I recently read a great post on FriendsEAT.com, building off a Kansas City Star article, that I thought about just reposting here verbatim -- but, well, that wouldn't be very bloggerly of me, now would it?

The story is about a chef in Kansas City, Jasper Mirabile of Jasper's Ristorante, whose daughter guided him into setting up a Twitter account by pointing out that Emeril Lagasse is doing it.

Since Twitter is all about cutting to the chase, I'll do the same here: Mirabile had 103 followers in just three days, at which point he posted about an upcoming special event and sold it out in two days.

Of Twitter, he said, "What's so great about (it) is I can be sitting here in the kitchen, and I'll put 'Jasper is cooking fresh asparagus today.' And then I will go in my dining room that night, and I will see some of my guests who say, 'Hey, I follow you on Twitter. That's why I came in for dinner.' So you know it's working."

That's the beauty of Twitter, right there. It's not that it takes so little time (though that's true). It's not even the instant gratification one receives from getting lightning-fast responses to your comments and questions (though chefs accustomed to the instant gratification of cooking and serving food would appreciate that, too).

The beauty of Twitter is, in Mirabile's words, this: "I had no idea I'd get these kinds of results. And my daughter was like, 'Told you so.'"

Just like your parents, I am sure, my parents had a bunch of annoying lessons they tried to teach me growing up.  Lessons I tried real hard to ignore.  One of the more annoying I refer to as the "Three Learning Points Buzzkill."  This was courtesy of Dad, who generally interrupted a decent rant right when I was getting good and worked up, with the annoying, "Fine. What were your three learning points?"  Clearly, he did not get it.

Fast forward many, many years (what, are you counting or something?) and I now often end a good frustration-o-rama with the thought, and I am serious:  Well, what did I learn here?

Yesterday, I learned thus:

1. Journalists (and by journalists here, I mean writers who claim to be journalists rather than actual journalists) are often going to write the story, no matter if you are ready, if you have released the info or even have verified facts or not. So, be prepared with something, ANYTHING, to give them something to write so that they don't end up printing something that is completely factually incorrect.

2. If everybody can win in the end then everybody wins.  Losing sucks, seeing someone lose sucks, wanting people to lose makes you suck.  Go with the win whenever possible.

3. Chefs have super big (and by super big, I mean super fragile) egos but really, they want to hear the truth and they'll respect you more if you just tell them what needs to be said.

Sure, these are lessons I learned before, lessons I will learn again. But the lessons, those aren't really the important part of the post. The important part is this:  Some days are just whackadoo but you can make them worthwhile by taking a few moments to think about what you learned in the midst of the hot mess.  By acknowledging your three learning points.

Thanks, Dad.

The other day, I saw a tweet someone sent up for Chicago's first Gastro-Lounge.  I suppose I should be happy they used a hyphen, since most restaurants seem to hate hyphens.  But really, I nearly threw my coffee cup against the wall in frustration.

You see, I have been in a lot of whackadoo conversations lately about restaurant concepts.  Everyone, it seems, has an intense desire to do two things:  shun what is interesting and unique about themselves because they think it "too limiting," or cover up the fact that they are so shockingly uninteresting with some mutated form of an idea.

Rather than rail against the misguided, I want to share with you a fascinatingly interesting restaurant group that can't seem to miss, and why I believe, ten years in, they can't seem to miss.

This restaurant group is about to open a bar*. The first thing they do when they are about to start a project is crack open the history books. That's right, instead of spending hours drinking bad liquor trying to think up some fancy new marketing spin, the group understands that there are no completely original ideas. There are just great ideas that they can improve upon.

A fine dining restaurant that isn't dusty and moldy.  A wine bar with acutally good food. A DJ lounge with actually good acoustics.  A lounge with good drinks, that isn't crowded and loud. An 18th Century beer hall with 21st Century culinary standards. Next: Whiskey in clean glasses, tables and chairs with a design aesthetic, tacos with fresh quality ingredients.

The result is authenticity.  It is an authenticity anyone can feel when they enter their establishments.  An authenticity that renders their projects timeless.  An authenticity people really crave.

So the next time you are about to start a project, stop trying to contort yourself into your likely misguided idea of what people want and concentrate on two things:

1.  What you are. If you are authentically German, Greek, Polish, Dutch-Irish with that culinary understanding of the world, just freaking be that.

