wigstheone
Dec 19, 01, 10:57 am
IN the annals of New York dining, few events compare with the tempestuous arrival of Alain Ducasse in New York. A year and a half ago, he swept into town, trailing his Michelin stars like a diamond-studded cape, and offering himself to the city as a gift it might or might not deserve.
Alain Ducasse at the Essex House was intended to ravish. It was more expensive, more sumptuous, more ritualized — more everything — than any other restaurant in Manhattan, where the worship of fine French food is an organized religion. Ducasse would be the restaurant that made the others also-rans.
It did not work out that way. New York received the restaurant coolly, and for good reason. The food, although very good, did not measure up to expectations, and certainly not to the prices on the menu. The many rituals of the dining room seemed forced and fussy. The service was not particularly well organized. Barely a month after the restaurant opened, rumors were circulating that Mr. Ducasse was ready to high-tail it out of town.
He did no such thing. Instead, as the city's attention drifted, he and his rock-steady chef de cuisine, Didier Elena, simply got down to work. Mr. Ducasse has a ferocious work ethic to go with his immeasurable self-esteem, and the payoff is evident every night at the Essex House, where Mr. Ducasse now offers, with much less fanfare, the kind of food that brings diners to their knees. Mr. Ducasse, a chef in the classic French tradition, promised New York a great restaurant. Now he has delivered it.
The kinks have been worked out of the service, which now has a polish and grace befitting the jewel box of a dining room. Many of the silly rituals have been dropped. No longer do diners have to choose from a dozen pens when signing the check. The herbal tea is brewed from fresh-cut leaves, but the waiters no longer snip the leaves with white-gloved hands. Some of the bizarre eating utensils have been shipped back to France, like the asparagus forceps that puzzled so many New Yorkers, and only one knife is now offered for cutting meat.
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/12/19/dining/19REST.html
Alain Ducasse at the Essex House was intended to ravish. It was more expensive, more sumptuous, more ritualized — more everything — than any other restaurant in Manhattan, where the worship of fine French food is an organized religion. Ducasse would be the restaurant that made the others also-rans.
It did not work out that way. New York received the restaurant coolly, and for good reason. The food, although very good, did not measure up to expectations, and certainly not to the prices on the menu. The many rituals of the dining room seemed forced and fussy. The service was not particularly well organized. Barely a month after the restaurant opened, rumors were circulating that Mr. Ducasse was ready to high-tail it out of town.
He did no such thing. Instead, as the city's attention drifted, he and his rock-steady chef de cuisine, Didier Elena, simply got down to work. Mr. Ducasse has a ferocious work ethic to go with his immeasurable self-esteem, and the payoff is evident every night at the Essex House, where Mr. Ducasse now offers, with much less fanfare, the kind of food that brings diners to their knees. Mr. Ducasse, a chef in the classic French tradition, promised New York a great restaurant. Now he has delivered it.
The kinks have been worked out of the service, which now has a polish and grace befitting the jewel box of a dining room. Many of the silly rituals have been dropped. No longer do diners have to choose from a dozen pens when signing the check. The herbal tea is brewed from fresh-cut leaves, but the waiters no longer snip the leaves with white-gloved hands. Some of the bizarre eating utensils have been shipped back to France, like the asparagus forceps that puzzled so many New Yorkers, and only one knife is now offered for cutting meat.
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/12/19/dining/19REST.html