the ulterior epicure

masa
New York, New York

Of masa, the once-most expensive restaurant in the U.S., the few I know who have eaten there have said: save your money and go to Japan instead.

Having (finally) eaten at masa, I can’t say I would disagree with that advice.

This tiny temple of Japanese gastronomy was the talk of many towns when it first opened in 2005. Chef Masa Takayama had closed his acclaimed restaurant, Ginza Sushiko, in Los Angeles (now, the acclaimed Urasawa, run by his former assistant, Hiro Urusawa) and moved across the country and uptown to the hallowed fourth floor of the Time Warner Center.

The emphasis here is on the food. Photographs here are not allowed, a policy which I have been aware of for a number of years.

This restaurant seats 10 at the sushi bar and 26 in the “dining room.”

Why anyone would want to sit at a table instead of at the bar in this particular restaurant, I know not. Notwithstanding my strong preference for sitting at the “sushi bar,” the dimly lit dining room here, set off to one side, seemed like an afterthought next to the brightly lit expanse of the bar. Yet, during the length of my meal, the bar was four seats shy of capacity whilst the dining room was, at one point, full.* Continue reading ‘review: diva in white mourning…’

The John Dory
New York, New York

If I were to have twittered about my dinner at The John Dory in early May, I would have allotted my 140 letters thusly:

“Top product. Pricey. Bold. Pricey. Italy-on-Thames meets aquatic Antique Roadshow. Pricey. Easy service. Pricey. Great music. Pricey. Neon.”

Due to “storms in the New York area,” my 7:30 p.m. arrival was pushed shoved back to 9:15 p.m.

That’s not counting the 20 minutes I sat on the tarmac waiting for a “lead” to pull my plane 100 feet to the jetway. Nor is that taking into account the inexplicable 30-minute wait at the baggage carousel (why did I pack so much?). And, because every flight east of the Mississippi decided to arrive late at the same time, the taxi queue took another half-hour to crawl through.

Needless to say, I had blown my dinner reservation.

Continue reading ‘review: underwater kaleidoscope…’

Coquilles Saint-Jacques d’Erquy a l’Unilaterale”
l’Arpege, Paris, France

Unlike its brethren, l’Arpege does not cosset and caress.

Like the food it’s known for, this three-star Michelin restaurant is more hearth and home than retrofitted palace.

It’s surprisingly Spartan, awkwardly configured, and a bit dated.  It’s mostly red (carpet; upholstery; and strange, sombrero-like chargers) with honey-colored, wood-paneled walls inset with frosted glass triptychs of the Muses.  Squashes, gourds, and various petrified wood pieces decorate the ledges and tables.

Judging by the look and feel, one might never expect that this eclectically suited restaurant would be responsible for changing the lives of many people.

Countless diners have left Alain Passard’s unassuming restaurant in Paris’s 7eme with a different perspective.

Did it change mine?

Continue reading ‘review: la bohème…’

Corton
New York, New York

Every year around this time, my postman has the honor of announcing Food + Wine’s Best New Chefs.

Yes, little pleasures, tiny treasures.

And so it was, yesterday, after a lengthy and long-overdue date with my running shoes, I returned to my corner of the world to find the latest issue in my box.

Among the ten smiling faces on the cover was Paul Liebrandt’s (actually, Liebrandt never smiles, he smolders).* Given my rather breathtaking meal at Corton in early May, I wasn’t surprised.

Continue reading ‘review: a different side of flavor…’

H. Dana Bowers Point
Marin County, California

Do people on the West Coast live longer than those on the East Coast?

In five days and over the course of seven meals (four of which were tasting menus), foie gras only showed up once.  Seafood outnumbered the hoofed and fowl.  And vegetation of countless shapes, sizes, and colours dominated every plate (I’m purposely ignoring the cream and butter involved).

