adrober

Thanks everyone! This has given me lots of ideas. I'll make sure to thank you all individually in the book to express my gratitude Thanks again.

Hello eGulleters, I am working on a book and I'm doing a chapter about challenging yourself in the kitchen. The original plan was to make croissants from scratch but the amount of time required for proofing, etc, is too much since my friend who's helping is only here for a day. What's a recipe that can be done in a day that's really really challenging and, oh yeah, vegetarian. (My friend don't eat meat.) Anything you can offer will be much appreciated! Thanks, Adam

Hey, not sure if anyone's still reading this thread but I have a question: if I rub the Julia Child marinade on the lamb leg the night before, should I add salt to the mix? The marinade has only 2 Tbs of soy sauce, otherwise it's just mustard and ginger and something else but no salt. Shouldn't I salt it along with that? Any thoughts? Thanks!

Thanks everyone for all your help. I think I'm going ot go this slow-cooked 7 hour route. I'm excited---I bet it's going to be awesome. Do you not recommend rubbing mustard all over it for the 7 hour route? Someone once told me you should do that with a leg of lamb. Also, with ratatouille (sp?) do you serve it all mushed up or is it more lightly chopped? Anyone have a favorite recipe? Does it need to be hot? Thanks! Adam

This upcoming Saturday I'm making a feast for ten people and for the main course I'm serving leg of lamb. I've never made leg of lamb before and I'm overwhelmed by the varying recipes I've found in all my cookbooks. Judy Rogers has you salt a lamb leg 3 days early; Suzanne Goin has you roll it around chorizo sausage and The Gourmet Cookbook has you simply roast it over tomatoes and garlic. Because I have ten people coming over and because I want this to wow them all, I'm interested in what techniques you eGulleters think are fool proof and guaranteed to wow. Thanks in advance for your help!

I realize there are many recipes for using the giblets that come in the little package inside a whole chicken, but I'm curious if anyone cooks giblets on a regular basis? How do you use them? Or do most of you just throw them away?

According to Alex Ross's music blog The Rest Is Noise: "Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, Master of the Queen's Musick, was recently questioned by the Northern Constabulary when a half-eaten swan carcass turned up on his Orkney Islands estate. The swan is a protected bird in the UK, and the police were unamused when Sir Peter offered them swan terrine." He then asks me if that would taste good and I have no idea! Thus I am turning to the eGullet community to answer the question: does swan taste good? Anyone eaten it? How about swan terrine? My hunch is that ugly ducklings taste better.

Pan, Yes we did. You can watch it here---make sure to turn down your speakers, though, it's a little loud. Also, you'll need QuickTime to view it. (I didn't post it up, originally, because I don't feel like we were as gastronomically adventurous as we should have been...) Anyway, thanks everyone for your help!

Dear eGullet, How are you? I need some help! Every now and then I'll do a video tour of a place for my website. A couple of months ago, you helped me plot out my video tour of the Lower East Side and that was incredibly helpful. Tomorrow I'm hitting Chinatown and I need help! Honestly, I've never really "done" Chinatown. Where should I start? Specific streets and locations and vendors and things to try would be much appreciated. And of course I'll link to the finished product here for all your enjoyment. Thanks so much, Adrober

Ha, ok... lessons learned! Anyway, I'll be there tomorrow. So I better act quick. Thanks for your help, everyone.

