Jason Sheehan, the critic out at our sister paper, The Denver Westword, has written a lengthy, rapturous blog post about a dinner at Le Bernadin. It’s worth a read, not only because Sheehan is such a good writer, but also because in this city of snark it’s nice to be reminded of what sheer, unadulterated enjoyment sounds like. Read it here.
“Honest to Jesus kids, I wish I could remember the meal itself with more specificity. I know there was sole at one point, a bordelaise sauce teased with a spoon of something that might’ve been liquefied foie gras and tasted like nothing I’ve ever had before — like wine must and deep, purple sweetness and butter and fat all at the same time, kept warm for me under a gleaming silver cloche when I had to duck out briefly for a breath. And I know there was a plate of something that involved bacon which, in our half-drunk and complete dizzy excitement, actually caused all three of us at the table to simultaneously cheer.”