robert brown

On the Italian autoroutes it is not always only the rubber meeting the road, but as anyone who knows them well will tell you, also the glass, leather, twisted metal and drivers and their passengers. We made doubly sure, then, to buckle our seatbelts as we took off on the A10, A12, A11 and A1 from Ventimiglia to Florence for two days of shopping and dining. The drive took an extra 30 minutes due to bottlenecks on the A1, which we fondly refer to as “The Sauce Route” (“The Sauce” for short). I figured that if there is a trade route between Europe and Asia named the Silk Route, then the main road between the foodie cities of Milan, Bologna and Naples should certainly have a special and appropriate name of its own. With the accuracy of today’s Cruise missiles, we zeroed in on our hotel without missing a beat. The hotel in question, the Lungarno, merits special attention for its location and value for money. On the south bank of the Arno, about a half of a block from the Ponte Vecchio, this hotel of fairly recent construction evokes an almost New England feel in its white, wood-walled public rooms and gives a high level of comfort in its bedrooms. We had what is known in the trade as a junior suite. The price of somewhere around 220 euros including service, taxes and breakfast for two is very fair for Florence hotels. However, had we stayed in a room facing the river, the price would have been about 50% more. After some shopping, we wanted a light lunch in anticipation of a big dinner. Relying, as we often do, on Faith Heller Willinger’s guidebook “Eating in Italy,” we walked across the Ponte Vecchio and continued on for about five blocks to the Cantinetta dei Verrazzano, the in-town wine-bar and casual restaurant that belongs to the Chianti Classico winemaking concern. The large traditionally-designed but recent establishment is divided into a take-out area selling pastries; a wine bar; and a small dining area, while at the back, a woman in a pizza-type kitchen makes what is the main draw for diners: the various “schiacciate” or foccacio. The “degustazione” of four types seemed to us to be the best way to eat here. We had ones made with peas; cepes; tomato; and, the best, fried zucchini flower. A salad of tomatoes and mozzarella was dreary as it was made from mediocre materials. Verrazzano’s cool, crisp chardonnay, well-structured and not overly-sweet, went well with our food. (Cantinetta dei Verrazzano. Via de’ Tavolini 18-20. 055.268.590. Open 8 to 8. Closed Sundays.) Florence has but two high-profile restaurants. Enoteca Pinchiorri is the only one with any Michelin stars, two in this instance. However, it is one that serious food lovers avoid because of its high prices and lack of Tuscan authenticity. One visit in 1982 was enough for us. The other restaurant, Il Cibreo, is considered by many to be the most interesting, if not the best, in town. Having been there fairly recently, we wanted to expand our rather small first-hand knowledge of Florence restaurants with an establishment we had yet to visit. To break what is truly a culinary log jam, we took out four guidebooks and compiled a lengthy list of restaurants and ratings, after trying to glean an idea from the text what we might find. In the end we selected an old-time traditional restaurant, Oliviera. Again we walked across the Ponte Vecchio and then down a narrow street just a couple of blocks away from the Arno. Here we entered a staid, circa 1960 dining room with red banquettes along each wall. So stuffed were they that my wife dined with her feet dangling and ending up with sore legs as a result. My wife’s first course was an introduction to “gnudi”, a Tuscan dumpling or “gnocchi”. It is spinach and ricotta formed into a ball; egg and a bit of pasta hold its shape. The sauce on it was made with butter and yellow wine. The dish was good, but as we were to discover the following day, it can be made a lot better. I ordered a pleasant, straightforward salad of octopus with sliced tomato, diced potato, green beans and strips of uncut roasted chives. Touted as one of the better restaurants for the eponymous “Bistecca alla Fiorentina”, the one we ate at Oliviero was not the best in memory. Neither marbleized nor fibrous, it was soft and tender, but with no pronounced beefy taste. It came with roasted potatoes and white beans. My wife skipped dessert while I ordered “gelatti misti”: chocolate, vanilla and pistachio from the famous local gelateria, Vivoli, which did not seem to be as good as the best ice creams I have had in France. Our bill with a good bottle of Chianti came to about $170. ($70. of which was for the steak for two) with a gratuity. We found this address to be competent, but without any culinary fireworks. The clientele, what there was of it, was from the upper echelons and appeared to be local. Solid and conservative, one might say. (Ristorante Oliviero. via della Terme, 51. Florence. 055-287643. Dinner only. Closed Sundays and August. www.ristorante-oliviera.it.) Even if a much-anticipated visit to the big Prada discount outlet in Montevarchi, about a 40 minute drive southeast from Florence, was disappointing (oldish stock at only 30% off), our lunch in nearby Rendola at the Osteria di Rendola was not. The Osteria is one of those Tuscan triple-threat gastronomic enterprises: dining, winemaking and olive oil production. It is set in beautiful, natural Tuscan countryside of gentle hills and lush greenery. The local DOCG wine is Chianti dei Colli Aretini which we had with our lunch. It is a simple, inexpensive red without much finesses or softness. We sat in one of the two dining rooms; this one with a bar and, alas, no air conditioning. Yet a bit of breeze was around and we tucked into a delicious, relatively simple meal without discomfort. Again, my wife ordered a “gnudi” in pepper sauce. This version was larger and fluffier than the one at Oliviera, and tastier as well. I opted for a dish perfect for the Tuscan heat. It was a salad of duck breast in raspberry vinegar, copious with its six large slices. Lettuce and cooked raspberries rounded out this delicious dish. I followed on with squid ink macaroni with pancetta, strips of zucchini and bits of tomato. My wife had warm goose liver with fried grapes, pieces of pear and accompanied with balsamic vinegar. We were content with both dishes. After some delicious home-made gelati and fruit, my wife roused a young American woman from Shrewsbury, Massachusetts away from her lunch to purchase several bottles of the Osteria's olive oil. Apparently the woman is married to a son of the family that owns the property. (Osteria di Rendola. Localita Rendola. 