisted of fried egg (my guest requested runny, but it came hard), sausage, bacon, mushroom, mozzarella, and a tomato sauce. Once again they had managed to create a tasteless over cooked base which would have bought a tear to the eye of any true italian. The pizza was, in my opinion, the worst I have ever tried, and clearly a case of style over substance. So disappointed with our meal we decided to skip desert and leave; although I'm not sure our waiter even noticed us leaving which makes me regret paying the bill even more.

I really wanted to like Dough, but the combination of bad service and tasteless food makes me happy that I don't live in Manchester. I do think the people of the area deserve better than this, but thankfully they have some good local bars to destroy their taste buds with alcohol. On my next visit I will stick to the bars.

I can only presume that the owners of Dough were trying to be ironic when they named their restaurant, or perhaps they were referring to the to the large amounts of money that they are making from these sub par pizzas, but I am certain that if you are searching for good pizza Dough is not the place to go. 

Dough, 75-77 High Street, Northern Quarter, Manchester 

Rating: 1 out of 5 (the wine was ok).

Cost: £45 including a bottle of wine. 

 

The Food Bandit Reviews Hawksmoor, 11 Langley Street, WC2

I have been struggling with this review for a few weeks now. I feel I may have read every review of Hawksmoor that exists. I have listened to media luvvies debate the pros and cons of Hawksmoor and Gauchos till the, beautifully cooked, cows come home. I have heard all the arguments about how wonderful the place is. How the food is amazing, how the wine is fantastic, and the atmosphere electric.

Hawksmoor is getting rave reviews. It seems that now if Gauchos were to vanish in to a puff of 21 day aged smoke the media industry would still be able to survive. Thank god I say. for too long I have worried what would happen if all the marketing directors, creative geniuses, and ad execs had nowhere to spend their friday afternoon's. How would they cope? What would become of the expense accounts? The London media scene may cease to exist. Thankfully Hawksmoor has ended this deep seated fear of mine. There will always be a place for these bastions of our society. God bless you steak restaurants of London. Media could not exist without you.  

I have always considered myself more of a beef than lamb man, but on this occasion I am going to have to shed my wolves clothing and become a sheep. I must follow in their footsteps and live the media dream.  

Hawksmoor is fantastic. Yes the food is great, but that is not what makes this place great.  What takes this fortress of beef to the next level is its service.

As many people will be aware bad service is a particular issue of mine. Why should we pay good money to be treated so poorly? At first I thought it may just be our waitress, but every person we met was a delight to deal with from the slightly hyperactive manager to the receptionist. I do hold special affection for our waitress though. She was as good a waitress as I have seen, attentive, friendly, happy, informed, and understood when to leave us alone. I would ,if I could, name her, but without her permission that would be wrong.  Although if you the aspiring theatre director waitress I would once again like to thank you for treating us so well. 

From a larger point of view it does concern me that my experiences of good service are so much rarer than those that are of this level. This level of service should be the norm. Other restaurants should take note. 

As good as the service was without great food it would have been a wasted journey. Thankfully they have managed to find the perfect balance.  I started with a slightly over seasoned prawn cocktail that was full of the plumpest prawns in a delightfully luxurious marie rose sauce. I can forgive the slight over seasoning as the quality of the prawns cut through any issues I had. My wife had the baked Beetroot with goats cheese  which again she found delicious, but overly salty. My wife is a lover of salt so possibly the creators of the starters had slipped with their hand, or their platte has taken a beating over the years.  For mains we both had a fillet steak, and shared a half lobster, beef dripping chips,  and buttered greens. We were also surprised by a portion of beautiful macaroni cheese that we had not ordered; on telling a waitress that we had not ordered it we were told that it was a gift for being nice customers. This is what makes great service a delight. The steak was cooked to perfection beautifully pink, and melt in your mouth tender. The quality of the beef was undeniable, and the decadence of the lobster mouthwatering. Surprisingly it was the beef dripping chips that stole the show. Each chip was like the perfect roast potato, and the flavour of the dripping had soaked through to the core of this humble side dish. When it should  happen I would like these chips in my final meal. It was only after our main that we mentioned to our waitress that we were celebrating a special occasion; within minutes two glasses of champagne were at our table, and we were offered a choice of desserts on the house (I told you she was good) . As full as we were my greed managed to order a scoop of cornflake ice-cream to share. With a flavour of the milk  you have left after you have eaten all the cereal the ice-cream was the perfect ending.