I'm sure there are many threads like this in the DC forum, but I have VERY special requirements that need to be met. OK, not really. Here are some factors: - I'm staying in DuPont circle. - My friend and I would like to have one fancy-ish dinner. I read something a few months back in Bon Apetit or Gourmet about some superstar chef in DC. Anyone know who that is? Can I get a reservation there? - Then some not-so-fancy but still delicious places. Thanks Adrober

[Ducks head, reenters room...] If I may be so bold as to reenter this conversation as the bloke who posted pictures of his Per Se meal a few months back and compared that meal to death, I'd like to tell you about the meal I had across the street Saturday night at Jean-Georges. This fine dining business is quite new to me and one should keep a salt shaker and a pair of tweezers handy when reading anything I write on here as what I say is pretty inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. With that said, our meal at Jean-Georges was phenomenal. Many of the elements of the Jean-Georges tasting menu were similar to the Per Se tasting menu--Keller offered "Oysters and Pearls," Jean-Georges offered "Egg Caviar" (served in an egg shell); Keller offered Halibut cooked "a la plancha," Jean-Georges offered Turbot in a Chateau Chalon Sauce; Keller offered sweet butter poached lobster, Jean-Georges offered lobster tartine, lemongrass and fenugreek broth; finally, Keller offered quail, and Jean-Georges offered squab. I can say with confidence that in the flavor department the Jean-Georges meal soared about the Keller meal. My parents, who are not foodies and simply like the "special occassion" aspect of fine dining, raved over Jean-George's sauces and flavors and textures. I've never seen my father (a meat and potatoes man) dive into French food so greedily. The Jean-Georges flavors were exciting: there were Asian touches and surprising combinations and fragrant presentations that made that meal one of the best I've ever eaten. Jean-Georges was my first official four-star dining experience (Per Se was the first unofficial). Maybe it took eating at Per Se to appreciate Jean-Georges, in which case none of this means anything. But for my money, I'd dart across the street from Time Warner with Amanda Hesser (fleeing Asiate) and Frank Bruni (fleeing V Steakhouse) to Jean-Georges for a terrific four-star experience. [bows head; shuffles off.]

I'm curious if anyone thinks Bruni was so harsh in order to gain credibility in the wake of Hesser? Or is that entirely circumstnatial?

I'm moving to New York in just 4 weeks---curious about your favorite quick bites around the city. Pizza? Gelato? Chili dog?

Project, I really recommend reading Chapter 11 of Amanda Hesser's "Cooking for Mr. Latte": "Hard Thoughts Soften Over Dinner." I did so yesterday (just because I'm reading it for pleasure) and she gets into a fight with her boyfriend over this very issue. The boyfriend (Tad Friend of The New Yorker) says French food is "too fussy and pristine, or too smeared in heavy sauces. I never feel good after eating it." He goes on to ask: "Why do people want to eat food of equal pleasure [comparing bavette at Lupa to lamb chops at Jean Georges] but have six waiters fluttering around them, giving them a new napkin every five minutes?" Amanda answers: "Some people like to be pampered or need to feel special...Or they feel that the food demands such formality, and they see it as entertainment. What do you think?" Tad responds: "I think it's silly." And that's the debate in a nutshell.

Do they really say that?! They were very polite about it, but yes, they made clear there is a dress code. That says something very interesting about different restaurant cultures around the US and, one supposes, the world. I could never imagine walking into a place like Per Se in an outfit that included shorts, jeans, t-shirts, or sneakers. But, to be fair, many people couldn't imagine putting a place like Per Se in what is, ultimately, a glorified shopping mall. I think jean shorts are a natural side effect.

Hey Alton, As a current GA resident and a big fan of your show (which, I believe, you shoot in GA) what are your favorite places to eat around here? Specfically, where do you eat when you come to Atlanta? Thanks! And keep up the great work! Adam