055-9707491. No weekly closing. Closed in May.) We then drove through the beautiful countryside that skirted the great Chianti Classico vineyards, then around Siena, and north about 20 minutes to Colle di Val d’Elsa for a rendez-vous with one of the better restaurants in Italy. Ristorante Arnolfo, awarded two stars in the Guida Michelin, is in the old and perched part of Colle. When we arrived in front of the restaurant-hotel with no apparent place to park, I rang the buzzer and after a short wait was greeted by the chef, Gaetano Trovato, who, with his brother and maitre d’hotel/sommelier Giovanni, has owned Arnolofo for eight years. Gaetano then led my wife to a garage while Giovanni led me to one of the four hotel rooms. Ours was spacious and comfortable with good air conditioning and a well-fitted bathroom and a strong shower. Arnolfo’s dining areas, both inside and on its open terrace, have one of the most arresting views we have ever encountered in a restaurant. Look down and you see an array of treetops beneath you. Apparently there must be a gully below. Look up and there is a rising field turned yellow from the rainless summer, on the crest of which is a lone one-room stone house. The scene evokes Vincent Van Gogh and Andrew Wyeth. Arnolfo somehow manages to provide pretty much a full-blown gastronomic visit with only four talented people in the kitchen and five skillful and attentive ones in the dining room. Gaetano Trovato offers a tasting menu composed of a la carte dishes, which, in turn, number four or five choices in each category: starter, pasta, meat and fish, and desserts. We chose to order a la carte. First, however, was a generous offering of “amuses-gueles” that included a perfect and light zucchini flower filled with ricotta followed by a tray of cheese-flavored pastry twists, teaspoons of fish tartare, and sweet onion tarts. My wife began her meal proper with raviolis filled with zucchini on a tomato-based sauce. The raviolis pockets were standing upright on the dish. They were extremely light with an unusual texture that was neither translucent nor silky. Could they have been made with Durham wheat? My wife proclaimed them “perfection”. My pasta dish was tortellini filled with sea bass accompanied by threads of zucchini and the Italian red crayfish (“gamberi rossi”). Again this was perfect: light, delectable and pure tasting. At about this point in the meal, between the first and second courses, Gaetano came by to talk to us and the other clients. I was able to surmise that he had received some training in France, which he confirmed by telling us that in the 1980s he had worked for Gaston Lenotre when he owned the Pre Catalan restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne, and for Roger Verge at the Moulin de Mougins. This aspect of his cuisine became more evident in our main courses. For my wife it was squab (“piccioni”) served in two pieces--the breast and the wing— that were in a stock made with Balsamico. The legs were stuffed with liver and wrapped in crispy dough. (“Fabulous” is what my wife noted). As side dishes Gaetano served a ravioli in a light gelatinous broth with the liver; onions that resembled bulbous leeks; and baby vegetables that included a delicious piece of a porcini mushroom. I had dream-like baby lamb cut into two thick pieces and on the bone that had nestled into them a black olive tapenade-like filling. On the side was an intriguing potato and Parmesan toast held together with a disk made of zucchini. I enjoyed this dish immensely. The cheese service at Arnolfo is not my favorite type. Instead of offering a “chariot”, they bring a plate with three slices of goat cheeses and two of Pecorino that are, nonetheless, regional and interesting. Dessert, however, put the meal back on the fast track. Our order to share came in three parts: a dark chocolate wafer over a mound of mascarpone; a coffee granita with crème Chantilly; and licorice ice cream. Gaetano decorated the plate with ribbons of raspberry and apricot coulis. The mignardises of a coconut-coated cherry, little crescents of crush nuts and blackberries in paper-thin pastry crusts put the meal over the top. As an indication of the integrity of the house, I had to read the remarkable wine list without my glasses, which I had broken by sitting on them in bed just before dinner. I nonetheless was able to make out a 1995 Brunello di Montalcino from Andrea Costanti. When I told Giovanni my choice, he said, “There is an even better wine. Take this one, the 1995 Brunello “Vigna Pianrosso” from Ciacci." Ciacci was a producer whose wine I had somehow never tasted, though I knew he was one of the great Brunello winemakers. In fact, I looked for one on the list and, in my visually-impaired state missed it. I was grateful to Giovanni for reading my mind. The next morning we had a wonderful continental breakfast with delicious and dense, sweet apricot-filled croissants with giant grains of sugar sprinkled on them. Gaetano and Giovanni were there to chat with us (and to present the bill which was a remarkably fair 368 euros, including our room) as we bought some of the olive oil Gaetano cooks with (one type for cooking fish, another for meat). We promised the Trovato Brothers we would be back before another year was out. We began our trip back to Nice stopping at another idyllic restaurant for lunch, Rosa in Camogli. But because this was in Liguria, it will have to be another subject for another day. Arnolfo. Via XX Settembre 50-52a. Colle di Val d’Elsa. 057-7920549. www.arnolfo.com. . Closed Tuesdays & Wednesdays and from early January to early February and one week around the beginning of August.

