Just Cured - Experience Fine Foods

As I have posted a couple of time before, last Friday I acted as the guest chef at City Cellars wine shop for its second monthly wine dinner.† The menu for the dinner along with the pairings I selected from the shop’s selections was:

Roasted beet and goat cheese salad
Foreau Vouvray Sec 2006
Pascal Cotat Sancerre, Les Monts DamnÈs 2004
Cliff Lede Sauvignon Blanc Napa Valley 2007
Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc Marlborough 2008

Risotto with asparagus and asparagus puree
Albert Mann Pinot Gris Vin D’ Alsace CuvÈe Albert 2005
Lucien Albrecht Gewurztraminer 2006

Just Cured half smoked salmon cooked sous vide, wild mushroom and cabbage sautÈ, pinot noir butter sauce
A to Z Pinot Noir Oregon 2007
Elk Cove Pinot Noir La BohemÈ 2005
Kynsi Pinot Noir Stone Corral Estate, Edna Valley 2005

Milk chocolate pretzel tart

In the category of “I always forget something,” I left my camera at home, and the friend who assisted me (who never goes anywhere without his camera) didn’t have his with him either.† As a result, there are no photos of the courses as they left the kitchen.† If any of the guests happened to snap a picture for posterity that includes the food or other guests, please send them to me.

I was pleased to serve many friends dinner that night.† There were a few new friends, a few long-time friends whom I see often, and several friends I haven’t seen in years.† I was even more pleased to meet several guests who were unfamiliar to me and who received their first introduction to Just Cured.

The guests appeared to enjoy themselves.† There was no consensus among them of a favorite course; I received several votes for each course.† The wine flowed freely.† One table sat and chatted for nearly an hour after the first guests departed.

I had fun as well.† The real challenge to doing this dinner was working within the restrictions of the available facilities.† City Cellars is in the process of installing a full kitchen in the back of the shop.† Right now, it lacks an actual cooking device.† I brought along some equipment and tailored the menu to the capacity of the available equipment.† I was particularly pleased at the pace with which we were able to serve the courses.

Thanks to Sean, Brian and the other staff of City Cellars for asking me to participate, for their hospitality and for their assistance.† Thanks also to J.T., my assistant in the kitchen for the evening.† Finally, particular thanks to my wife for making the pastry course.

Please consider City Cellars for your wine needs.† Also please plan to attend one or more of their Tuesday tastings and future wine dinners.† Finally, the City Cellars tasting room is a first rate facility for parties and corporate events; visit the City Cellars site for details on having your party in the tasting room.

You came into our lives just shy of 15 years ago.† You arrived through the woods behind our home and staked out your claim beneath the bird feeder that now stands empty.† You were so attentive as I watched from the family room window, you crouched stone still below that feeder.† You would observe the comings and goings of hundreds of birds, cataloging the behavior of each.† You waited for the visit to your side of the feeder of just the right bird, one that dipped below the level of the feeding perch on its departure.† On the first flutter of its wings after eating its fill, you sprung straight into the air.† With a front paw at full extension, you clubbed that bird to the ground, and on landing raked it with your rear claws.† Mercifully (for me, at least) you carried your prey into the woods to consume your prize.

Thus was our introduction to you.† Unlike little Mitten, our cat at the time who preceded you from those same woods by four years, you were friendly from the start, following one or the other of us around the yard waiting for a rub or scratch.† It was inconceivable to us that a cat of such sweet disposition was homeless.† We fashioned a collar for you containing a note for your owner to call us.† We scoured the “lost pet” columns of the local papers, looked at signs on utility poles, and called local veterinarian offices.† No one claimed you.

You were short in two dimensions with stubby little legs and a squat frame, nothing at all like the lanky and lithe Mitten.† We were sure you were not yet fully grown.† Imagine our surprise when we learned that you were five years old (according to our vet’s examination of your teeth), neutered and front declawed (very poorly as your paws were like mush).† Someone had owned you and abandoned you.† Why, we have never been able to imagine.

We took you in and have been all the richer for having done so.† We named you Boris, after the cartoon character Boris Badenov.† You resembled him so.† Your coat looked for all the world like you wore a black suit with white spats and gloves and a white shirt.† From below your eyes, your face was bright white, but you had a tiny black goatee.† Together with Mitten, you looked a bit like Boris and his sidekick Natasha, she so long and thin.

