But, as you may all know, Restaurant Week has arrived: prime time for palates with plebeian pockets. Though, be warned, you may not always "eat famously"; many second-rate establishments loom the list.
Japonais, for example, provided some Schadenfraude-esque enjoyment when I was reading over some of NYMag's Adam Platt's restaurant reviews:
As I sat at Japonais, sipping my Floating Orchid Martini, groping for new ways to describe the latest glossy, Pan-Asian disco palace to land in our midst, a dish appeared that was so msiconceived, so ecentric, so downright flat-footed, that it did the job for me. The Wagyu beef "Toban Yaki" style is not to be confused with the Wagyu rib eye or the Wagyu-brisket ravioli. No, the Wagyu Toban Yaki comes to the table in a steaming clay vessel. The lid is then lifted, with some ceremony to reveal a dank melange of peppers, mushrooms, and the beef itself, simmered to a kind of dull-gray nothingness in a broth described as a Kirin Light beer Fondue. I took one hesitant bite, then another. Then I scribble the following cosmic question in my notebook: "What am I doing here?"
To finish, he scribbles in his scratch-pad: For a real dinner, go somewhere else.
Wow, culinary bitch-slap.
Tomorrow, I'm off to Town and next week Del Posto. Others I'd definitely would want to try, though hardly have the savings for, are Blue Smoke, Cafe Boulud, and Dovetail. The Jean Georges conglomerates are available all winter, so perhaps Matsugen or Jojo another time?
P.S. I went to Milk Bar and David Chang's recent endeavor deserves a post of its own, but, needless to say, I will be back. Innovative deserts that always combine the right balance of sweet and salty: Graham Cracker soft serve that transports you back to days of snack time at camp (except now you're 20 and sophisticated and can demand Maple Candy, Charred Marshmallows, and Peanut Butter Halva on top).
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