Brent Donaldson

“We need you to step away from the wall, sir” is not the most endearing greeting you’ll hear at a restaurant, even if the cop who’s barking it is trying to do you a favor. His concern was that my wife and I and everyone else in Mt. Lookout Square remain intact that night, should the pipe bomb (or the impressive facsimile thereof) lying just in front of The Redmoor actually detonate.

Like a stout little German cousin of Knotty Pine on the Bayou in Cold Spring, Kreimer’s Bier Haus West offers laid-back family dining with a serene river view (in this case, the Little Miami).

I believe that an organic carrot tastes better than a conventional carrot, and thus never understood why advocates of organic lifestyles haven’t championed the superior taste of organic foods at least as much as they tout their health benefits.

My new theory posits that the carrying capacity for Westernized Pan-Asian restaurants correlates directly to the local population’s appetite for spicy mayonnaise.

When Salvatore Aracri, whose family hails from the Italian region of Calabria, says “it’s freshly made from zero,” the owner and floor-pacing manager of downtown’s Trattoria Roma restaurant means to say that all of his restaurant’s pasta is freshly made.