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Fork Play September 17, 2009
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Late Blooming Seduction. Oceana.
George's Gift. Brasserie Dinner Giveaway.
Dear Friends and Family,
Even if nothing else tangible, bankable,
certifiable comes of Twitter, I can now say that Twittering has  opened
a new corridor in my life. An invitation to a dinner cooked, indeed,
one could say, hand-crafted, arranged and possibly even planted, by
the moody, fanatical three-star French chef, Michel Bras. For years
I'd heard about this icon and his peaceful sanctum in the
village of Laguiole in the faraway Aubrac mountains, but I'd never
eaten his food. So when I got a personal tweet from a totally unknown
follower that he had an extra seat at a dinner Bras would cook in New
York, I had to say yes.
I left the Road Food Warrior to his
own devices - he was tossing spaghetti puttanesca as I kissed him
goodbye - and got to wd~50 at 9:30, as instructed. Wylie Dufresne is
involved, molecular tricks, I'm thinking in the taxi, fake food. Will
it spoil everyone's fun if I hate it?
In fact, that first dish -- three lima
beans, a dab of fromage blanc and a rubble of cardamom salt -- did make
my teeth grind. No, please, no, I cried inside. Not a night of jokes.
I found myself wiping up the cardamom crumbs with my finger -- I was
starving.
Then came a tumble of greens and flowers
-- I recognized it as the mythic gargouillou, the chef's much  imitated
gathering from the garden. There were puddles too, emulsions, the server
called them, but intriguing. And so it went for nine courses, the somber
French chef assisted by Dufresne, his crew and a passel of eager, if
not mesmerized, volunteers as the tables turned all night.
Yes, here and there were powders and
strange potions, weird juxtapositions (toasted barley sauce and licorice),
but I surrendered to "brown butter crust" crumbling alongside peas
and beans followed by a cleverness of parsnip puree with black truffles,
celery root and ham jus nested under a parsnip umbrella. I hear the
server saying, "He took skim milk and added cream." But of
course.
"This is so money," cried my Twitter
Benefactor, long time sommelier and spirits dealer Jason Mablier.
(I never heard that expression before. One must keep up.)
 I'd already become very fond of our
host Scott Boswell, owner of top-rated Restaurant Stella in New
Orleans, and his wife Tanya, who were insisting it was a serious mistake
for me to put off visiting New Orleans till my next honeymoon. They
were transported by the chef's vegetal lumps and squiggles and rubble.
"I'm a 48 year old-man and
Michel Bras makes my heart flutter," Scott confessed. "This is a
dream I didn't think I could fulfill."
After the small pumpkin tart with hazelnut
oil ice cream came a wavy stuffed pastry -- brown butter mousse with
salted butter caramel in potato chips. "Potato tuille. What
a great way to end a vegetable meal," cried Tanya. Perhaps you had
to be there.
Oceana Sails Back
Into Midtown
The new supersized
Oceana, boldly anchored in haute seafood waters two blocks south
of Le
Bernardin
is officially open after a few circumspect weeks of  rehearsal. But many
longtime fans couldn't wait, me along them, and I was pleased to find
Chef Ben Pollinger already delivering his own aristocratic version of
Manhattan chowder with tenderest Manilla clams and linguiça sausage.
I sent friends off to try seafood sausage, stuffed calamari and shimmeringly
fresh oversize scallops a la plancha that got extra zing from an optional
tomatillo sauce. For more on what you want to eat at Oceana, click here.
Leave It to George
There were rumors.
And headlines about a court fight  for custody of Howard Chandler Christy's
sweetly innocent nudes on the walls of Café
des Artistes. Then came a letter with the striking asparagus logo
of restaurant consultant George Lang. "To abandon or mistreat a child
is bad enough," it began. "But to do the same to 36 old ladies,
especially when they are nude, is totally deplorable." It was January
19, 1976. Click here to remember how much New York and those "36 old
ladies" owe George Lang.
***
Celebrate at The Brasserie
Is it the anniversary of your arrival
in New York City? The day you fell in love? The weekend you cleaned
your closet? Is it exactly five years since you wrote a poem?
Is this the week you decided to give up dieting? Discovered Letterman?
Painted your toe nails purple? Tell me in 200 words or less what you'd
like to celebrate as The Brasserie marks its Fiftieth birthday. I'll
choose the most moving, the most meaningful, the most romantic or? Then
I'll arrange for Brasserie to host you at a three-course dinner for
two, with wines chosen by the house, anytime through October 31. Email me.
***
Michel Bras garden
plate by Chez Pim. Two photos from Bras dinner by Scott Boswell.
Photos of clams and calamari at Oceana may not be used without permission
from Steven Richter. |
Fork Play copyright Gael Greene 2009.
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