My sister: So [redacted]* came to town and I took her to Bouley.
[Uncomfortable silence. Unspoken pact to pretend that didn't happen.]
Sister: It was awesome!
She also reported a lengthy hair on a Smith and Wollensky steak. Serves her right for leaving Brooklyn in search of beef.
Usually the problem is that it's not sole, not not meunière. I fucking love sole meunière. When I'm in Paris I eat it like everyday at Le Dôme. La Grenouille here makes something nice with sole, but not quite meunière.
(On the west coast, one abandons the sole part immediately, but a proper meunière is worth it anyway.)
And Hugo's lovely rabbit roulade seems to confirm my mother's recommendation of that restaurant.
Speaking of T:, it would be too exhausting to review. It is interesting that certain editors are resorting to lowly bloggers for thir column inches. Too bad Chinese prison labor is illiterate! (Though it's hard to see how that matters if you have to define integrity for your readers). To be fair, Bruce is a real writer; and today he's got Pete Wells's Oxford American hog farm article as a nice counterpoint to the Times on the Salatins.
And for those of you who actually pay attention to the fish you eat, there is some very bad news from California. Looks like we'll all be resorting to Alaska this year. Cf. the Economist on the death of the seas.Oh shit: the Trib has noticed that the emperor has no clothes:
That disparity points out an awkward truth about the USDA: what it urges people to eat to remain healthy does not match what it pays farmers to grow.You heard it here first: ag subsidies are hott.
*I have officially given up.