How to taste
New Orleans.
Not did I like it, but can we say why this deserves its place? A method for reading a bowl of gumbo and a Gulf oyster, before anyone tells you whose grandmother made it.
Keep the method, not the mystery.
Gatekeeping hoards the map: you wouldn't get it. TasteKeeping does the opposite: it hands you the way to read a plate so you never need a critic again. New Orleans had the cooking for a century before it had a review. The job now isn't to crown things. It's to stay specific.
So we don't ask whether a dish is good. We ask whether it earns its place at the table, and we score it on six things.
Taste
Excellent as food: flavor, balance, finish.
Craft
Made with control: roux, stock, texture, timing.
Place
If this wins, is the city richer or poorer?
Story
Can the lineage or point of view be named?
Hospitality
Were you actually cared for?
Desire
Did it earn a next act? Would you go back?
The numbers stay in the notebook. What gets published is a caption: the type, the one-sentence argument, and a heart. Never the total.
First, read the roux.
Color is a clock, not a score. A blond roux is a quick cook; a near-black one is hours in the pot. Darker isn't better. It's longer. And a roux that's actually gone black is usually just scorched, which is a flaw, not a flex.
Then mark the profile before you photograph it: type, thickener (roux, okra, filé, or a combination), the broth, the rice. Okra isn't a defect. Tomato is an argument, not a sin. The pot tells you what it is; you don't promote it for being darker or fancier.
Every bowl is making one argument. Write it in a sentence: "Seafood gumbo that still believes in a dark roux." That line will outlive the total.
Then, taste the water.
A gumbo tastes like a cook. An oyster tastes like a place. The term is merroir: terroir for the sea, the idea that a Gulf oyster carries the exact water it grew in. So the first move is the same as gumbo: taste it naked. No cocktail sauce, no lemon on Pass 1. You can't read the water through horseradish.
Same six pillars, read for the shell: Place is the farm named and the water tasted; Story is the parish and the person who pulled it; Desire is whether you reach for a second before you've swallowed the first. Dress it however you like on Pass 2, but card the water first.
Then you give it a heart.
No stars, no ten-point flex in the caption. One heart, chosen by hand. The total doesn't pick it for you.
Say this. Not 10/10.
A number is a ranking, and a ranking is gatekeeping with extra steps. The whole point is that you can say something specific. Learn the words. Use them at the table.
The words to know
Taste it. Card it. Argue about it.
Get the free scorecards, run your own tasting, and see who's already on the city list.
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