After the Illegal Wedding Fair we were famished, having subsisted only on teeny cupcakes and cocktail-in-a-keg all day. We tried to hit this up, but they were fresh out of crawfish and I was like, whatever, we’ll have ‘em next year in NOLA for Katie’s wedding and then it hit me that there probably won’t be any Gulf crawfish next year and that could have been my last-ever chance to eat it and so I drowned my fuckBP in a Gibson. It helped.
M. suggested we go eat at the bar at Minetta Tavern and he had that look in his eye — that let’s do/eat something kahraaaazy look (seen most notably here but also here and here and lots more besides) — so I said yes! and we hightailed it over and proceeded to go effing nuts on that menu:
Tartare “Goûtez” (three count ‘em three: lamb, beef, and precious little veal which tastes all the better ‘cause it never had a chance to live)
The grilled anchovies special (no red meat! a problem)
And the mother-lovin pièce de résistance: Dry Aged Côte de Boeuf for two, with roasted marrow bones and sucrine lettuce salad, seen above as it was presented, before they took it back to slice it.
(The proportions of meat vs. salad were hilarious, and perfect.)
Plus crispy Pommes Anna that smelled gloriously of duck fat, an amazing Burgundy (don’t know which, that’s his department), several digestifs, and an exquisite Chocolate Dacquoise for deeeesert.
The meal in a word: oh!
In two: oh my!
In three: oh my yes!
And in four: oh my fuck yes!
06.06.2010, 7 pm. MacDougal Street, the Village.
PS: (Feel I need to say this, lest you think I’m an utter glutton.) I do Tracy six days a week. Burn it to earn it. (Oy. What an embarassing phrase. Let’s never mention again that I used it.)
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The Great American Cooking Project
Notes from others: