[Pink Pig Time Machine by Wilfrid: January 30, 2012]
Ten years ago, I must have gotten quite comfortable posting on eGullet, because I composed a long and playful post - I can't find it any more - about being served a mystery bird at a mystery restaurant.
The mystery was dispensed with once Union Pacific closed its doors, but it was a funny evening.
This was, of course, Rocco DiSpirito's excellent and elegant 22nd Street restaurant. I used to pass it on my way to and from the subway all the time, stopping to read the daily changing menu. These were the days, sad to say, when New York restaurant menus were full of surprises. One day, I noted Scottish grouse and made a reservation.
It seems I embarked on quite the tasting:
Sashimi of salmon with apple jelly
Bay scallops with uni and mustard oil
"The bird" with black truffles, sweet potato purée, herbed potatoes
Tête de Moine, Selles- sur-Cher, Shropshire Blue
Chocolate pudding, petits fours
Sauvignon Blanc, Burgundy, Banyuls
Ah, the bird. You see, it arrived showered in truffles and looking splendid, but nothing like grouse. I tasted. Not grouse. I inquired of my server; he sent over the captain. "It's grouse," he said, "imported from Scotland." It's very good, I said, but it's not grouse. It might be pigeon, but not grouse.
He set off for the kitchen; returned shaking his head. "The chef confirms that it's grouse. He has the shipping papers, and..." Not to worry, I said. But it's not grouse. I may have mentioned that, being British, I cooked grouse every season and knew what it looked and tasted like. The captain was despondent. Notably, chef DiSpirito, always a great one for working the room, made no appearance that evening.
A pity, because it was a delicious meal. I took a phone call a couple of days later, inviting me to a complimentary meal to compensate for my disappointment. I didn't take them up on it. A week later, the menu read "Scottish wood pigeon."
What else? To the much-missed Bottom Line for a performance by British guitar wizard and reluctant pop star Dave Edmunds, pumping out his preferred guitar instrumentals - including some Mozart - then pleasingf the crowd with "Sabre Dance," "I Knew the Bride," "I Hear You Knocking" and so on. Just him, his guitar, and a brass section for the old rockers like "Crawling from the Wreckage."
As I mentioned last week, I trooped along to Craftbar too; then in its early days, tucked alongside Craft and sharing the same kitchen. Some mixed meats including home-made duck ham, porchetta, and mortadella; a rather ordinary fish stew; some cheesecake with blueberry preserve; Viognier, Trockenbeerenauslese. I was unimpressed (and at this point, the menu was very, very short).
At home, baked duck lasted two days with peas. Also, cheeses with Asturian cider. And a lunch at Citarella, which briefly opened a fish-focused restaurant near Rockefeller Plaza, a step or two from Radio City Music Hall. Rock shrimp salad with citrus, charred Spanish mackerel.
Not a bad week.
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