As promised, I want to tell you about the most wonderful meal that I had on my trip to Spain. In the next few days, I'll share with you the runner-up meals, but this one has such a special patina that I decided to lead with it.
I had been told to try Sergi Arola's restaurants and so I made reservations at his restaurant at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona and at what appeared to be a casual restaurant at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. Because I had so many other high-maintenance reservations, I decided that would be enough of his cuisine.
On Monday, November 9, knowing that it was a national holiday, I scampered over to the Reina Sofia Museum to see Guernica and to have a delightful lunch. I had checked the guidebook and it said that the museum was open on Mondays, even holidays. When I arrived, it was closed up tighter than Dick's hatband (a favorite expression of Mother's which I don't completely understand). I was not particularly disappointed as I was a bit jetlagged and the thought of a long nap on the Heavenly Bed was fine, especially since I had recently partaken of the enormous buffet at the Westin Palace dining room. I decided to stop for a Coke Zero and a can of Pringles and climb into bed with my book. I had seen about as much of Madrid as I wanted to and it was a cloudy, gray day.
Returning to my room, I put on my Queen Bee pajamas and flung myself across the bed. I decided to look over my restaurant reservations for Barcelona and, as I was doing so, I noticed that the reservation that day for Arola was not at the Reina Sofia, but on a street whose name I did not recognize. I realized that American Express must have made the reservation at one of the "real" restaurants. Cuss a rutabaga, I said to myself. I should probably go down and tell the concierge to call and apologize for my not cancelling the reservation which was for 1:00 and it was now 2:30. I placed on my casual walking clothes and went to the concierge.
As soon as they saw me approaching, there was much consternation. "Where have you been? They are looking for you to be at Arola", they screamed. I explained what had happened. They got on the phone with the restaurant and much high-pitched Spanish ensued. They looked at me and nodded, "Yes, she will be there in ten minutes". They hung up and said, "they only have a few reservations today because it is a holiday and they are getting ready to close and we told them to hold the restaurant open for you". I was aghast. "Oh, that is not necessary", I said, "I will be OK going another time". "No, you must go today. There is to be no more discussion. We need to get you into a cab".
I am most happy when I know where I am going. I don't think that I am alone in this preference. I had absolutely no idea where the cab was going. I only knew that I had over 200 euros, so I should have enough to cover it. I called my beloved K from the cab and said, "do you think this is going to be OK?" She screamed with excitement and said, "you are having a surprise meal--how incredibly fun--enjoy every second". And, it's true. When you are traveling by yourself, you always know where you going to eat, so it is very unusual to have a meal for which you have no advance knowledge.
The taxi drove down several beautiful tree-lined streets and suddenly pulled up at a restaurant in a very posh district. The most handsome man was standing in the street waiting--for me, it turned out. He was anxiously looking from side to side and smiled happily when he saw me. He ran over to open the door and said, "we must get you into the restaurant". I apologized profusely for causing him to stay open and he said, "not another word, just relax and enjoy yourself. You will be the only person in the restaurant".
Well, that wasn't exactly the case as I entered a long, narrow room decorated very sparsely, but in an attractive contemporary style. I was seated on a banquette towards the back, about four tables away from a couple who was finishing up their meal.
The treats immediately begin arriving--cod fritters, Catalonian olives, tiny potatoes with a tiny bit of potato foam. There was a lovely glass of wine.
I was treated respectfully, but with alacrity. I could barely process what was happening, but I knew it was wonderful.
My first course was chestnut cream soup with sweet potato puree and bacon ice cream. Incredible.
The server asked me if I liked mushrooms and I assured her that I did. She said, "the chef has some extras from today and he would like to make them for you". I was served the most tasty range of mushrooms--delicate, earthy, chewy, smooth--in an incredible sauce that did not overwhelm the mushrooms.
It was about this time that I got just a little perspective on what was happening. Do you know that feeling when you suddenly find yourself with the opportunity to have incredible, passionate sex either with a stranger or your partner? You want to have that moment forever--the desire, the anticipation, the sensuality--but, you can't hold on to it for too long because real life will intrude and ruin the moment. That is how I felt--like I was being swept off my feet by one of the most magical meals that I would ever have. Part of me wanted to weep at the fact that I did not have hours to enjoy this experience, but the practical side of me knew to savor and enjoy every second, every moment. Because these folks wanted to get the hell out of there and enjoy their holiday, so I had to be considerate of that.
I could see into the kitchen and there was no one there except for a lone female chef and a fellow mopping the floor. She was literally cooking this meal for me. The other patrons had left. It was the most empowering, humbling, hedonistic sensation to be alone in that restaurant.
Next up was one of my favorite fish that I always order on my European adventures, red mullet served with cucumber and what I can only decipher as cream of flores in my rushed handwriting. Lovely. Simple. Perfect. It was accompanied by one of the most interesting taste sensations ever--perfect tiny Kenyan green beans with peach sorbet. I wonder if I could duplicate that in the triplex kitchen? Probably better not to try.
The dessert is one that I will remember forever--the taste, the texture, the temperature, the saltiness, the sweetness--coconut curry souffle.
The lovely staff started bringing out the petits fours, the macaroons, etc. I said (even as it broke my heart to have to leave this enchanted vacuum), "please just pack those for me so that you can go and enjoy your holiday".
Thank goodness I know that I can return to this restaurant so that I can have a more leisurely experience. But something tells me that no return visit will every duplicate the intensity, the excitement, the joy of this unexpected gastronomic adventure.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Family of One Enjoys Madrid and Barcelona
I am still reeling from the fabulous time that I had in Spain. I say this because I did not expect to have such a grand time. Interesting, maybe. Delightful, at times. But, I was completely seduced by Madrid, so much so that I am planning a return trip next summer. I adored the wide, leafy boulevards, the courteous, intelligent people, the interesting food, and the sense of contentment that I felt while I was there. I liked Barcelona and am happy to have spent five wonderful days there, but it was Madrid that really claimed my heart. Which fascinates me because I had not expected it. I felt such a familiarity there unlike anything I have experienced. When I am in Paris, I am just madly in love the whole time I am there, walking around saying quietly to myself, "je suis en Paris," and enchanted by every single experience. Which, let's face it, can become somewhat tiring. In Rome, I am mesmerized that I am attempting to buy a souvenir or have a meal next to a place where real life was going on thousands of years ago, so I am always slightly worshipful. But, in Madrid, I just felt happy.
While I had some wonderful meals, I am going to tell you in this post about some of my overall best experiences and I will post next week about the meals. They warrant their own post!