Did I mention that I climbed more mountains than the Mother Abbess in Sound of Music?  Being from the Shire, this little Hobbit got his work out on the challenging contours of the city.  Thankfully, the sky was overcast, with heavy fog in the mornings and evenings, making walking not only a pleasant sport, but a rather brisk one.

To me, this was paradise. Why had I stayed away so long?

Continue reading ‘america’s left bank…’

Premieres Asperges Vertes du Luberon
le Cinq, Paris, France

My friend Houston was landing at CDG just about the time I headed out for my daily weekly run. By the time I got home, showered, and changed, she buzzed me from her hotel. It was mid-morning and we hopped over to a café for some good-morning elixir.

It was Houston’s first time in Europe, and I was to be her guide for the next week [read about my [now aging] Europe trip HERE.]. Fueled by adrenaline, we (I was deficient on sleep as well) managed to barrel through the afternoon jetlag wall on nothing but coffee and two Pierre Herme macarons until dinner.

The last time I ate at le Cinq, this prince of Parisian dining rooms was under the command of Philippe Legendre. And though it was lauded and esteemed as one of the best Michelin three-star restaurants, I found the food tired and service haughty. I was not surprised to learn that it lost its third star a few months later.

Three years later, Legendre is gone and Eric Briffard is in, straight from the Michelin two-starred les Elysées du Vernet, where he made inroads among the more refined appetites in Paris. His following has tailed him to the Four Seasons.

Urged by a friend (and Briffard fanatique) to reconsider le Cinq, I returned with Houston and my college roommate, Hue (with whom I had lunch the day before at l’Ambroisie), in December of 2008.

Continue reading ‘review: syncopated…’

Corton, New York

Under a nagging canopy of weepy clouds, this year’s James Beard weekend came with its usual parade of press, big wigs, and restaurant indulgences.

My schedule was staggering: a five-day, seemingly non-stop roster of parties (including my friend’s Derby party. [Read: spoonbread, hot browns, and fantastic mint juleps.]), events, and meals.

I slept a collective 10 hours and managed to squeeze in a (lonely) 6 mile run one morning (New Yorkers really don’t get up before 7 a.m. on weekends, do they?).

In between sleep, friend-time, and party-hopping, I managed to squeeze in meals at:

Continue reading ‘another (wet) red carpet…’

Gourgeres
l’Ambroisie, Paris

Have you seen Doubt?

You should see Doubt.

I mean, Meryl Streep could read a phone book and make me cry. Or laugh. Or both, at the same time.

Actually, the real performance to watch in that movie is Viola Davis’s. Though Streep is onscreen for Davis’s entire five-minute appearance, Davis’s acting is so mesmerizing that it makes you forget that Streep is even in the movie.

In Doubt, Streep plays Sister Aloysius Beuvier, an iron-fisted principal of a Catholic school in the Bronx. Casting an accusatory eye on the innocent and guilty alike, she’s the type of nun who could sear the fear of God into a priest. And she does.

And that’s how the servers are at l’Ambroisie.

I’m exaggerating, of course. But just a little. Continue reading ‘review: doubt…’

Guy Savoy (Paris, France)

I was late.

My reservation at Guy Savoy was at noon. And it was just shy of 11.45 when I got the keys from the doorman. Having endured a painfully early wake-up call and restless shot through the Chunnel, I was underslept and overfed when I arrived at the Gare du Nord. This was not a great way to start a week of feasting in Paris.

Tongue awagging like a tired dog, I half-flung, half-dragged my suitcases up the looping staircase to my flat. As soon as I got in the door, I shimmied out of my jeans and into slacks, and washed and laced up.

It was just shy of one o’clock when I arrived at Guy Savoy. My apologies for being tardy were chased away by a flurry of welcoming attendants who took my coat and graciously showed me to my table. It was situated in the middle of the first of a series of rooms.

I was the first to arrive. And it wouldn’t be for another ten or fifteen minutes before my friends – two French food journalists, Verne and Sylvie, and a spouse – appeared through the sliding doors.

Continue reading ‘review: carnivale…’