About 30 years ago I was offered an opportunity to be the restaurant critic for this newspaper. John Dorsey was the recently anointed restaurant critic for the Sun Magazine which appeared on Sundays, but the managing editor thought the daily paper should have a regular critic, too.

I was asked if I would be interested in trying out for it. I was interested. I like restaurants. I like good food. I like ambience. I was a little bored with what I was doing, so I thought I'd give it a try.

All I had to do was pick a few restaurants I thought might be interesting and write about them, turn in the "reviews" and wait to see what the editor thought of them. The trial articles wouldn't be published, but expenses would be reimbursed. If he liked them, I might get the job. If he didn't, nothing much was lost. Few people then or now entered journalism in the hope of becoming a restaurant critic.

Quickly I discovered that while I liked restaurants, the enjoyment of food and drink was not compatible with working. It's one thing to look at a menu, pick your food and wine, sit back and either enjoy it or send it back. It's quite another to have to remember what was ordered, what everyone thought of what they ate and drank, and to take notes on everything from the quality of the service to the crispness of the watercress.

These disadvantages were manifest in the course of visiting three restaurants, always with friends, of course. One had to be able to say that while one thought the baked Alaska was flat, one's friend thoroughly enjoyed the cherries jubilee.

I do remember that I and my friends had a good time at each of the three restaurants. At one, we had such a good time that none of us could remember precisely who had eaten what. A friend was dispatched to the restaurant the next day to bring back a menu so the meal could be reconstructed, a trial review could be written and the cost of the evening reimbursed. At another, the last in the trial, my friends and I encountered a really charming lady, who looked more and more familiar with the passage of time and gin. Turned out she was the managing editor's sister.

End of gig.

Within a year I was dispatched to the Middle East. This was not a punishment. It's just that I was not cut out to be a restaurant critic.

About the same time, Elizabeth Large was hired to be the restaurant critic for the daily paper. Today she is well known. Then, few knew her and some of my friends thought I had actually gotten the job and was using Elizabeth Large as a nom de gourmand.

I never regretted not becoming the restaurant critic.

Until a recent visit to a new and very popular fish restaurant in Fells Point.

The name of the place doesn't matter because we never did get to eat the food. But it is a place where each diner is invited - nay urged - to admire the fish on display before ordering. The line to gawk at the offerings was long. We passed on the gawk and sat at our table.

The waitress came.

"Would you like a bottle of wine?" she asked.

A bottle of wine? No cocktail first?

"Let me think about that."

"Would you like to go see the fish display?" she asked.

"No, we'll just order from the menu. How about the grouper?"

"The grouper's for five."

"How about the tuna?"

"The tuna's for six."

"What do you have for one, or two?"

"We have Dover sole, red snapper for one."

"I'll have the sole," said Mrs. Price.

"I'll have the snapper," said I.

"The snapper's for two," said the waitress.

"But you just told me it was for one."

"I made a mistake," said the waitress.

End of experience at trendy restaurant downtown.

"We're outta here," said I.

Now, if I were the restaurant critic, I might have bothered to ask the owners of the place what they might do if a whole evening passed without five people wanting the grouper at the same time. I do recall a restaurant in Athens, Greece, where patrons went to see the fish and ordered. If anyone there had been told the big fish was only for five, every plate in the place would have been broken. This is what Greeks do when they are angry, or happy, for that matter. What if beef and chop houses were run on the same principle?

For my money, the best restaurants tend to be the ones that have been around the longest and serve a reliable menu of cocktails, wines and food. Place the cocktails first in order because if the bar can't produce a good martini or Manhattan, it's likely that the kitchen can't get its job right either.

If the server (as in, "Hi, my name is Dennis and I am your server tonight") doesn't even offer a cocktail before anything else, there must be something wrong. Either the establishment doesn't have a liquor license or the servers haven't been instructed in restaurant economics - especially if the place is waiting for five people who want grouper all at once.

Restaurants that meet that requirement consistently are places in Baltimore such as Sabatinos, Tio Pepe's and the Cafe Madrid, The Prime Rib, Marconi's, even weird-but-good Martick's. I like McCormick and Schmick because they serve a grand martini and fresh seafood and the view of the harbor is splendid. The best French restaurant within driving distance is Tersiguel's in Ellicott City.

Those are my favorites, for what it's worth, which is not much. After all, I am a failed restaurant critic.