I’ve always suspected they google you before you come in….
From an article about Eleven Madison Park’s extraordinary evolution in the past five years — a must-read for anyone as enamored of haute cuisine as I am. Particularly interesting was co-owners Will Guidara and Daniel Humm’s quest to break the top ten of Pellegrino’s World’s 50 Best Restaurant Awards, which they did this year. Unlike Michelin,* which can be rather conservative, the Pellegrino list rewards restaurants that are unconventional and uniquely represent their place (hence EMP’s dabbling in classic New York food experiences, like the egg cream).
Last year we dined at what was then #9, Le Chateubriand in Paris (it has since fallen off the list completely … oops). Though it was a transportive experience for me, I wasn’t sure why it was so high up the list, until now. It’s certainly unconventional and while the chef is Basque, it could be nowhere but Paris.
* Remember when we made cocktails for Eric Ripert and Daniel Boulud at the 2010 Michelin Red Guide launch party? Happy memories.
One of the many reasons that Eleven Madison Park makes my heart go pitter-patter is its impossibly glamorous tableside service: of champagne, of roast ruck, even of old school New York egg creams.
But tableside carrot tartar takes it to a cheeky new level. Vibrant Hudson Valley carrots are finely ground in a meat grinder and mixed with pickled quail egg yolk, smoked bluefish, apple mustard, pickled ginger, chives and mustard flowers, grated horseradish, sunflower seeds, pickled apple, sea salt, mustard oil and a spicy tomato sauce.
Sounds fun right? And it’s not just a gimmick. It’s a declaration of the way we increasingly must eat — but a joyful declaration, one that does not sacrifice pleasure and wonder. “We’re kind of switching what’s in the center of the dish,” Chef Daniel Humm told the NYT. “I think things are evolving away from meats.”
Leave it to Chef Humm to make carrots downright sexy.
A while back I speculated that Chef Daniel Humm of Eleven Madison Park got the idea for an egg cream cart from our friend Petey Freeman, proprietor of Brooklyn Farmacy.
Today I got confirmation! The lovely lady making our egg creams said that Humm lives down the street from the Farmacy and happily admits to borrowing the concept (albeit with the finest fresh milk and Tahitian vanilla money can buy).
Pretty dang nifty if I do say so myself. Go Petey!
Not bad for a Wednesday afternoon.
Egg creams are totally overrated even if Daniel Humm sends someone to make one for you tableside. I was all, jeez, old-timey Brooklyn, did you not know about milkshakes?
I’d be willing to bet that Chef Humm (Eleven Madison Park) stole this idea was inspired by Petey’s egg cream cart at the Michelin party last fall.
(And, uh, a milkshake’s a milkshake and an egg cream and an egg cream. Diff’rent strokes yo.)
Here’s my gratuitous pic of the day … and in a bathroom no less! Doesn’t get more gratuitous than that.
(Should have straightened my top.)
(And this is the necklace at an Apes and Androids show … rather different setting.)
This ceramic pillow had me completely fooled when I saw it on our neighbor’s table. I thought it was some crazy agar-stabilized gel! I had to actually poke it. (Sheesh.)
But knowing what I do now, I think this would make a marvelous little serving platter at home.
So about that dinner … the moment we walked in they knew exactly who we were — I’m not sure exactly how — and treated us so graciously, with circumstance but no pomp, that the giddy feeling we sailed in on ignited into outright, unabashed joy. A cocktail at the bar and then, May I show you to your table? The proud, nervous walk to our seat, a creamy envelope waiting, the stunning art deco room — nay, hall — laid at our feet, kind words from the server, and a champagne cart — a champagne cart! — wheeled to our side. We’ve had more than our share of decadent meals in the past two years but this never gets old, never ceases to put a big goofy grin on my face. (And if it ever does: take away the champagne and cart me home!)
He’s been dining on haute cuisine since he was eight (!) but I never ate like this growing up — not even close. Dinner out was sushi or casual celebrations or with out of town friends. We did a lot of cooking and eating at home, wonderful foods, interesting foods, but not this. The creative, exquisite plates — after plates after plates — and three-employees-for-every-diner service makes me feel like an intrepid traveler, heir to the throne, and the kid who won a night with her favorite pop star — all at once.
He doesn’t hold back, that man. If you’re going to eat at a place like this, he tells me, you may as well do it right. And so when he orders it’s impossible not to fall in love a little more (for a generous soul is generous in all regards, and a man of appetites is just that). Why yes, we’ll have that wine and this one too (meanwhile I’m thinking why would anyone pay that much…? oh he’s crazy! certifiable! and then the first sip, and oh! well there’s my answer) … and the tasting menu and the duck for two … carved tableside, by the way! Carved tableside! The most perfect duck, truly flawless, the best in every way, comparable (M. says) to some famous place in Paris known for its duck … and carved for me! Tableside!
I know I’m being a bit of a rube but really, I’ll never get over this. Never!
And oh, let me just say — he is the best dining companion I could ask for: every question I have, he has an answer. Every smile, an answering smile. We get a glimpse of each other as we must have been as kids — and while drinking the tastiest wines and wearing our shiniest togs! What lucky ducks.
Anyway, a few (just a few) of our highlights, if you care to see…. It really was a meal for the ages.
The Fly Fox, my clutch, and the bar. I love elegant bar accouterments.
The champagne cart. It haunts my dreams.
Goat cheese popsicle, beet marshmallow. The latter especially is a difficult texture to pull off with savory ingredients.
A perfect course.
Foie gras with chocolate and beet.
That duck! On the carving platter and on my plate (not pictured: in mah belly).
A Kir Royale-inspired dessert on a ceramic pillow. As you do.
Sweet potato and chocolate ribbons — a visual echo of an earlier carrot course.
Darling little mint leaf!
And to finish … French moonshine! they grow the pears inside the bottle! Well I never.
Stunning arrangement at Eleven Madison Park that upon closer look is sublimely subversive: roses in vials. Rather goth, no?
(Big ol’ gushin’ post on my real interest — the food! — in a moment.)
Breakfast, courtesy of dinner. And oh what a dinner it was! What a night! What a romantic wintry fairy tale of New York! I love you all! (But especially him.)
… but more on all of that later. Right now I’ve gotta lace up the sneaks and go — I’m meeting Meghan at Vandaag for a drink before I drag her to “Country Strong” … and then Dram … and then Fatty ‘Cue for, we hope, Sunday pig face.
And before I get anywhere near alcoholic beverages or porcine jowls I need to sweat out some toxins. The next 90 minutes are all Tracy’s. (My goal, set last Friday, is to work out every day until I leave for Vegas on Jan. 28. In one week I’ve already tightened up and more importantly, brightened up. Never thought I’d say this but I love working out... in a hate-it kind of way.)
Have a good one, everyone!