A couple of years ago I asked the owner of a cheesee store in Aqui Terme for a piece of old Castelmagno. The next morning I brought it down to the breakfast room of our hotel. I opened it and saw that the piece was crawling with maggots. I gave it to the woman behind the bar to throw away. I had read about other Italian cheeses such as those described above, but never a Castelmagno. This may be what Peter bought.

A Tetou update: We went there tonight with seven other people. I had to be on my best behavior. The soup, rouille, potatoes, and toast were fine However, I asked the boss how many fish would be in the bouillabaisse. He said four. My wife and I detected just one. For the first time I noticed several unoccupied tables. I'm starting to believe that the dish is meant to go down in more humble surroundings.

Francesco, I would bop down to Prioca d'Alba and go to Il Centro if it is open. Bill?

As I see it, Ducasse is a better example of one who trusts outsiders to realize his branded products. This is a bit different from what I know and saw in Barcelona. I hope I didn't give the opposite impression, since I worked dilligently so that I could share my visit with those who care about gastronomy in its unique, most rarified expression.

Bux, you described the phenomenon perfectly and with great articulation. I even forwarded it to the director of the Chateau St. Martin, from whom I am still waiting a reply.

Peter, if memory serves me well, Chez FonFon is in some nondescript neighborhood away from the sea. But so what. It's a lively, informal place. Let us know how it goes. Have fun.

