ckkgourmet

The fun you mention, u.e., is something I regularly experience at JG! It is not something, however, that I experience regularly at other restaurants that I consider truly repetitive. In that category, I would place Bouley. I gave up on this particular restaurant awhile back. It's food was variable only in the quality of preparation. The menu very rarely changed. I think the Bouley of say 2 years ago is the true model of "fixed in amber" stasis.

I didn't mean my comment for you, but more generally. But, I should add that I have heard (but cannot confirm) that lunch in the formal dining room is often more creative than dinner there.

But I think this forum has largely accepted Bruni's characterization of JG without properly evaluating whether or not we really should accept it or not. I obviously am skeptical, but am willing of course to hear other opinions.

I think this is a very good point. I'd agree that JG's style of cooking emphasizes things like discovery and surprise much more than many other great chefs'. Your comment raises the question, however, of whether or not it is reasonable to hope for more variety from a chef like JG than, say, Keller and Ducasse? I do not know the answer. On the other hand, if we are to evaluate JG as a creative individual (rather than concentrating on the particular issue of the restaurant itself), it is only proper to expand the scope of our discussion to places like Perry St. There are a number of wonderful and original creations on that restaurant's menu that suggest, I think, that JG's creativity is alive and well. That is not to say that we shouldn't have that creativity directed into his flagship restaurant too, but it is to say that it may not be the fault of the chef's imagination (which is sometimes implied). And btw, I will say that at Perry St. we naturally see a very different JG than we see at the flagship. The dishes at Perry St. strike me as being far more distinctly Asian, and specifiically Chinese, than even the things he has done before. There is a greater earthiness and richness. In dishes like the crab dumplings, the laquer sauce is so rich as to evoke the muskiness of the Gobi. The wonderful chicken is a play, in my opinion, on Peking duck with a wonderful crispy skin. My point is simply that JG is exploring and evolving. And I think I've seen some of this trickle back to the flagship on Columbus Circle. Last week there was a wonderful dish of tuna ribbons in a wonderful, Chinese-style sauce. The flavor was much more robust and "authentic" than the Asian inflections I've had there in the past. I do not know for certian whether it is a new or old dish, but I have never seen it before there myself. Perhaps change is afoot!

Yes, Long live Jean Georges Vongerichten!

The Bruni review gives the impression that the menu has become fixed in amber, aside from the usual seasonal adjustments. If true, that is certainly a very different thing than continuing to innovate while retaining a handful of "greatest hits." ← I agree that these are very different things, but I happen to think that Bruni's assessment (JG as "fixed in amber") is an exaggeration. Certainly Bruni wouldn't know, given that he was not dining there regularly himself (as he stated in the review when he said he had some trepidation about returning to write his piece). Perhaps the unnamed critics responsible for the accusation of stasis at JG really mean that Jean Georges hasn't reconceptualized his cuisine from top down, meaning that he hasn't reinvented his whole way of cooking, not that the individual plates never change, If this is the nature of the accusation, I think it unreasonable.

There is some stasis, but I'm not convinced that it is more than the norm. When dishes persist, moreover, they normally stay for a reason. Does anyone want to give up the famous sea bass or the foie gras terrine brulee? I recently had the goat cheese royale mentioned in the review. It was sublime--and I think new.

I saw a screen in the kitchen of the French Laundry that I was told allowed Keller to see exactly what was going on in Per Se's kitchen, real time. This implies that somebody wants to control, as best as possible, the activities in both places as minutely as possible.

Fat Guy apparently had an unexceptional meal at the FL, but I would like to ask him and others what ratio of so-so/excellent meals one should expect at a place of Per Se's reputation and price? With Thomas Keller I've had 2 great meals, 1 excellent meal, and 1 so-so meal (this week). That's not bad, but I'd like it to be better. My experience of consistency at other fine restaurants in this country, such as ADNY, is not necessarily different, incidentally.

I have just learned that Per Se has a policy of check presentation different from that of many restaurants. Apparently the customer should never need to ask for anything during his time at Per Se. The manager of Per Se, who informed me of the policy, indicated that this has caused some confusion and consternation in the past. I wonder, therefore, whether the policy, which is officially discussed as a thoughtful courtesy, does not offend more than it appeals to customers. I, for one, was startled.