Best meal, hands-down: Just to whet your appetite (pun intended), the best meal on the trip, not to mention one of my Top Ten meals ever, was at Arola in Madrid. More to come.
Best taste--At another of Sergi Arola's restaurants, this one at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona, I had the most simple, yet flavorful, dish of the trip. I was served on the ubiquitous white dish--one fresh clove of garlic, one sliced tomato, a little pile of sea salt, divine olive oil, and a loaf of bread-voila, pan amb tomaquet. This was a dish that originated with the peasants who had very little to eat, but could always make a nutritious meal from these ingredients. So, I was instructed to spread the garlic on the bread, rub the tomato over it, sprinkle with sea salt, and pour a tiny amount of olive oil. Incredible. I thought that I could easily duplicate this in the triplex kitchen, but I am not so sure. The blue sea just beyond the window and the sheer perfection of those ingredients might make it tricky to replicate.
Best find--Gastroteca de Santiago was recommended in a New York Times article and was so good that I went there twice. Located just off the Oriental Gardens in Madrid, the restaurant is on a tiny square where only locals seemed to walk. To be continued.
Best hotel--The Palacio del Retiro exceeded all my expectations and now ranks as my second favorite hotel of all time. Located across from the beautiful Parque del Retiro, it is a seamlessly modern hotel in an early 20th century residence that has been beautifully converted. My room had four sets of floor to ceiling windows overlooking a courtyard and covered in gray sheer drapes that were like something out of a Catherine Deneuve movie. There was a comfortable sitting area, a fabulous king-size bed, lots of room, and, best of all, a four foot tall Phillips speaker on which I could play my iPod. The bathroom was equally posh with a wonderful shower and a soaking tub. Did I mention that I am going back next summer?
Best museum visit--I wandered over to the Prado on my first day in Madrid, having had a four hour nap in the Heavenly Bed at the Westin Palace where I stayed during the first part of my trip. I thought I would get the lay of the land, so to speak, something my father taught me on our many, many voyages through the 48 states when I was growing up. To my surprise, there was hardly anyone in the museum and I had quite a bit of energy. So, I toured a great part of it, having all of the galleries to myself. I was fascinated by the Titians and Tintorettos in particular. Although I will go back, I must remember that 5-7 on a Friday is the perfect time to go. The most interesting painting that I saw is by someone unfamilar to me and whose name I cannot decipher from my notes--Venenuano--and he painted A Last Supper that was very unusual as it depicted four dogs lolling on the floor and several of the disciples leaning back in an expansive mood. I must go see this again.
Best park--Yes, I love my dining experiences, but a close second is visiting parks and gardens. I carefully study the maps before I go to each city to find little-known parks and gardens, such as the one at Palau Robert in Barcelona. But, my complete favorite is Parque del Retiro in Madrid. So expansive, filled with such interesting architecture, such interesting people, and lots of venues to just sit and watch everyone. I loved that I was able to experience autumn and see lots of leaves on the ground, something that is foreign to the greater Miami area, of course.
Best cathedral--I also love exploring cathedrals. One of the most beautiful that I have ever seen was not exactly on the beaten path, but well worth the trip. San Francisco el Grande boasts the second highest dome in Europe outside St. Paul's in London and is so astounding and breath-taking in its majesty and elegance that I could not begin to capture it with a photo. There was a mass going on when I was there and it was a remarkable experience to see the parishioners who go there regularly in this magnificent space
Best concert venue--I was looking forward to seeing Brad Mehldau and Cassandra Wilson perform at Palau de la Musica as part of the Barcelona Jazz Festival. But, I was not prepared for the enchanting Art Nouveau architecture with one of the most stunning interiors that I have every seen. I was fortunate enough to be on the first row and so could appreciate every detail contained in the bas-relief muses on the back wall which can change color, creating a most magical effect. It was very interesting to be in an audience where I could not understand what was being said around me. It gave me a chance to really savor the incredible surroundings.
Most welcome meal--After a week of tapas and molecular gastronomy and sometimes not knowing exactly what I was eating, it was a pleasure to find a place simply called Entrecote, a short walk from my hotel in Barcelona. I now know that this is a "chain" called Le Relais de Venise, recently reviewed in the New York Times since an outpost had opened on Lexington Avenue , which boasts a very simple formula---wilted (not on purpose) iceberg lettuce with a mild dressing, nicely cooked and sliced entrecote in a tangy, yet soothing, sauce, and perfect French fries. Nice red wine and wonderful profiteroles. A very desirable meal, nicely executed.
Most overrated meal--Speaking of the New York Times, I could hardly wait to try the World's Best Sandwich, as touted by Mark Bittman. It was at a small sandwich shop called Viena on Las Ramblas. It is that wonderfully crispy bread with wonderfully salty Serrano ham, a bit of tomato spread, and olive oil. I could see that, at one time, this was probably a wonderful sandwich, but, in the three years since it had been so touted, I believe it had lost its edge. Let's just say that it cannot compare to the French dip at Houston's in the greater Miami area.
Another overrated meal (s)--I tried to like the gestalt at Alkimia and Cinq Sentis, both part of the "molecular gastronomy" scene. I had a better experience at Cinq Sentis where the tomato sorbet and the pan-seared scallop in sunchoke and onion glaze and the oxtail braised for 36 hours were all memorable, if not incredibly delectable. At Alkimia, I was given the worst table, in an alcove with no light. I asked for another table and was given a lecture on how lucky I was to have a table at all. Despite this unpleasantness, I settled into a nice routine with the servers, but I cannot tell you one thing that I had (they promised to give me a menu, so I didn't take notes) and I heard not one laugh, one chuckle, one guffaw in the dining room during the three hours that I was there. Dutiful is the word that I would use -for the service, for the food, for the experience.
Best hangout--I loved going into the huge, domed, somewhat shabby, but still sophisticated Lobby Bar at the Ritz. I went there after my exploration of the Prado and was fortunate enough to be in time for high tea which tasted just perfect. I went there several nights for post-dinner amontillado. My last day, I was so craving something "normal" that I went there for lunch for creamy vegetable (read tomato) soup and a plate of tea sandwiches. While I was there, visiting royalty prevented us from leaving the premises, so I was forced to watch as about twenty-four personages resembling younger Hillary Clintons and a man dapperly dressed in dark suit and sporting several medals entered the lobby. I never did find out from where he came. Still, an interesting way to spend an afternoon and much more satisfying to the soul than having to wait for an entourage containing the cast of Entourage to exit the Delano Hotel.