We laugh every time we think of your first night in the house.† We were quite concerned about how Mitten would accept you and how you would treat her.† A book on introducing a new cat suggested that we ignore you for a couple of days and fuss over Mitten.† The entire day we treated you like a piece of furniture or a sweater left by a guest.† That night, we confirmed that you were downstairs and closed the doors to our bedroom.† Imagine our surprise to awake in the middle of the night to find both you and Mitten curled up together in our bed.† Evidently you sneaked into the closet or under the bed while we closed the bedroom up “cat tight.”† The two of you were inseparable from that moment forward.

You instinctively understood Mitten’s physical and emotional fragility.† Her time on her own in the “wild” taxed her to her limits, and her personality reflected it the rest of her life.† In demeanor, you deferred to her need to feel primacy.† In play, you could have overpowered her at any time; yet you always permitted her to initiate play, and when we heard a yowl of “enough,” it was unfailingly you pinned to the floor.

About seven or eight years ago, you presented symptoms of feline herpes virus (FHV-1) infection in your eyes.† Thus began a constant struggle against the virus and recurring outbreaks.† Depending on the state of the virus, you received no fewer than three medication doses (huge pills, oral anti-viral liquids, topical anti-viral eye drops, gel tear replacement drops) every day since.† During active outbreaks, you took as many as fourteen doses of medicine.† No one believes us when we tell them how bravely and willingly you took all that medication.† For you, the extra attention and time on a lap made the indignities of being pried, squirted and dropped worthwhile — the treats offered at the conclusion were merely a bonus in your opinion.

When Mitten died just over four years ago, you lost your best friend.† For weeks, you toured the house looking for her in all her favorite places.† Truth be told, so did I; to this day, I can still catch myself looking across to her favorite chair as I start up the family room stairs, expecting to see her snoozing there.† You recognized that we felt her loss too; since her death, you have been much more cuddly in your affection, particularly toward your mistress.† You simply couldn’t wait for one of the other of us to sit to watch television or read a book; you were right there to sit beside or on a lap.† I will never forget the feeling of anguish I had as I left the house on that first Monday morning after Mitten died — and realized that until that moment you had never, not for an instant, been alone in the home we shared.

As cats go, you were ancient, 20 or so years old.† And yet, until several days ago, you acted like a much younger cat.† We knew all was not right when you couldn’t fight off the herpes outbreak that began in the late summer.† Historically, you became symptom free within weeks of our ramping up treatment.† This last outbreak lasted through the fall and into the new year.† Was it just a sign of your age or was something competing for your strength and the efforts of your immune system?† You also began to lose interest in food generally, something we had never experienced before.† Through this episode, you remained yourself in every other respect — active, cheerful, playful, affectionate.

Ten days ago, you and I visited the vet to check out your disinterest in eating.† You seemed hungry, but no food particularly appealed to you.† You were eating, but barely enough.† He reported that you had all the appearances of a much younger cat.† Yet, he was clearly as concerned as we were that there was something quite bad lurking.† We tried many simple things that might help you and got you the nutrition you needed.

The vet was right to be concerned.† This weekend, everything changed.† Your gait became unsteady and uncoordinated.† You acted confused and out of sorts.† You were tired, but didn’t sleep. You were obviously uncomfortable.† Those symptoms became progressively worse.† Your body was failing you before our very eyes.

Letting you go was among the most difficult things I have done.† We simply were not willing to let you suffer any more or any longer.† We made the decision on Monday and you knew.† You had a quiet day, better than the past several.† You slept a bit and spent the day alongside or on a lap.† If you weren’t wet from splashing water from your bowl trying to drink, you were damp from our tears.† I know we did the right thing, but the pain today is enormous.† I can only imagine the first day I come home from work and you are not at the kitchen door reminding me that you have been home alone all day — and that it is past time for your supper.

Boris, you were a gift that we well treasured.† And we will treasure your memory forever.

Requiem in Pacem, Boris.† As for me, forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.

