You might have heard that I will be spending a few days in Paris. I have lunch reservations at Le Meurice and Taillevent, a charming hotel (Pavillon de la Reine) for the weekend, my beloved Sainte-Beuve for next week, and, mainly, plans to wander, read, browse, and basically unhook. You may recall that during last year's visit, I was felled by a nasty flu, so I am very grateful to have a do-over in 2010.
I will be in touch when I return!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Family of One Goes to Christmas Dinner
As previously reported, I have made sure these past few years that I have my own Christmas dinner, one that compares favorably with others that I have heard about in terms of cuisine and company. I take myself to my favorite restaurant, Eleven Madison Park, in New York City. I sit at "my" table, top level, closest to the windows. I yuck it up with almost everyone who is employed there. I have my book and my iPod. I reminisce with myself about the year just past. And, of course, I eat the delectable food stylings of Chef Daniel Humm and his remarkable staff.
I found this year to be an especially wonderful experience. I'm not exactly sure why. The folks in the restaurant are still over the moon about their four star rating from the New York Times, so the mood there is glorious. Chef Humm continues to challenge himself to create marvelous food. I felt fabulous, having enjoyed a successful work year and being in a good place, so to speak. On this particular evening, there were two experiences that made it a bit unique.
I have gotten to know most of the staff well, but had never had a chance to really talk with Will Guidara, the general manager, as he has been off on most of the nights that I visited the restaurant. I had heard great things about him from my dear friends, the Rs, and, indeed, had enjoyed chatting with him at a lovely lunch to which the Rs treated me the day before my dinner. I wanted to follow up on a couple of things that were mentioned, so looked forward to seeing him.
After a little while, I realized that I had spoken with almost everyone but Will. In the meantime, the fellow who seemed to spend most of his time downstairs kept coming over and asking if I needed anything. I was very dismissive of him. He had not buttoned the lower button of his blazer and I made a note to tell someone. I also could not understand why he kept leaving his station to come up to see me. I scoffed to myself that he must have seen all of us screaming with laughter and wanted to be a part of the fun. Well, he was not going to horn in on our party. He came by again and I picked up my book.
In a few minutes, I asked--where is Will? Oh, I was told, there he is and he has stopped by, but you are always preoccupied (what a lovely way to say that I was ignoring him). Oh, Lord Jesus, how rude could I be? I was horrified, particularly since we had engaged in such a lovely way just the day before. I could only chalk it up to the angle at which I was looking at him.
At any rate, he did return and we had a most delightful chat during which we discussed the various reasons that folks like to go to EMP--some for the incredible food, some for the beautiful dining room, some to be cosseted, some (like me) for the overall experience of being a part of something wonderful. It was during this exchange that the next wonderful thing happened.
On my way to the restaurant, I realized that I had left my reading glasses at Veselka when I was having bortsch and veal paprika for lunch. I stopped to buy another pair, but I really missed my original ones. I asked RK, one of the managers, to alert Sandra, a treasure of a maitre d', if she could call the restaurant and see if they had them. If so, I could jump in a cab and go down to the East Village and pick them up. I thought that calling from EMP might lend the request more credence than my trying to negotiate with the Ukrainian hostess.
Of course, you know what I am going to tell you. The lovely Sandra comes over to the table with my reading glasses on a tray! I nearly wept. Will was entranced as well. Even now, three weeks later, I still shake my head with awe at the kindness that did not need to be extended, but that simply was.
So, with all that excitement AND the laughs AND the ribaldry AND the exchanging stories, I need to remember that I did have an excellent meal-one of my favorites--
Santa Barbara Sea Urchin--cappucino with Peekytoe crab and celery root: one of my favorite dishes, so subtle in its textures, but so powerful in its saltiness and taste of the ocean
Foie Gras--mille feuille with big eyed tuna and watercress: an interesting juxtaposition of flavors that you think isn't going to work, but comes across amazingly well, especially with the textures of the foie gras and the tuna
"Winter in Provence"--black truffles, chevres frais, and potatoes: For this dish, a cooking table was rolled over and I, of course, had to comment that I did not realize Benihana influenced EMP. After Chef Fabien had cooked this dish for me, I almost had to lie down on the banquette. The combination of the various flavors--strong, bitter, soft, sweet--incredible. Although the dish did resemble a child's finger painting within seconds of presentation. A most memorable taste sensation.