Peter, you are right about how many restaurants show you the whole fish and then prepare it tableside. This happens often at restaurants of simplicity as well as at serious restaurants. Of course I should have really grilled the maitre d'hotel on the phone, but my asking how many orders to a fish should have evoked a forthright, detailed response. I suspect he knew a whole fish was what I had in mind, but did not want to lose my business. Also lurking in the background is the matter of does the Chateau St. Martin keep fresh fish on hand. Preparing it they way they did and not showing or serving the whole fish certainly begs the question. Add to this the incident with the "beurre blanc" and you begin to see the MO of the place. If you spend a lot of time on the French Riviera, youn begin to notice how many businesses survive on conscientiously ripping off foreigners, especially Americans. They assume that none of us know, but forget that many Americans are the most aware of consumers. I hope these enterprises are all suffering now, those that deserve to. I am forwarding this thread to the management of the Chateau St. Martin. I'll let everyone know what response, if any, they come back with

Peter, Chez Fonfon may be your best bet, regardless. I ate there several years ago on a recommendation from Eli Zabar. Marcus did a survey a few months ago of three or four in Marseilles. He liked Chez Fonfon very much. PM him. We are planning a trip to Maurin des Maures in Rayol Canadelles sur, near Le Lavandou, in a couple of weeks. It was featured on Gourmet TV and looked tempting. You have to order the bouillabaisse in advance.

Bill, I will try to post something in the next few days. Peter, thanks so much. I'm about to step out, but your post raises some interesting points that I intend to discuss further. Thank you, both.

Nearly 25 years ago, I noticed a certain phenomenon in higher-end travel. It was that owners of certain high-profile hotel-restaurants believed that since their property is so idyllic, if not historic, they could abrogate the right to make their best efforts in providing good cuisine and service. My first realization of this occurred in 1978 at the sprawling (in terms of its size and the land it occupied) Chateau d’Artigny in Montbazon, south of Tours, which was the former residence of Francois Coty, the famous perfume maker. There my wife and I and six art-dealer colleagues had dinner and an overnight stay. The hotel and restaurant service was so bad and the food mediocre, that I wrote a letter listing my complaints to the owner, Rene Traversac, who was also at the time the president of the Relais & Châteaux organization. He invited me to return for a complimentary dinner and a night’s stay. From that experience I also learned about the emptiness of such gestures, for who would want to take the time and effort to return to an establishment one has learned is no fun to be in? Such a place in my chosen area of France, the Cote d’Azur, which I always imagined to have similar attributes is the Chateau St. Martin in Vence. I have heard about it for many years, particularly so when a friend of mine was working for the now-discredited financier Marshall Cogan who about 20 years tried to buy it. I knew the Chateau San Martin was a place where well-heeled Americans who had little cultural curiosity piled into, much as they do at the Hotel du Cap on Cap d’Antibes or the Grand Hotel du Cap-Ferrat, spending their days at the pool and going to the no-longer “sure-fire” restaurants at night. About a week ago my wife was craving for fresh fish with a sauce of “beurre blanc” and rice on the side. As her daughter was with us and had some family members who had stayed there, I phoned the Chateau St. Martin that afternoon and was assured by the maitre d’hotel, a Monsieur Lurue, that indeed we could have such a dish with our choice of sea bass, red snapper, mackerel, or sea bream. I then asked him how many orders per fish were there to which he replied “one”. I ordered two sea bass in case one of the three others in our group wanted it. After a 40-minute drive from Nice that took us up in the hills behind Vence where the wealthy philistines staying at the Chateau St. Martin were far away from whom they consider native plebeians, we arrived at this grandioise Provencal stone chateau with immaculate grounds and the tallest cypresses I had ever seen. As soon as we walked in, an employee told my wife’s daughter’s friend and me that we needed to wear jackets, a requirement I had never been subjected to in any of the great provincial restaurants of France, especially during the worst heat wave since 1944. The man showed us to a closet where tried on several jackets. Having found ones that fit, we wore them onto the dining terrace and put them on the back of our chairs as soon as we sat down. As I expected, Americans and British filled the dining area nearly entirely, probably more the latter since Americans are in short supply in the South of France for the second straight summer. Our table at the far end of the terrace gave us ideal positioning for enjoying the view over Vence and then of the sea far off in the distance. It no doubt made the inconsistent and less-than-attentive wine and water service more tolerable. From the small number of choices, I began the meal with a lobe of foie gras served with a sauce of exotic fruits; my wife and her daughter with a tomato filled with eggplant and a martini glass of gazpacho and tomato sorbet; and the daughter’s friend with three small langoustines in a sauce that escapes my recollection. As it is with the typical Relais & Chateaux establishment that is primarily a hotel and not categorized by the organization as a “Relais Gourmand”, these dishes were acceptable, attractive, and, in the end, undistinguished. At the beginning of the meal, we were able to order the sea bass for everyone. The waiters then brought four dishes (priced at 50 euros per ), each with a small cube of fish less than the size of my big toe, which was browned on the top and a bit overcooked inside. M. Lurue, the headwaiter, came over to see if the dish was to our liking. As I am known to do from time to time when I don’t get anything close to what I expect, I gave him both barrels. I told him this was indeed not what I expected and that I anticipated each of us receiving an entire sea bass filleted at the table, which is why I asked him how many orders did one fish provide. My disappointed wife, in what was a farewell dinner for her daughter, said we did not order a “pave” of sea bass. Lurue said that this was the way the chef prepared it and that it was too bad for us if we weren’t happy. He didn’t apologize and didn’t offer to change the dish or to make good in some way. He walked off, never to come any near us for the rest of the meal, nor to bid us goodbye and thank us for coming. I told the waiter in charge of our table that the maitre d’hotel had fibbed to me, and asked him what might we expect to make up for this. He answered “ a glass of dessert wine or after-dinner drink”, to which I replied that we never order these. The waiter then served one tablespoon of sauce for each person from a sauceboat that was filled with the “beurre blanc”. Because the rice soaked up what little sauce he had given us, I asked for more sauce. No one brought over the sauceboat, and several minutes went by with my fish having become ambient temperature. After repeated assurances that the sauce was on its way, at least ten minutes had passed before the fresh sauce arrived at the table. We immediately realized that after dishing out such a parsimonious amount, the server had returned the sauce to the kitchen and thrown it out, leaving us to wait until someone prepared the sauce over again. When I told the waiter that the dishes had been ruined, he offered the lame rationale that covering what was left of the fish would magically become warm with the addition of sauce on top. Of course at this point, any honest restaurant would have offered to remake the dish. After we were done with our main course, the waiter asked me if we wanted cheese. I asked him if was on the house, to which he said yes. Here I made the tactical blunder of taking him up on his offer, even though I was the only one accepting it. By doing so, I let the perpetrators off the hook and was roundly booed by my wife and her daughter. I imagine I could have been invited back for a couple of free meals if I held out, but, then again, what serious gourmand would want to? The desserts were complicated and oversweet except for a classic chocolate soufflé. What should have been an idyllic “last supper” of the vacation was ruined by what is ruining eating in France for those who know and care about food: arrogance, dishonesty, patronizing treatment, and diminishing returns. Four days later my wife and I were off to Tuscany and Liguria for a humdinger of a culinary excursion among the Italian chefs, restaurateurs, and those who serve whom we love so well. .