I thought today's Sunday Styles' piece on the Per Se cocktail unintentionally got at what I was trying to get at: "The Per Se [cocktail] is as cerebrally cool as it is cold to taste. It is also so subtle as to be potentially banal. You have to hold its cultured thought tightly, to get to the bottom of it." I think this describes the meal itself and explains why, despite the good efforts of everyone involved, I was slow to warm up to it. To enjoy it you have to make a cognitive leap. "Ah this is delicious because the crispy Carolina rice provides a textural component that contrasts nicely with the foie gras." The yummy doesn't happen on an intuitive level. To me, this sort of dining is a genre just like Korean Barbeque is a genre. I'm not critiquing the restaurant, I'm critiquing the genre. Maybe one day I'll embrace the genre the same way that I might one day embrace Westerns or mariachi music. But it seems rather bizarre to declare a meal great just because it is prepared with extreme precision and flair. This, to me, fits into the category of Food as Science. The image it conjures is a chemistry lab with beakers and bunsen burners and a mad scientist with goggles flitting around with tweezers and a blowtorch. I prefer the image offered by Paul Bertolli in his preface to Chez Panisse Cooking (forgive the heavy quoting): ...as we moved along briskly, my nose, trained from infancy to sniff, told me, in so many sniffs, so to speak, that we were approaching the source of a strangely seductive culinary smell. Illusory? Successive sniffs confirmed its reality. And yet, where was its source?.... The ruin was what we expected and its address was 249 Via Appia Antica. It had an opening as for a door and another as for a window. I peeked in and saw a lady stirring a skillet. As if I had been expected, she invited me in and told me her name, Signora Coscia. There wre seven children; her husband was in a sanatorium. Victims of the war, they were waiting for the government to provide them living quarters.... As soon as I had smelled what Signora Coscia was stirring in her skillet, my nose told me what she herself confirmed: wild mushrooms. She and her children had gathered them early that morning. They were now being sauteed in olive oil, garlic, parsley, and nepitella, colloquially called erba da funghi, mushroom grass, the appropriate herb for mushrooms.... This scene captures perfectly what I love about cooking and what I expect from a restaurant, regardless of its status. I want authenticity and history and passion and meaning; I want smells that saturate the nostrils, I want a love for food that transcends money, and power, and sterile perfectionism. What's so great about perfection, anyway? I'll trade perfection for passion any day. I'll take Nina Simone's rather off-key "I Shall Be Released" over the most trained aria in a heartbeat. And sure, sometimes there's both. Stanley Kubrick comes to mind. But the reason my initial review compared fine dining to death is that I didn't get the smell Paul Bertiolli describes in his introduction. There was nothing mystical about Per Se, just like there was nothing mystical about Charlie Trotter's. Perfection, yes. Cold, calculated perfection. If, to quote Austin Powers, "cerebrally cool" is your bag baby, more power to you. Per Se will serve you very well. I'm not saying the Emperor has no clothes. I'm saying his clothes are perfectly stitched, intelligently coordinated, yet--despite it all--lifeless. I take exception to the idea that this is dining at its greatest. I've had a week to mull it over, and these are the sentiments that remain. I'm sorry I can't be more enthused.

People have been e-mailing me to ask how my family got the reservation, so I thought I'd tell the group: we were very lucky, the concierge at the hotel where we stayed was offered a table for the weekend we were coming. He was nice enough to offer it to us. For his protection (and safety) I'll keep the hotel under wraps, but the point is that another strategy for reservation-getting might be the systematic harassment of hotel concierges. Good luck!

I'm not sure that my mindset really affected my enjoyment. This thread makes me think of the movie "Defending Your Life" (perhaps the greatest foodie film ever?) in that the residents of Judgment City who use 80% of their brains (as opposed to humans 3%) eat foul looking food that humans find disgusting. The joke is that their intelligence makes the food delicious. I kind of feel that way about Per Se. I'm Albert Brooks. You guys are Rip Torn. If you say it's great, I'll take your word, but I'm sticking to pasta with Meryl Streep.

Per Se was much warmer than Trotter's. Right away, at the hostess stand, there were smiles and a sense of camaraderie. The vibe was: "Isn't it great that we're all here right now?" At Trotter's the vibe was: "You are the in the presence of greatness, please act accordingly." The cities had very little to do with it.

