Style: French Asian fusion
Address: 20 East 76th Street, New York, NY, 10021 [Google Maps]
Phone: +1 212 772 2600
Hours: 7:00am-10:00am, 12:00pm-2:30pm, 5:45pm-10:30pm (Sun from 8:00am)
Prices: 3-course Lunch $38 / 7-course Degustation $125 / E $16-28, M $34-48, D $10-28
Bookings: Yes, telephone or online
Website: http://www.danielnyc.com/cafebouludNY.html
Note: All opinions expressed herein are solely those of my stomach and do not reflect the opinions of my brain, heart or any other component within my personal make-up that exerts influence over my behaviour.
Soren Kierkegaard wrote, "People commonly travel the world over to see rivers and mountains, new stars, garish birds, freak fish, grotesque breeds of human; they fall into an animal stupor that gapes at existence and they think they have seen something."
Presumably, Kierkegaard would not have been the type vying for a seat aboard one of the many Hop-On-Hop-Off sightseeing buses that offer visitors an abridged experience of New York City. Even I, a mere stomach, principally concerned with sustenance and other perfunctory tasks as I am, cannot imagine the character of a city being unearthed in this way. Now I don't always see eye-to-eye with my fellow organs when it comes to priorities, but if there's something that the brain and I absolutely agree upon, it is this: the experience of traveling is diluted when it is reduced to a series of boxes to be checked off.
So of course I was less then pleased today when a visit to the Frick Collection spanned more than two hours. Two FRICKING hours! Apparently the brain erroneously imagined that the heart and soul of New York City was going to be found in a museum loaded with EUROPEAN artwork (a mere two American artists rated appearances amongst the cavalcade of German and Italian masters). The gallery was formerly the opulent residence of industrialist Henry Clay Frick, so I was afforded a moment's entertainment when we set foot into the formal dining room, where we learned about the dinners Frick once hosted, usually to 20+ male guests, who might have enjoyed caviar, sweetbreads braised in mushrooms, roasted pheasant and strawberry tart.
Indeed, there is much to be understood about people, history and places in terms of what was being eaten and by who. Frick's mansion, like the meals served therein, is a relic of what it used to mean to be wealthy in America. The definition, like the aforementioned menu, has been transformed into something considerably different. To wit, having left the museum in search of lunch, I exerted my discerning influence such that we wound up at Café Boulud, where even someone of modest means today can eat like the aristocracy of yesteryear. Say what you will of capitalism, but was truffle butter ever going to be made available to the masses under socialism? I think not.
 |
| Amuse bouche of arancini |
Café Boulud is a solid example of what it means to be moneyed and unpretentious, where the food stands as an elegant tribute to modern French cooking and the wait staff treat you like royalty. Case in point, the feet on which I depend to ferry me between restaurants were clothed in a truly unappetising pair of sneakers today, however, the maître d' did not miss a beat in his warm welcome.
While perusing the prix fixe options, a complimentary baguette landed upon the table, along with a loaf of quality, cultured butter. I had thought up until now that bread was just not something that New York City diners place much importance on, given that up until today, every last piece had been somewhere between "OK" and "balsa wood." Adding even further weight to this argument is the fame achieved by Magnolia Bakery, where hypercolour butter-cream frosting takes precedence over actual baking technique. So I was pleased to find the baguette was of artisan standards, crusty, yielding and plush on the inside (it was also gigantic, so of course I wrapped up three-quarters of it and stashed it in my handbag for later).
A starter of cold soba noodle salad epitomises the fusion of French technique and Asian flavour; the soft noodles glisten with a delicate sesame dressing and are finished with a scattering of peanuts. Firm little bites of shiitake mushroom and crunchy scallions make for a balanced dish, diverse in texture.
As tempted as I was to order yet another steak, after two profoundly impressive experiences already, I cajoled myself into trying something else, to see if surf 'n' turf is something that New York takes as seriously. A course of pan-seared salmon wrapped in bacon is satisfying if a little unremarkable; the fish is lovely and mild and thus upstaged by the smoky bacon wrapper. Romaine lettuce puree is a little baffling to me, but the cherry tomatoes hiding beneath the greens offer a welcome hit of sweet and sour.
Characteristically, I am not terribly interested in dessert, but I relent on the basis that I need to examine how NYC does high-end sweets; "An entirely reasonable justification," brain chimes in. Well. Showcased in the dessert course is Jivara chocolate, famed for its velvety texture and hints of malt. Boulud serves it as a mousse, along with a whipped coffee ganache, chocolate Grand Marnier foam and nougat ice-cream. It's lust on a plate, with a dozen techniques being showcased. From the airy foam to the dense, thin layer of cake beneath the mousse, this luxurious dessert was a veritable sampling of four miniature sweets at once. And in the midst of my rapturous state, brain could be heard, far away, muttering, "Aren't we glad we've been walking everywhere? Another on-foot jaunt from W. 104th to Times Square should do the trick."
To finish, a decent macchiato and a complimentary bowl of feather-light madeleines, citrusy and warm from the oven, bringing the meal to a magnificent conclusion and ensuring that I will not be in need of dinner.
It would be a mistake however to imagine that this sort of meal is the norm in New York City, despite Café Boulud being pitched as a casual dining destination. It tells a story about a certain kind of diner, but when you're working on acquainting yourself with the soul of a city that has to feed around 20 million residents and almost 50 million tourists annually, you need to immerse yourself in a great many stories. The sheer ubiquity of options is astounding, no matter what part of the city you are in or what the time is.
Things I've learned so far?
- New York takes its steak very seriously;
- Capitalism triumphs once more by the healthful demands of the market prompting someone to open a place called Chop't, selling some of the sexiest salad I've ever inhaled;
- I will always and forever more side with multiculturalism, if for no other reason that I can dine on $2 Colombian snacks on Friday, Jewish knishes at the deli on Saturday and high-end French-influenced South East Asian fare on Monday (booked in as I am at Jean-Georges Vongerichten's Spice Market);
- New York apparently has the highest density of Starbucks of anywhere in the United States and they always appear to be busy, belying an attitude to coffee that is less concerned with espresso than it is serving sizes and syrups (but then I suspected this when I worked for them as a teenager, watching them all but fail in Melbourne, where quality coffee has been known to inspire behaviour also recognisable amongst cults).
Where I lay my fork is home.