We tend to think of restaurants and chefs as being primarily about food. Wine plays a second fiddle; design is somewhere in the lower echelons of the gastronomic hierarchy. Can beautiful presentation and innovative design make food taste better? For the owners of el Bulli, design plays a crucial role in the diner's experience. They have given much attention not only to the design of the restaurant, but to the graphics on the menu, and the restaurant's kitchen. To see how presentation and design are conceived, my wife Susan and I visited the el Bulli "Taller" (atelier, studio, laboratory) in Barcelona. Here, especially during the six months of the year in which the restaurant is closed, Ferran Adria and his collaborators work on new dishes, new techniques and new frontiers of design. * * * There are two ways to enter the el Bulli "Taller" One is through the front door, as a professional chef. The other is to make contact with people working in el Bulli "Carme", a large loft-like space on Barcelona's Carrer del Carme, just behind La Boqueria market and across La Rambla from the laboratory. Here several people work on the expansion of the el Bulli enterprise and the design of computer and printed materials, most visibly the three volumes of the el Bulli culinary history, the first of which appeared last fall. It was these books that made me realize that the way things look and how they are designed is an important part of el Bulli. Being professionally involved in historic and contemporary avant-garde design, we arranged a rendez-vous for July 4th with Marta Mendes, the books' designer. She told my wife and me to meet at Carrer de Carme, 15. Thinking that our appointment was at the laboratory, we were unable to find the place and no one on the street or in the neighborhood could help us. The outdoor buzzers indicated only apartment and office floors. Eventually we hit the right button and someone rang us in. Full-time staffers Marta Mendes, the designer of the el Bulli books and her colleague Luki Huber, an industrial designer from Switzerland, greeted us 45 minutes later than the appointed time, gave us a brief tour of their workplace loft, and led us across the way to the el Bulli "Taller". Upon entering, we saw or heard no one: no chef flailing away at some new dish or creating some new sauce or culinary form. Furthermore, one impression that one takes away is how small the cooking area is. Before reaching the kitchen, however, we noticed on our right just beyond the entrance and vestibule a long counter that displayed several of the inventions used to make some of the el Bulli famous dishes and pieces of custom-designed tableware. At the head of the line was the now infamous foamer that had been adapted through the addition of plastic tubing to make the well-known Parmesan spaghetti. Luki explained that liquefied Parmesan is injected into the tube, and the foamer's CO2 cartridge blows out the solidified mixture in a continuous five-foot long strand. What then caught our eye was the hot-cold pack, put underneath certain dishes to keep them hot or cold at the table. We asked Luki if the pack was like the headband hikers and tourists use to keep cool by putting it in the freezer several hours before using it. He said that it was, and as an example referred me to page 368 in the el Bulli 1998-2002 book that illustrated "carmelos helados:frambuesa, zanahoria, remolach e hinojo" (frozen caramels: raspberry, carrot, beets and fennel) that are served in caramel-shaped portions and wrapped in cellophane as caramels are and kept frozen by the hot-cold pack placed beneath them. In the small display were two examples of package designs that Luki had executed: the small tube of peanut butter (shown with a package of diamond dealer's parcel paper that Luki had brought to the attention of Albert Adria to wrap small tablets of dark chocolate) we knew from our two prior meals and the Iranian caviar tin used to serve Adria's caviar de ceps and apple caviar, the latter of which I photographed during our most recent meal at the restaurant. Luki also designed the atomizer used to spray on the tongue various aromas that Adria wants the diner to experiences before tasting certain dishes. Rounding out the small display were various serving pieces, most notable the ones made of slate, which Luki discovered was a highly practical material for both holding utensils and serving dishes because of its low cost, durability and ability to maintain the temperature of the food. From this is derived the chalk and slate motif in much of the el Bulli