Robyn, Thank you so much for your post. I think the sex comparison is right on and (on a more hush hush level) the mom and dad comment too. Actually, when my mom told me she had a reservation at Per Se I was both thrilled and disappointed: thrilled because, as Fat Guy points out, I would be one of the 64; disappointed because I knew the experience would be grayed by well-meaning but frequently dour company. I've been rethinking my original post for a while now. I think the death metaphor was too heavy and probably more sensational than it was helpful. The truth is I felt over my head: I was (and still am) ill-equipped to review Per Se. I don't understand what I need to understand to understand what is being accomplished there. Understand? I will say this: my memories of the meal are aging well. I've been retasting the foie gras with peach jelly in my thoughts; as well as the salmon tartare cone. I've been chiding myself for not leaving room at the end for those candies and chocolates. I've also been chiding myself for not being more gregarious---for not asking more questions, for not asking for a tour of the kitchen. I also want to mention something about the service that I left out of my original post: it was wonderful. For those of you who read my Charlie Trotter review you may remember that I felt like my waiter was an alien. (That sounds like a newfangled Disney movie with Hillary Duff: "My Waiter Was An Alien!") At Per Se, this was very much NOT the case. Our waiter was perfect: down to earth, helpful, charming, attentive without being overbearing. He did a great job. Ultimately, I will concede that I am too young. I'm not there yet. I'm new to the game. I think my writing is ahead of my palate; the tastebuds need some boot camp. I still have issues with fine dining as an institution--(I think that's where my death thoughts originated). Surely the angry young man motif doesn't lack precedent, even in the food world. My liberal education makes it hard to eat comfortably in hoity-toity environs. But that's me. I'm still young and socially minded and eager to change the world. But I'll leave Per Se alone and lead my band of foodie discontents to Chicago with creme brulee blowtorches in hand. Viva La Revolution! P.S. That's exciting that so many people are checking out the pictures, Fat Guy. I was worried the waiters would grow suspicious---one actually said: "You're going to give us copies, right?" Is this considered gourmet espionage? Will I be banned from future dining experiences?

