Cafe Boulud: West Palm Beach

[adrober]

My parents have been mostly receptive to my newfound interest in food. Granted, their eyes glaze over with boredom when I discuss the intricacies of a good olive oil or the many dangers of overworking your gluten, but for the most part they have encouraged my newly hatched, furry-headed passion.

Luckily, my parents have a passion of their own: trendy dining. This is not an indictment. Many folks with money in their pockets and social compasses on their belts will turn to where the buzz is buzzing. And in my parents case, that was Cafe Boulud: West Palm Beach.

"We made a reservation for when you come home," my mom said before Thanksgiving.

"Ok!" I said gleefully.

When I got home, my parents started tiptoeing backward. "Maybe we should go to Bice instead," my mom said. "Your father likes that better."

Interestingly, I was willing to acquiesce: the idea of a four-star lunch with my finicky parents frightened me. What would they send back? What havoc would they wreak?

But, no, we trudged forward. Arriving on time to the very pretty hotel Cafe Boulud is housed in, on an inconspicuous side-street of West Palm Beach, the sun beat down pleasantly as the valet took our car. Here is the sign posted outside:

Once inside, we were shown to a colorful table in a colorful section of the very colorful room. Here is what we looked like:

Please take note of the wine glasses on the table. This led to the sole controversy of our dining experience, the waiter-recommended "house" white pushed without a chance to see the wine list. The wine was very good, not amazing, but good. Why the controversy? When the bill came, the cost was $22 a glass. This upset my parents greatly. They felt the waiter should have informed us that the wine--which ended up not being the house, but a special more expensive California Chardonnay--cost so much. "In my life," my mom said, "I have never paid so much for a glass of wine."

Moving on, though, the food was spectacular. Here is our menu:

This was a fixed price lunch, based on Daniel's new cookbook "Daniel's Dish" (an autographed copy of which we purchased later). My dad and I ordered from this menu while my adventurous mom ordered from the a la carte. We were all happy with our choices.

For starters, I had the Chilled Melon Salad with Lemongrass Shrimp;

What a delicious dish! A delicious Daniel's Dish! The salad was freshing and the soup was refreshing leaving this diner thoroughly freshed. My lips smack just thinking about it. Mwa!

Then on to the entrees. For your visual enjoyment, I photographed all three:

Mom's salmon!

Dad's hangar steak Au Poivre!

My sea bass!

Needless to say, they were all divine. We ate til our mouths stopped working and then ate some more. Finally, there were the desserts. There was warm chocolate cake:

And my choice, petit fors:

All in all, we were incredibly blissed and sated. Then there was some buzzing.

"What's that buzzing?" my mom asked.

"Hmmm?" my father probed.

There was some brouhaha brewing at the front. Who was here? What was happening?

Alas, it was Daniel himself, here in town to check out the joint and to sign book! My parents were quick to their feet.

"Come!" they beckoned.

"No!" I responded.

"Yes!" they pleaded.

For my family is, rather embarassingly, a family of celebrity stalkers. We stalk celebrities shamelessly, carelessly, and recklessly. All of this is well-documented on our family's celebrity stalking website.

[state's Evidence 41C: My Mom With J.Lo and Puff Daddy]

In any case, our house has two whole walls festooned with relics of our celebrity hauntings from stalkings past. Because of my political stance--that being "mom and dad you're crazy stop bothering these people!"--my image is surprisingly absent from said walls. Hence my parents eagerness to have me photographed with Daniel of THE Daniel in New York.

"Just do it Adam!" says my mom.

"Don't be an idiot!" says my dad.

"Fine!" I say, and we approach Daniel who is working a group of happy West Palm Beachites.

"Excuse me Daniel, I hate to interrupt," says my mom.

"Hello," says Daniel.

"Would you mind taking a picture with my son? He's a big fan."

"Oh," says Daniel, "Are you a chef?"

"No," I say, somewhat embarassed.

"He's a writer," though, says my mom, making my face turn red. "He likes to write about food."

"Wonderful," says Daniel, as he puts his arm around me posing for the picture.

And, so, here it is: me and Daniel, Daniel and I. Apologies for my bright and rather ugly shirt. I didn't know this picture would be one for the ages:

THE END

Edited December 13, 2003 by adrober (log)

[Pan]

Thanks for your detailed report, but neither your picture of the room nor your picture with Chef Boulud came through. (Or is it that those pictures show other people who might not have consented to be web-posted?)

By the way, your mother is right: You write very well about food.

Oh, about the "house wine": No-one should ever get anything without asking the price, unless they don't care what price they get charged. I agree that it would have made sense for the wine list to have been provided, though.

[adrober]

Thanks, Pan. I just fixed the images, I think...

- Adam

[Louisa Chu]

Adam! You're mom's a babe! And your family's website - explains many, many things.

[Varmint]

First, thanks for the great report. Please fill us in with more trendy dining reports. And have your parents join in, too!

By the way, that mug of Paul Simon on the family website is absolutely priceless.

[tan319]

Adam! You're mom's a babe! And your family's website - explains many, many things.

That's Adams mom???

Wow!

Very nice report on Daniel and pix too!

swell.