design, most notably the el Bulli book. Straight on after the display is a seating area with two facing couches and a large television monitor that displays some of the food photographs from the el Bulli book. Through the large window ahead, we saw a small construction site in full disarray. We thought it was an expansion of the kitchen and offices. Instead Adria has decided to make a large terrace garden; "something crazy", Luki said, with designer to be determined. We then walked into the room with the test kitchen. Along the back wall, an array of small cooking appliances sat on a counter with storage cabinets below. Beneath the counter top someone affixed white letters that spelled out a Marcel Duchamp-like phrase similar to those found on his roto-reliefs, but in Spanish. Luki didn't know the precise origin, but thought it could have also come from one of the Spanish Dadists. In the middle of the room was a large stove with induction hobs that one pulled out from a wood cabinet. Yet, it was not this stove that appeared to be at the heart of the laboratory, but rather the awe-inspiring assemblage Luki called "the inspiration board." Along most of one wall were hundreds of small jars filled with herbs, spices, dried plants and flowers, examples of categories of preparations Adria has invented, and samples of seemingly all available raw materials that Adria could use. Extending from a ledge beneath the assemblage was a guide lined up to show the precise location of every jar and its contents. (See the first two photographs above.) It was easy to imagine Ferran or Albert Adria standing in front of it, deep in meditation to divine a new addition to the el Bulli repertoire. Marta and Luki then led us into the administrative area of the laboratory.We saw the conference room that appeared to be in a former ecclesiastic office and then met the attractive, vivacious Silvia Fernandez who is Albert Adria's wife in the El Bulli office area. After some enjoyable conversation, we went upstairs to the library which housed a good number of culinary books, passing a series of good silkscreen portraits that Silvia had done of Ferran Adria. On the way up, we stopped in front of a metal cabinet. Luki opened one of the drawers and showed us a collection of small notebooks, each of which documented the way Ferran and Albert conceived some of their dishes. In the one notebook we saw that belonged to Albert, he had written very clear and meticulous notes with sketches. Although I could not take the time to examine the notes carefully, the notebooks are clearly important archival material. On the top level of the el Bulli inner sanctum, which was similar to a catwalk, there were a couple of narrow areas with works of art, including one by Robert Rauschenberg, and two framed chef's vests belonging to Ferran, one for the 100th anniversary dinner of the Guide Michelin held at Lucas-Carton and the other for a competition held by the Bragard Corporation, the manufacturer of chefs' apparel. Marta then showed us a poster-size compilation of the many el Bulli pictograms that she has designed. We then returned to the first floor seating area where Luki showed us five of his notebooks that he uses to create cooking and tabletop implements. What we found most surprising, however, was to learn that Adria encourages Luki to come up with designs for innovative cooking devices; Adria then tries to find techniques and dishes to prepare with the new devices -- instead, as one would think, of the other way around. Our visit about to end and camera out of juice, we met Ferran Adria's wife Isabel who had just arrived to do some work in the office. She was appealing, helpful and friendly as she suggested a few restaurants and tapas bars to visit. Silvia then opened a drawer in her desk and there arranged on a flat surface were stacks of business cards from a dozen or so dining establishments that they give to their visitors. As my wife and I returned to the streets of the "Ciutat Vella" (Old City), we turned to each other and said virtually in unison how immensely enlightening the visit had been. Yet the thought we shared that trumped everything was how much far the Adria brothers and el Bulli go beyond just cooking. * * * In your visits to restaurants, and even in your own cooking, does design play a role? Do you use a cookbook more often when it is beautifully presented, with superb photographs? Do you pay attention to the tableware used at your favourite restaurants? Does design matter for you in the way it obviously does for the owners of el Bulli?

