At 6:30 pm on a recent weeknight, I sat alone on a couch in the front of Le Bernardin [http://www.le-bernardin.com], awaiting the arrival of Alan, feeling eyes boring into the back of my head. I had the distinct feeling that I was out of place. The chef, Eric Ripert, had a disdain for me that I was planning to challenge. Pistachio cheese sticks were politely placed in front of me, but I still felt treated like a curiosity. In the main dining room the atmosphere was pleasant, stuffy folks engaging in rich conversation, but this king-like restaurant practically shouted, "Stay away, middle-class folks!" A vast number of waitresses and waiters wandered around topping already filled glasses, bringing food. Two giant vases of colorful flowers stood in the center. Alan swooped in through the front door and we were immediately seated at the second-best table in the restaurant. Clearly, he had been here before.
The amuse-bouche, or welcome from the chef, was gently placed in front of us. My fork slipped through the plump, tender shrimp, so soft I had trouble picking them up. Poached in truffle foam, they were sweet with a hint of woody essence. Alan argued endlessly with world-famous sommelier Aldo Sohm about which wines were appropriate for his meal. Opening the menu, I scanned it, looking at our choices.
There were two tasting menus and a regular menu with a four-course meal for $109. The sections were Almost Raw, Barely Touched, and Lightly Cooked. Dessert would follow.
From the first section we chose an assortment of six Kumamoto oysters, each with a topping from light to complex; and yellowfin tuna with foie gras resting on a toasted baguette with shaved chives and olive oil. From the Barely Cooked section we ordered a warm octopus salad with a touch of paprika and olive oil, langoustine resting on lemon seaweed butter, and an extra course of peekytoe crab stuffed into a zucchini flower with black truffle sauce.
Finally, I asked for Surf and Turf, not regular lobster and steak, but escolar fish and seared Kobe beef. Alan said he would be happy with whatever I suggested, so I asked for lamb from the Upon Request section. (I heard a few laughs when I did this, but I pursued a craving for meat in this fish dinner.)
My first bite was of a plump Kumamoto oyster with green apples, a taste of fish and ocean united with sour apples and earth. The fabulous flavours battled long in my mouth. The second, oyster with shiso mint, was dizzying, but my favorite was oyster in ponzu sauce. Fresh soy and luxurious oysters seem made for each other. The tuna, sliced into thin fillets, was light as a flower and delicious as a warm summer day. The foie gras brought out the subtle flavor of the yellowfin.
Between dishes, I watched more people stream into this popular restaurant. Conversation grew louder, waiters became more frantic. The bread man kept returning with rolls, from sourdough to soft, sweet Parker House.
The octopus arrived, knocking out all thoughts of rolls. I had high expectations, perhaps a little too high. A subtle taste of octopus and olive oil crept into my mouth, but I had hoped for more zest. It needed to be pushed to the limit. I felt chef Ripert could have put a little more effort into this dish. The langoustine knocked out all doubts. Like the shrimp, the lobster was so tender and plump my fork slid right through. Sweet and spicy hit my taste buds. I was wrapped in a lemon-seaweed coma.
Down from heaven came the crab. It was enclosed in the zucchini flower, doused with black truffle sauce, topped with shaved truffles. It was out of this world. Each flavor - sour zucchini flower, sweet crab and woody truffle sauce - was a piece of a puzzle, and they fit together in a complex yet clear picture.
Finally, we had come to Lightly Cooked. Alan had claimed that the surf-and-turf was a signature dish of Le Bernadin. A bite of rich, silky beef followed by cool, refreshing fish was perfection. Escolar is delicate and delicious by itself, but it came with an anchovy sauce that rather bullied the fish.
As we relaxed and waited to order dessert, I discovered the décor. At first glance I thought Le Bernardin was modern, but it's really timeless.
As a "welcome" to an entire course called "Dessert", we were given an eggshell containing caramel, chocolate, cream, and sea salt. I tasted oceans of chocolate, skies of cream, and seas of salt. We ordered dark chocolate ganache with vanilla salt and sweet potato pearls, and a selection of sorbets. The pineapple put me in a warm, tropical place, the coconut was so creamy it was hard to imagine it contained no dairy, and the blood orange jerked me out of my creamy adventures and into bolder, tangier tastes.
