Busboy

One great way to eat them is in a pan roast: cream, butter, chili sauce and Worcestershire, all gently warmed together. Worth picking up the cookbook from the Grand Central Oyster Bar just for that one recipe. Any variation on Oysters Rockefeller generally rocks, too: spinach, pork (bacon or ham) a little cream, amybe some shallots, some Pernod if you're feeling sassy. Here are a few more suggestions.

I don' think there's any way to answer the question until you decide what you do want to say. What is "the point" that the other books are missing? [boy did I dislike Waiting, btw, so the field is still clear for a decent book, as far as I'm concerned.]

Rude "question of the day" at Toigo: "How did the band 10CC ("I'm Not in Love") get its name?" I knew the answer, but was too embarrassed to claim my bag of apples.

I'm afraid you're probably right, mojoman. I'm not sure pro-industry/pro-chain is such a bad thing to be 100% of the time. Your comment sounds more like pro-truth, anti-spin. ← Perhaps you could let us know what the mitigating circumstances are. There is nothing in the press coverage to suggest that -- aside from a modest profit increase for BK and solidarity amongst exploitative tomato growers -- there's any upside to this.

Now that you mention it: "au jus" as in "with an au jus sauce." "As jus" means "with the juice!" it is the sauce! Just say "the roast beef is served au jus" and leave it at that. This is more annoyingly redundant than shrimp scampi.

Hey: these pork chops are famous!

Not sure why you'd unleash the culinary beast on people who simply don't care for that kind of cooking, unless you're so consistently catering to guests/family/whomever that you don't have any other opportunity. Seems kind of passive-aggressive, simply the flip side of someone who flings dry meatloaf and boiled peas and makes a pious virtue of their homey authenticity. Frustrating all around. It's funny to see the difference between my son's friends here at home in DC and the ones we took to dinner when we visited him at school. At 14, he was a damn picky eater. Then he fell in with a group of sophisto urban yuppie puppies and -- I think this is key -- started trying to impress girls. Over four years his palate expanded massively and in every possible direction. His friends at college -- suburban engineering types -- are much more limited in their likings and, incidentally, substantially less comfortable in a decent restaurant. I hope you realize that describes 95% of the (white, anyway) Americans born between 1940 and 1970!

Dude: Pizza, a good burger (goat cheese on top optional) and fries, steak frites, omelet and bacon (and frites) -- there are a million simple things which, done well -- can please both the artful and the inartful palate. Alternately, you can melt some Velveeta and taco sauce together, serve it with Doritos and call it "nachos". This works well if there's a good movie or a football game on. It's also vegetarian. Save yer cash for when yer alone.

Missed this the first time through. I am in full agreement.

Boy, it's hard to picture a better meal -- or a better wine pairing (at a modest price point) than we had Saturday night. I'm sure that with Ziebold Mentor Thomas Keller at the next table, the kitchen was at DefCon 3, but it's worth noting that we were never for a moment ignored or neglected in favor of International Chef God beside us. Detailed descriptions of a CZ tasting menu can get long and the adjectives tend to pile up like tailings outsider a silver mine, but there were some highlights. Cutest courses: Tie between two amuses, the shoat (just-weaned piglet) tail and the cod cake, both little nickels of protein atop a vegetable and a sauce. In the shoat's case the little cubes of apple sat atop a brilliant green watercress sauce, giving us crisp, peppery and porky goodness all in a single nibble. Best look in my son's eyes (he's 19, but had never been to a restaurant of this caliber): when he tasted the truffle (oil?) in the first amuse, a little mushroom quenelle atop a mushroom-truffle puree. Funnest course: Chili and beer. The chili was little disks of beef and spice in the bottom of a small bowl into which a cup of rich, rich consumee was poured and which was finished with a quenelle of smoky, creamed hot pepper. It was brilliant and perfect. Andy Myers, the sommelier, paired it with a crisp German beer and it was great. I'd like to get a pho-sized bowl of the stuff and a six-pack. Surpassing the master: I liked Ziebold's lobster course better than the one I had at The French Laundry last year, and I made sure Keller heard me raving about it, too. (yeah, sure I did). Both combined to of the greatest things on earth, bacon and lobster, but Zieboldt posed his on a little crunchy disk and surrounded it with a cream/herb/tomato water blend that -- with the crunch -- set off the unctuousness of the lobster pretty dang well. It should be noted that my slightly under-the-weather wife was overwhelmed by the richness and my slightly dopey son does not like lobster, so I had the equivalent of two-and-a-half of this course. It was not enough. Sheer Elegance: The shoat entree. A little rack of ribs about the size of a roll of quarters, perfectly roasted, set over a cinnamon-tinged reduction. Candy. Just candy. Shout outs go to all involved, especially our Captain, Michael Chesser; Maitre d' Mark Mark Politzer and, of course the frighteningly knowledgeable Andy Myers (who also knew when not to go into detail) and Chef Eric "We just buy good stuff and try not to get in the way" Ziebold.