In my brief stint as a fine diner (with Charlie Trotters, Seegers and now Per Se under my belt) I have reached the following conclusion about fine dining. It goes like this: fine dining is like death. Death is quiet. So is fine dining. Death is peaceful. So is fine dining. Death is infinite. So--it frequently seems--is fine dining. Forgive my over-extended metaphor, but the reason so many people declare a fine dining experience to be "spiritual" is that it creates a sense of order: it says, with its confluence of waiters and busboys and hosts and hostesses, that there is a system out there, an ordered system, and that you are part of it. You are the star of it. We are here to make you well. A good restaurant, then, creates this spiritual aura without alienating their customers. We want that sense of Divine inspiration without the formality of a temple. My dismay at Charlie Trotters version of fine dining is that it was too much a self-conscious religious experience. Charlie Trotter prostletizes. Thomas Kellar--I can say after tonight's Per Se dinner--offers forth. If you want to call it religious, go ahead, but that's not the point. Thomas Kellar isn't prostletizing, he is sharing. I went tonight to Per Se with my parents. This, I worried, would be a dangerous formula. My mom likes to deconstruct a dish pre-service, ordering everything on the side; my dad fears any food that doesn't start and end with "steak and potatoes." My fears were unfounded. But first, the arrival. In case you're not aware, Per Se is located in the Time Warner center at Columbus Circle: Apparently there are secret elevators that take your right to the restaurant, but we went the pedestrian way with the riffraff. Making our way up to the fourth floor, my mom declared: "I don't get this place. It's just a shopping mall." "A billion dollar shopping mall," I offered, to no avail. Finally, on the fourth floor, we approached the mighty blue door of Per Se. Would I be wrong to point out the religious implications of a fierce intimidating door separating laymen from Nirvana? And how ironic that the door itself doesn't open: you go in through the glass sliding doors on either side. Once inside--in case you forgot where you were headed--chrome letters spell out the restaurant's name: We were greeted by jovial hostesses who rather tactfully asked us if we had a reservation. It became apparent why when a couple in shorts and baseball caps staggered in after us and asked if they had any tables for tonight. Clearly, these hostesses were having to deal regularly with well-meaning mall-goers who figured that Per Se was Time Warner's version of The Cheesecake Factory. "Sorry ma'am," the hostess said kindly to Lady Baseball Cap, "We have nothing available tonight." Meanwhile, my mother began admiring the floor. I recalled an article that said Thomas Kellar tore up the floor three times until it was perfect. I took a picture for your pleasure: I also admired the floristry. Everywhere there were beautiful flowers that gave off a lovely aroma: Mom and I posed for a picture in front of the hostess stand: Then we were taken to our table. Here's where our night hit its first roadbump. The table was on the second tier, in a corner, by the bus station. It felt like the worst table in the house and probably was. I was facing a wall and mom and dad were facing the window, but not gladly. We were pretty far away. "Should I say something?" asked mom. Dad and I nodded. She called over a waiter. "You know," said my mother, with her coquettish charm, "We're really not happy with this table. Would it be possible to sit near a window?" I was pretty sure they would apologize and refuse. But I was wrong. We were quickly moved to a window table, with a gorgeous view of Columbus Circle and the Southwest tip of Central Park. "Thank you so much," said my mother. We began to admire the flowers on the table. "These are beautiful," said mom, "I've never seen flowers this pretty that weren't fake." We began by ordering cocktails. I went with the waiter-recommended champagne cocktail with orange bitters: Mom ordered a cosmo and sent it back because it was too watery. Dad was contented with a giant glass of gin and tonic. Mom examined the wine list: She marveled over its reasonableness. "I can't believe how cheap some of these wines are," she declared. We went with a 2002 Napa Valley Neyers Chardonnay which proved tasty and wildly efficient: it lasted quite fully for the whole meal. Here I am reading the menu as the sun goes down: The waiter returned and listened amused as we all ordered the same thing: Chef's Tasting Menu with Foie Gras for the second course (the only choice we had to make). Mom and Dad posed for a picture: After which our not-on-the-menu appetizers arrived: the French Laundry famous mini-ice-cream-cones with salmon tartare: The insides were filled with creme fraich, and taken as a whole they were a textural and flavorful delight. Next up was the "Oysters and Pearls" (the waiter gave me the menu so I can report accurately on each dish's contents): "Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters and Iranian Ossetra Caviar. This was a really nice dish. Everything worked well to complement everything else (a recurrent theme throughout the night). The "sabayon" tied everything together. Next, was the "Peach Melba" / Moulard Duck "Foie Gras Au Torchon" Frog Hollow Farms Peach Jelly, Pickled White Peaches, Marinated Red Onion, "Melba