Where once coffee and cognac or a frothy pastry confection were the only postprandial options at Gotham's Gallic eateries, increasingly waiters are producing trays lined with grape leaves and filled with milk and mold. Where two decades ago we learned chablis and chardonnay, now we grapple with Reblochon and catahoula. My love affair with cheese goes all the way back to Kraft singles and came of age with stinking-ripe Brie. So naturally I turned up on a banquette uttering the culinary equivalent of "Do me" to the server at Picholine, ground zero of the... More >>>