Boris, March 2008

In this post last week, I briefly mentioned the relationship between fine dining restaurants and their many relatives that implement portions of the complete fine dining experience.† In that post, I said that experience with fine dining restaurants provides the context to evaluate the experience of these other restaurants.† In this post, I will enumerate the specific deviations from the fine dining restaurant employed at one particular place and how those deviations fit into what the proprietors of that restaurant want to accomplish.† Or at least what I think they hoped to accomplish.

This restaurant is not located in Cincinnati; and, as it is brand new in its present incarnation, I suspect that no local readers have any experience with it.† As a result, I will let it remain nameless.

This week, my wife and I are tucked away in a remote corner of the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York.† Our home for the week is a rustic, yet elegant cabin a few feet from a frozen lake, with mountains and forest beyond.† (You may read about our visit last February here.)† Our hotel recently completed a major rebuilding project including the new upscale restaurant that is the subject of this post.

The restaurant is a carefully constructed series of contradictions that result in an experience unique and satisfying in the extreme.

The room consists of three tiny rooms, providing perhaps 35 seats total.† The paneled walls and ceiling, the rectilinear beaming and iron and stained glass light fixtures combine to give the room a formal, faintly Japanese feel.† The long glass wall overlooking the dining terrace, lake and mountains pulls the outdoors into the room.† There is a large sculptural flower arrangement in the center room.† The walls are free of art; the view surpasses any painting.† The room makes clear that you are entering a serious restaurant; the room itself could be in New York City, Paris or London.

The furnishings stand in almost stark contrast to the elegance of the room.† The tables are constructed of birch log legs, twig and bark trim and a highly polished wood top.† Chairs are made of the same materials and have neither seat nor back cushions, yet are surprisingly comfortable even after several hours.† There are no flowers on the tables; linens consist solely of a linen coaster and napkin.† The juxtaposition of elegant and rustic, formal and informal synthesizes into a feel that while clearly not fine dining is immediately welcoming and comforting.

The menu is small, with perhaps six appetizers and six main course selections.† The ingredients reflected in the menu are immediately recognizable to anyone familiar with fine dining restaurants and menus.† Like the room, the food is serious.† The presentations of that food, however, are somewhat simpler than one might find in New York City and reflect perfectly the remote and rustic sense of place.† Importantly for any restaurant with aspirations, the food is terrific.

The service in the restaurant reflects the same contrasts evident in the decor and the food.† It is professional and attentive, but laid back, almost homey in demeanor.† There is more interaction with guests than the fine dining model affords; and that interaction is more likely to be personal in nature.† There are fewer bodies and their roles are not clearly defined by captain, waiter, back waiter, busser.

How does all this fit together?† Very, very well.† The Adirondacks are a series of contradictions.† Majestic beauty unspoiled by large scale development only a few hour drive from Manhattan.† Home to campers, trappers, and recluses as well as the cream of society who built the Great Camps of the region.† Modern coexists with rustic.† The owners and staff of this restaurant understand these contrasts and the pure fine dining model.† They have developed a restaurant that departs from that model, yet perfectly reflects the place they have chosen and the contrasts of the area — and created a restaurant experience that is unique, memorable and satisfying. dostinex download traffic dvd

What do you notice in your favorite restaurants?

For those outside the region, our little bout with Winter consisted of 6 inches of snow Monday night and Tuesday morning, followed by sleet, freezing rain and rain Tuesday afternoon and overnight, and topped off with another 4 inches of snow this morning.† The roads were a complete mess; the weight of the ice is taking down power lines and trees; the trees are taking down more power lines as they fall.

Here are some views of the woods behind our home.† I wish the sun had come out some this afternoon.† The sparkle of the ice encrusted branches would have been spectacular.

It snowed a bit over a half foot in Cincinnati overnight and this morning.† It has stopped for now; but more snow, along with some sleet or other wintry mix, is expected tonight and tomorrow morning.† The city is essentially shut down with schools, universities and businesses closed for the day.† I am babysitting the warehouse waiting for my landlord’s delivery of chicken and beef while he makes deliveries to his customers.

The neighborhood is quiet today, the warehouse silent but for the roar of the florescent lights.† I can’t help thinking of the first big snow of my working career.† That day was not so quiet.† (Readers uninterested in “walked five miles in the snow each day, both ways uphill” may exit the page now.† You’ve been warned.)

