FORK PLAY April 18, 2008
Ariana's Boondoggle, Eli's Passover Revel, Kosher Wines, Pea Soup Epiphany.
Dear Friends and Family.
I seethed with envy reading in the Thursday Times that Ariana Huffington calls editorial signals into her blog from
David Geffen's yacht in Tahiti. Isn't that what we berry-stained food blogging wretches all dream of? I signed off on Monday's web site BITE exposing the Passover rituals of Eli Zabar from my cluttered makeshift desk with only a chunk of aging chocolate Passover cake to brighten my chores. Where did the glory days go?
What is remarkable about Eli is that he doesn't just market Passover, he revels in it. I find the passion in this unabashed rogue to be rather charming.
I'm also fond of his matzoh. It's not certified Kosher - so it won't work on some Passover tables -- but it's exceptionally crisp and deliciously tangy from its sourdough starter, a far cry from the freckled white commercial squares that look and taste like corrugated cardboard.
And what wine goes with matzoh? At dinner this past Saturday Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg arrived full of enthusiasm over the quality they found at a tasting of Kosher wines for their Washington Post column. Click here if you need a great white that goes with roast chicken as well as gefilte fish or a red to enhance the brisket that holds up to horseradish.
Eating Well is the Best Revenge
It's impossible to be jaded in this town. Well, I'm not and  I can't imagine I shall ever be as long as there are exalting surprises like the parmesan pea soup at Jean Georges last Thursday. In the middle of lunch, after my obligatory yuzu-painted uni on black bread, I found myself transported by this lush salute to spring - a molten flow of fresh English peas intensified with pea sprout puree poured over a creamy parmesan fluff. Small rye croutons toasted in olive oil lurked in the froth "for the texture contrast," as the runner recited. "Parmesan foam," Chef de Cuisine Mark Lapica described it, uttering one of my least favorite words. But it's not that tasteless bubble bath most foams mimic. It's a cheese-steeped cream, slightly aerated by being passed through a mesh strainer. I was being interviewed by Matt and Diana DeLucia from Restaurant Insider as I took my first spoonful and definitely lost my train as I gave in to the astonishment.
Kona kampachi sashimi served by Café Boulud chef Gavin Kaysen during a reception at Daniel, Daniel Boulud's annual benefit for Citymeals-on-Wheels, was another of those sublime texture surprises that make you stop in the middle of an obligatory kiss-kiss.
***
Joël Robuchon Cornered
You have your favorite sandwich shop. I have Fairway. My friend Bob has a corner seat at the counter of Atelier de Robuchon most weekdays. This delicious extravagance is his daily gift to the environment. He can walk the half block from his office. The chef himself was in New York for the week and Bob thought we should say "hello."
"Do you mind if I tell the kitchen just three dishes and no meat?" he asks me, groaning about his excessive excess. "Otherwise we'll be here all afternoon."
I guess I don't mind. I can always use a measure of imposed discipline since it would not enter my mind to be dietetically prudent in a rare visit to Robuchon.
I notice right off that the once skeletal mini baguettes have the same problem Bob and I have. They've plumped. I nibble on the crusty end. Bob looks away as if he can't bear the sight of my indiscretion.
Then comes the opening salvo, a tremulous panna cotta of white asparagus with slivers of green and white asparagus scattered about and a rivulet of raw tomato puree. I'm feeling thinner already.
The next dish makes a stunning entrance - a scattering of sea urchin with a few tizzies of frisee on sea scallop carpaccio with a shiver of lemon vinaigrette. I suspect the last minute plop of osetra caviar is an homage to ever loyal Bob but I know very well caviar has a way of turning up on the plate when the house recognizes that a critic is at their mercy.
"What is that? I want to order it too," says the man on my left, a Robuchon fan from New Jersey who confides that he's returning for dinner tonight with his wife.
At that moment the waiter delivers the guy's Robuchon mini burgers with a cone of very pale fries. "Oh Bob," I cry. "We aren't going to get the mini burgers?"
"You've never had them?" Bob asks. I've made him feel guilty now.
 "Take one of mine," my new friend from New Jersey offers.