2.  What already succeeded in history and how you can improve on elements of that.  And please note, I said improve on, not reinvent for the love of all things holy.

*To the journos who read this: No there is no name. It isn't that there is some secret I am not telling you. Seriously, it hasn't been decided.

If you are in Chicago, part of the food community and not living under a rock, you've likely heard of the new Culinary Blacklist that a few chefs are proposing after Mark Mendez blasted an unnamed wussy cook who dared to think working in a kitchen resembled a day in Giada's "Everyday Italian" kitchen.

As I read through Mark's post and the subsequent comments, a lot of things came to mind, but I won't bore you with them.

But what is important to chefs is not the lesson in Mark Mendez's post, it is the lesson of Mark Mendez's post. Mark, you see, has most definitely taken the reins of his image and is making a name for himself on his own.

Before he started tweeting and FBing and the like, Mark was not so well known in the food world outside of his chef friends. The restaurant where he worked was, sure, but Mark sorta wasn't. 

But then Mark started FBing. First thing I noticed, he friended EVERYONE. He friended so many journalists and chefs and food people that when I started building my networks, I just went to his friend list and cribbed it rather than try and dig up people on my own.

He started some writing and commenting, not much and not often. But it was there, every so often, getting his name and views into the public.

Then he started on Twitter. Mark is a Twitter master. It was Mark, in fact, working from the hugeamongous megarestaurant that is Carnivale, that first broke the news that ramps were coming to Chicago. Ramps -- that seasonal boutique-y chef favorite that journalists love to write about in conjuction with boutique-y cheffie restaurants ... not a place like Carnivale.

But Mark had begun to let us all know what he is about. On his own, not through a PR firm. He hunted and pecked his way, a few super hits and a few misses. He let us know his commitment to quality ingredients and farmers and the like. He let us know about the struggles of being a craftsman in a huge, hugely designed restaurant. And right now, the influencers of the food community are pointing their friends and followers to him.

I don't think Mark takes a ton of time with it. And he mostly just says stuff he really thinks needs to be said or maybe something that tickles his fancy. But participating in his own success is a big part of what he seems to be about. And, hum, it is working.

You know how annoying it is when the Dept. of Transportation comes into your neighborhood, rips up the streets, and then takes off on what can only be a weeks- or even months-long vacation to Patagonia? Whatever happened to finishing the job you started?

That's how I feel about "Under Construction" signs on web sites. For one thing, I think they're borderline tacky; to me, they announce, "Whoever manages this site either ran out of cash or doesn't manage it very well." For another, "Under Construction" gives me no useful information, and that's generally what I come to a web site to find. And when sites do attempt to expand on the UC-decree, I find that I really don't want to know what I can't have yet. So you say an awesome page is "coming soon" that will allow me to reserve a table online? Well, good for Future Me.

My recommendation is this: If a simple site is what you can afford to build and have time to maintain, then do just that rather than making vague promises. Of course, be sure to give me the basics. And if you feel like ripping up the streets in a year or two, don't make it my problem. Do it behind the scenes and debut your new site when it's good and ready.

Journalists aren't supposed to comment out loud much about the things that sources and publicists do that gets under their skin. That said, they are all people, every last one... and sometimes they need to vent, just like the rest of us. Here is another anonymous missive from a frustrated journalist.

Want to know the difference between being mentioned in an article and being the main focus of it? Between getting great press and feeling ignored? Between staying in your kitchen all the time and being asked to do cooking demos and television? It comes down to one word:

WHY?

Meaning, quite simply, EXPLAIN YOURSELF! Have something to say! Tell me WHY you put those ingredients together, why you love that particular vegetable, why it’s important, why it works, why it’s great! We ask chefs about their dishes all the time, and it’s astonishing to find how many don’t know how to answer even simple questions. I’ve had chefs produce beautiful food, but when I try to interview them about it, they have no story, no explanation, there’s seemingly no thought behind the dish. So I move on, to the chef who has thought about his food, and has something to say to me. And that chef gets the coverage.

For example, if I ask you why you combined strawberries and lemongrass in your dessert tart, I want to hear something like:
• Your grandmother used to make strawberry lemonade and this is a modern twist on the combo, bringing those flavors together with a nod to Nana.
• You were at the farmer's market in search of Asian aromatics, stumbled upon some irresistible strawberries while there, and decided to play with the combination.
• You and the other cooks were making a midnight snack and happened to sip a fruit-forward rosé while eating lemongrass chicken, and were inspired to combine the flavors.

