Michelin in Miami. Sugar in your Adobo?
Dear Friends,
Restaurants often blur the lines—between work and play, business and pleasure, strangers and lovers. It’s no wonder so many unforgettable stories start there. I can’t really watch The Bear—it feels more like a reality show than entertainment.
Depending on the owner and the restaurant, the dining room often becomes an extension of your personal life—and arguably, a reflection of the owner(s) themselves. It's a place where deals are made, friendships are deepened, and romance sparks—sometimes well past closing time. Most of those stories are going with me to the grave, but trust me: what happened off-menu was even more delicious.
Honestly, the nature of the work lends itself to immediate satisfaction, which can be highly rewarding. What’s better than triggering all the senses—sight, smell, sound, savor, sensation—and getting an instant response? But the coterie of relationships and connections remains my favorite perk. And if I’m being real, it’s probably what keeps most of us in the industry. Because with COGs and labor? It’s sure as hell not the margins. It’s a kind of addiction, if you’ve got the temperament for it—and if you’re good at it. Especially in cities like New York and Miami, where business, culture, media, finance, and the arts are in constant collision. Eventually, your friendships, your work, and your identity fuse so tightly, it all becomes a beautiful, chaotic dream-machine. I’m an advocate for this industry—clearly. And I highly recommend everyone work at least one day in a restaurant. If only to build some freaking grit, character, and a little compassion.
Befittingly, I recently had breakfast with an investor who said, “Nicole, you’re maybe the most networked person I know.” I laughed—I wish I could say it was all part of a plan. True, I like people. I like what I do. But restaurants? They open doors.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: food is the greatest social currency we have. You can unify over a plate of pasta way faster than policy or pickleball.
One of the friends I’ve had the joy of meeting through food is Mahira Rivers. She grew up in Hong Kong, lived the international kid life, and went on to become a writer. Notably, she spent nearly five years as an anonymous inspector for the Michelin Guides North America, critiquing restaurants across the country. She’s a gem, truly, and I’ve cherished our meals and conversations.
These days, you can catch her work as an occasional critic for The New York Times, with bylines in Grub Street and Resy. (A little behind-the-scenes note: critics never dine alone, so tagging along is always a treat—they have to order nearly the whole menu.
And speaking of the Michelin Guide—last night, they announced their winners for Florida, and I’m ecstatic to share that Chef Nando and Chef Val Chang, along with the crew at Itamae Ao, were awarded one Michelin star. This Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant continues to cement the Chang family as a true culinary dynasty.
Ever wonder who the inspectors are and what they actually think? Well, first—make a reservation at Itamae Ao (or their other spot, Maty’s) the next time you’re in Miami. And second—read Mahira’s work. It offers a rare glimpse into how a Michelin-trained palate thinks.
In her latest feature for Taste, Mahira dives into how sugar is quietly reshaping the flavor profiles of iconic Asian dishes—raising questions about tradition, global palates, and what we risk losing when flavor follows the money.
We had an exploratory conversation about the sweetness in Filipino food, and some of that dialogue made its way into the piece. Check it out: “Not Too Sweet?” or Too Sweet to Fail by Mahira Rivers.
Sweetly,
Nicole
Front photo: Filipino traditional dessert, Biko. Pinterest.
Back photo: Mahira Rivers
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