My father has been in town on business this week, and I was informed earlier this week that I was to take my mother out for dinner on Friday, as he had a dinner meeting scheduled. While my girlfriend and I originally settled on taking my mom to Momofuku, this week’s Time Out arrived at our place Thursday evening.
Mostly due to this description (and the photo below!), we decided to change the plans.
I mean, just look at that burger. How could you say no to that? Never mind the fact that the chef is some bigwig named Daniel Boulud, or that the restaurant wasn’t actually going to open until Monday; no, those points I glossed right over. Cannons be damned, I wanted that burger! So, off we went to DBGB’s first night open to the public.
Somewhere along the line Friday afternoon, my father got roped into the adventure. As we were on the subway downtown, he exclaims, ‘Wait, we’re going all the way down town (heaven forbid!) to a restaurant that isn’t even open yet, that has no track record and no reviews?’ Yeah, suck it up, dad.
Emerging from the subway in the rain, we found the entrance to the restaurant, with the windows and even one of the glass doors still papered over. Flashing back to a certain experiment with Ethiopian food in Paris some ten years ago, I could sense my parents getting a little nervous, but in we went. Unfortunately, there were no seats available – for another two hours anyway – in the restaurant proper, but we were seated in the bar, where we could order from the bar menu.
My girlfriend, a connoisseur of beer, picked out three lovely drafts for herself, my mother and I. She even squealed in delight when they were brought out in ‘brew-appropriate stemware’. Shortly thereafter, a cheeseplate. I’m actually not sure who ordered it, or if it was, for some reason, on the house. But whatever the case, it was decent. The compote – with currants and sun raisins and a balsamic vinegar glaze (sounds disgusting, but I thought it was a brandy glaze, if that gives you any idea how tasty it was) – might have been the best part. The grapes were a little wilted, but the cheeses themselves were tasty.
And then we waited. And waited. My mother noted that the waitstaff was starting to look a little like deer in headlights, and opined that, if we didn’t get our food soon, we wouldn’t ever get it, because things were about to get crazy.
And then they brought us our burgers. My first mistake was listening to my girlfriend… see that thing on top of the burger? That’s not a pickle. That’s a pickled jalapeno… and she just bit into it and marvelled over how tasty it was. Figuring they’d pickled it long enough that it was tolerable (as though such a thing were possible), I bit off a chunk. Word to the wise: don’t overestimate your tolerance of a jalapeno, ever. For the next fifteen minutes, the front part of my mouth was in quite a bit of distress. Putting that aside, however, I tured to the burger itself. Now, I’m not a fan of coleslaw. And once, whilst driving through North Carolina, I stopped somewhere and got a burger which, much to my chagrin, came with coleslaw on it. Again, cannons be damned, I launched into this burger, only to find it topped with coleslaw. While, in my opinion, the coleslaw ruined an otherwise perfectly good burger, it was not so bad as to be inedible, which means that the coleslaw was probably pretty good. My girlfriend, for example, gave it two thumbs up. My parents, who did not have the Piggy, but rather the Yankee, also heartily approved of their burgers.
For desert, we launched into the Cherry-Kriek Beer sundae, with little meringue drops shapped like jumbo-sized chocolate chips. Breathtaking, really. And, since the deserts were only on the back of the regular menu, at this point we were finally able to see the menu of the restaurant proper. Yet again, my girlfriend began to squeal in excitement over the variety of sausages (including a blood sausage with boar’s head), the pigs’ feet, the roasted marrow, and the variety of pates.
My parents were generally impressed, and at this point the conversation turned to the topic of the chef, as my girlfriend attempt to recall Boulud’s name. When she finally came up with it, my parents’ demeanor suddenly jumped another step or three on the excitement scale. Apparently, they’d dined at several of his restaurants before, and he’d even hand-delivered a signed copy of some cookbook of his or another to them once. At that point, they caught sight of him wandering through the joint, and pointed him out to me, the culinary philistine of the lot.
After marvelling over place for a few more moments, we got up to leave. Strangely, as we were passing the host’s station, Daniel Boulud himself appeared out of nowhere, and thanked me personally for coming, and then walked off towards the kitchen. No one else. I looked around to see if Bryce had pulled some sort of mojo on the guy, maybe I was being filmed, but no… it was just one of those random things.
In sum, the place looks like it’s going to take off. I’m excited to return and try some of the less exotic sausages. While the service was a little redundant and slow, it was also their first night ever, so I’m willing to give them another shot. Even my dad, as we were walking out, noted that the place was pretty cool. And, to tell the truth, I’d go back just for that sundae.