Toast" and Crispy Carolina Rice: This was such pretty presentation and all the flavors carried. I really liked the combination of peach and foie gras, another testament to liver's secret inner-candy life. The Melba toasts ran out and they were quickly replenished. After which (or before which? I don't remember) we were served a lovely bread roll with two types of butter: "Those look amazing," said my mother. "I don't normally eat bread, but here it goes." I won't lie: she was a little disappointed, but mostly because it wasn't warm. Otherwise she--plus dad and I--scarfed them right up. Next up was: Filet of Atlantic Halibut Cooked "A La Plancha." Extra Virgin Olive Oil Braised Fingerling Potatoes, Roasted Spring Garlic and Arugala Pudding: This most reminded me of Charlie Trotter's. Very elegant, very professional, but almost drab in its perfection. This one didn't really do it for me. After which there was the "Noilly Prat": Sweet Butter Poached Maine Lobster "Cuit en Sous Vide." Carmelized Fennel Disc, Crystallized Fennel Chip and Sauce "Noilly Prat": This was really nice. I declared the lobster to be incredibly tender, my mom declared it to be incredibly tough. "You're cutting it the wrong way," explained my dad to my mom. She was cutting it vertically instead of horizontally. "Oh," she replied. We all chewed gladly. Then came the Pan Roasted Cavendish Farms Quail: "Puree" of Spring Onions, Apple Wood Smoked Bacon "Lardons" and Wilted Dandelion Greens. I thought this was exceptional presentation. The sauce on the plate seemed incredibly expert. And the quail had perfectly crisped skin and a ton of flavor. Quite impressive. After which there was the Elysian Fields Farm "Selle D'Agneau Rotie Entiere": Braised Shoulder, Fava Beans, Golden Chanterelles, Roasted Crosnes and Lamb Jus. This, our waiter/interpreter explained, was lamb. My mom bit in first and said--quite shockingly: "Needs salt." "Mom," I declared heatedly, "You can't ask for salt at Per Se! That isn't done!" Assuming the fault was with my mother and not the lamb, I took a bite and instantly agreed. It needed salt. Well, a few bites later I realized that there were depth-charges of salt unequally distributed throughout. Was this on purpose? Not sure. And that was the conclusion of the entrees. Then the cheese course: "Charolais": "Gelee de Pomme Verte," Satur Farms Red Beets and English Walnut Short Bread: Here was my big moment. I am a certified cheesephobe, indoctrinated by my dad in the art of cheese hating. My mother has always been slightly more tolerant--sprinkling her salads with feta and bleau. Here at Per Se I took the leap and almost enjoyed my Charolais. The beets surely helped. But I would be a liar if I didn't say it tasted like a foot. We forced my dad to take a bite and his facial expression was worth its weight in Charolais. He's still trying to get the taste out of his mouth. That was followed by the Pineapple Sorbet with Braised Pineapple and Coconut Cream: Refreshing, but not earth-shattering. Next up was earth-shattering: "Tentation Au Chocolat, Noisette Et Lait"--Milk Chocolate "Cremeux," Hazelnut "Streusel" with Condensed Milk Sorbet and "Sweetened Salty Hazelnuts" and "Pain au Lait" Coulis. Here was the great equalizer: we all kvelled in unison. Our trilateral "Mmmm"ing disturbed many a table. But it was that good. We were then inundated with unordered, grudgingly welcomed desserts. The men were presented with yogurt, figs at the bottom: The women (my mom) received creme brulee: We found this Matriarchal dessert division to be deeply upsetting. "I wanted creme brulee," said my dad sadly. The waiter instantly obliged and all was well. I felt on the verge of bursting. And then there was more: "Mignardises." The macaroons were outrageously good. So were the candies. I felt my insides begin a protest: "NO MORE!" And then there was more. Chocolates! A white flag waved from within. I snapped up one chocolate, popped it in my mouth, and called it a night. And now before my forced conclusion, a brief note on the bathroom. Per Se has 16 tables plus a large private dining room. There are two one-stall men's rooms and therein lies the problem. I have a tiny alcohol-affected bladder that forces me to the bathroom two to three times per fine dining experience. Tonight, each time I went, there was someone leaving just as I walked in. This gave the restaurant zero time to clean up and, unfortunately, bathroom maintenance became an issue. There were non-flushers (blech!) and the towels ran out. I was none too happy. But, that aside, Per Se was a great fine dining experience. I agree with those who say it's still getting its leggings--we had a waiter present a course and forget his lines halfway through the presentation of what he was serving--but that will come in good time. For my own purposes, I lump Per Se in with the other fine dining Deathstaurants. It's an experience--like seeing God--but I'm not ready to see God. One day, sure, but for now I'll stick to youthful exuberance. Who's up for fondue?

Don't know how, but my mom managed to get us a reservation at Per Se this Saturday night. After my Charlie Trotter debacle, will my palate be ready to face the music and dance? Stay tuned.

Have you guys read The Amateur Gourmet? It's really great. The guy who runs it is SOOO modest and he's totally not about self-promotion. Please visit my blog...I mean, his blog...at www.amateurgourmet.com. Sincerely, Not The Amateur Gourmet