My Aunt Holly and Uncle Mark and cousins Maggie and Kenny visited New York—and Sean and me—these past few days, and thanks to Aunt Holly’s connections, we all got to enjoy an amazing multi-course dinner at Café Boulud on the Upper East Side. I haven’t the education or the palate to actually “review” the restaurant, but as the French cuisine was the cultural highlight of my weekend, it seems odd to not mention it here on my “cultural diary.”
In any case, the meal was decadent and delicious, and though I’m usually not particularly adventuresome with food, I was braver than usual Saturday night and richly rewarded for it. Take the foie gras, for example. I know it’s a controversial dish, but dear god, it was good: buttery smooth and irresistible. And the lamb—I don’t think I’d ever had lamb before, and it, too, was sinfully good. I generally don’t like champagne, but this particular vintage didn’t have the noxious aftertaste I associate with the drink, and I happily drank every drop they poured into my flute. For dessert, I had a scoop of fromage blanc sorbet, and it might have been the sweetest, creamiest thing I’ve ever tasted.
Even the occasional moment of panic over the appearance of yet another eating utensil (what could this one be for?) couldn’t diminish my enjoyment of the meal or the evening—and certainly not the company. Thank you, Aunt Holly, for such a special culinary treat.
Much Review About Nothing 