Because the last thing we want to do is catch them on their good behavior, we work hard at not letting restaurants know ahead of time that they're being reviewed. But sometimes, despite our best efforts, accidents can and do happen.

That was the case recently when I went to Fizzlebottom's Cafe, a nifty new gourmet soup-and-sandwich spot inside the Made in Virginia Store on Caroline Street. My identity as an FLS restaurant reviewer inadvertently got leaked. However, I wasn't the only person to blow his cover that day. I'd better explain.

On that visit, I ordered a cup of delicious Italian wedding soup ($3) with mini meatballs.

Next I had a savory Jamaican Jerk Chicken Salad sandwich ($6), with a side of boiled peanuts. They're all the rage in the Deep South, the young counterman said, adding that they taste not unlike chickpeas.

(Translation: They are an acquired taste.) When I commented on the subtle flavor of my super-moist sandwich, he said it had been achieved by first poaching the chicken, then using liquid instead of dry seasonings.

It was soon apparent that the fellow with whom I'd been speaking, the tall, lanky one with tattoos up and down his arms, was no simple sandwich maker but instead the 32-year-old owner of Fizzlebottom's, Justin Cunningham. Once he starts talking about food, he can be a little scary. There's something of the wild-eyed Southern boy about him--which is only fitting, since it was in Florida, at culinary school, that he earned his cooking bona fides. It turns out he's a full-fledged chef, one with big ideas.

And that's ironic given the humble lunch counter--minus an exhaust hood, a grill or even a range--he presides over. I next found out that Fizzlebottom's is named for his beloved pug, that learning to "cold smoke" proteins was the best part of cooking school and that pressed to choose a last meal, he would go with tuna tartare, a good bottle of red, a braised veal shank and a nice risotto.

A moment later, the photographer assigned to shoot the restaurant for the review unexpectedly barged in.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he said upon seeing me. "Have you told him yet?" he asked, looking at the chef.

Sheepishly, I let the owner know his establishment was currently being scrutinized.