I had dinner there last summer. It is the best of the three hotel dining rooms along that short stretch of shoreline that encompasses La Reserve, Le Metropole, and the Royal Riviera. I liked my dinner at La Reserve more than my wife did. The chef learned at Robuchon and you can get the famous mashed potatoes. We had a 60 euro menu that now looks to be 70 euros. The wine list has suffered over the years (so what else is new?) and it presents less value for money than the food. So while La Reserve is expense on an absolute basis, I didn't feel ripped off as I did at the two other hotels.

Hey Victor, I've been shilling on the board for Hispania, thanks to Bux. In fact I have a reservation for lunch this Sunday. I will try to write more about it. Thanks for confirming a hunch based on little empirical evidence.

Matthew, I would say because: Apparently it's a singleton. Cocktail is offering it to a limited audience. Most people have made their August plans. The restaurant is not easy to get to. Believe me, the restaurant is inundated with calls from people hoping for cancellations.

Several years ago, the Hague is where you went for rijstafel, as some of the best in the country were there. I never heard of a famous other kid of restaurant there; but the situation has probably changed. There was one famous Indonesia restaurant there, but the name escapes me. Does eGullet have any Dutch members!!!!!!!!!!

How many people? There is someone I can try.

Has anyone noticed or tried the new noodle/dim sum place at eight-five and two on the west side of the avenue?

Go to La Maison du Chocolat on Madison between 78th and 79th and buy the dark chocolate "mendiant" (a bark with grilled hazelnuts and almonds; pistachios, orange peel and raisins) and eat it under the table of whatever restaurant you go to. It's only $53, pound, and 5-6 ozs. should suffice for two.

That's strange because the folks at the restaurant told me in April that the English edition would be available this month. I will ask again next week when I am in Barcelona, but it sounds like the above information is correct.

The causes are really simple. Twenty years ago, a talented chef would finish a rigorous six-or-so years' apprenticeship at three great restaurants, each different from the other. The chef would return to his home region and open a good, if not ambitious, restaurant that offered a varied menu and a decent carte des vins. (I can also recall going into almost any decent-sized village or town and finding a heart-warming regional restaurant serving meals that I have never forgotten). This activity has come to a grinding halt. Any new restaurant that opens around Nice is run on a shoestring with fixed menus and literally a few people in the kitchen and dining room. The wine lists are paltry, besides. So what Ducasse is doing is putting a band-aid over the problem since he can't repair the economic and bureaucratic problems that have decimated dining in France the past eight to ten years.