Best fancy meal--Beautifully prepared and served at Lasarte in Barcelona where Martin Berasategue earned his one Michelin star after only being in business for ten months. A striking and lovely 35 seat venue. More to come.
Most interesting meal--Viridiana in Madrid where the longtime chef openly scorned me, but I made the acquaintance of a lovely couple next to me--the woman named Marie-Jose!!-as well as an actor from the US who had gone to Duke and was a huge Yankees fan. As they say, what are the chances?
At this point, I will either need to say good night or book a trip for next week, so let me repair to my own kitchen for some spaghetti Bolognese and a glass of St. Emilion. To be continued with the emphasis on the five best meals.
While I had some wonderful meals, I am going to tell you in this post about some of my overall best experiences and I will post next week about the meals. They warrant their own post!
Best meal, hands-down: Just to whet your appetite (pun intended), the best meal on the trip, not to mention one of my Top Ten meals ever, was at Arola in Madrid. More to come.
Best taste--At another of Sergi Arola's restaurants, this one at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona, I had the most simple, yet flavorful, dish of the trip. I was served on the ubiquitous white dish--one fresh clove of garlic, one sliced tomato, a little pile of sea salt, divine olive oil, and a loaf of bread-voila, pan amb tomaquet. This was a dish that originated with the peasants who had very little to eat, but could always make a nutritious meal from these ingredients. So, I was instructed to spread the garlic on the bread, rub the tomato over it, sprinkle with sea salt, and pour a tiny amount of olive oil. Incredible. I thought that I could easily duplicate this in the triplex kitchen, but I am not so sure. The blue sea just beyond the window and the sheer perfection of those ingredients might make it tricky to replicate.
Best find--Gastroteca de Santiago was recommended in a New York Times article and was so good that I went there twice. Located just off the Oriental Gardens in Madrid, the restaurant is on a tiny square where only locals seemed to walk. To be continued.
Best hotel--The Palacio del Retiro exceeded all my expectations and now ranks as my second favorite hotel of all time. Located across from the beautiful Parque del Retiro, it is a seamlessly modern hotel in an early 20th century residence that has been beautifully converted. My room had four sets of floor to ceiling windows overlooking a courtyard and covered in gray sheer drapes that were like something out of a Catherine Deneuve movie. There was a comfortable sitting area, a fabulous king-size bed, lots of room, and, best of all, a four foot tall Phillips speaker on which I could play my iPod. The bathroom was equally posh with a wonderful shower and a soaking tub. Did I mention that I am going back next summer?
Best museum visit--I wandered over to the Prado on my first day in Madrid, having had a four hour nap in the Heavenly Bed at the Westin Palace where I stayed during the first part of my trip. I thought I would get the lay of the land, so to speak, something my father taught me on our many, many voyages through the 48 states when I was growing up. To my surprise, there was hardly anyone in the museum and I had quite a bit of energy. So, I toured a great part of it, having all of the galleries to myself. I was fascinated by the Titians and Tintorettos in particular. Although I will go back, I must remember that 5-7 on a Friday is the perfect time to go. The most interesting painting that I saw is by someone unfamilar to me and whose name I cannot decipher from my notes--Venenuano--and he painted A Last Supper that was very unusual as it depicted four dogs lolling on the floor and several of the disciples leaning back in an expansive mood. I must go see this again.
Best park--Yes, I love my dining experiences, but a close second is visiting parks and gardens. I carefully study the maps before I go to each city to find little-known parks and gardens, such as the one at Palau Robert in Barcelona. But, my complete favorite is Parque del Retiro in Madrid. So expansive, filled with such interesting architecture, such interesting people, and lots of venues to just sit and watch everyone. I loved that I was able to experience autumn and see lots of leaves on the ground, something that is foreign to the greater Miami area, of course.
Best cathedral--I also love exploring cathedrals. One of the most beautiful that I have ever seen was not exactly on the beaten path, but well worth the trip. San Francisco el Grande boasts the second highest dome in Europe outside St. Paul's in London and is so astounding and breath-taking in its majesty and elegance that I could not begin to capture it with a photo. There was a mass going on when I was there and it was a remarkable experience to see the parishioners who go there regularly in this magnificent space
Best concert venue--I was looking forward to seeing Brad Mehldau and Cassandra Wilson perform at Palau de la Musica as part of the Barcelona Jazz Festival. But, I was not prepared for the enchanting Art Nouveau architecture with one of the most stunning interiors that I have every seen. I was fortunate enough to be on the first row and so could appreciate every detail contained in the bas-relief muses on the back wall which can change color, creating a most magical effect. It was very interesting to be in an audience where I could not understand what was being said around me. It gave me a chance to really savor the incredible surroundings.
Most welcome meal--After a week of tapas and molecular gastronomy and sometimes not knowing exactly what I was eating, it was a pleasure to find a place simply called Entrecote, a short walk from my hotel in Barcelona. I now know that this is a "chain" called Le Relais de Venise, recently reviewed in the New York Times since an outpost had opened on Lexington Avenue , which boasts a very simple formula---wilted (not on purpose) iceberg lettuce with a mild dressing, nicely cooked and sliced entrecote in a tangy, yet soothing, sauce, and perfect French fries. Nice red wine and wonderful profiteroles. A very desirable meal, nicely executed.
Most overrated meal--Speaking of the New York Times, I could hardly wait to try the World's Best Sandwich, as touted by Mark Bittman. It was at a small sandwich shop called Viena on Las Ramblas. It is that wonderfully crispy bread with wonderfully salty Serrano ham, a bit of tomato spread, and olive oil. I could see that, at one time, this was probably a wonderful sandwich, but, in the three years since it had been so touted, I believe it had lost its edge. Let's just say that it cannot compare to the French dip at Houston's in the greater Miami area.
Another overrated meal (s)--I tried to like the gestalt at Alkimia and Cinq Sentis, both part of the "molecular gastronomy" scene. I had a better experience at Cinq Sentis where the tomato sorbet and the pan-seared scallop in sunchoke and onion glaze and the oxtail braised for 36 hours were all memorable, if not incredibly delectable. At Alkimia, I was given the worst table, in an alcove with no light. I asked for another table and was given a lecture on how lucky I was to have a table at all. Despite this unpleasantness, I settled into a nice routine with the servers, but I cannot tell you one thing that I had (they promised to give me a menu, so I didn't take notes) and I heard not one laugh, one chuckle, one guffaw in the dining room during the three hours that I was there. Dutiful is the word that I would use -for the service, for the food, for the experience.