But it was the chocolate ganache, so smooth and rich, that lingered with me for the rest of the night. That and a final thought. I realised with a pang how much it hurt to be mesmerised by a chef who hates me.
The amuse-bouche, or welcome from the chef, was gently placed in front of us. My fork slipped through the plump, tender shrimp, so soft I had trouble picking them up. Poached in truffle foam, they were sweet with a hint of woody essence. Alan argued endlessly with world-famous sommelier Aldo Sohm about which wines were appropriate for his meal. Opening the menu, I scanned it, looking at our choices.
There were two tasting menus and a regular menu with a four-course meal for $109. The sections were Almost Raw, Barely Touched, and Lightly Cooked. Dessert would follow.
From the first section we chose an assortment of six Kumamoto oysters, each with a topping from light to complex; and yellowfin tuna with foie gras resting on a toasted baguette with shaved chives and olive oil. From the Barely Cooked section we ordered a warm octopus salad with a touch of paprika and olive oil, langoustine resting on lemon seaweed butter, and an extra course of peekytoe crab stuffed into a zucchini flower with black truffle sauce.
Finally, I asked for Surf and Turf, not regular lobster and steak, but escolar fish and seared Kobe beef. Alan said he would be happy with whatever I suggested, so I asked for lamb from the Upon Request section. (I heard a few laughs when I did this, but I pursued a craving for meat in this fish dinner.)
My first bite was of a plump Kumamoto oyster with green apples, a taste of fish and ocean united with sour apples and earth. The fabulous flavours battled long in my mouth. The second, oyster with shiso mint, was dizzying, but my favorite was oyster in ponzu sauce. Fresh soy and luxurious oysters seem made for each other. The tuna, sliced into thin fillets, was light as a flower and delicious as a warm summer day. The foie gras brought out the subtle flavor of the yellowfin.
Between dishes, I watched more people stream into this popular restaurant. Conversation grew louder, waiters became more frantic. The bread man kept returning with rolls, from sourdough to soft, sweet Parker House.
The octopus arrived, knocking out all thoughts of rolls. I had high expectations, perhaps a little too high. A subtle taste of octopus and olive oil crept into my mouth, but I had hoped for more zest. It needed to be pushed to the limit. I felt chef Ripert could have put a little more effort into this dish. The langoustine knocked out all doubts. Like the shrimp, the lobster was so tender and plump my fork slid right through. Sweet and spicy hit my taste buds. I was wrapped in a lemon-seaweed coma.
Down from heaven came the crab. It was enclosed in the zucchini flower, doused with black truffle sauce, topped with shaved truffles. It was out of this world. Each flavor - sour zucchini flower, sweet crab and woody truffle sauce - was a piece of a puzzle, and they fit together in a complex yet clear picture.
Finally, we had come to Lightly Cooked. Alan had claimed that the surf-and-turf was a signature dish of Le Bernadin. A bite of rich, silky beef followed by cool, refreshing fish was perfection. Escolar is delicate and delicious by itself, but it came with an anchovy sauce that rather bullied the fish.
As we relaxed and waited to order dessert, I discovered the décor. At first glance I thought Le Bernardin was modern, but it's really timeless.
As a "welcome" to an entire course called "Dessert", we were given an eggshell containing caramel, chocolate, cream, and sea salt. I tasted oceans of chocolate, skies of cream, and seas of salt. We ordered dark chocolate ganache with vanilla salt and sweet potato pearls, and a selection of sorbets. The pineapple put me in a warm, tropical place, the coconut was so creamy it was hard to imagine it contained no dairy, and the blood orange jerked me out of my creamy adventures and into bolder, tangier tastes.
But it was the chocolate ganache, so smooth and rich, that lingered with me for the rest of the night. That and a final thought. I realised with a pang how much it hurt to be mesmerised by a chef who hates me.
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