Today also happens to be the 31st anniversary of the Blizzard of 1978.† I was in college and also working for one of the Big 8 accounting firms.† School was out of session for the between-semester break.

The night the blizzard arrived, I had a late racquetball game on the north side of town.† It was raining steadily with temperatures in the low 40s when I arrived at the club.† When I left, the temperature had dropped to just above freezing and it was still raining.† As I drove home on I-75, the rain turned to freezing rain, then sleet and finally snow.† The temperature dropped 10 or so degrees over just a few minutes.† The stuff on the road began to freeze and the winds howled from the west.† One strong gust blew my car across two lanes of the highway.

The radio station to which I had tuned suspended its normal programming to focus on the weather.† I recall the shock in the voice of the newsman who took over for the DJ as he reported unheard of drops in the temperature and barometric pressure.† It was clear we were in for something big.† These were the days before doppler weather radar, sophisticated weather satellites and extensive computer generated weather models.† We simply didn’t get the four or five days of ominous warnings from the television weather geeks to which we have become so accustomed.† By the time I reached Newport, the rain and mixed precipitation had frozen solid and the snow was accumulating atop the ice.† The hill past St. Luke Hospital was littered with cars and trucks stuck at crazy angles to the road.† I managed to zig and zag my way around them without slowing and made it to the top of the hill.† I may have been the last car to navigate that hill; as I reached the top, police cruisers with flashing lights were blocking access to the hill.

When I awoke a few hours later, my father quizzed me on the road conditions.† I reported that they were bad, but not, in my opinion, dangerous or impassable. He decided that we could (and should) go to our respective offices.† And so, we drove together into downtown without incident.† Traffic was not an issue — we didn’t see a single other vehicle.† We were the crazy ones.† The roads were covered with 10 inches or so of new snow overlaying an inch or more of solid ice.

When I arrived at the accounting firm’s office, the phone system night bell was clanging.† For those too young to remember, 1978 straddled some important technology shifts.† We used 10-key adding machines; pocket calculators existed, but were prohibitively expensive.† Electronic word processing was in its infancy; reports were produced using MAG card typewriters.† We had a print shop in the office where reports were printed on an offset press.† We prepared tax returns by filling out large data input sheets that we sent for computer processing to a service in Texas (I believe). And only the most technologically advanced companies had direct inward dial phone systems.† Our firm had a modern (by the standards of the day) switchboard operated by the receptionist.† When the office was closed, she activated a “night line.”† The night line could handle one incoming call at a time; you couldn’t place the call on hold; and even a transferred call blocked the line until the call terminated.† The system could, however, queue calls for that single line.† Oh, and the night bell sounded like the klaxon on a naval vessel.

It took me a minute or two to determine I was the only person in the office.† I answered three calls in succession off the night line, shouting to be heard over the klaxon’s insistent reminder of another call in the queue.† All were from fellow employees calling off.† I knew this wasn’t going to work.† I couldn’t answer calls fast enough using the night line and couldn’t perform my actual work with the night line blaring at me.† I walked to the receptionist’s desk and stared at the console.† I had watched her play her fingers over the keys, buttons and switches; she made it all look so easy.† After all, how hard could it be to operate a switchboard, I thought.

I reached out and flipped the switch marked “Night.”† The klaxon went silent — good.† The console sprang to life, a dozen or more lights indicating incoming calls† — not so good.† I grabbed an operator’s headset, said a little prayer and began pressing buttons.† I disconnected a few callers, but soon got the hang of answering calls.† Most of the initial calls were from staff members either announcing they wouldn’t be in or asking if the office was open.† For the latter, my answering the phone was clue enough; I didn’t sound much like Betty, the receptionist.† I started a legal tablet of the names of those who called off.† One of the callers was the woman who is now my wife, lamenting that she would have carried more work home had she known she would not be able to get out of her driveway.† Some things never change.