Best hangout--I loved going into the huge, domed, somewhat shabby, but still sophisticated Lobby Bar at the Ritz. I went there after my exploration of the Prado and was fortunate enough to be in time for high tea which tasted just perfect. I went there several nights for post-dinner amontillado. My last day, I was so craving something "normal" that I went there for lunch for creamy vegetable (read tomato) soup and a plate of tea sandwiches. While I was there, visiting royalty prevented us from leaving the premises, so I was forced to watch as about twenty-four personages resembling younger Hillary Clintons and a man dapperly dressed in dark suit and sporting several medals entered the lobby. I never did find out from where he came. Still, an interesting way to spend an afternoon and much more satisfying to the soul than having to wait for an entourage containing the cast of Entourage to exit the Delano Hotel.
Best fancy meal--Beautifully prepared and served at Lasarte in Barcelona where Martin Berasategue earned his one Michelin star after only being in business for ten months. A striking and lovely 35 seat venue. More to come.
Most interesting meal--Viridiana in Madrid where the longtime chef openly scorned me, but I made the acquaintance of a lovely couple next to me--the woman named Marie-Jose!!-as well as an actor from the US who had gone to Duke and was a huge Yankees fan. As they say, what are the chances?
At this point, I will either need to say good night or book a trip for next week, so let me repair to my own kitchen for some spaghetti Bolognese and a glass of St. Emilion. To be continued with the emphasis on the five best meals.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Family of One Celebrates Thanksgiving
Thanks to all of you who have asked for an update of the travels and meals in Madrid and Barcelona. I have been just a tiny bit consumed with getting back orders filled for my customers, but I will have an update for you by the end of the weekend.
For now, I wanted to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and to tell you that I am looking forward to a lovely day tomorrow. I am going to a nice breakfast in a fancy hotel somewhere in Miami and, for the big meal, I am going to the lovely Azul, the restaurant at the Mandarin Oriental where I have requested a seat on the balcony overlooking Biscayne Bay.
Thanksgiving used to be a fairly tough holiday for Family of One. There is so much emphasis on joining around a table of bountiful blessings, overeating and storytelling with family from near and far. I was always invited to several dinners, usually with the word "stray" or "orphan" attached. I know that these invitations were well-meaning and the dinners were fine. But, one year, I decided to just do what I love best--make a reservation at a lovely restaurant and enjoy my own company as well as checking out what is happening around me. I never looked back.
Until last year. I was issued an invitation by the husband of my minister at the time. I thought--I need to not be so focused on this single person enjoying T'giving. He said that there would be a large group of their friends and he did not use the word "stray". There were indeed lovely people gathered. But, not one of them was from Miami and they were all a part of the same friend circle, so every joke, every reference had to be explained to me. I felt badly for them because it had been a well-meaning gesture. But, I could hardly wait to get home and revel in my own company and talk to my friends to exchange stories about the Thanksgiving table as we like to do.
So, I am looking forward to a six course tasting menu tomorrow and the food issue of the New Yorker to keep me company. There will be at least a couple of tables that will strike up a conversation with me. And, I will order at least one glass of Veuve to toast you, my friends far and wide, so very dear to me. And, hope that you are having a fabulous day as well.
For now, I wanted to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and to tell you that I am looking forward to a lovely day tomorrow. I am going to a nice breakfast in a fancy hotel somewhere in Miami and, for the big meal, I am going to the lovely Azul, the restaurant at the Mandarin Oriental where I have requested a seat on the balcony overlooking Biscayne Bay.
Thanksgiving used to be a fairly tough holiday for Family of One. There is so much emphasis on joining around a table of bountiful blessings, overeating and storytelling with family from near and far. I was always invited to several dinners, usually with the word "stray" or "orphan" attached. I know that these invitations were well-meaning and the dinners were fine. But, one year, I decided to just do what I love best--make a reservation at a lovely restaurant and enjoy my own company as well as checking out what is happening around me. I never looked back.
Until last year. I was issued an invitation by the husband of my minister at the time. I thought--I need to not be so focused on this single person enjoying T'giving. He said that there would be a large group of their friends and he did not use the word "stray". There were indeed lovely people gathered. But, not one of them was from Miami and they were all a part of the same friend circle, so every joke, every reference had to be explained to me. I felt badly for them because it had been a well-meaning gesture. But, I could hardly wait to get home and revel in my own company and talk to my friends to exchange stories about the Thanksgiving table as we like to do.
So, I am looking forward to a six course tasting menu tomorrow and the food issue of the New Yorker to keep me company. There will be at least a couple of tables that will strike up a conversation with me. And, I will order at least one glass of Veuve to toast you, my friends far and wide, so very dear to me. And, hope that you are having a fabulous day as well.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Family of One Takes a Vacation
I wanted to let you know that I will be taking a holiday in Spain--Madrid and Barcelona--and will return in two weeks to update you on the adventures of traveling alone.
I must tell you that I have been very nervous these past few days as I contemplated being completely on my own for twelve days, the longest time that I have ever spent totally in my own company. I am hoping that I do not get totally sick of myself because I am not sure what the solution would be if I did. My trips recently have been filled with interesting interactions, so I am hoping the same holds here. Although I did go to Lisbon last summer and spoke to not one single person of interest for a week. But, I am planning a do-over trip there before long.
Last year, in Prague, I saw the most lovely lady having breakfast with her husband in the dining room at the Four Seasons where I was staying. She was a delight to look at because everything about her was just lovely. So, I went over and told her how great she looked and that she should be very happy that she had taken such good care of herself because it had really paid off. Later, I ran into her husband and her on my floor and I was petrified that she thought I was stalking her.
Well, about three days later, I was finishing up breakfast at the Four Seasons in Budapest about 10:30 and who walks in but her! She acted like she had seen Angelina Jolie and came running over to my table. She said that she had never gone out on her own on a vacation and while her husband was taking a tour, she decided to come and have a snack and browse through a Vogue that she had just picked up. She asked if I would join her in a glass of champagne and said how much my compliment had meant to her. It turns out that she had married this wonderful doctor rather late in life and they had a fairy tale life of travel and long, sexy weekends in their A frame home in northern Michigan. It was such a delightful treat to run into her.
OK, I am feeling better. Maybe I will meet someone like her. Or maybe not. But, I will let you know when I get back!
I must tell you that I have been very nervous these past few days as I contemplated being completely on my own for twelve days, the longest time that I have ever spent totally in my own company. I am hoping that I do not get totally sick of myself because I am not sure what the solution would be if I did. My trips recently have been filled with interesting interactions, so I am hoping the same holds here. Although I did go to Lisbon last summer and spoke to not one single person of interest for a week. But, I am planning a do-over trip there before long.
