Firstly, allow me a brief stint of humility: I'm probably not qualified enough as a food authority to blog about 11 Madison Park accurately. And that's not a shameful thing, as I offer what I think is my own unique perspective about restaurants in New York City. Most of the time I come off as an asshole, and I rarely actually speak about the food unless I really really like it or really really dislike it. If you look at the places I've written about in the last several years you'll see that I am not one to appreciate reputation or buzz or awards or anything else that would merit an affinity for fine food and beverage.
So with that long winded caveat, I can honestly state, in my humble opinion, there is no fucking way this place is worth the money. Not even close. We went for our wedding anniversary dinner (with the real wife) and had a gift certificate that was generously given to us by a friend who has two infant children and woudn't have been able to use it. After seeing the sum on the gift card, we figured why not splurge a little and get the four course tasting and the wine pairing. That's the set up. Here's what you get for roughly $400 a head:
- A menu with the principle ingredients laid out. The food preperation is so good, you only need to know the protein. Food allergies be damned, the food preperation is so good you couldn't possibly be allergic to it.
- The wine pairings are sexist.
- Service ninja's, this happened at Spice Market too, what's with the service ninjas? They appear out of no where, deliver something bite-sized you didn't order, and then vanish after throwing sand in your eyes. Seriously, it kept fucking happening and it was jarring.
- While on service, the ones that weren't ninjas were robotic. Not unpleasant, but clearly trained to feel superior than the guest because they're fleecing you. I'd feel that way too if I'd bamboozled you into telling you what you're going to have for dinner.
- The food itself: interesting. I'd say it's interesting. I certainly didn't shit myself, and some of it wasn't that great.
And there in lies my problem: you don't know what you're getting so have none of the joy of anticipating what you're eating. And unless you sit there and ask the server about all 16 dishes, you're working with just one ingredient. To be honest I remember the chicken being nice. And the rest of the food was beautiful, to a degree artfully and skillfully prepared, but that's not why I go to a restaurant of this caliber. I go to a restaurant of this magnitude to have my socks blown completely off of my feet. To walk out of there so full and so drunk and so happy that I went that I become depressed at being such a plebian.
More to the point, my contention is the overall pretention. 11 Madison oozed a self-awareness of their quality. The amuse bouch scenario sums this perfectly. They kept throwing all sorts of appetizers at us, amuse bouche after amuse bouche, to the point that my bouche wasn't that amused. Firstly, I wasn't sure if this is what I ordered or not, because we only knew one ingredient. How was I not supposed to know that the pea soup wasn't actually spinach soup? The menu only said spinach. And because of the service ninjas, reciting the ingredients with their condescending manner, one that invokes the idea that we both know I'm going to enjoy this, that I'd better enjoy this, that since I'm paying so much money for this 2 oz portion of soup delivered in a cheap-ass oneida coffee creamer that if I don't enjoy this it is clearly my problem (a tonality, I must say, that take years upon years of pretentious training), and then swish away in a cloud of smoke. If you didn't catch their over-rehearsed retelling of the ingredients then too bad for you.
Look, if you're reading this, most likely you live in Brooklyn and aren't too concerned about what the uber-rich in Manhattan are doing to piss away their money. I just want to stress you're really not missing anything.
No comments:
Post a Comment