Scottish Langoustines--poached with cauliflower, almonds, and raisins: delightful, subtle, discreet
Everglades Frogs Legs--sauteed with parsley and porcini custard:lovely in its simplicity, this dish is a tiny bit on the salty side, but I adored it.
Four Story Hill Farm Veal--braised veal cheeks with celery roots and black truffles: How could you go wrong? My favorite flavors in a robust, yet not overpowering, portion.
Fromage: Twig Farm Soft Tomme, Petit Sapin, Abbaye de Tamie, Cave Aged Gruyere
"Soda Pop"--Tangerine,grapefruit,pomelo, and lemon: a truly original rendition of that old favorite, pop rocks. Is there a more interesting feeling than the juxtaposition of exploding candies in your mouth while seated in a four star restaurant? I had two of this dessert.
What a Christmas dinner!
I found this year to be an especially wonderful experience. I'm not exactly sure why. The folks in the restaurant are still over the moon about their four star rating from the New York Times, so the mood there is glorious. Chef Humm continues to challenge himself to create marvelous food. I felt fabulous, having enjoyed a successful work year and being in a good place, so to speak. On this particular evening, there were two experiences that made it a bit unique.
I have gotten to know most of the staff well, but had never had a chance to really talk with Will Guidara, the general manager, as he has been off on most of the nights that I visited the restaurant. I had heard great things about him from my dear friends, the Rs, and, indeed, had enjoyed chatting with him at a lovely lunch to which the Rs treated me the day before my dinner. I wanted to follow up on a couple of things that were mentioned, so looked forward to seeing him.
After a little while, I realized that I had spoken with almost everyone but Will. In the meantime, the fellow who seemed to spend most of his time downstairs kept coming over and asking if I needed anything. I was very dismissive of him. He had not buttoned the lower button of his blazer and I made a note to tell someone. I also could not understand why he kept leaving his station to come up to see me. I scoffed to myself that he must have seen all of us screaming with laughter and wanted to be a part of the fun. Well, he was not going to horn in on our party. He came by again and I picked up my book.
In a few minutes, I asked--where is Will? Oh, I was told, there he is and he has stopped by, but you are always preoccupied (what a lovely way to say that I was ignoring him). Oh, Lord Jesus, how rude could I be? I was horrified, particularly since we had engaged in such a lovely way just the day before. I could only chalk it up to the angle at which I was looking at him.
At any rate, he did return and we had a most delightful chat during which we discussed the various reasons that folks like to go to EMP--some for the incredible food, some for the beautiful dining room, some to be cosseted, some (like me) for the overall experience of being a part of something wonderful. It was during this exchange that the next wonderful thing happened.
On my way to the restaurant, I realized that I had left my reading glasses at Veselka when I was having bortsch and veal paprika for lunch. I stopped to buy another pair, but I really missed my original ones. I asked RK, one of the managers, to alert Sandra, a treasure of a maitre d', if she could call the restaurant and see if they had them. If so, I could jump in a cab and go down to the East Village and pick them up. I thought that calling from EMP might lend the request more credence than my trying to negotiate with the Ukrainian hostess.
Of course, you know what I am going to tell you. The lovely Sandra comes over to the table with my reading glasses on a tray! I nearly wept. Will was entranced as well. Even now, three weeks later, I still shake my head with awe at the kindness that did not need to be extended, but that simply was.
