Now, my learned confrères and bright sisters will observe, the Blue Fox is defunct. And so it, sadly, is. But no joy is more estimable than one which cannot be verified. This one wears the contrarian style of une bêtise.
But now, back to the dim-inutive amphibian and his delectable extremities. They are what they are, you like them or you don't. They come from China now, being banned in the EU; yet probably some enterprising farm lurks in Michael Vick's portfolio, beneath some gauzy holding company. But France is their home.
Surely no delectation can be more poignantly focus-ed than by thrusting it into cognitive combina-tion with another. It is precisely on the basis of such an ungentlemanly juxtaposition that this blog can even consider the matter of restaur-ants. And this was the scandal of the evening once, at the Blue Fox:
one ordered the most glorious Sauternes on the planet, with a service of cuisses de grenouille provençale. Never mind, that this was a celebration of the wine's balletic acidity, more than an indulgence of its renowned residual sugar. Never mind, that all the pairing truly fails is tradition. Never mind, that the thing went off without a hitch, the salinity of the preparation and the plushness of the fruit a classic mutual bond in any other context. It was simply that Yquem, when poured at all, must keep to its class, foie gras, the melt-ingest effluent of pomp. I'd do it again.
____
We'll be back to this subject,
as the masthead has always
threatened. This entry is a
reply to a friend's inquiry
of how to handle a wine he
was contemplating for his
birthday. The answer is, by
its chemistry, not its name.
that means I have to include frog legs on my birthday's menu?
ReplyDeleteNothing's compulsory on a birthday, as you're the last to need to be told. As I understand it, though, you're holding a couple of wines which would adore frogs legs, not that you couldn't simply continue your Champagne into their appearance - as is much the wisest thing to do, just as continuing a Château d'Yquem through anything succeeding its first sip (tobacco, aside), is also the wisest thing to do.
ReplyDeleteI happen to love frogs legs, but then I have a wretched weakness for any little animal which is wholly one's own, such as squab or escargots. Plainly the rosé you told me about, from Bandol, is on the short list of the gods' recommendations for such things; but you also hold a mainland Assyrtiko, as I understand it, which would be at least 20 percent daring but also at least 70 percent ravishingly revelatory.
It depends on which tendency you favour as you advance in age, I suppose. The Assyrtiko, even blended with Aidani as I believe yours is, is going to be slightly lean in terms of palate weight (body) for the little critter - not that one wants any more weight, frankly, than a cru Chablis of slight or no barrel aging - and it is going to be rather shorter in finish than the "provençale" preparation would want. If you were to steam your frogs legs, and toss them in orzo with some of your estate oil and a sprig or two of lemongrass, the Assyrtiko would make you cry with contentment. But we can't have that at the beginning of a year, so this course I recommend for your final dinner of your present age. I sometimes weep for how well you live, anyway, so if you do this, I do not care to hear about it! :)
And I thought that you did not dine in restaurants!
ReplyDeleteDink, you're back! What is there to say, but that the maxim is not impeached by one's failure to adhere to it. I had, on that occasion, a travel excuse, signed by my undergraduate registrar on the other side of the continent. One was in town only for cabochons, cabarets, and comestibles, casing the place for future domicile. I must say, it worked! :) And, can you stand it, on weather and aromatics, alone . .
ReplyDeleteIn the early Seventies, it befell that I was a founding member of the Indianapolis chapitre of Les Chevaliers du Tastevin.
ReplyDeleteGrand black-tie meals occurred three or four times a year, with palate-resounding wines.
A particularly lavish occasion was a dinner in honor of the Comte et Contesse de Lur-Saluces, who were promoting you-know-what in the U.S.
It was dictated to the French consul, an Englishman who dealt in rare wood veneers, that Chateau d'Yquem was to be served with the fish course (brook trout in butter). Everyone thought it odd except the honorees, who seemed pleased.
---
A more comical aspect of the evening: I was assigned the task of writing and delivering a formal welcome in the de Lur-Saluces' native tongue ("They don't speak English," I was told.). I wrote it in English and had it translated by a colleague in Butler University's French Department (a Jewish fellow from New York, since departed). As he owed me a favor, he also agreed to coach my delivery of it - which he did, thoroughly. About 500 words, mentioning the history, the association with Thomas Jefferson, etcetera up to the then-present. I was to the Countess' left. When I sat down (to considerable applause, thank you), the lady leaned over and asked, in perfect English, "Wherever did you get that Marseillaise accent, young man?"
Certainly one of the great stories in food & wine evenings of this kind, and in the annals of linguistic diplomacy. Deflatout-licious. Everyone, however, is panting to hear your reply - did you blame a musical ear, or some stimulating herb in the local diet? You don't remark, of course, on the clawing of your knee as the cheeses were served, but we can steel ourselves for that report, too, should you find occasion to submit it.
ReplyDeletejust posted my thank you note in "greek brazilian boy"
ReplyDelete;-)
More things are wrought by guytummy than this world dreams of !
ReplyDelete:)