Last year, in Prague, I saw the most lovely lady having breakfast with her husband in the dining room at the Four Seasons where I was staying. She was a delight to look at because everything about her was just lovely. So, I went over and told her how great she looked and that she should be very happy that she had taken such good care of herself because it had really paid off. Later, I ran into her husband and her on my floor and I was petrified that she thought I was stalking her.
Well, about three days later, I was finishing up breakfast at the Four Seasons in Budapest about 10:30 and who walks in but her! She acted like she had seen Angelina Jolie and came running over to my table. She said that she had never gone out on her own on a vacation and while her husband was taking a tour, she decided to come and have a snack and browse through a Vogue that she had just picked up. She asked if I would join her in a glass of champagne and said how much my compliment had meant to her. It turns out that she had married this wonderful doctor rather late in life and they had a fairy tale life of travel and long, sexy weekends in their A frame home in northern Michigan. It was such a delightful treat to run into her.
OK, I am feeling better. Maybe I will meet someone like her. Or maybe not. But, I will let you know when I get back!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Family of One Deals with Miscreants at the Biltmore Gym
As I was working on the draft for this post, I pondered exactly why this particular subject could be considered relevant in a blog called Family of One. After all, each one of us has our particular annoyances at the gym whether an orphan or a quadruplet. But, it occurred to me that the reason I wanted to share these thoughts with you is because as a Family of One, I don't have the luxury of being able to regale a captive companion (i.e., spouse, significant other) with them. I am not sure if this is especially good or bad, but I do think that it is important for us to be able to process our annoying experiences through the lens of someone else to keep our perspective. I am counting on you to help me do that and thus prevent me from one day going completely ballistic in the gymnasium and risking expulsion as I did last year when I had the resistance set on 25 on the recumbent bicycle and almost had a heart attack.
To me, the overarching annoyance at the gym can be summed up very simply--it's only about me. You know that expression that we all use about our business plans--80% of the total is controlled by 20% of the customers? Well, that is what I think about the folks in a gym. 80% are perfectly lovely, considerate, well-behaved. They take the time to wipe off the machine with a wet towel before they leave, they only stay the alotted time, they make eye contact and smile pleasantly. But, that other 20%? Oh, boy! Do they ever make life miserable for the rest of us!
After watching how one person can ruin a workout for twenty, I decided that it was causing me too much stress to keep quiet. The principal rudeness is talking too loudly on a cell phone, followed closely by chatting with others in a loud tone.I did not want to become known as the local bee-yotch, but nor did I want to be known as that middle-aged plump lady who will put up with anything. I established a five minute zone during which the person is allowed to blab as loudly as he likes. It quickly became obvious that there would need to be different strategies for different groups. For example, middle-aged to elderly women respond best to "SSSHSHSHSHHH" in a sharp hiss. Younger women respond to "Please be a little quieter" with a pleasant look. Men in general respond best to "sir, could I ask you to be a little quieter as I can hear you through my iPod on its highest volume?" These strategies have all worked out pretty well. I will be interested in what you say at your gym to such badly behaved gymnasts.
One of the more interesting exchanges--and just having an exchange is interesting because they so rarely happen--occurred a couple of weeks ago. I was on the elliptical next to a treadmill. A man in his late 20s who was obviously very important as illustrated by his high quotient of designer gym ware jumped on and immediately began taking calls on his blackberry which, unfortunately, had the same ringtone as mine. Every time it rang, I jumped out of my skin. He tried to make eye contact with me in a triumphant way to share his importance with me. Finally, I had enough. I said, "sir, your phone has the same ringtone as mine and it is completely ruining these few minutes when I am not a captive to it. Cell phones are not allowed here anyway, but I was going to let you get by with a brief conversation. But, this is becoming very tiresome". He smiled in a condescending way and said, "oh, you are mistaken. Cell phones are not banned here--just look at all of the people with them" and, as he said this, he looked around triumphantly, quizzically, despairingly. It was a beautiful sight because there were, of course, no cell phones to be seen. I smiled pleasantly and said, "I have three minutes left in my workout. May I ask you to silence your phone for those three minutes and, after I leave, you may return to talking and annoying the next person on this machine?" He begrudgingly agreed. But, guess what? When I left the gym twenty minutes later, he still had the phone turned off and exactly where he had left it!
The most annoying abuse of the machine that I have witnessed, however, did not revolve around a cell phone. There were four members of a family all using the ellipticals--a father (who was sporting a particularly heinous tank top and short shorts), a mother (late 40s, lots of bling), two lissome daughters fancying themselves to be Paris and Nicky Hilton. They had been on the machines longer than the allotted time, but showed no signs of getting off even though there were several of us waiting. In fact, they delighted in flaunting the fact that they were going to stay on the machines as long as they wanted! They treated them like an amusement park ride. They held hands in a long line of four while climbing; they turned around to face us and worked the levers backwards; they constantly gave each other high fives and screamed with laughter. I cannot tell you how much this was grating on me. You may ask why I simply didn't go to another type of machine, but, in the name of Madonna, I was going to get my workout on that elliptical. Finally, the mother stepped down in a fit of exhaustion, breathing heavily and doubling over. I leapt over and jumped on the machine with a dexterity that surprised everyone, especially me. Within seconds, another lissome daughter was at my side with a pouty face. "My mami said that I could have this machine and for you to get off". My response: "too bad".
When I first started going to the gym two years ago, I was approached by a wiry, older gentleman who was cute in a kind of aging leprechaun , Frank McCourt kind of way. He wanted me to show him how to use the various machines and it finally occurred to me that he was hitting on me. Indeed. His was a most direct approach: "The best lovemaking that I ever had in my life was with a large woman who lived on the Upper West Side of New York. You remind me so much of her. I am sure that I could have a better experience with you. I am happily married, but I would welcome the chance to get to know you better". I was fascinated by his approach--had I joined Plato's Retreat without realizing it? I have also been intrigued by a fellow named George who is about eight feet tall, approaching 70, bald, and has the loudest voice that I have ever heard. I was pondering how to get him to pipe down when I realized that he is considered the Biltmore Gym mascot, of a sort. Everyone knows him and tolerates his yelling because he is truly a kind guy and the gym is his main social outlet. So, I introduced myself to him and now I laugh and giggle with him and it is all very pleasant.
You might be wondering-ha, I bet Mary Jo has her moments of annoying others. I truly hope that I don't because I pride myself on being considerate in this world that can be so rude at times. But, I will confess to you that while on the recumbent bike the other day and, I swear, with no one around, I could not help myself from belting out the refrain to "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered", the fabulous song from Pal Joey.