So, with all that excitement AND the laughs AND the ribaldry AND the exchanging stories, I need to remember that I did have an excellent meal-one of my favorites--
Santa Barbara Sea Urchin--cappucino with Peekytoe crab and celery root: one of my favorite dishes, so subtle in its textures, but so powerful in its saltiness and taste of the ocean
Foie Gras--mille feuille with big eyed tuna and watercress: an interesting juxtaposition of flavors that you think isn't going to work, but comes across amazingly well, especially with the textures of the foie gras and the tuna
"Winter in Provence"--black truffles, chevres frais, and potatoes: For this dish, a cooking table was rolled over and I, of course, had to comment that I did not realize Benihana influenced EMP. After Chef Fabien had cooked this dish for me, I almost had to lie down on the banquette. The combination of the various flavors--strong, bitter, soft, sweet--incredible. Although the dish did resemble a child's finger painting within seconds of presentation. A most memorable taste sensation.
Scottish Langoustines--poached with cauliflower, almonds, and raisins: delightful, subtle, discreet
Everglades Frogs Legs--sauteed with parsley and porcini custard:lovely in its simplicity, this dish is a tiny bit on the salty side, but I adored it.
Four Story Hill Farm Veal--braised veal cheeks with celery roots and black truffles: How could you go wrong? My favorite flavors in a robust, yet not overpowering, portion.
Fromage: Twig Farm Soft Tomme, Petit Sapin, Abbaye de Tamie, Cave Aged Gruyere
"Soda Pop"--Tangerine,grapefruit,pomelo, and lemon: a truly original rendition of that old favorite, pop rocks. Is there a more interesting feeling than the juxtaposition of exploding candies in your mouth while seated in a four star restaurant? I had two of this dessert.
What a Christmas dinner!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Family of One Faces a Family Crisis
As you know, just hearing the word "family" sends me into something akin to orbit.
There is nothing like family. Family comes first. No one loves you like family. All phrases pretty much without meaning to me. As much I don't want to write that, it is true.
Until last week, when I saw, in action, that the family we create for ourselves is, indeed, the family of which platitudes are made.
At a sales conference in Dallas with my work family, I was tracked down by social workers and surgeons and nurses at High Point Regional Medical Center and told that Aunt Louise was in grave danger due to an infection that had gone untreated by her own physician.
Regular readers will recall that he is the one who was cursed out by the assisted living administrator who told him that he did not deserve to represent the Hippocratic oath for the horrible treatment he had given my 93 year old aunt.
His nonchalance is still wreaking havoc, two months later. With Aunt Louise semi-conscious, not able to swallow, and not coherent, the next of kin had to step in. Of course, Aunt Louise being Aunt Louise, she had refused to name a next of kin because she was afraid that it would hurt someone's feelings.
Christ, what a debacle. Between Mother's standard flair for the dramatique, my father's complete lack of attention because the doctor calling was from India and he professed not to understand him, and my getting bits and pieces of the story. . .well, it was just a bit stressful.
I was able to give the necessary authorization, but was told that we should be ready to move her to hospice.
Mother, of course, sees hospice as the multi-purpose solution, not realizing that it is, of course, a synonym for death's door. Mother kept telling the social worker, "Let's just put her in hospice and wait for her to get better". The social worker said to me, "do I have to continue dealing with Mother?" I would not have been surprised to hear Mother waxing rhetorically about the possibility of a kidnapping.
I had to decide whether or not to fly into the maelstrom that is my family in the greater High Point area.
At this point, I saw what it means to have "family". I walked back into a meeting room in which sat several of my nearest and dearest friends. Just seeing their faces as they assiduously worked on their spreadsheets brought joy to my heart. I would know what to do and they would be there for me. My beloved C talked me through several options. Dearest J and Darling J helped me focus and offered their wonderful perspective. New friend W offered practical and loving advice.
I made the decision to protect my mental health. I could manage Aunt Louise's care at a distance and probably do a better job from my own surroundings. I did not fly to High Point. At last report, Aunt Louise is holding her own. Yesterday she was doing "great"--eating ice cream and watching Carolina play Virginia Tech. Now, she is facing more surgery, but I am confident that she is receiving excellent care and I talk with her a couple of times a day. Whether her final days are next week or next month or next year, I am comfortable with how this is going.
