On the (sad) state of Cincinnati dining

I once “reviewed” restaurants for an ad-heavy publication that encouraged us to play nice with potential sources of revenue. And so I found ways to side-step undercooked fish and foul pieces of meat (“The fries were incredible!”). If the place was a rancid sty, I’d play up its cozy charm. If the service was lousy, I’d remark that the eatery was “still finding its legs.” If it was really bad, we’d just scrap the review.

This is all to say: I ate a lot of mediocre food in a lot of mediocre restaurants. And I think Cincinnati can do better.

Last night, after months of anticipation, my boyfriend and I ate at the much-hyped Jean-Robert’s Table. It was the final straw. Oh, fancy French restaurant with your wooden French menus and your quirky French bird artwork and your four French stars on Yelp, oh how I wanted to love you. But now that I don’t have to pretend, I’ll say it.

You were just OK.

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