I have dined now at Per Se three times. The first two times I thought my meals stunning. Tonight's meal, however, was very average, even disappointing. Several courses on the chef's menu were not memorable at all. One, a kampachi, was unevenly cooked. The waiter asked me my opinion of the meal twice. Both times I had to say that I was underwhelmed. He clearly wasn't prepared for my response--although he offered to get me something else. I didn't feel comfortable (or hungry enough) to agree to that arrangement. I should mention that several courses were, in fact, excellent, especially the duck, cheese, and two desert courses. (I will note that this is my second experience where I thought the duck should be served with a sharper knife--the dull blade they offer is hard to cut with). I was both startled and embarassed when the check arrived without my asking for it. I don't remember that happening to me before at Per Se or other restaurants of its caliber.

I think Nao's lobster stuffed with sea urchin is one of the best dishes in NYC!

Encouraged by the recent raves about Yuva, I did a little experiment this week. On Thursday night, I dined at Yuva, and last (Friday) night, I dined at Devi. While Yuva was very special, I still thought Devi won hands down. Although the impression is based for the moment on a single experience at Yuva (and many at Devi), I think that I would reiterate that Yuva has a somewhat more traditional menu (Chicken Tikka Masala, for instance) than Devi. Given that I thought these more traditional dishes would tell me something about the restaurant, I ordered a few of them alongside more creative concoctions. The Chicken Tikka Masala was quite good with a rich and sweet sauce. It was not, however, much superior to other good traditional renditions that I have tried and liked elsewhere (at places like Swagat on the UWS, and Bukhara). For appetizers, I liked, but did not love, the crab cakes--I concede they were very airy. Other appetizers, like the wonderful papaya salad, I liked better. The sea bass entree and the cheese balls (I am not up on Indian terminologies, I am afraid) were both good. That said, I did not have the sense of unfettered imagination and (often) flawless execution that makes most of my meals at Devi frequently vertiginous. Perhaps it is a matter of returning to Yuva, as I most certainly will, but the food at Devi is still the best Indian in NYC...for my money anyhow.

I am interested in learning more on this subject since it's been my intuition for some time that the meat at finer restaurants, and most specifically Craft, actually tasted much better than that of Peter Luger's, Wolfgang's, or MarkJoseph's (I love Craft's incredible steaks for two--and recommend them to everyone). My parents are quite close with the Brandts of Brandt beef, and the beef they give to their friends as gifts is the best I've had anywhere. I'm sure it is ultra-select, but I also wonder why more traditional steakhouses don't get in line and use it themselves. I happen to know that Cafe Gray uses Brandt beef, but why wouldn't, say, Wolfgang's? Is there really too much demand (I heard, on the contrary, that these sorts of places were trying to expand their operations and find new customers for their beef), or is it too expensive? I'd like to find out.

What is it with Michelin 3-star restaurants and decor? It's as if they take ugly as a point of pride sometimes. At ADNY, I don't like the table-top bronze palm trees either. Talk about bad: they look dirty to me!

I think we've discovered that they don't!

If you ate strategically, I think that Bellavitae near Washington Square off MacDougal is superb. It might be likened to Lupa, but has a more tapas style routine going. Some very fine pastas are available, including a great cacio e pepe. Some of the antipasti, like the gnocco with proscuitto are amazing (also try the tiny meatballs, polpettine) Soup with pasta is delicious, with a full, ripe homemade broth, as is the tagliata di mazo (which exceeds the price limit, perhaps). This is one of my favorite Italian restaurants in general. Maybe it's worth starting another threat on it, in fact, if people are interested!

That was kind of the point I was making. Generally, restaurant investors are just that: investors. They expect a return. They aren't funding somebody's vision. They're seeking a profit. I can imagine a different model. I can imagine a chef with a significant cult following -- like, say, Paul Liebrandt -- attracting a bunch of rich followers to bankroll him irrespective of investment return. But I don't know that it's happened yet. ← Maybe Grant Achatz at Alinea? What S. Starr's little bevy of chefs - Morimoto? Alfred Portale at Striped Bass in Philadelphia? Please correct me if I'm wrong on any of these. u.e. ← I think I actually read somewhere that Liebrandt or another chef was busy cooking as a private chef for some enormous rich patron in London for a few years between restaurants. In many ways, the rich would enjoy an especially good connection, then, with the best and most innovative food! Really, it wasn't always different, in terms of access, in the Renaissance. Nobody except cardinals and high nobility were "tasting" Raphael's Stanze in the Vatican Palace back then.

But at least now we know how we got there!

