[Pink Pig Time Machine by Wilfrid: July 21, 2008]
On a perfect summer Saturday, I took my first walk across Brooklyn Bridge - an exercise I can recommend to anyone.
The story of the Bridge is a bloody one: the original engineer, John Roebling, dying from the tetanus infection of a foot crushed by a ferry; his son, Washington, crippled by the "bends" from working under water. From the foot of the bridge, I wandered into Brooklyn Heights. It reminded me of Bristol. Aided by some architectural notes I'd made, I found the old pre-Civil War houses and Beecher's church. Back along Fulton Street, I was disappointed to find Gage and Tollner's closed. The Brooklyn Historical Society had exhibits about the shipyards and Ebbet's Field.
Retreating to Manhattan, I splashed out on dinner at La Grenouille among the flowers. A snail tart seemed an appropriate start, with a glass of champagne. Rack and saddle of lamb followed, with a gratin dauphinoise. Roquefort, Brie and a chèvre showed up on the cheese plate. A 1995 Chateau Grancy Corton must have added considerably to the check. All very classy and very expensive.
Speaking of which, I was pleased to experience The Four Seasons later that week with the aid of an expense account. Cocktails around the large front bar, where I could hardly fail to notice the large, red figure of Mario Batali moistening his tonsils. Dinner, in the Pool Room, was a ruinously costly disappointment. Shrimp were offered with mostarda di Cremona, but in fact arrived in a bland curry sauce. A filet of bison was flavorless, despite the truffles. My diary describes dessert as "Napoleon of something". American wines: Cakbread Cellars sauvignon blanc, Domaine Drouhin pinot.
I have been careful ever since not to spend my own money at that restaurant.
I hit the wall in the middle of the week, confined to bed after eating oysters at some long-closed dump on Ninth Avenue. An unsuitable condition for a gourmand.