The rest of the world was unaware of our weather plight.† Soon I began answering calls involving the real business of the firm.† It was the heart of the audit busy season, and partners and managers from around the world were calling to inquire about, or update the status of, multi-office projects.† I explained our weather situation to people who couldn’t fathom a little snow’s shutting down a city (a partner from Vienna comes immediately to mind) and took messages for the intended recipients to return the calls.† I burned through two pads of pink “While You Were Out” slips.† I was fortunate that I didn’t have to transfer any calls as there was no one else around to take them.† I am sure to this day that task was beyond my ability as an operator.

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Eventually, the phones quieted down, two others (a young partner and the office accountant), out of more than 100 employees, arrived and I got a bit of work done.† Around 2:00 p.m. my father called and suggested that we call it a day.† Because the governors of all three local states had declared the roads closed to all but four wheel drive, public transport and emergency vehicles, we decided to take the bus home.† I packed a large audit bag of work for the evening and (likely) the next day.† We met at the bus terminal, my father also in possession of an enormous briefcase.

We waited only a few moments for a bus of the line that stopped within a block of our home. A bit under half way home, the driver stopped the bus (at 10th and Washington in Newport) and told us to get off the bus.† When we informed him that we were going further, he told us we were at the end of the line for today.† When we said that we would just ride back downtown, he laughed and told us his was the last bus of the day and he was going to the garage (neither closer to home nor downtown).

We were out on the street, each carrying a heavy briefcase in the bitter cold dressed in what is now known as business casual and light winter coats, with nary a hat nor glove between us.† We certainly didn’t want to face a two mile hike through deep snow to a downtown hotel; the walk home was longer and more treacherous.† In those days, there was a little neighborhood grocery/deli on that corner.† The manager agreed to let us use the phone for 50¢ a call (when a pay phone call was a dime).† We gave her $5 against our usage.† The first call was to home to advise of our predicament.† The next calls were to two doctor friends who had recently acquired the latest in physician chic — original Jeeps outfitted with oversize tires, snow plows and winches.† Both were out showing off their new toys to other friends.† We left messages with a family member at each home as well as at the homes of several of the usual suspects they might have been visiting.

I honestly cannot remember how long we waited at that store.† It seemed like hours, but was likely only one or so.† We did have to bribe the manager to stay open a bit longer than she planned.† Eventually, one of the docs showed up and dropped us at our front door.

We decided to stay home the next day, along with all the other sane people.

A storm of the magnitude of the 1978 Blizzard would create nowhere near the chaos — or adventure — today.† This morning, just after 6:00 am, my wife received an email message on her BlackBerry that the company’s office would be closed today (as we were walking out the door, she decided to go in anyway; some things never change).† In addition, the company maintains a dial-in hotline for situations such as this.† Calls to empty offices are automatically routed immediately to voice mail, to be picked up from home or anywhere in the world.† Urgent messages are transmitted by email to BlackBerries and iPhones or by text message.† Who needs a big briefcase when the corporate VPN is but a broadband connection or WiFi hotspot away?† The emergency alteration of the bus schedules would appear prominently on the transit authority’s home page, accessible from office, home or smart phone.† And once stranded, help is but a cell phone call, text message or voice mail message to any of hundreds (or thousands) of stored contacts.

And yet, as much as I would have appreciated a cell phone that afternoon, I wouldn’t trade the experience of that day for one — or anything else for that matter.† Life was simpler, less predictable and infinitely more exciting.

Have I not written anything for over a week because I have nothing to say?

Have I been busy with Just Cured and a little bit of legal work?

Has the economy been weighing on my mind?

Or the financial crisis?

Certainly the final three have something to do with my quiet.† The first certainly not; there are many subjects on which I want to speak out.

I discovered this morning that I have been avoiding my home desk and the computer at that desk — the place I write most of my blog posts.† There’s something missing at that desk, a little cat searching for attention.† For the past year (as long as the computer has been so situated), any time I sat there during the day, Boris was immediately at my side, poking at my lap, jumping up, and assisting with my work at hand.† His paws competed with my fingers on the keys, slowing down my typing.† The competition for the keys allowed me to draft and edit in my head while I waited my turn at the keyboard.† It is disconcerting to work at this place without his assistance.† I’ll get past this and develop a new rhythm to my time at this desk.† In the meantime, I am going to savor Boris’s memory and his absence.