Sorry to place another long comment, but in the spirit of a complicated and interesting discussion: Here are some new thoughts in response to Sneakeater’s thoughtful comments. I’ve tried to define three categories (there are probably many more) of avant-garde food. I’ve spun these examples around my experiences at WD-50. I offer a few thoughts, all unbaked I confess, about what these categories mean for “culinary originality” in avant-garde food. But I want to agree from the first that I share the opinion that good food must taste good besides being "new". I don't think I meant to express anything else in my original big email, just to say that I think we have to constantly renegotiate the terms and conditions of good in our dining. To pursue some art analogies for avant-garde food: I accept the idea that conceptual art, or Dada for that matter, engages us in a different way than, say, Abstract Expressionism. While Abstract Expressionism, and its main exponents like De Kooning or Pollock, can attract us according to traditional criteria, like color, brushwork, even composition, a piece by Joseph Beuys often cannot be judged in the same way. Dada and Conceptual artists challenged the very notions of the art itself, not only finding new means of expressing themselves in traditional media, but breaking from those media and placing them under new scrutiny. Thus Duchamp declared a urinal a work of art by merely staging it as such. By doing so, Duchamp opened up the definition of art in order to include other things, like his “found objects.” He was saying that art could be anything. Perhaps the avant-garde in food does not need to ask this sort of question of itself. We’re not going to start gnawing on stones, for instance, claiming they are food. Food is not (or is not yet) a thing whose fundamental purpose seems to demand its own opening up, at least in so far as we do not need to question whether eating is a good thing to do (we need to do it to survive, and only occasional mystics think that surviving is besides the point). Dufresne is, however, like Duchamp or Warhol (as I’ve said elsewhere) because he does like to transform “low” food into “high” food (Category no. 1)—this is often most obvious in the pastry kitchen where, to take an example, carrot cake will be reborn as a loftier desert (and one of my favorites there). On these occasions, Dufresne (and his great pastry chef) are avant-garde in their attempting to open up the boundary between high and low cuisine. Sometimes, I would argue, we their patrons are unprepared for these sorts of inversions. We think it vulgar or we haven’t adjusted our oral (and mental) compasses. One might say to some of these dishes, “That’s not what I expected” and thus reject them. But this is not the category of avant-garde cuisines that fits the idea of “expanding the overall criteria that we judge and recognize good food by”. Another level of originality might be the “new flavor combination” model (Category no. 2) where a combination is seemingly unprecedented by tradition or expectation. Sometimes these are immediately appealing, but often these are perhaps the hardest things to like. While the combination might be sanctioned by some very general concept like “sweet and sour”, for instance, the results are carried out with unexpected ingredients. We are not ready to have a candy-like sweetness combined in one of Dufresne’s famous foie gras combinations with the fishy sourness of an anchovy--but somehow the flavor works on us and we learn to like it. But I don’t know if even combinations of this kind might be said to take food to entirely new conceptual places, although they do depend on us making comparisons with other dishes. To take another example, this may be music with dissonance, but it hasn’t altogether renounced harmony and melody yet. But harmony and melody are occasionally renounced (Category no. 3). Sometimes a dish is more conceptual than satisfying in terms of its flavor. I’d agree that in these cases I am not always able to come along with the chef. I suppose that I share your reluctance to give the chef total freedom to make unsavory but conceptually interesting things. I wouldn’t want to eat a “subverted” steak that was smothered in a purposefully yucky substance just because the chef thought that “steak” as a category was redolent with detestable and unwanted associations. That seems like an experiment more proper to the writer and essayist. In these cases, I’d agree with you that the chef (say Wylie is making a deconstructed “ants on a branch” or something) must still make his work appeal to us sensually, for if it did not, we would be unable to appreciate his point. Here I agree with both Sneakeater and u.e. But the question is perhaps too easily classified as one between “good” and “bad” food. Great art can be disturbing. I’m not saying food should be. But I would say that some great food can be “difficult” and make us, perhaps, a bit “uneasy”. Pleasure can be defined, of course, in numerous ways. Sometimes the highest pleasures are those that seem to push pleasure to a whole new level. In his late years, Beethoven pushes the envelope on difficulty in order to make words that were more evocative than his earlier ones of spiritual depth by making them less accessible. I won’t engage in a full analysis, because I can’t, but the lack of accessibility perhaps made them seem all the more apart from normal existence. I’ve had an occasional chocolate desert at Alain Ducasse that I thought was difficult and even “deep” precisely because it seemed to press the seriousness of desert beyond normalcy and renounce all frivolity or easy pleasure. I cant' exactly explain why. Yet it was a monumental statement, not because it was “yummy” (although it was, I guess), but because it seemed to say “I am doing something with chocolate that you’ve never tasted before, I can make it serious, give it the demeanor of a noble serious thing, unlike other chocolate things. I am the god of chocolate. I am stronger, more powerful, and, because of that, I even make you think about what it means to be chocolate, what it means to be desert even." Now, I dare say that food is not as eloquent as other arts, as Sneakeater says above. Perhaps its impermanence is one reason. But I also think that there is such a thing as food-based emotions, and that these emotions, founded in memory and recognition (we might frequently associate maple syrup with pancakes and mom, for example), can be manipulated by the highest chefs, like Dufresne, to recreate our experience of the world as an eaten thing. It’s true, we may never be able to respond in direct way to something like death by means of cuisine (as the “higher” arts are said to do), but I do wonder whether or not our own culture is now only beginning to witness how food can speak to deeper things than we have thought in the past. There was a time, circa 1400, when painting was merely a craft and pragmatic thing, and not recognized as the equal to literature. It rose to new prominence after the introduction of treatises on painting by the likes of L. B. Alberti, Leonardo, and others who claimed for it a position amongst the nobler “liberal arts.” Maybe it’s time for food. Maybe you'll agree too.