The fact that Macy's has been parading on Thanksgiving since the 20s would suggest pre-boomer, pre-jello salad-era popularity. Not to mention George Washington's 1789 proclamation.

One of the things that has kept my relationship together since the first Reagan Administration is that my wife and I share a deep loathing of turkey. While we have occasionally allowed others to bring it by the house on Thanksgiving Day (for many years our T-Day has been a motley, "orphans" affair) and actually had sous vide turkey at the home of a local food celeb last year, we've always avoided cooking it. So somehow earlier this fall we were swilling wine with friends with whom we've probably shared nine of the last ten Thanksgivings and it was decided that cassoulet would be an ideal Thanksgiving Dinner because it not only isn't turkey, but it doesn't go well with sweet potatoes, stuffing, or cranberry sauce, three other things that we could happily never eat. Not to mention that it's mostly an in-advance thing so your day is left free for fighting with your wife about table settings and trying to line up a second oven for the pot pie because the daughter won't eat cassoulet and the other oven we were going to use developed a gas leak and there was some paranoia about the house blowing up if we tried to cook there. Wimps. Not sure that I have any wisdom to add to the existing cassoulet thread here, but we used flagelots (has anyone elese priced tarbais lately? holy moly) and of course did the confit and Saucisse de Toulouse ourselves, and kind of stole a little from Bordain and a little from Ms. Wolfert as far as the recipe went. My buddy had a bunch of oysters shipped up from Rappahannock River Oysters and they were spectacular. Best I've had in the U.S. Cretins that we are we just topped them with cocktail sauce and washed them back with prosecco and then Chablis and then on to cassoulet with a cheap, heart Cote du Languedoc and salad and cheese and many, many desserts, especially a very cool pie made by Pontormo, who might share her recipe with us if we ask nicely. We also made Pommes Anna and chocolate ice cream and the most viciously sour lemon sorbet ever concocted because we were in the mood to spoil the kids and we had time to kill. All in all, kind of a Frenchy sort of Thanksgiving but one that touched all the rioght bases regarding old friends, copious wine and an entree that catches the eye when it comes out of the oven. We may have to do it again. Maybe for Christmas -- there's still confit in the fridge and saucisse in the freezer.

Think we're redefining "traditional" after last night: cassoulet.