To me, the overarching annoyance at the gym can be summed up very simply--it's only about me. You know that expression that we all use about our business plans--80% of the total is controlled by 20% of the customers? Well, that is what I think about the folks in a gym. 80% are perfectly lovely, considerate, well-behaved. They take the time to wipe off the machine with a wet towel before they leave, they only stay the alotted time, they make eye contact and smile pleasantly. But, that other 20%? Oh, boy! Do they ever make life miserable for the rest of us!
After watching how one person can ruin a workout for twenty, I decided that it was causing me too much stress to keep quiet. The principal rudeness is talking too loudly on a cell phone, followed closely by chatting with others in a loud tone.I did not want to become known as the local bee-yotch, but nor did I want to be known as that middle-aged plump lady who will put up with anything. I established a five minute zone during which the person is allowed to blab as loudly as he likes. It quickly became obvious that there would need to be different strategies for different groups. For example, middle-aged to elderly women respond best to "SSSHSHSHSHHH" in a sharp hiss. Younger women respond to "Please be a little quieter" with a pleasant look. Men in general respond best to "sir, could I ask you to be a little quieter as I can hear you through my iPod on its highest volume?" These strategies have all worked out pretty well. I will be interested in what you say at your gym to such badly behaved gymnasts.
One of the more interesting exchanges--and just having an exchange is interesting because they so rarely happen--occurred a couple of weeks ago. I was on the elliptical next to a treadmill. A man in his late 20s who was obviously very important as illustrated by his high quotient of designer gym ware jumped on and immediately began taking calls on his blackberry which, unfortunately, had the same ringtone as mine. Every time it rang, I jumped out of my skin. He tried to make eye contact with me in a triumphant way to share his importance with me. Finally, I had enough. I said, "sir, your phone has the same ringtone as mine and it is completely ruining these few minutes when I am not a captive to it. Cell phones are not allowed here anyway, but I was going to let you get by with a brief conversation. But, this is becoming very tiresome". He smiled in a condescending way and said, "oh, you are mistaken. Cell phones are not banned here--just look at all of the people with them" and, as he said this, he looked around triumphantly, quizzically, despairingly. It was a beautiful sight because there were, of course, no cell phones to be seen. I smiled pleasantly and said, "I have three minutes left in my workout. May I ask you to silence your phone for those three minutes and, after I leave, you may return to talking and annoying the next person on this machine?" He begrudgingly agreed. But, guess what? When I left the gym twenty minutes later, he still had the phone turned off and exactly where he had left it!
The most annoying abuse of the machine that I have witnessed, however, did not revolve around a cell phone. There were four members of a family all using the ellipticals--a father (who was sporting a particularly heinous tank top and short shorts), a mother (late 40s, lots of bling), two lissome daughters fancying themselves to be Paris and Nicky Hilton. They had been on the machines longer than the allotted time, but showed no signs of getting off even though there were several of us waiting. In fact, they delighted in flaunting the fact that they were going to stay on the machines as long as they wanted! They treated them like an amusement park ride. They held hands in a long line of four while climbing; they turned around to face us and worked the levers backwards; they constantly gave each other high fives and screamed with laughter. I cannot tell you how much this was grating on me. You may ask why I simply didn't go to another type of machine, but, in the name of Madonna, I was going to get my workout on that elliptical. Finally, the mother stepped down in a fit of exhaustion, breathing heavily and doubling over. I leapt over and jumped on the machine with a dexterity that surprised everyone, especially me. Within seconds, another lissome daughter was at my side with a pouty face. "My mami said that I could have this machine and for you to get off". My response: "too bad".
When I first started going to the gym two years ago, I was approached by a wiry, older gentleman who was cute in a kind of aging leprechaun , Frank McCourt kind of way. He wanted me to show him how to use the various machines and it finally occurred to me that he was hitting on me. Indeed. His was a most direct approach: "The best lovemaking that I ever had in my life was with a large woman who lived on the Upper West Side of New York. You remind me so much of her. I am sure that I could have a better experience with you. I am happily married, but I would welcome the chance to get to know you better". I was fascinated by his approach--had I joined Plato's Retreat without realizing it? I have also been intrigued by a fellow named George who is about eight feet tall, approaching 70, bald, and has the loudest voice that I have ever heard. I was pondering how to get him to pipe down when I realized that he is considered the Biltmore Gym mascot, of a sort. Everyone knows him and tolerates his yelling because he is truly a kind guy and the gym is his main social outlet. So, I introduced myself to him and now I laugh and giggle with him and it is all very pleasant.
You might be wondering-ha, I bet Mary Jo has her moments of annoying others. I truly hope that I don't because I pride myself on being considerate in this world that can be so rude at times. But, I will confess to you that while on the recumbent bike the other day and, I swear, with no one around, I could not help myself from belting out the refrain to "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered", the fabulous song from Pal Joey.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Family of One Deals with an Unusual Old Folks' Crisis
I was in High Point about ten days ago dealing with a very unusual crisis revolving around Aunt Louise. When you hear what it was, you will be so incensed. And, I have to say, dealing with it reminded me that sometimes it is good to be a Family of One, but sometimes, it would be nice to be a Family of Fifty or Sixty.
Before I tell you, I must relate an interesting exchange that took place on one of first nights there when Dad and I were watching the ALCS. I professed my affection for the Yankees. This caused a great outburst--wasn't I for the Red Sox?? Yes, I demurred, but I liked both a great deal with a slight edge going towards the Red Sox. "That is NOT allowed," affirmed Mother with much indignation. "You have to be for one or the other. Everyone knows that. Why do you have to do everything so oddly?"
I reminded them that, as a child, I had an undying fascination with anything revolving around New York or Boston. This all started when my father would regale us with stories from his quarterly trips to New York to buy toys, cosmetics, the 1960s versions of electronics, and other sundries for his drugstore chain. The restaurants--Gallaghers, The Forum of the Twelve Caesars, even The Playboy Club, the shows--Mame, Hello, Dolly, Half a Sixpence--it all sounded so fabulous. And, to top it off, my dad always brought me the latest Nancy Drew book from Macy's.
"So," Mother queried, "it is Dad's fault that you were not content to live in High Point like a person with good sense and that you had to move up North?" I indicated that she was correct. There proceeded much excoriating of my dear father who quietly accepted responsibility for sending me on the path that led to the glorious delights of living in Boston and New York.