The only concern I have for Hawksmoor is that the great service is being wasted on those who find it easy to be rude when not spending their own money, but that is no excuse to ever lower your principals.

Oh, before I forget if you get your people to call my people we can do lunch. I know a great steak place...    

Hawksmoor, 11 Langley Street, WC2

Tel: 020 7856 2154 (online booking available)

Score:

Food: 4 out of 5

Service: 5 out of 5

Price: an extravagant £70 per head including service and a very nice bottle of Pinot Noir. 

 Image credits Hawksmoor

Nothing More Natural than a Mother's Milk.

Recently, I read about The Icecreamists, a london ice cream parlour, who have caused quite a media stir by selling ice cream made from breast milk. The ice cream, cleverly, named Baby Gaga is selling at £15 a serving.

The media frenzy that has ensued has taken me aback, and I wonder if we really are as enlightened as we think. The firestorm has even gone worldwide with Lady Gaga threatening to sue for use of her name as she dislikes the idea of using human breast milk. This coming from a person who had no problem wearing the rotting flesh of an animal to an awards ceremony.  I am also fairly sure, although I am not basing this on any legal evidence, that Gaga did not invent that word, and that it was not the name given to her by her parents. I do also have reason to believe that I used the term gaga as a baby, pre-Lady Gaga, so will be suing her for copyright infringement...

Even this morning on the hugely popular Daybreak (I may have been one of only 3 people in the UK to have been watching) part time humans and full time idiots Christine Bleakley and Adrian Chiles claimed it was disgusting to eat a product made of breast milk.

I understand that people may be funny about eating certain things; I myself don't like coriander, but claiming it to be wrong is a stretch too far. There is one simple rule I apply when faced with things I don't like, now keep with me because this is going to blow your mind, if I don't want to eat something I don't put it in my mouth. God I can't believe I said it. Can you imagine the panic that would be caused if this subversive thinking were to get in to the wider world? People would stop forcing themselves to eat things they didn't want to, there would no longer be the need to complain about programmes on TV as you could just switch them off, and if you heard rap music with lyrics and opinion's you didn't like you could turn down the volume. I know what you're thinking, and yes I fear the authorities may clamp down on this type of talk for fear that the general public may start to take responsibility for themselves. It is ironic that breast milk has highlighted the nations need to think for it's self. 

I have noticed that many people think this a marketing campaign to draw more business to The Icecreamists. My response to that is so what? If they are cleaver enough to promote an ice cream business in winter during a financial crisis then good luck to them. I don't envy anyone trying to make a living out of ice cream with the UK's climate, and I hope it works for them. 

The bigger issue I have with this whole affair is that as humans we think it is more acceptable to drink the milk of other creatures than it is the milk that was designed for us. There truly is no more natural food than breast milk. If anything it is cleaner than that of cows and goats, and far more in tune with our natural development. If you want to make a point it should be that it is unnatural to drink any sort of milk after you have been weened on to solid foods.

Personally I would rather drink breast milk than that of a hairy field animal. As the old joke goes, who was the first person to look at a cow and think I'm going to squeeze those, and drink whatever comes out? 

 

Blatant Product Placement

As the weekend is upon us, and our brains prepare to be beaten unconscious by excessive alcohol, TV, drugs, food or some other such poison I wonder if we have the power to try something new. 

If you are going to do one thing this weekend, and I highly recommend you do one thing otherwise you will have wasted that glorious time that separates the days of being overworked and undervalued. I suggest that, if you haven't already, try a drink from the Fentimans collection of adult sodas. I hasten to add that I am not being paid to recommend this product, but I do it purely on the basis of good taste. Although please feel free to send me a crate of the Cola if you so choose! 

I discovered Fentimans 4 years ago in a local pub, and have since become addicted to the Curiosity Cola in a way that only a crack addict could understand. The best way to describe the drink is like the taste of summer if I was brought up in the Swallows and Amazons book. I imagine Fentimans would be the drink that the Secret Seven  or the Famous Five would drink. This is a drink that makes me crave a simpler time and takes makes me back to eating cola cubes and penny sweets in the playground. All of this is only helped by the fact that it comes in a glass bottle; I'm still not sure why drinks in glass bottles taste better, but they do, and anyone who says differently is a bounder.   

