Proust would approve

Last night found me flying uptown on the 6 train for an extraordinary meal. Cafe Boulud is a re-creation of M. Daniel's great grandparents' restaurant in Lyon, and it was fantastic.

I began, comme toujours, with a dirty martini whilst awaiting the Drug Czar's arrival. After the ritual water discussion (tap or bottled? flat or sparkling?) and the presentation of a bread basket with 5 choices (sourdough, pumpkin seed, raisin, boule & petit baguette), it was on to the meal. I chose the Satur Farm baby beet salad with fourme d’ambert, caramelized hazelnut, and asian pear, then moved to the appetizer portion of the curried Thai lobster, with spicy red pepper curry, thai basil and sticky rice. The DC had pate with foie gras and roasted duck breast “Castelluccio”, with lentils, pancetta, and kabocha squash. We chose a lovely French pinot noir that complemented everything well, and finished with the Devil Food Cup Cake with caramel gratin and salted caramel ice cream, and a shot of espresso. And dessert comes with a basket of delicious madelines.


We then retired to Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel, to view the murals by Ludwig Bemelmans, sip framboise eau de vie and armagnac, and listen to a delightful jazz pianist who was undisturbed by the young turks singing along to the Sinatra songs. No sign of Mr. Allen, who apparently plays there on Mondays. And Elliot the cab driver got me home in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

For a nightcap, I caught up with Camarooned, who's alive and kicking, and cooking lentils on the West Coast.