Can you believe that Sir has never been to my favorite restaurant on the planet? Neither can I. I have had many exquisite lunches at Le Bernardin, but always in the company of others. Lunch itself is the problem - it saves considerably on the pennies but, because it's not offered on Saturdays or Sundays, requires a day off during the working week. Although Sir and I are completely simpatico where most things are concerned (politics, our fascination with Lost, mystification at American football, and a devotion to our Kindles, just to name a few), he has never understood my willingness - nay, eagerness - to devote a precious vacation day to a meal in the Big Bad City, no matter how many Michelin stars the establishment in question might possess.
I had thought it would always be thus.
Today, however, having demanded details about my most recent gala lunch adventure, Sir went straight to the computer to play our favorite game, What Would I Have Eaten? That, I believe, is when his eyes alit upon the Chef's eight-course tasting menu. Before I knew what was happening, he was talking dreamily about sea urchin, scallops, and Chassagne-Montrachet with an otherworldly, feverish gleam in his eye.
Now, Sir has been working very hard lately, spending many, many hours on airplanes, shuttling back and forth to foreign parts for job-related purposes. I think all this time at high altitudes has addled his brains somewhat, as well as encouraged him to think a bit of time off might not be such a bad thing. In addition, after several years of being unable to drink wine, he recently discovered that he can now do so with no ill effects - the reasons for this sudden rehabilitation are medically unclear, but no less welcome for that. These factors, combined with the holidays and our utter discombobulation about what to buy one another for Christmas, resulted in the somewhat giddy suggestion that in a couple of weeks' time we treat ourselves to a bang-up, balls-out, damn-the-torpedoes sort of gustatory campaign. Our last such splurge was almost two years ago at Per Se, so I guess Sir thought it was Time.
Before he could come to his senses and change his mind, I rushed to the phone to secure our reservation. Noting that the tasting menu contained a few gluten-tainted dishes (there's that bread-crusted red snapper again!) I determined that I needed to let the kitchen know my frailties so they could come up with some sort of suitable substitution. And as I was talking to Ashley, the kind and understanding reservations lady, something wonderful happened. She had called me up on the computer (if you've ever made a reservation chez Ripert, they have a record of it - it's slightly spooky) and was checking my phone number when I told her about the gluten catastrophe. She was very nice about it, said it would cause no trouble at all, and told me she was making a note on my record so I needn't ever mention my dietary compulsion again. The restaurant will henceforward just know.
Isn't that civilized? Isn't that amazing? Eric will always and forever create gluten-free delicacies, just for me.
And that is why Le Bernardin is my favorite restaurant in the whole wide world.
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