On a more positive note, if you are free on Friday night for dinner, join me for the wine dinner I am cooking at City Cellars.† For information, visit the City Cellars website, and for reservations, call 513.621.WINE

With this article and this follow-on piece, the Cincinnati Enquirer announced the imminent closing of Jean-Robert at Pigall’s and Jean-Robert de Cavel’s resignation from the restaurant group heretofore bearing his name.† As much as I mourn the closure of Pigall’s, I mourn the end of an era of fine dining in Cincinnati yet more.

For the record, I define “fine dining” much more strictly than most others.† I use the term to refer to a restaurant that would merit serious consideration as a Michelin two or three star restaurant or as deserving a four star review from the New York Times.† As an additional reference, Relais & Chateaux uses the worthy of two Michelin stars standard for designating a Relais Gourmands restaurant, a designation held by Pigall’s for several years.

I know I will offend some (including several friends) when I state categorically that no other restaurant in our city meets that definition of fine dining.† That is not to say that those other restaurants are are not fine places, deserving of your patronage and dining dollars; those places simply do not have every element required to meet the fine dining standard.† They also do not carry on Cincinnati’s long and significant history of fine dining restaurants.

Most Cincinnati residents who are interest in food know that the Maisonette held Mobil’s five star designation longer than any other restaurant in the country.† Many can recount that Cincinnati had three Mobil five star restaurants for a year or two in the 1970s (the Maisonette, old Pigall’s and the Gourmet Room in the Terrace Hilton hotel).† Almost no one remembers that one year in the mid-1960s Cincinnati was home to three of the eight five star recipients or that the third restaurant (after Maisonette and Pigall’s) was the La Ronde restaurant in the Carousel Hotel on Reading Road.† New York City boasted only two five star restaurants that year.† (I wish one of the Adrian sisters would remind me which year this was by looking at their father’s scrapbook they so graciously shared with me a few years ago.)

Outside the regimented world of kitchens implementing the brigade system, the name of Pierre Adrian is virtually unknown.† But a generation of chefs working in America and throughout the world considered Chef Adrian a mentor and role model.† Chef Adrian was chef of the Maisonette through the 1960s and was the chef when the Maisonette began its run of consecutive five star honors.† Chef Adrian would likely be a household name along with the great chefs of history but for his death at an all-too-early age.

How does a city go from supporting three or more fine dining restaurants to none in just a bit over a generation, you ask?† Is the economy to blame?† The decline of downtown?† Changed dining habits?

All the above, yet none of the above.† I place responsibility in roughly chronological order on shopping malls, multiplexes, chain restaurants, cheap air travel, specialty catalogs, and e-commerce.

When I was young, Cincinnati was the commercial and cultural engine for a region extending to a 200 mile radius from the city.† The residents of the small cities and towns in that region flocked to Cincinnati.† The doctors, lawyers, accountants, merchants and teachers traveled here three or four times a year.† In the summer, they brought their children for a baseball game and a trip to Coney Island and in the winter to visit Santa and see the decorations.† In the spring and fall, they came as couples with friends.

They stayed in the hotels.† The Netherland Hilton and the Sheraton Gibson were packed on the weekends.† They shopped.† Their children were clothed from the racks of the four full service department stores within a three block radius of the hotels.† The women bought their finery at the likes of Giddings Jenny and Henry Harris.† The men purchased suits, shirts, ties and overcoats at Brooks Brothers, Burkharts, Dunlaps and the “hipper” place next door (Mr. T, please remind me of the name of the men’s store that is now JeanRo).

They attended the symphony, ballet and opera at Music Hall.† They watched acts at the Taft and the Emery and plays at the Schubert.† They went to first run movies at the Albee, the Keith’s, the RKO Palace, the Grand and the Capitol. azulfidine

And they dined, oh how they dined.† They ate at restaurants large and small for every meal of their visits.† The city was replete with choices unavailable in their towns at that time – from tea house to steakhouse to oyster house.† And at dinner, they splurged, the Maisonette, Pigall’s, or the Gourmet Room, how did one choose?† Well, each of these visitors had a favorite.† My maternal grandfather was partial to Pigalls, the original location at Fifth and Pike, thank you very much.