Sneakeater, You've definitely got me thinking. You are saying that there are two ways of expanding one's aesthetic experience. I think you are saying that one is by expanding upon existing bases of experience and that the other means expanding the basic criteria for making aesthetic judgments more generally. Furthermore, you wonder whether I think the former or latter is applicable in avant-garde cuisine. I think, however, that we are often dealing with both. I'm trying very hard to come up with an example.

I see where you're coming from, and I totally agree that the food has to be "good". Might we say, however, that the diner can grow to like something, even if at first he does not like it? Like you, I wouldn't support a chef who made interesting but, ultimately, bad food. I would support a chef, if I could afford to do so, who made interesting food that I had to adjust to like.

Perhaps this is an opportunity to write something about our approach to avant-garde food. I have been thinking about this topic lately, since I ate at Gilt last week, and I have begun to spin out a few ideas on these matters. I’m wondering—and perhaps this is common sense to everyone besides me—whether or not we need to approach avant-garde food in a different way than we have been. I certain think I need to do so, given what I am learning in this discussion! I wonder whether the problem isn’t just a matter of inconsistency of preparation or invention (which is indeed frequently the problem at Gilt and WD-50—you can see what I say about both in that strand). Indeed, I wonder if the real problem isn’t our approach and sensibilities as intelligent and sophisticated diners (as we all are, I think). It seems to me that avant-garde food might as well be more explicitly compared to other avant-gardes art (isn’t this the point of the name?). Part of the point of avant-garde art is, obviously and fundamentally, that it is set in reaction to that art that has preceded it. Thus, Impressionism, Cubism, and Dada were all attacks at the artistic establishment of 19th century and early 20th century Paris. The important thing to point out, however, is that none of these reactions were utterly independent of what went before them. They were, in fact, utterly dependent on tradition. Without tradition, their sensational postures would be without meaning. You can’t stick a moustache on the “Mona Lisa” like Duchamp did without knowing what the “Mona Lisa” stands for or represents. The new meaning of the work is intrinsically linked, although in disagreement with, the earlier work. For those who know something about literature, Harold Bloom talks about matters related to this one in his “Anxiety of Influence.” In the same way, I’d submit that avant-garde cuisine can be unappetizing for even the most seasoned and educated diners. I am talking here of people of huge refinement who do not always connect with everything last new dish produced. This is absolutely natural. There are cases when all of us—and people much more experience than me—simply do not “get” something. I didn’t “get” several things at Gilt last week. But I also suspect that means I should go back and try things again and attempt to adjust myself to the chef’s special vision of food. It is perhaps only after understanding the overall picture that I might understand the food better too. If I had had any of the dishes that u. e. tried the other day, I might be able to help throw some light on what went wrong for ulterior epicure. In other words, I might be able to discuss whether I thought the problem was with preparation or with getting to know WD’s cuisine. In my many meals at WD-50, I have had a few disappointing ones. Therefore, I happen to think that u.e.’s reaction to WD-50 is entirely legitimate because WD-50 can be, occasionally, inconsistent. But I also submit (humbly) that u.e. should go back to WD-50 and give Dufresne another chance. I think at least one part of u.e.’s issue at WD-50 was, in fact, his/her lack of experience of the Dufresne’s cuisine--his very independent, contrarian “voice.” Sometimes inconsistency is inconsistency. Other times I think the inconsistency is actually the fault of the diner: a failure of appreciation. As an issue of fact, it is sometimes very hard to say with food whether the “taste” of the meal is wrong or the _taste_ of the gourmand is off. What I mean is that we will have a harder time setting a control-like standard for comparison in food than we do in other realms of aesthetic experience (like the recording of a pianist for instance). We cannot preserve a dish of food so that we can go back again and again and check it out in order to determine its relative distinction, like one might simply stick the same CD of Horowitz playing a Chopin Etude back into the CD player and check whether we think it better or worse than another recording. In other words, there is a certain limit imposed by the ephemeral nature of food that makes it hard to go back and judge merit. Was a “bad” dish badly prepared or were