My aunt lives in a very nice, government-subsidized apartment building for the elderly which is owned by the Wesleyan church in the High Point area. They somehow got it into their heads to sell it to the local university for a dormitory and had a meeting where they announced to the 89 residents that they would need to find a place a live--pronto. Most of the folks there do not have cars and, of course, had been expecting to live out their lives there. There were no immediate openings in local assisted living or independent living communities. After the local TV station featured it as the opening story on the evening news, all you know what broke loose and, by the time I got to High Point, the spokesperson for the Wesleyan church had apologized for being a bit too hasty, the local university was posting disclaimers everywhere that they did not realize that the old folks had no place to go, and the government had threatened the church with serious repercussions for violating their contract.
The folks who live there have been given a year to find a place and have been assured that the place will not be sold until every person has found a place to live. This has taken considerable pressure off Aunt Louise who has gone on record as saying that she hopes her next destination is her heavenly home. When told this, Mother snorted and said, "she should be so lucky". Mother has forbidden me to try to help her because, of course, what do I know about how to find an old person a place to live?
As for having a family, I have dear friends who helped me research what was going on, brainstorm solutions, and provide moments of much-needed levity. I was taking my beloved J to breakfast the day after I found out and I said to him that there had been a crisis with Aunt Louise. His response, so very kind, was "has she passed?" My response, maybe not so kind, but accurate: "would that be a crisis?"
After visiting Aunt Louise, Mother wanted nothing more than a trip to Belk's, the local emporium, at a somewhat nice shopping mall. But, what would we do with my dad, she wondered? I said, very matter-of-factly, "why can't he sit in the car?" Just as matter-of-factly, Mother replies, "oh, no, someone will shoot him". I told her that I had not heard of any murders in the Oak Hollow Mall area in several months, but she was adamant that he could not sit in the car. Instead, we took a drive all through the backroads of Guilford County and it was a lovely end to the weekend.
Before I tell you, I must relate an interesting exchange that took place on one of first nights there when Dad and I were watching the ALCS. I professed my affection for the Yankees. This caused a great outburst--wasn't I for the Red Sox?? Yes, I demurred, but I liked both a great deal with a slight edge going towards the Red Sox. "That is NOT allowed," affirmed Mother with much indignation. "You have to be for one or the other. Everyone knows that. Why do you have to do everything so oddly?"
I reminded them that, as a child, I had an undying fascination with anything revolving around New York or Boston. This all started when my father would regale us with stories from his quarterly trips to New York to buy toys, cosmetics, the 1960s versions of electronics, and other sundries for his drugstore chain. The restaurants--Gallaghers, The Forum of the Twelve Caesars, even The Playboy Club, the shows--Mame, Hello, Dolly, Half a Sixpence--it all sounded so fabulous. And, to top it off, my dad always brought me the latest Nancy Drew book from Macy's.
"So," Mother queried, "it is Dad's fault that you were not content to live in High Point like a person with good sense and that you had to move up North?" I indicated that she was correct. There proceeded much excoriating of my dear father who quietly accepted responsibility for sending me on the path that led to the glorious delights of living in Boston and New York.
My aunt lives in a very nice, government-subsidized apartment building for the elderly which is owned by the Wesleyan church in the High Point area. They somehow got it into their heads to sell it to the local university for a dormitory and had a meeting where they announced to the 89 residents that they would need to find a place a live--pronto. Most of the folks there do not have cars and, of course, had been expecting to live out their lives there. There were no immediate openings in local assisted living or independent living communities. After the local TV station featured it as the opening story on the evening news, all you know what broke loose and, by the time I got to High Point, the spokesperson for the Wesleyan church had apologized for being a bit too hasty, the local university was posting disclaimers everywhere that they did not realize that the old folks had no place to go, and the government had threatened the church with serious repercussions for violating their contract.
The folks who live there have been given a year to find a place and have been assured that the place will not be sold until every person has found a place to live. This has taken considerable pressure off Aunt Louise who has gone on record as saying that she hopes her next destination is her heavenly home. When told this, Mother snorted and said, "she should be so lucky". Mother has forbidden me to try to help her because, of course, what do I know about how to find an old person a place to live?
As for having a family, I have dear friends who helped me research what was going on, brainstorm solutions, and provide moments of much-needed levity. I was taking my beloved J to breakfast the day after I found out and I said to him that there had been a crisis with Aunt Louise. His response, so very kind, was "has she passed?" My response, maybe not so kind, but accurate: "would that be a crisis?"
After visiting Aunt Louise, Mother wanted nothing more than a trip to Belk's, the local emporium, at a somewhat nice shopping mall. But, what would we do with my dad, she wondered? I said, very matter-of-factly, "why can't he sit in the car?" Just as matter-of-factly, Mother replies, "oh, no, someone will shoot him". I told her that I had not heard of any murders in the Oak Hollow Mall area in several months, but she was adamant that he could not sit in the car. Instead, we took a drive all through the backroads of Guilford County and it was a lovely end to the weekend.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Family of One Goes to Eleven Madison Park
Many of you know of my great fondness for the fabulous New York restaurant, Eleven Madison Park, and how thrilled I was this summer when the restaurants received the highly-coveted and rarely-given four stars from the New York Times. I started going to the restaurant regularly back in 2006 when four stars were a dream for the new chef, Daniel Humm, who had come from San Francisco and the restaurant at the Campton Place hotel. I don’t know exactly what made me decide to go there, but I am awfully glad that I did.
After many years of not visiting New York, I had developed a taste for going there again and I was looking for a restaurant with which I could become associated. I call it my “tentpole” restaurant and it is one which totally captures my heart and my palate and which becomes a regular stop for me. I look forward to getting to know the folks that work there and to seeing how the restaurant changes. My fancy dinner on that trip was at Le Bernardin and so I was looking for something lovely, but maybe not quite as precious. I had frequented most of Danny Meyer’s restaurants and so thought I should give Eleven Madison Park a try.
When I walked in, I was totally captivated because the large, elegant, beautifully decorated space with the giant windows overlooking Madison Square Park was exactly as I had envisioned NYC restaurants when I was growing up in High Point. There was a slight drizzle outside which only made the scene more enchanting. The food was excellent and I enjoyed getting to know the general manager who had recently come from Charlie Trotter’s. I walked away with a good feeling.
I went back at Christmas and the next spring and the next summer and soon I had lived through a couple of changes in management. With the third group, I started feeling very much at home. I was given “my” table, at the top left hand corner of the highest level where I could watch everyone in the restaurant and with a peerless view of the park. I started growing fond of the staff. I started looking forward to the incredible gougeres and amuse bouches and the wonderful goat cheese butter that accompanies the bread.