Umm. You think you might be taking this a bit to seriously? First, making "developing a taste for for alcohol" your self-improvement project for the year is a little odd. It's supposed to be fun. It's not grammar, it's drinking. If you don't like the stuff, don't put it in your mouth. If you kind of like it, don't make it homework (though tasting Barbados Rhum beats the shit out of 750 words on Hamlet's relationship with his father). Just drink what sounds good or seems interesting. This will not be on te test. Second, if you like gin (if you don't like gin, don't drink it; while there are wine snops and beer snobs and vodka drones, nobody really cares what gin you drink), go to a bar that serves gin. Ask the bartender which gin he likes and have him make a martini for you. Drink it. Then ask for his second favorite and drink it. And so on until you've tried them all. This will probably take several days, depending you capacity, but if you start Wednsday you can have a working knowledge of the world of gin by the time the Thanksgiving holiday has wound down. By the time you've had 10 or 12 martinis, you'll know whether you even like the stuff at all and have a basic grasp of different styles. There are probably 10,000 wines worth tasting, there are probably 20 gins. Trust yourself, right? FWIW, I like Bombay when I'm feeling brutally masculine (hardcore juniper and no prisoners taken. Sapphire is for wimps). I like 209 when I'm feeling more poetic. Boodles is OK and has immense snob appeal (I assume Mr. Coonce drinks it for the flavor, and accepts the cachet as a fringe benefit ). The makers of Tanqueray, in all its incarnations, should be jailed. By the way, search "gin" on this site and you get a number of topics.

Huh? I'm not sure what the point is here (and no matter what Frommers says, Mandina's does not take plastic). ← The point is that, in the age of the Internet (not to mention the telephone) it's possible to get a feel for the cost of virtually any restaurant of note in America. I googled the restaurant and got a description and got a rough feel for the price range in about nine seconds. The (more general) point of the second comment was that in a crowded restaurant, it's easier to deal with cash than a credit card because once the check is dropped (assuming you're not one of those people who figures tips to the penny) you can just drop your cash and go, rather than waiting for a harried server to notice you're ready, grab the check, process it and return it.

Well, that took about nine seconds. Plus, with a cash only joint, it's ten times quicker to get out after the check comes than when you flash plastic. Just drop the cash and roll. Slightly relevant: this article makes me want to pay for everything in cash. Also wear shades and a broad brimmed hat.

I didn't see this post. I didn't ask for myself. I know that I am not a young hipster and I do not try to impersonate one. I was asked (by an oldster older than me) to recommend a place for her visiting young hipster niece. I don't know if the niece was "unhip" enough to ask for a recommendation from her fuddy-duddy aunt but I think the aunt was acting proactively. ← I suspect Chappie was being a little tongue-in-cheek here rather than seriously critical. I heard that he was scarred as a child by an ex-college wrestler wearing $230 jeans and an ear piece, and wielding a velvet rope, and now has a deep fear of of techno music and drinks served in martini glasses (except, of course, martinis).

Has it really been this long since I wrote something up? Shame on me. I'll have to get out next week so I can stay nourished and rested for my role whipping up the Thanksgiving feast. In the mean time, one of the places I've been meaning to check out got a nice notice in the Post yesterday: Henty's Soul Cafe, on U St. NW. Word is the fried chicken is pretty tasty, as well. 1704 U St. NW Washington, DC 20009 (202) 265-3336 www.henryssoulcafe.net

I'm a pretty flexible guy but -- as any parent or manager knows -- once you start making exceptions based subjective conditions (that there's some point that the bar is empty enough to allow exceptions, for example) you open up a nasty can of worms..."but last time..." "but he did..." Should Per Se make exceptions to its dress code based on the number of people in the dining room? Do I have to observe the two drink minimum at the jazz club or topless joint (so I hear) only when the room is otherwise full? Consistency is important when you're dealing with the public, otherwise you'll be overwhelmed by cries of "favoritism" and pleas for excuses. And the logical person to make and enforce the rules is the person whose butt and money are on the line, not the customer who can take his or her esteemed custom elsewhere. Zen is Zen -- and changes tend to accumulate. Couple of ballcap wearing typists show up (though better a Sox cap than a Yankees cap), a couple of trendos decide not to stay and next thing you know, the tipping point is reached and the whole place is some kind of glorified coffee shop and the owners have to sell the furnishings to buy mismatched couches. . eah, except that I'm a customer and not an employee. Maybe it was the Red Sox hat? You're still part of the atmosphere. Same as the guy in the T-shirt trying to get into No. 9 Park.