"But they're so tiny. Are you sure?" He puts a slightly squished little burger on my plate. "I can't believe it. It's been a long time since a strange man gave up a mini burger for me."
After that juicy little morsel with its foie gras layering, I'm not too interested in my overcooked fish. But I recover with herb sorbet atop a Chartruese-scented sabayon with pineapple and lemon confit, a tangy tapestry that arrives along with M. Robuchon. We chatter in my rather whimsical French. I get an idea that we should borrow a jet to visit all the cities of the chef's global empire. The Chef loves my brainstorm. London, Paris, Monte Carlo, Las Vegas, Tokyo, Macau, and New York, of course. "We'll invite gourmands and charge $50,000 each for Citymeals," I improvise.
"Let's see if we can find a jet," he says. Then he dutifully notes that the man from New Jersey is returning for dinner.
***
Too Much Foam in Barcelona
My old friend Billy Cross checked in from Barcelona with his worst restaurant peeve. It was Billy and the late Michael James who brought the Great Chefs Cooking School to Robert Mondavi Winery in the 70's and ran it with unbridled luxury and fantasy touches I'll never forget - a table set with two hundred small Japanese vases, each holding a single flower, live crayfish in laboratory beakers. Why am I not surprised to learn that Billy's pet peeve is foam. Let's face it, Ferran Adria keeps his laboratory in Barcelona where he is surrounded by protégés, disciples and wannabes.
"Foam has gone from creative to boring. A beautiful new restaurant opened up down the street from my guesthouse on Gran Via. It is called Plau. Very modern, slick and hip. About 40 people sit at one long rectangular stainless steel dining table. Good food, great wine list (not hard to do in Barcelona), great music, great lighting; no flowers. Quite beautiful.
"I ordered braised lamb shanks on a bed of mashed potatoes. Wonderful. But without asking me, they brought me this awful GIN FOAM WITH WHITE TRUFFLES, served in a huge martini glass. They did not ask me if I wanted it and the worst thing is that 3 different people, including the chef, came over and asked me if I liked the damn thing. What could I say? Yes, it was interesting. They know that I own a guesthouse down the street and they want me to send my guests to them. Which I do. But I tell everyone who goes, avoid the foam." Find out what Billy Cross is up to now.
***
Peevish in Boca Raton
Jay Van Vechten, an old friend expatriated from New York, sends peeves from Boca Raton:
Having to ask for bread.
Having to ask for butter.
Having to ask for more bread and butter.
Having to ask for water.
Having my beloved bread and butter removed as my entree is presented. Hey....maybe I want to sop up the juices with that bread you just took away.
Overly friendly wait staff who act more like they'd rather eat with us than serve us.
Being asked "How's everything?" every 10 minutes by either the owner, the maitre'd, the waiter, or the sommelier - often breaking into our table's lively conversation and ruining the moment.
Dirty rest rooms at the height of the dining hour.
Twenty-something bimbettes in little black Spandex dresses who control the restaurant reservation list and look at you as if they're doing you a favor by acknowledging you or finding a table for you. Worse yet is when they order you to step aside and wait for your table somewhere other than in front of them. "Why don't you wait at the bar and we'll call you when your table is ready. You're blocking the entry."
When you complain about something being "off" and then have to face an imperious, pompous, self inflated boor who loudly says, as he hovers over your table, "What seems to be the problem here?"
***
The Road Food Warrior's Peeve
Once my guy decided some years ago that he'd already drunk his lifetime supply of booze, he discovered the joy of non-alcoholic beer with dinner. And it has fewer calories, too. Amazing how many restaurants with big bar action don't stock it. I'm also shocked when an upscale restaurant offers only a shabby, boring domestic alcohol-free label, O'Douls or Sharp. Any imported brand is infinitely superior. Steven likes Buckler, Clausthaler, Haake Beck, Kaliber and Pauli Girl. Some waiters and captains get testy when he asks for a non-alcoholic beer. "We like people who drink," said the Texas wife of a famous chef in Venice. I wanted to spank her for being so stupid.
***
Eli matzoh photo can not be used without permission from Steven Richter.
Fork Play by Gael Greene, copyright pending 2008
|