Now, here is the part where I should write that it was wonderful to have that understanding of how a family can be a good thing. And, that is true. But, unfortunately, having seen that up close has only made me a bit sad for my life in Miami without anything close to family.
I can't tell you how many of you have told me your own stories of living in a place where you know so many lovely people, but your close friends are elsewhere. I know you will empathize and not think, "Lord Jesus, what else does this woman want? She has such a great life."
And, of course, I get to see my "family" often enough, maybe every two or three months. But, as I toy with goals for this new decade, I ask--maybe it would be a good thing to have one close friend nearby.
I am sure that by tomorrow, I will be back at 100%, delighting in my independence and, indeed, I have another post to share about my recent Christmas dinner. But, just for tonight, it feels good to let my guard down just a bit.
There is nothing like family. Family comes first. No one loves you like family. All phrases pretty much without meaning to me. As much I don't want to write that, it is true.
Until last week, when I saw, in action, that the family we create for ourselves is, indeed, the family of which platitudes are made.
At a sales conference in Dallas with my work family, I was tracked down by social workers and surgeons and nurses at High Point Regional Medical Center and told that Aunt Louise was in grave danger due to an infection that had gone untreated by her own physician.
Regular readers will recall that he is the one who was cursed out by the assisted living administrator who told him that he did not deserve to represent the Hippocratic oath for the horrible treatment he had given my 93 year old aunt.
His nonchalance is still wreaking havoc, two months later. With Aunt Louise semi-conscious, not able to swallow, and not coherent, the next of kin had to step in. Of course, Aunt Louise being Aunt Louise, she had refused to name a next of kin because she was afraid that it would hurt someone's feelings.
Christ, what a debacle. Between Mother's standard flair for the dramatique, my father's complete lack of attention because the doctor calling was from India and he professed not to understand him, and my getting bits and pieces of the story. . .well, it was just a bit stressful.
I was able to give the necessary authorization, but was told that we should be ready to move her to hospice.
Mother, of course, sees hospice as the multi-purpose solution, not realizing that it is, of course, a synonym for death's door. Mother kept telling the social worker, "Let's just put her in hospice and wait for her to get better". The social worker said to me, "do I have to continue dealing with Mother?" I would not have been surprised to hear Mother waxing rhetorically about the possibility of a kidnapping.
I had to decide whether or not to fly into the maelstrom that is my family in the greater High Point area.
At this point, I saw what it means to have "family". I walked back into a meeting room in which sat several of my nearest and dearest friends. Just seeing their faces as they assiduously worked on their spreadsheets brought joy to my heart. I would know what to do and they would be there for me. My beloved C talked me through several options. Dearest J and Darling J helped me focus and offered their wonderful perspective. New friend W offered practical and loving advice.
I made the decision to protect my mental health. I could manage Aunt Louise's care at a distance and probably do a better job from my own surroundings. I did not fly to High Point. At last report, Aunt Louise is holding her own. Yesterday she was doing "great"--eating ice cream and watching Carolina play Virginia Tech. Now, she is facing more surgery, but I am confident that she is receiving excellent care and I talk with her a couple of times a day. Whether her final days are next week or next month or next year, I am comfortable with how this is going.
Now, here is the part where I should write that it was wonderful to have that understanding of how a family can be a good thing. And, that is true. But, unfortunately, having seen that up close has only made me a bit sad for my life in Miami without anything close to family.
I can't tell you how many of you have told me your own stories of living in a place where you know so many lovely people, but your close friends are elsewhere. I know you will empathize and not think, "Lord Jesus, what else does this woman want? She has such a great life."
And, of course, I get to see my "family" often enough, maybe every two or three months. But, as I toy with goals for this new decade, I ask--maybe it would be a good thing to have one close friend nearby.
I am sure that by tomorrow, I will be back at 100%, delighting in my independence and, indeed, I have another post to share about my recent Christmas dinner. But, just for tonight, it feels good to let my guard down just a bit.
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