Fentimans make a range of flavours including ginger ale, lemonade, and dandelion and burdock. The later, I was told as a child, makes you wet the bed. 

So for those of you who haven't tried them I suggest you spend this weekend experiencing a taste of a childhood that only exists in books. For those of you who have tried them I will meet you in the woods and we can play conkers...

Enjoy your weekend.

Fentimans is available at multiple supermarkets and online.      

The Main Concept of any Restaurant Should be Good Food

 
 The stage is set, and the lights are dimmed. Marilyn Manson's dulcet tones ignite the room into a frenzy of anticipation. Diner's fidget uncomfortably on raised-up beds; trying to balance, in complicated positions, while they move towards their reassuringly trendy cocktails. Every cocktail is named in a ridiculously sexual way. Maybe this hides the true blandness of what is in the glasses. Onto the stage struts a six foot (in heels) nurse. She dances erotically in her rubber outfit, and then moves on to her table of toys; the toys on the table include a syringe, a scalpel and some other faux medical equipment. She calmly stabs the needle into her chest repeatedly leaving dots of red blood that she smears all over herself. The crescendo of the music is timed perfectly to match the nurse slicing open her stomach and pulling fake intestines from her gut, and then she leaves the stage to a round of muted claps. As the colour begins to return to the diner's faces the waitresses appear carrying plates of rare fillet steak covered in a deep red sauce...

This, I am sorry to say, was not a scene from a film. This was a night in a 'cool' west London hot spot known as the Supper Club. A place that if I never have to go back to in my life I will be thankful. Now don't get me wrong, I love trans-gender violent erotic stage performances as much as the next man, but I don't believe that any restaurant should focus on concept over food. The food at the Supper Club was some of the worst I have had in a restaurant. The food's case was not helped by having to eat on stupidly uncomfortable beds after watching mild mutilation.

This to me is just another case of certain restaurants creating a concept rather than an enjoyable eating experience. I go to restaurants to eat good food. I do not go to live out the crazy fantasies of drug fulled club promoters. By all means bring my soup in a syringe and squeeze into my bowl, but don't bother if the soup is going to be uninspired and tasteless.

Your concept cannot be more important than your food. Surely good food is the best concept that any restaurant can have. You can shout about dining in the dark all you like but if the food isn't good enough people will not come back. You can dress up a pig all you like but at the end of the day it is still a pig, take note ladies of Blackpool.

So please understand that I will do anything for good food: I will eat in the dark, I will watch trans-gender nurses cut themselves, I will eat in a room created from ice and I will happily eat sushi off naked bodies instead of tables, but I will only do this if the taste is better than the idea.

Restaurants of the world be true to yourselves, and to the people who pay you to feed them. Because we may not tell you we don't like it, but you will never see us again.

The more I come to think about it I'm not even sure she was a real nurse...       

Ode to the Macaron

I have been hiding something for many years now. I can't tell my friends or my family. How will I deal with the strange looks and comments? It's gone on for too long now; I can't keep this secret inside any longer.

I know there are people who will judge me, and I know I won't be able to go back to my normal life after this. I have to be true to myself. It's time for me to finally admit it: I love the French....

I'm sorry England, but I do. There is nothing you could have done. It has been going on for some time now.  It's me not you, but really it's you.

I love everything about the French, I love the food, I love the movies, I love the language, I love the attitude, I love the style, but above all I love the macarons.

Now when I say macarons I dont mean those ridiculous coconut concoctions that look more like dumplings than desert. I mean the beautiful French confectionary photographed above. These mouthfuls of joy are made up of a meringue based crushed almond exterior, and, normally, a flavoured ganache spread sandwiched in the middle. You may say these don't look like a masculine food stuff for a man of your stature, and I would have to agree with you. They are not masculine in any way. Every bite of them makes me become slightly more effeminate. If metrosexual's go to war this will be what sustains them on the battlefield, and I may just be along side them when the revolution comes.

Thankfully we live in such a global economy that a food soldier, such as myself, can get their fix of macarons far more easily then ever before. It was only earlier in 2010 that, in my opinion, the king of macarons appeared on these shores. Pierre Herme opened his small boutique in Selfridges, London in February of 2010 although they deliver through his website across europe. What he produces are simply genius. Each macaron tastes as if it was made with love, and each of the delicate flavours comes across perfectly. With flavours such as rose, milk chocolate & passion fruit, mint, salted-butter caramel, and Chocolate, blackcurrant and blackcurrant berries there is something for everyone. 