What I don’t want to hear; what gets me nowhere, is:

• I don’t know; it seemed good.
• We’ve always done it that way, and people like it.
• It’s just really good.

Bottom line: if you can’t tell me what is great about your food, your family, your favorite piece of cooking equipment, your garden at home, etc., then I can’t tell you why I should cover it.

Restaurant owners love to yammer about how they differentiate themselves from their competitors, so as to be memorable in the minds of diners. There’s a certain amount of truth to this claim, especially when it comes to fine diners who are always searching for the next New Thing.

(And, indeed, that’s why I’m always preaching the Gospel of Be Yourself; we are all tiny snowflakes, don’t ya know?)

That said, there comes a time when it’s good to go with the flow, to do things your competitors are doing -- not their way, mind you, your way, but doing what is being done.

Holidays, seasonal ingredients, famous moments in pop culture (such as the first moonwalk, whether Neil Armstrong’s or Michael Jackson’s) have the power to set the media off and running, rounding up the best interpretations of the food and events on peoples' minds.

Of course, please also tell your publicist what you are doing asap. When a tree falls in the forest, guess what, nobody cares.

The Restaurant Intelligence Agency web site provides a friendly reminder to journalists about upcoming events; the Events tab makes it easy for reporters to identify a handful or a dozen restaurants’, say, Halloween events (after all, it’s only two-and-a-half months away, the blink of an eye for magazine editors).

My point: Even while staying true to your brand, you can take advantage of group-think by jumping on predictable news hooks. Now find a calendar and start planning!

I love the expression, “There’s no such thing as half-pregnant.” It’s a great reminder that sometimes life is cut-and-dried. These days, it seems more fashionable to hang out in the grey area, where nothing is certain, everything is debatable, and logic is fuzzy.

As a publicist, I’ve got problems when my clients want to play in the grey because journalists deal in newsprint – a distinctly black-and-white medium. Of course, to tell a good story, reporters need nuance and musing and opinion. But first things first are the facts: when it comes to the bones, they want straight answers, not vagueness.

Worse yet is creating an illusion, which by definition is anything that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality. Much like your mother, journalists don’t like to be deceived. If you say the name of your restaurant means “patio” in Italian, then it better mean patio, not porch, veranda or gazebo. If it doesn’t, you can count on the fact that journalists will sniff out – and call out – your B.S. And when they discover your story is nothing but an illusion, they’ll have no problem making a cut-and-dried decision to drop you as a source for good.

Here’s a quick tip for reporters and publicists who can’t seem to nail down chefs for interviews: Stop being so flexible.

I get a lot of interview requests from journalists with some variation of the note, “I’m available whenever the chef is available.” It’s a nice sentiment, and I know reporters are just trying to be nice and flexible by leaving scheduling up to the chef. But here’s the thing: When I tell chefs a reporter needs to talk “whenever is best for you,” they say “whenever.” And that whenever is more about never than when.

They’re not trying to be jerks, but they really do fill their days just fine without extra requests, and many can’t possibly see when they have “free” time to talk to a reporter in some random future.

I always recommend reporters give chefs a few specific options and add “or another time.” This approach takes the burden of scheduling off the shoulders of the chef, and makes it far more likely you’ll get your interview before your deadline.

Remember when Match.com was in its heyday?

Every so often, we'd hear of one of those Magical Match Marriages. More often, we chuckled about those guys and dolls who advertised one thing and delivered another – you know, the 55-year-old guy who posted photos from college, thinking if he could just reel ‘em in, the ladies would fall in love with him, wrinkling skin, receding hairline and all.

Some restaurateurs do that – live in a dream world where their illusion of what their restaurant is exceeds the real story. In the dream world, the restaurant is drawing in “the right people," by which I mean the people who become the restaurant version of a "Miracle Match Marriage,” which are always most certainly not people who are coming into the restaurant now.

I heard yet another version of this tale of woe the other night. Newish place, starting a whole extra service period in an attempt to lure in a new audience and somehow dupe them into believing the restaurant is suitable for “a few times a week” dining.

One more time, with feeling: Be who you are! Seriously. If you find yourself telling a marketing person or your publicist that everything would be okay if you could just capture “the right people” (and these people aren’t sitting in your restaurant right now), stop. As in N.O.W. – because you’re starting to sound like those confused Match.com dudes.