Chris -- The real shame here is that you finally got thrown out of a bar and it was for such a wussy reason. You should have at least taken a swing at the manager or grabbed at the hostess on the way out, just to save face. I'm with the "it's the guy's bar, he can do what he want," people. A bar environment is defined by a zillion little vibe-y things from the lighting, decor and staff, to the musical tastes, drink preferences and garb of the patrons. A laptop is a powerful fashion accessory, opening one up in this bar is kind of like Betty showing up for work a tMode in her poncho -- throws off the zen of the space. The kind of bars where people set around working on laptones -- ie, nerds, drones, workaholics and (would be?) intellectuals -- is very different from the hip type of place this bar seems to want to be. I suggest that next time you edit on your iPhone.

As I understand it, it is in a minority of states where servers are paid such low rates. In most states, servers are paid at least minimum wage. While this may not be a "competitive hourly wage" to some, it is most definitely competitive with other service industry jobs. ← Actually, in most states, tipped employees make less than the minimum wage. Interesting chart here.

As a current diner and a former waiter, i think there's much to be said for tipping as an incentive for good service. On the other hand, though, the thought that the average waiter will be transformed into a sullen slacker once the incentive of a substantial tip (or, given the tenor of this thread, the disincentive of a substandard tip) is removed is a bit insulting. Few of us -- an no one else at Disney World -- work for tips, yet we generally think of ourselves as competent, even proud, professionals. The good servers at Disney World will continue to do their job well, the poor waiters will continue to suck, and neither of them will have to suffer for the fact that tourists are, as a whole, crappy tippers.

The Bruni article describes almost to a "T" the service we received atthe Michelin 2-star Le Bateau Ivre in Courchevel. We were not only lectured on the precise order in which to consume various portions of our plates, I was told that the chef would not approve of the white wine I ordered (admittedly, a cheap bottle of local Savoyard stuff -- but the idea was to spend more on on the red).

Make a souffle for the vegetarian entree. Don't serve separate courses, that maximizes the pain-in-the-ass aspect of dealing with picky eaters. Do a traditional groaning board service; that way, the vegetarian will be too busy scarfing up the somosas to worry about the charcuterie platter.

One damn good reason to head down to the Bloomindale market for a what is certainly the finest sweet potato pie I've ever eaten. I am confident in asserting this, because it's the only sweet potato pie I've ever eaten -- I never much liked that type of tuber. But this was excellent stuff, even according to people with a history good southern eating. My wife was even more blown away by the buttermilk tart. I don't don't even know what a buttermilk tart is, because she wouldn't share. All I know is that she moans whenever I bring it up and gives me the old "why did you mention that -- now I'm hungry" line. I can't remember the name of the baker, but she's right there on the end of the line, facing Big Bear (not a bad reason to hit 1st Street, either). If you're inspired by the idea of sweet potato pie and maybe the new Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings CD to get all soulfull for dinner, another new addition -- with the easy-to-remember name of Blueberry Hill Farms -- sells a thrilling selection of greens, and the gent behind table can speak literately and passionately about kale. And be sure to drop by my favorite pork producers, Brian and Mrs. Brian (assisted ably by the devoted Tai) of truck patch farms, for something that was recently squealing to go beside the greens. Over at Dupont, I finally picked up some fruit at another farm whose name I forget but whom I'll call Gnarley Appleton's because they sell the gnarliest-looking heritage organic apples ever. Wonder why your grandpa made such a big deal out of peeling his apples? Because old varieties grown utterly organically do accumulate rust and blisters at a rate far greater even than (world-according-to-Safeway opinion) imperfect specimens stocked by your market-based your neo-traditionalists do. For reasons relating largely to the chaos in my unilluminated refrigerator, I've only been through a couple of the varieties I bought, an intriguing Norther Spy (?) and something that looked like a stunted, gin-blossomed golden delicious, and tasted like tit's been infused with a touch of Sauternes. Even if you don't end up liking these guys, it seems obvious that anyone serious about food should try them out, to get a sense of what was good and bad about fresh fruit back in the day.