Each macaron is so delicate that every texture and flavour becomes heightened. For something so light they are also deeply rich, and even a man of my greed could only eat a few at a time.  My personal favourite is the vanilla with caramel bits, but it is a little like choosing which is your favourite child. Pierre Herme is clearly a culinary artist and I admire a man who can create such powerful flavours in such a delicate way. His macarons are like a punch wrapped in a velvet glove, and I look forward to being beaten like this many more times.

The box photographed lasted 3 days (they have a 4 day fridge life), but this was mainly due to my wife limiting my intake. They don't come cheap at £35.00 for a box that size although they can be bought individually for just under £2.00. They are, to me, the perfect treat; expensive enough that you wouldn't buy them every day, but delicious enough that you want them every day.          

 

Michelin Madness

I can see it now, chefs sat around the kitchen waiting for the phone to ring. Like a 14 year old girl waiting for her first boyfriend to whisper sweet nothings down the telephone lines. Later this morning Michelin will announce who has won, lost and kept their michelin stars. Michelin is the Oscars of the culinary world, and is just as respected by chefs as it is by restaurant visiting public around the globe. Not bad for a guide that was originally started as a marketing tool to promote tyres. Today is the day when we find out who has excelled, who has failed and who has been consistent. Will Marcus Wareing gain that coveted third star? Will Gordon Ramsey lose one of his stars? Personally I think the answer to both is yes.  

Having been lucky enough to eat at many Michelin starred restaurants I have wondered how relevant they actually are. I'm sure Mr Wareing will disagree, but my feeling is that Michelin has become a Timeout Guide for the rich. It allows those who travel to ensure they will get a consistent level of food and service across the globe. This, strangely, was also the ethos that McDonald's creator Ray Kroc set out to achieve. Michelin let's those people that are too afraid try new things find refuge in consistency and safety. 

 All this is not to say that the food and service in such places is not good, or even brilliant in many cases. The problem I have is that Michelin only seems to award those doing things in a certain way. It promotes an ideal, and has such a limited range that the best food I have eaten has never come from a starred restaurant. Why is there only one type of restaurant on the list? Why do all the restaurants have to be stuffy al a carte places with very little soul?  Where are the great steak houses? Why can't I look at Michelin and find a local restaurant with great service and incredible food? It is not because they don't exist; to me the reason for this is that Michelin is only aiming the guide at the uneducated and wealthy.

It feels to me that Michelin has become an old boy's club for the restaurants that are in it. It really promotes those that have come through in the correct way. As long as your restaurant went to Eton or Harrow then it will get into a good university. I'm sure they would argue that their is no favouritism at Michelin, but having eaten at many restaurants on the list I can not understand how this is possible. I have had many better meals at one stars than I have had at two stars. Last year I was lucky enough to eat at Marcus Wareing's, and although the food and service were good it was no where near as enjoyable as a meal at one starred Arbutus. 

I have no idea who the Michelin reviewers are, but I feel that they have possibly started to lose understanding of what is relevant to the restaurant going public. They have become trapped in their Ivory towers, and no longer see the world through the eyes of those living beyond the castle walls.

This is the time Michelin need to look at how relevant they are. If the purpose of the guide is to be an award ceremony for chefs then I have no issue. They can have their night of back slapping and self congratulations till the end of time; if however they are a restaurant guide for the public they, in my opinion, need to take a fresh look about who they award to.

Thankfully, I think that with the rise of the internet Michelin will be relegated to an industry award show rather than a guide. You no longer have to buy a guide to tell you what restaurants are good. With blogging as it is you can find writers and reviews who match your ideals all over the world. You can find reviews from like minded people who enjoy food for what it is not because of who it is made by. You can build armies of restaurant critics on twitter. The internet has made opinion free to everyone. Don't let good restaurants suffer because they don't fit the institution that is Michelin. 

I truly wish those who win congratulations, but much like an Oscar it won't make me want to eat at your restaurant any more than I would have already.  

So good luck, and if you are waiting by the phone remember it is ok to hang up first. I'm sure Michelin won't dump you...