[Pigging by Wilfrid: September 12, 2011]
It might as well have been a beefsteak. There we were, confronted by vast platters of sliced cow. We should have been standing around barrels, bibs tucked in our collars, eating with our fingers.
But although traditional New York beefsteaks were still in full swing when the Minetta Tavern opened its doors (I explored the history in detail two years ago), such vulgar shenanigans would be beyond the purview of Keith McNally's swank clientele.
It's up to you how you react to that. My feeling? That's life.
Amusing consequences, however, can follow. This particular meal took place one Sunday afternoon during the earlier seating (6pm). Although known to the house, our party could not get a 7pm or 7.30pm table. At 6pm, the rear dining room was slammed; packed to the seams; servers struggling to pass between tables and unable to hear orders. Not room was not painfully loud (no thumping music), but conversation was difficult.
By 8pm (and we lingered a while), the place was less than half full. Tables stood empty. This is the hilarious outcome of the policy. Most of the 6pm diners, no doubt, would have preferred to eat a little later. The later slot was held for friends of Keith McNally. The friends had other, better things to do. At prime-time, the dining room fell silent. Oh well.
The food, as usual, was good. Loosely formed crépinettes of sausage meat, wrapped in caul-fat, browned and topped with summer truffles came to the table alongside oysters.
A neatly made pork pâté surprised through its incorporation of some distinctly smoked meat - ham hock, to my taste buds - and was pleasantly book-ended by a sweet, juicy prune and a little stack of pickled vegetables.
I tasted a warm cod brandade - first rate. But this was all really a preliminary.
Although I've dined here a number of times, I'd never been able to try the highly touted dry-aged côte de bœuf because I'd never dined with someone who craved a huge piece of beef, preferably bloody and was willing to spend sixty bucks to get it.
Actually, $118 "for two" according to the menu, although having seen the thing I have to say four people wouldn't go hungry, especially if they ordered sides. The cut is presented at the table looking like a mahogany football with a Flintstonian bone sticking out. After its debut it is taken away for disassembly. On the final, Peter-Luger shaped platter you receive many thick slices of crusty meat, the meaty rib, two generous marrow bones, plus the fatty caps of the cut balanced on top of the marrow bones as a kind of garnish.
Is it good? Yes, of course it is, but I am not sure whether I don't prefer a good example of Luger's porterhouse. But this is arguing precedence among excellent pieces of meat. Best to eat the marrow firsyt, and fast, because it cools too quickly, becoming solid and unappetizing. The rest of the meat will also lose temperature if it's not dealt with fast. The message: come hungry and get on with it. With your fingers, if necessary.
Pommes Anna, as usual, look blitzed beyond recognition but turn out to taste good - a bit like roast potato skins impacted together. We tried the roast potatoes too; and were rather relieved when crisp wedges of sucrine lettuce were passed around as a sort of palate cleanser.
Dessert? No, sorry.
There were two sommeliers in the dining room; one had shown interest when I first picked up the wine-list, but we weren't able to flag either of them again. Since the list is divided rather starkly between boutique bottles and wines of limited interest, we ordered simple Sancerre with appetizers, a modest claret with the beef. Not unhappy with a $140 check (pre-tip) for aperitif, plenty of wine, and all this food including the expensive beef. And the early hour, I admit, afforded time for digestion.
Burp. Consider the website, if you please.
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