we unprepared for it? The fact that food is a transient experience that cannot be permanently recorded beyond the level of a “score” (you cannot do more than describe the preparation, a very incomplete method, or photograph the result) means that it is harder for us to get to know it and retain it. On the other hand, it means perhaps that we cannot study our experience of a dish to the degree we would like, especially at a restaurant where change is part of the idea. I have had several "classic" WD-50 dishes (when they stick around long enough) that are great on some occasions and not so great on others. One example is the corned duck appetizer. I had it once and thought it amazing. A second time, it didn't do anything for me. Occasionally a “classic” will be paired with something it wasn't the last time around, throwing one's expectations of a known dish entirely off. This causes one to have to reconsider the dish entirely, and sometimes one preferred the previous preparation. Perhaps this means that the first interpretation was superior to the latter, but I would also venture to submit that we are not all equipped to know right off, just as people are not always equipped to hear an original interpretation of a favorite piano concerto if we have decided that we love another one that is entirely different. In my experience, aesthetic reactions are very much founded in memory and expectation. I am proposing here that avant-garde food is different than other varieties of cuisine in so far as it plays directly against memory and expectation, sometimes to immediately compelling effect, and sometimes to disappointment. And, indeed, sometimes the experiment merely flops: the food sucks, period. But this very situation makes evaluating an individual invention extremely difficult. I wonder if we can't indeed guess (for I don't know for sure) that WD, like many other people, has bad days, and perhaps even quite a few of them. Thus, I wonder if everything that WD does should be tried twice before evaluation. I know too that this seems unfair to diners, and I totally agree that when one expects (and pays for) a certain thing one should get it right the first time. But I also believe that what WD is doing is something extremely special and different, and unfortunately not subject to the general expectations and rules of normal cuisine. Indeed, we do not blame Mark Twain because half the stuff he wrote was crap, because the other half was a miracle. In the case of Twain, you couldn't have one without the other. The same thing might be said of numerous creative artists, including the likes of Tchaikovsky. Other artists are famously moody, and thus unable to work properly for long stretches of time. I know nothing about Dufresne, and moodiness in a chef would spell disaster for a restaurant, but variables enter art when it is being practiced at the highest levels, especially when creativity is part of the equation. I’m no Dufresne, or anyone special for that matter, but I know that I’m not always at the top of my form when I am asked to do something important and imaginative (cf the current writing). We do tend to blame critics who do not understand avant-garde works that are over their heads. With the benefit of hindsight, we mock the likes of Aretino (the great poet who mocked Michelangelo’s “Last Judgment” for its scandalous nudity and “difficulty”. Aretino was--it must be confessed--an opportunist). But perhaps the burden of approaching cuisine is, in fact, much greater than that facing a critic of a painting or recording. We cannot return to the experience of eating unless we make a second visit and order the same dish. If the dish has been better prepared, or has changed, we cannot know as objective fact the reality of our judgment in the past. This is the very reason why Sneakeater and I cannot, ultimately, know for certain whether or not we have grown by eating at WD-50 or whether Dufresne has become a different chef. Perhaps both things have happened, but it is very difficult (although perhaps not impossible) to determine the truth of the matter. Given that I have enjoyed over 20 meals at WD-50, and in the vast majority I have been tremendously satisfied (hence the 20 + meals), I can't concede that the place is bad, indifferent, or overrated. Although occasionally inconsistent, I think that Dufresne is right most of the time, and if I don’t like something, I generally discover (often later) that I was wrong. u.e. may have much better sensibilities than myself, but that does not necessarily mean that one meal is enough—and thus I urge u.e. to try it again at some point, if s/he can bear the thought. (This email, incidentally, is meant for more than u.e., who was simply the occasion—sorry, u.e.! and sorry for rambling!)

That's how I understand things. Thanks for the clarification on the yellowtail.

We ordered a la carte. u.e. ← Sorry for the confusion. Your one post above made it seem that you were really going to press those friends of yours in the direction of the tasting!