At the same time, I did not want to put all of my culinary eggs into one basket, as it were, so I also formed an attachment to a restaurant called Country that was also highly touted and conveniently located in the hotel where I often stayed. It, too, was a beautiful restaurant, lovingly restored, but with much more of a cozy feeling. I started getting to know the staff there as well and had some marvelous meals including a truffle tasting.
At EMP, I now looked forward to finding out the latest in the lives of almost everyone I knew. I mourned when ones that I had grown close to left. I had received requests from friends to go with me to EMP, but, somehow, it had become my place, the place where I could read and listen to my iPod and eat increasingly delectable meals. Taking someone would break that spell.
Every year, I go to EMP just before I go to my parents for Christmas. I consider that my Christmas dinner since my actual Christmas celebrating is a bit, shall we say, muted as it is in the presence of a ninety year old and an eighty seven year old. Last year, one of my favorite managers told me that he had a present for me. The staff is always kind to me in letting my try new vintages or new dishes so I supposed it was a special course. Imagine my delight when Rob presented me with a menu, based on what I had eaten that evening, focused on my upcoming trip to Paris that gave staff members’ personal recommendation for places that I would like. At the top, it said, “From your EMP dining family”. I was so touched and grateful and would have sobbed, but I had not had the cheese course or dessert.
So, when I saw the announcement that EMP had gotten four stars, I was beside myself with joy as if a treasured colleague had closed a spectacular sale. I had Tshirts made for the staff that said—EMP Four Star Summer 2009—because they are my dining family.
As for Country, the story is not so pretty. There were several changes in management, but none of them could get any traction. They were repeatedly closed for health code violations. Finally, the restaurants closed with a slight whimper. I made the decision that one tentpole fancy restaurant is enough.
Let’s just say I am sticking with EMP.
Now, here is what I had on my last visit in early September—
Thousands of gougeres
Amazing amuse bouches
Sweet corn veloute chilled with bacon bavaroise
Santa Barbara sea urchin cappuccino with peekytoe crab and cauliflower
Hawaiian prawns roulade with avocado, lime, and yogurt (I had never had this and it was one of the signature dishes)
Organic rabbit rillettes with Concord grapes, pickled onions, and grilled pistachio bread (one of the rare misfires)
Atlantic halibut seared with sweet corn, summer radishes, and purslane
Four Story Hill pork belly applewood smoked with summer truffles (and presented in the most breathtaking—literally—way under a glass dome of swirling smoke)
Elysian Fields farm lamb herb roasted with petits farcis Nicois
Fromage including Brebirousse d’Argental, Aria, Tomme de la Chatigneraie, St. Nectaire
Blueberry and sweet corn bread pudding with buttermilk sorbet
After many years of not visiting New York, I had developed a taste for going there again and I was looking for a restaurant with which I could become associated. I call it my “tentpole” restaurant and it is one which totally captures my heart and my palate and which becomes a regular stop for me. I look forward to getting to know the folks that work there and to seeing how the restaurant changes. My fancy dinner on that trip was at Le Bernardin and so I was looking for something lovely, but maybe not quite as precious. I had frequented most of Danny Meyer’s restaurants and so thought I should give Eleven Madison Park a try.
When I walked in, I was totally captivated because the large, elegant, beautifully decorated space with the giant windows overlooking Madison Square Park was exactly as I had envisioned NYC restaurants when I was growing up in High Point. There was a slight drizzle outside which only made the scene more enchanting. The food was excellent and I enjoyed getting to know the general manager who had recently come from Charlie Trotter’s. I walked away with a good feeling.
I went back at Christmas and the next spring and the next summer and soon I had lived through a couple of changes in management. With the third group, I started feeling very much at home. I was given “my” table, at the top left hand corner of the highest level where I could watch everyone in the restaurant and with a peerless view of the park. I started growing fond of the staff. I started looking forward to the incredible gougeres and amuse bouches and the wonderful goat cheese butter that accompanies the bread.
At the same time, I did not want to put all of my culinary eggs into one basket, as it were, so I also formed an attachment to a restaurant called Country that was also highly touted and conveniently located in the hotel where I often stayed. It, too, was a beautiful restaurant, lovingly restored, but with much more of a cozy feeling. I started getting to know the staff there as well and had some marvelous meals including a truffle tasting.
At EMP, I now looked forward to finding out the latest in the lives of almost everyone I knew. I mourned when ones that I had grown close to left. I had received requests from friends to go with me to EMP, but, somehow, it had become my place, the place where I could read and listen to my iPod and eat increasingly delectable meals. Taking someone would break that spell.
Every year, I go to EMP just before I go to my parents for Christmas. I consider that my Christmas dinner since my actual Christmas celebrating is a bit, shall we say, muted as it is in the presence of a ninety year old and an eighty seven year old. Last year, one of my favorite managers told me that he had a present for me. The staff is always kind to me in letting my try new vintages or new dishes so I supposed it was a special course. Imagine my delight when Rob presented me with a menu, based on what I had eaten that evening, focused on my upcoming trip to Paris that gave staff members’ personal recommendation for places that I would like. At the top, it said, “From your EMP dining family”. I was so touched and grateful and would have sobbed, but I had not had the cheese course or dessert.
So, when I saw the announcement that EMP had gotten four stars, I was beside myself with joy as if a treasured colleague had closed a spectacular sale. I had Tshirts made for the staff that said—EMP Four Star Summer 2009—because they are my dining family.
As for Country, the story is not so pretty. There were several changes in management, but none of them could get any traction. They were repeatedly closed for health code violations. Finally, the restaurants closed with a slight whimper. I made the decision that one tentpole fancy restaurant is enough.
Let’s just say I am sticking with EMP.
Now, here is what I had on my last visit in early September—
Thousands of gougeres
Amazing amuse bouches
Sweet corn veloute chilled with bacon bavaroise
Santa Barbara sea urchin cappuccino with peekytoe crab and cauliflower
Hawaiian prawns roulade with avocado, lime, and yogurt (I had never had this and it was one of the signature dishes)
Organic rabbit rillettes with Concord grapes, pickled onions, and grilled pistachio bread (one of the rare misfires)
Atlantic halibut seared with sweet corn, summer radishes, and purslane
Four Story Hill pork belly applewood smoked with summer truffles (and presented in the most breathtaking—literally—way under a glass dome of swirling smoke)
Elysian Fields farm lamb herb roasted with petits farcis Nicois
Fromage including Brebirousse d’Argental, Aria, Tomme de la Chatigneraie, St. Nectaire
Blueberry and sweet corn bread pudding with buttermilk sorbet
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