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The Victims: Howard, Ben, Mark.
The Damage: I don’t want to tell you.
The Background: When I ran into Howard and Ben at The Reliance the other day, they asked if I wanted to come along to Le Gavroche on Thursday. Now to be honest, I did have to think about it. A long time. I slept on it. Thinking about the money. And the time. And the food. And the money. But then again, there was the food. And the two stars. And the company, of course.
So after much internal deliberation, I said yes.
This post…this writing does not come easy. I want to tell you everything, but you will get bored and I will run out of adjectives. (Which, as you may know, are limited to such American classics as "fantastic," "awesome," and "the BEST ever," sprinkled with a few "Oh. My. God"’s.) So I will not digress. Or at least, I will not do so purposefully.
The Food (Briefly): Of my NINE courses (and that doesn’t count the little lobster and pork amuses bouche they delivered), I loved the peppered tuna with ginger and sesame dressing, served with a glass of Kriek Cherry Beer. The hot foie gras (yes, foie gras two days in a row ) and crispy pancake of duck flavored with cinnamon was almost dessert-like, and was served with a glass of Tokay, which I remember fondly from my days in Hungary. (Don’t be too impressed. This is me aggrandizing. I was in Budapest ONCE in 2003 for thee days. OK, maybe more like 2.5 days. And I took an overnight train from Munich to get there. Classy.) The cheese trolley was a joy to behold.
Things You Will Not Understand: Tick tock, it’s Wenlock o’Clock! And something along the lines of, "From here on, shoes are not necessary." And many inappropriate comments about my reproductive system, which I have no one to blame for but myself…and a German guy at a Mexican restaurant, whom I will forever question.
The Service: Perfect. And the flame-haired twins added an element of–hmmm—Sci fi? Exotic-ness? Levity?–to the meal.
The Loos: Like grandma’s. Clean and with carpeting and nice soap.
The Verdict: Yes. But not as a regular event. Unless I become independently wealthy overnight. One can dream.