Wilfrid

She was with some young-looking guy with short fair-ish hair. He looked kind of uninteresting, rather than geeky. Glad to see you're all so interested in my penetrating analysis of the cuisine.

Sorry. Vague as ever.

Snap, Bux. I was trying to think where I would have seen the show. Yes, on an airplane somewhere. Amazing what air travel will drive you to. I got hooked on a meaningless computer game on a recent long-haul flight.

I am going to send her over a drink from "eGullet's Wilfrid" next time I see her. I'll report back.

Yes, they'll shatter if you try to cut them when they're dry. Also, if you're filling needs to be thoroughly cooked, cook it separately first. The final dip in the broth should just be to finish everything off and heat it all up.

The lasagne truc, as I have been taught to say, is worth knowing about. I just boil the lasagne sheets until they're nearly done, cut them into squares and dab on the ravioli filling. I use the tines of a fork to seal the edges, as with empanadas. Then just finish them in some nice broth. Lift carefully. Sorry if everyone in the universe knew that already.

Could you enlarge on your little Jacquard action, Nick? Thanks.

Hmm. Having eaten some good and some poor versions out of state, recently, I was hoping you'd know the answer to this question, ahr. Let's hope someone does.

The casting was the main problem for me. Maybe it's because I'm too familiar with Lenny Henry's usual persona, but his tirades, which were intended to be the comic climaxes of each episode, seemed entirely forced and artificial. Compare with John Cleese losing it in "Fawlty Towers" - you could feel the rage.

Am I glad I returned to this thread.

Specifically, my veal cheeks were served in a nice, hot copper pot. Dat's de way to do it.

Yes, I had to think carefully about how to finish that sentence. I am usually much less careful about you know what I am trying to, er, that's it.

Obviously you have no worries cleaning your Calphalon pan with that stainless steel pad, Fat Bloke. I had worried about scratching it. I do trust you on this stuff, though, so I'll give it a try. My Beloved once stuck it in the dishwasher, and it came out looking a bit grey and unhappy. I thumped her with the pan a few times, so I don't think she'll do it again.

Bison strip steak from Union Square. Came frozen, so after thawing well in advance I took the trouble to dry the steaks pretty thoroughly. Seared with a red wine sauce from the pan juices. Some well-flavored yellow carrots from Windfall Farms. I also bought some striking red salad leaves from them, which turned out to be too strongly flavored - almost a citrus flavor. What the heck were they? A modest Turning Leaf Shiraz.

I regard that as scandalous, and would encourage anyone who has that experience to name the restaurant. It has never happened to me yet, but I am all set to walk over to the men's room with an empty glass and come back with the tap water I asked for.

My description of Le Poussin is on this thread.

I last went when the "Sensation" show was on at the Brooklyn MoA, so I guess that's either last summer or probably the summer before. A lovely place, which needs to be preserved. The food can be a little rich - lots of butter and cream - but it's good to see historic dishes like Oysters Jim Brady actually being made and enjoyed.

The curse of eGullet, I suppose. We set out on Saturday night, intent on a movie and a pizza, just for a change. Minutes after the opening credits, my Beloved revealed that she had the seen the film before (she's not strong on titles). I had no interest in it, so in a twinkle of an eye we were clutching menus and wine lists and doing what we're good at. We walked into Craft and secured the end of the bar nearest the entrance, which gave us plenty of space (and the bar seats - more than mere stools - are very comfortable). Hilary Swank was down the other end, sipping martinis and flexing her cheekbones. I would like to have owned ten percent of the jewellery on display along the bar at any point during the evening. Even so, it was quiet for Saturday prime time. Again, the charcuterie was the highlight for me - a duck terrine which layered dark meat with pate and rare breast meat, served with brioche toast. The generous slice of seared foie gras, with pickled lemon, was good too. She ate nicely charred quail; my braised veal cheeks qualified in my book as a daube through the presence of black olives and orange peel, but they were too salty - not enough to be sent back, disrupting the flow of the meal, but a disappointment. I stupidly ordered the potatoes "Boulangere" again, forgetting how much I disliked that dish in the past. As before, some fingerling potatoes, scattered with oregano, and steeped in thick oil - not too pleasant when warm, disgusting when cold. But the swiss chard with garlic and the roasted carrots were fine. I noted that the menu has been simplified yet again: it's now completely conventional, listing appetizers, mains and sides (the veggies), so no lecture about proteins from the server. The next thing they need to do is start warming the plates. The kind of service they offer now is common to Indian restaurants - but any decent Indian restaurant sends up the food on hot metal dishes, and gives you warm plates on which to serve yourself. Craft is nearly very good; if only it would shake off this last quirk.

I have been reading Between Bites, a memoir by James Villas, for many years the food and wine editor of Town and Country magazine. The title is dangerously close to the immortal Between Meals, and Villas is no Liebling. He is, though, pleasant company in a mannered, old school kind of way. His tastes and his views on dining are definitely old school - one chapter inclues a paean of praise for the Veau D'Or! The first chapter recounts his chance meeting with Alexandre Dumaine while studying in France. Thereafter, he seems to have stumbled almost unwittingly into a succession of encounters with major chefs and food writers. He makes it all seem very casual. There are some funny stories - the rare interview with MJK Fisher he conducted while retching from the after effects of oyster-poisoning - and the portraits of the editors he worked for are entertaining. And he deals with his lively private life - his, er, confirmed batchelorhood - candidly but with a light hand. I particularly wanted to mention some opinions he expresses on topics we've discussed here. He believes that customers do indeed have some obligations to the restaurants they patronize (he is thinking upscale restaurants, of course): 1. Dress decently. 2. Never pour your own wine. 3. Ask the captain's name (anyone do that?). 4. Smile occasionally, and say thank you. 5. Show an intelligent interest in the menu and wine list. He also claims that palming the captain a $10 or $20 bill will certainly get you better service ($10??!!); and that waitstaff particularly appreciate being handed a (cash) tip with an expression of thanks, although he acknowledges that this rarely happens. Another of his themes caught my attention: the ascension of celebrity chefs and concomitant decline of great restaurateurs. He acknowledges Maccioni, the Massets and Tony May in New York, and says nice things about Danny Meyer; but he misses the days of Soule, Baum, and the other great dictators. Finally, in the chapter describing his undercover stint as a captain at Le Perroquet in Chicago, he points out some service rules, two of which I memorably recall seeing broken recently: never turn your back on the customers (Cello) and never, ever, touch the table (La Grenouille). The book is only slightly frustrating in that, having read the genesis of many of his articles, one would then like to read them.

Oh, I bet her food has lost some of its nuances, though.

Thanks for reminding me, Tissue. When I lived in Soho (London), Chinatown was just across the street. I frequently tackled dim sum on those difficult Sunday mornings. It's hot, greasy, and you can eat really quite a lot of it almost without noticing. The chopsticks could be a bit of a challenge on bad days.

This week's Time Out NY has a couple of paragraphs on it. A short menu, and the most notable thing was that it's exclusively prix fixe - $25. Moderately priced wines too, they say.

You can always just remove the skin and discard it if you share Jin's somewhat unnecessary prissiness about soft chicken skin. Jin - don't you like Hunanese boiled chicken?

Darn, Suzanne, I only get questions when I've cheated. I diced the salt pork and tossed in olive oil with some finely minced onion, then add the drained and dried chicken livers. Then I saved myself time and effort with a pre-made tomato sauce. A little oregano. Thinned the resulting goo with some red wine.

Sad news about Michael Elphick. I seem to recall that he took the pledge a few years back. A warning to us all.