"My mother made me eat broccoli. I hate broccoli. I am the President of the United States. I will not eat any more broccoli."
- George Bush 1990
The above quotation really has nothing to do with my article other than that it mentions food and the United States, and I just like it. Our recent holiday there gave rise to only one awe-inspiring evening. Our other forays provided exactly what I expected, a beautiful and diverse selection of food served with panache, professionalism and wit. After all, I have been to the US before. I'm no wide-eyed redneck, you know. The following are four of the best, tried with great gusto by myself and aireMaire with our diminishing bank accounts and expanding waistlines on your behalf.
Dean & Deluca Food Emporium, 560 Broadway at Prince Street
Our first stop. Dean and Deluca is not necessarily a place to eat, although you can grab a quick cafe latte and cookie or sandwich from the freshly-made selection and gaze at the bustle of Broadway. A visual feast, the most breathtaking food shop I have ever encountered, with an array of 50 types of bread, plus cheeses from around the world, cakes, pates, vegetables, wines, fruits, fresh fish, a butcher's counter, food books, utensils, crockery, and salamis of all shapes and sizes. You can watch sushi being made, take a bento box away, order canapes for your next party or simply buy some pasta for dinner. I left there vowing to sell my soul to the devil in order to one day own a shop a fraction as impressive.
Babbo, 110 Waverly Place between McDougal St and 6th Avenue
The Zagat guide's top New York restaurant in 1999. On a frigid New York night we entered this fabulous temple of cool, which was bustling with punters as beautiful as the surroundings. We simply had to order a dirty martini while we waited at the bar for our table, inhaling the mixed scents of perfume, food, money and success. We ate fabulous north Italian food. Ravioli of foie gras with potato sauce. Short ribs braised in Barolo wine. Spaghetti with lobster, rabbit with cavolo nero, pannacotta with grappa and berries and chocolate and hazelnut pudding. It was wonderful. We people-watched while drinking espresso at the bar before taking a taxi back to our hotel.
Carnegie Deli, 837 7th Avenue between 54th and 55th Streets
It wasn't all caviar and oysters though. We had a great night in an old Irish bar called P.J. Clarke's, on 3rd Avenue, with our friends Maeve, the two Pats and Martin. JFK supposedly met Marilyn Monroe there, and it hasn't changed a bit. The next morning we all woke up needing "a feed". The Carnegie Deli fitted the bill - an old Jewish diner, with autographed pictures of celebrities adorning the walls. The waiters were so old, I was sure that at any moment we would be called upon to pummel their chests and administer mouth-to-mouth. However, the most fabulous French toast, crispy bacon, hash browns and chicken noodle soup revived us and we were ready for another day's sightseeing.
It is also the only deli in the world with its own musical - a video of all the ancient staff shuffling around the diner belting out Broadway musical numbers. The finale was a deli-penned theme song, Till we meet again when we eat again, at which point one of the old dears comes around the tables, encouraging you to sing as the words are flashed on the video screen, karaoke-style. We honestly thought we were on Mars. Dazed and confused, we mumbled our lines, fully expecting Jeremy Beadle to emerge at any moment. We went back the next day prepared, sneered at the confused new arrivals and sang the deli song, not only loud and proud but swaying in unison.
Charlie Trotter's, 816 West Armitage, Chicago, ILL60614 www.charlietrotters.com I was nervous. The reservation had been made months before. I was almost afraid to look forward to it. The hype was so pervasive it couldn't possibly live up to its reputation.
I had all the books. This famous man, just shy of 40, is an idol of mine with a huge reputation in the US and solidly gaining recognition in Europe. His 70-seater restaurant is a mecca for gourmets. I was delighted with myself. There was I in Charlie Trotter's, sitting between two blonde chicks. OK, it was my wife and her sister, but it still looked good.
The waiters were numerous and courteous and put us at our ease straightaway with some casual chat. Paul, the cautiously camp maitre'd, explained the format of the menus to us. Two menus, one vegetarian, one grand menu, both of them eight courses. We had a glass of champagne to start and contemplated our choices. What followed was simply the best meal I have ever had. The flavours and freshness of the food were so new to me that for the first two tiny delicate courses, I wasn't sure whether I liked it or not. Everything tasted so clean and delicate, not marred by butter or cream, each ingredient tasting completely of itself.
Maire and I had the grand menu, while Emer had the vegetarian. After our third course we got chatting to the affable Paul, who seemed delighted that we were Irish.
With the restaurant's compliments we received an extra course of grilled foie gras with caramelised pecans and apple crisps accompanied by the most sublime Sauternes. From then on, each course was accompanied by a small glass of wine which perfectly suited the dish (compliments of Mr Trotter).
The most memorable dish was the Buffalo Tenderloin, barely cooked. True to its name you could cut it with a spoon. It nestled on a bed of the tiniest wild mushrooms with a cardamom and date jam. This, together with a delicious Beaune, was heavenly. Pretty soon the table was laden with enough glasses to look like a small wedding. This was the first time I ever truly appreciated great wines with great food and the importance of finding the right partner to a perfect dish. Normally when eating out, I place a greater emphasis on the food and - let's face it - one cannot order a bottle of super wine at great cost to match each course. So to be given a chance to taste these brilliant wines in small quantities was a revelation. For instance, a Napoleon of chocolate (another extra) was paired with a 15-year-old Madeira. This particular coupling was mind-blowing. The sommelier's craft took on a new status.
At the end of the meal, Paul (who was now our best buddy) escorted us into the kitchen to meet the man himself. He was at the pass, like a conductor directing his ensemble of 20 chefs, all working at full steam producing miniature works of art. Paul cautiously approached Charlie and murmured something in his ear, (probably something like: "These crazy Irish people won't leave without speaking to you,") and he motioned us closer. I gushed at Charlie like a teenage girl meeting her favourite boy-band. "Oh, Mr Trotter, that was unforgettable. Please may we have a photo?"
I know. "How sad," you are thinking, and you are right. I am horrified myself. He was like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Maire grabbed him from one side, me from the other, Emer got the photo.
Paul prised him from our grasp. I gave one last parting gush and we were escorted on a tour of the wine cellars. We returned to our table, giddy with excitement, to pay our bill, said goodbye to Paul and the waiters and left.
The total for this perfect evening was, with tip, $535.
Can you afford to go to Charlie Trotters? The question is, can you not?
Paul Flynn is proprietor and chef at the Tannery, Dungarvan, Co Waterford. Tel 058-45420. E-mail www.tannery.ie