Foodie Pseudery (38)
From the New York Times. Again:
It is a sinister dish, this ziggurat of bread, steak and foie gras, cloaked in black like a treacherous peak on the road to Mordor. At the base is a hulking crouton, topped by filet mignon, both slaked in butter; then comes foie gras; and finally all is drenched by a slow-moving sauce of bordelaise, truffles, veal stock and Madeira, which lends a sweetness and tang akin to balsamic vinegar. It is heavy, hobbling, a prelude to gout, an anachronism and a thrill.
The restaurant is called Le Philosophe:
Afterward, there will be enormous profiteroles, shrouded in chocolate sauce, with a rubble of half-burned hazelnuts. … Better is the apple tarte Tatin, made with a wink at Jacques Derrida, with a round of pâte brise (which my table took for a shortbread cookie) in lieu of a proper crust, and caramelized apples and apple butter sloping down the plate, as if poised for a getaway.
One wall is covered with black-and-white photographs of French philosophers: Montaigne in his ruff, Simone de Beauvoir in her chignon. Name them all and Le Philosophe’s owners, Amadeus Broger and Jack Wu, will comp your meal.
Thus far no one, not even a visiting French philosopher, has succeeded.