Saturday, September 28, 2013
the scabbard is worth ten of the sword
the food at marianne—almost, but not quite, the smallest fine-dining restaurant i have ever seen—is what you eat every day if you are the clean plate ranger scion of an old british family for whom Upholding The Standards is of Paramount Importance, Crassness is to be avoided At All Costs, and Money is No Object. being of peasant stock, my favourite things were the potatoes: 1) a slab of fondant potato, edges precisely chamfered, browned in butter, then s l o w l y cooked in chicken stock, and 2) a velvety stiff purée of maris pipers liberally emulsified with brown butter. above, you see a porcelain plate containing some veal reduction, a sorrel leaf and stem, and no potatoes whatsoever.
an excellent establishment to which i intend to return when someone else is picking up the check.