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There’s a whole flow chart of professional angst leading to today’s drink, starting with this week’s edition of “The Tipsy Diaries,” a cocktail-centric column penned for the New York Times by its restaurant critic emeritus, Frank Bruni. Bruni’s restaurant-writing tenure — or I should say tenor; Bruni never refused the gooey puns that roiled forth from his brain, just as he couldn’t seem to wrestle the keyboard away from his occasional alter ego, Frannie Von Furstinshow — had its critics, some insidiously scathing in their put-downs.
Much of the disdain stemmed from the fact that Bruni had no professional food-writing background. But neither did I when I started writing restaurant reviews in St. Louis, so the worst I can say about him is 1) he went to UNC; 2) I am not him. And in order to become him, of course, I must destroy him.