Dependent relationship

The best relationships are based on love, trust and mutual respect. The worst drag on because of interdependency and that dejected feeling that nothing's better out there. The latter pretty much sums up my relationship with the Chesapeake Bagels by my office in McLean.

When I want a quick bite in the middle of the day, it's basically the only option where I can be in and out in 20 minutes.

Today, I ordered a vegetarian bagel with hummus, provolone cheese and veggies, but without tomatoes or sprouts on a sourdough bagel. What I got was a bagel with a little bit of hummus falling out the hole in the middle, a slice of cheese, a piece of lettuce and a tiny piece of onion.

I also found a couple sprouts stuck to the cheese, as if they'd included them, realized their mistake and proceeded to remove them by hand. There was also some suspicious pieces of something dark on the cheese that I hoped wasn't bacon, because I was so hungry I ate it anyway.

This should be the end of a mediocre relationship, but the truth is, it's not. It can't be. I'm dependent on the Chesapeake Bagels in a strip mall in McLean. For my personal needs, I can't do any better.

Would I eat that?

Every Wednesday, I'll choose a random restaurant in Arlington I haven't been to and scan their menu for the first vegetarian entree. Then, I'll explain why or why not I would eat it, and what modifications would have to be made.

This week, I scanned the menu at The Liberty Tavern in Clarendon. Their first vegetarian entree is a woodoven fired pizza they call Classico. It includes San Marzano tomatoes, Bufala mozzarella, basil and extra-virgin olive oil. It costs $14.

I would eat this pizza without the tomatoes, but I probably wouldn't order it, because then I'd just end up with bread, oil and cheese. Though that simple combination would taste really good, I wouldn't be able to justify $14 for the meal unless my parents were in town buying me dinner.

Hold the Chicken

My name is Kiera. I’ve always wanted to be a food critic. I love food and I love writing, but for a long time I believed I was dreaming in vain. Traditional food critics must eat with an open mind and an open palate, subjecting themselves to all facets of the culinary world.

I love food, but I love it my way. I’m a picky eater, and I doubt a newspaper or magazine would hire a food critic with a lengthy list of won’ts.

I don’t eat meat. I don’t eat tomatoes. I don’t sit near to anyone eating Ketchup because it reminds me of blood.

I think airport Chinese food is a gift from god, and a giant spoonful of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter with a few chocolate chips on top is the perfect before dinner snack.

I’m the girl who will order a chicken sandwich without the chicken, and will ask for so many modifications I sometimes wonder if I’ve consumed more saliva than carbs in my 23 years of restaurant patronage.

I love food my way. But don’t we all? That’s why I think there’s a place in Arlington, and the Washington DC metro area, for my blog. Don’t people want to know not just how pretty a restaurant’s mashed potatoes look when carved into a flower, but if they were willing to remove the mashed potatoes in fear they’d come in contact with the noodles?

Don’t people want to know who cares not about their culinary prestige, but about making food exactly how you want it?

I moved to Arlington with my boyfriend, Jeff, and guinea pigs, Penelope and Teddy, two months ago from Madison, Wisconsin. There is still a lot in the local dining scene I look forward to exploring and sharing.

While I don’t have the money or the metabolism to eat out every night of the week, I have a few tricks to keep you entertained most days.

I’m open to ideas, suggestions and free meals. Just don’t tell me what to eat or how to eat it. That’s not going to get you anywhere, and besides, it would be in bad taste.