This is the first of a series of related topics on Symposium, all devoted to what I call "mind over palate". By this I mean the personal and psychological factors that influence how we perceive and form opinions about foods, wines, restaurants and chefs. Several related discussions have taken place on eGullet, and Margaret Pilgrim, LEsider and Lissome have all suggested related topics. We hope that if you think of a topic that pertains to "mind over palate", you will send it to us. * * * Were it not for the advent of food discussion sites and the sophisticated amateur diners that frequent them, I would almost certainly have never noticed the wide range of opinions that knowledgeable people hold about famous, high-profile restaurants. My sense is that this divergence of views is increasing. Among the restaurants and their chefs that attract wildly different judgments are Atelier Joel Robuchon, El Bulli, WD50, Pierre Gagnaire, Hiramatsu, Can Fabes, and even establishments such as the French Laundry and Alain Ducasse New York. As I write this, I am planning a visit to the Basque region of Spain. Diners’ opinions of four restaurants (Akalre, Arzak, Berastatqui, and Zurberoa) are split down the middle in terms of positive and negative. The phenomenon is not limited to the most expensive restaurants: in London, for example, Chez Bruce has won praise from many experienced diners, jeers from others of equal sophistication. As I think about the earlier decades during which I did a lot of gastronomic travel and dining out, I cannot recall a similar situation. In the 1970s and 1980s, almost no one disparaged such leading chefs as Joel Robuchon (before his "retirement"), Fredy Girardet, the Troisgros brothers, and Michel Guerard. Even the classic French restaurants in New York such as Lutece, La Grenouille, Café Chauveron, Le Pavillon and The Four Seasons were never held in anything but the highest esteem. Today, however, it seems that every high-profile restaurant in the middle and upper-range has both its rabid supporters and its vociferous detractors. Restaurants and chefs have become controversial, and it is almost impossible to find a serious restaurant or chef who attracts nothing but favourable opinions. What might cause this divergence? Could it be that: ----The chef/restaurant boom of the last 15 years that has seen the creation of more personal and varied approaches to cooking, or what is also referred to as “challenging food.” This would result in less concentration of, and exposure to, the classic cuisines and their dishes, thus making universal standards more elusive. ----More restaurants falling into what I have previously referred to as “the great unwashed middle”. In other words, the opportunities to dine in truly extraordinary restaurants have diminished, replaced by restaurants that seemingly can be great one night and mediocre on another as each tries to offer a version of “dining at the top” for less than top dollar. ----A better understanding on the part of chefs and restaurateurs about how to manipulate the diner’s psyche and hence elicit the “mind over palate” phenomenon. ----The amount of experience required to distinguish good restaurants from poorer ones ----The ease of posting one’s opinion, learned or not, on sites such as this one. Of course, my own views about foods, wines, chefs and restaurants are objective reflections of reality and everyone should base their future consumption choices on them. But absent this rational behavior on the part of everyone else, are we doomed to increasing argument about the world’s most famous restaurants? Might there be ways in which we can move toward more aligned opinions, or is healthy debate healthy, making divergence of opinion something we could even embrace?

This beats writing a letter to the editor by a mile because I'm sure to get an answer. First, though, your intellect, efforts and integrity stand out in what can be a corrupt and idiotic endeavor: the reportage of wine. Your Oxford Companion to Wine is simply monumental. I wonder how you approach the tasting and analysis of inexpensive wines from secondary or tierciary producers or countries. Is it something you often dread or you view as nothing more than that which comes with the "terroire", to to speak; is it with a sense of hope or anticipation that you will find a real sleeper wine; or an activity you see as a challenge? In general do you find that new entries to the wine market can often be seen as examples of wine-making in general becoming better and more exciting, or are there too many people trying to get into an overcrowded market and missing the mark with their endeavors?

What's the address?

In what way, FG? Mikeyrad, sure it would be nice if Dufresene could ignore Grimes, but not having a rave precludes you from certain possibilities such as commanding a higher price for the food and broadening your recognition factor that leads to off-restaurant opportunities. He's too interesting a chef not to be more than a bit wounded short-term. I'm going again next week and it will hardly be the last time.