According to the ground rules of the restaurant repertoire you’re not supposed to find a dish like this…
…in a place like this…
Yet when Hugue Dufour, the French-Canadian chef-proprietor of the M. Wells Diner in Queens, New York, asked me if I’d ordered his silky-smooth parsnip soup with the sautéed foie gras topper I was surprised anyone would regard this accessory as optional.
“On ne vit qu’un foie“, I replied, a play on the French expression on ne vit qu’une fois – “you only live once.” What I essentially said to Dufour was that “you only live one liver” (wasn’t that the original title of a James Bond film?) and so I would pay the $10 supplement so as not to squander the opportunity. I don’t know what he thought of my pun, but he did reward me with this…
I immediately embraced Dufour as a comrade driven by the young&foodish manifesto:
Eat like a kid, dine like a prince.
The idea behind my London
pop-ups, both
BurgerMonday and
SpagWednesday, has been to relocate accomplished chefs, along with their high standards, to a classic 1950s British caff (greasy spoon) where all comers could slurp spaghetti and spill burger juices with complete abandon. My notion of “kid-friendly” was “stain-resistant”, an eating environment paved in Formica.
Initially I viewed the wondrous M. Wells Diner as part of a trend that takes the informalization of fine dining down another big step. Pioneering restaurants like New York’s
Union Square Cafe, San Francisco’s
Zuni Café and London’s
St John got us comfortable with smart-casual gastronomics. Gastro pubs and gastro bistros took seasonal, market-driven cooking further down to earth. Now concepts like
LudoBites in LA and M. Wells were luring us to downright dives. The thrill seemed to be in the slumming, in experiencing something rarefied in the place you least expected to find
it, much less yourself.
A single lunch at M. Wells convinced me there was something more to this slumming trend than the excitement of the unexpected. Diners, like liquids, take the shape of their container: If a restaurant is formal, stiff and unsmiling its clientele is prone to behave that way, too. More than a few multi-Michelin-starred restaurants are not so much fun as funereal in their ambience. If, however, you transported those starched-collared diners to a breezy, unpretentious and stain-proof setting they would likely assume those coveted attributes. Okay, maybe not the polyester part.
you nearly got the Bond film title. It’s Liver Let Die. #offalfilmtitles
Helen – And not You Only Liver Twice?
That pun is really bad and therefore really good. I hope the liver didn’t taste irony.
Love the point about diners taking the shape of their container. I enjoy going to “destination” restaurants for the gastronomy and ceremony but for pure fun I’ll go to a neighbourhood restaurant 9 times in 10. Even if that restaurant happens to be in someone else’s neighbourhood, like Queens.
Alastair – I see you as a fellow comrade, too. The appeal here isn’t only the neighbourhood flavour, however: It’s crossing boundaries – serving burgers in a posh restaurant and foie gras in a grasy spoon.
Duck Liver Soup #offalfilmtitle
Or A View to a Kidney?
I ‘m in love with the M. Wells dinner
Gastro1 – yet again you show that dino joannides is come il prezzemolo.
You mean ‘Liver Let Fry’ – Combining offal & diner 🙂