As the 60s became the 70s and the 80s, this version of the world went away.† Developers built shopping malls near these smaller cities.† The malls brought mutiplex theatres and sit-down chain restaurants.† Suddenly the gentry of these places didn’t need to travel for staples or even for luxuries.† And for the true treat, New York, Chicago, San Francisco and London were but a plane ticket away.† The places that relied on this regional business began to close.

I am not sure why, but the fine dining restaurants held on longer than any of the others — the hotels of that era are long torn down or substantially altered, the theatres are essentially gone, Music Hall hosts half empty concerts, the department and specialty stores are but a memory.† Fine dining restaurants struggled and survived as the others failed around them, yet finally succumbed.

Why did fine dining hang on longer than the others?† I have long espoused that fine dining represents the best value in restaurant meals.† The small price premium that one pays over the lesser competition pales in comparison to the effort, artistry and surroundings provided in the fine dining environment.† In this week’s New York Times review of Restaurant Daniel, Frank Bruni summarized my conviction well:

At restaurants considered much less exclusive, you could spend only $30 less on a similar amount of food, and you wouldnít get anything approaching Danielís bells and whistles. These flourishes make you feel that youíve slipped into a monarchís robes, if only for a night, and turn an evening into an event.

A fine dining meal is the equivalent of a two or three hour vacation — at a fraction of the price of the real thing.† The food nourishes the body, and the surroundings and service sooth the soul.

It is ironic that the Times effexor reaffirmed its four star rating of Daniel the day before the Pigall’s announcement.† In temperament and cuisine, Daniel is the New York four star most resembling Pigall’s.† Before Jean-Robert ventured out on his own from under the fame of the Comisar family and Maisonette, Daniel Boulud left Le Cirque and the shadow of the Maccioni family.† And it was Daniel’s departure from the Plaza AthÈnÈe to join Le Cirque that created a position for Jean-Robert to begin working in the United States.

The Times review is worth reading.† It is an informed look into fine dining in New York and represents some of Bruni’s best writing.† After March 1, dining on this scale will be a airline flight away rather than a short drive or walk.

And we will all be the poorer for its being so.

As part of the recent “Art of Food” exhibition, local photographer Kelly Kruthaupt spent a few days at Tucker’s Restaurant, shooting tens of thousands of images.† She then edited the photos, set them to music and produced a music video-like montage of a day in the life of this restaurant.

I really enjoyed this view of a place I know so well. Thank you Kelly.

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The current issue of the Soapbox newsletter contains a video profile of Powerhouse Factories Design and its owners, Ben Nunery and Pat Jones.† Powerhouse is the creative genius behind Just Cured’s branding.

So, why did they decide to show the Coast brand packaging rather than Just Cured’s?

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Eleanor Roosevelt once said “Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.”† I have seen this statement quoted — and misquoted — many times over the past six months or so, usually in the context of the presidential election or the writer’s view of one political party or the other.

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I could quibble with Ms. Roosevelt’s grammar; minds don’t discuss anything, people with minds discuss.† We sometimes refer to a person possessing a great mind as being simply “a great mind.”† I have never, however, seen one of small mind similarly denominated.† Rather, we refer to him or her as “small minded.”† I will assume that Ms. Roosevelt intended each sentence to begin with an understood “those with.”

The statement has an elitist tone to it.† It conjures up visions of the great minds (see?) of the Enlightenment spending their days in the coffee houses of London thinking and discussing Great Thoughts such as the perfect form of government, the intersection of science and religion or how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.† Based on my recent experiences, discussion of ideas encompasses much more.

I had the recent luxury of spending several days with friends I see too infrequently.† This week when I read Ms. Roosevelt’s words for the almost-one-too-many-eth-time, I reflected on the conversations we had with these friends.† Those conversations were filled with ideas — not Great Thoughts or Big Ideas, simply a collection of little thoughts, ideas and observations about our lives and the world around us.† I realized that the difference between gossip and a discussion full of ideas is one of degree and nuance.† Are people and events the focus, or are they the jumping off point for something less tangible, yet more real?

I returned from my time with these friends rested both physically and mentally.† That’s the power of ideas, to invigorate and refresh.† One of my resolutions for 2009?† I will spend more time with people who think.