Friday, September 15, 2006

Latte Yea Show Ruby Show

I would have entitled this entry some version of "Where My Painting Takes Me" but I am so enamoured with my phonetic assessment of L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon that I just can't help myself.

You may remember from a previous entry that my friend Chuck took me to L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon (hereafter LJR) in exchange for my portrait of him. I then promised to post a picture of his portrait. This remains on the to-do list.

Reviews of our experience at LJR were, if I remember, mixed. Chuck's wife picked up the flower vase for a better look and the bottom fell off and water went everywhere, requiring a change of table dressing. The all-black placemats were, to my mind, a great idea until you spilled food on them (which my particular group did on a regular basis as we traded bites from each plate), at which point they look like hell.

On the positive side, the mashed potatoes (which they just give away for free) were really something. I mean REALLY something. I enjoyed my entree (although I forget what it was, which can't be a good sign), was unmoved by my appetizer (baby lamb chops), and found the chocolate cake we all split about what you would expect from this type of place. Chuck and I split a side of the house spaghetti which was also quite good.

Push comes to shove, however, the experience of lunching at LJR wasn't worth the enormous amount of cash it takes to eat there. I would offer the restaurant Per Se as very much the counterpoint--perhaps the best money I have ever spent on lunch; and the price of lunch for the four of us was more than I paid for my first car. Twice as much, in fact. And worth it.

But this isn't about Per Se, it's about Latte Yea Show Ruby Show (hereafter LYSRS; or, as a pronounced acronym, with some license, Lizards).

Now, I believe we are getting someplace. Is there a term for a pronounced acronym?

Anyway, yesterday I found myself at the Lizards, eating lunch again with Chuck, his wife Wynne, her son Eric and her mother, Dolly--one of my favorite people for reasons that will become apparent momentarily. Counting me, this makes five.

You should be aware that yesterday was the last day of their first-come, first-served, soft opening. Today they will no doubt have instituted some loathesome telephone reservation system that will make me want to eat there even less. (Back to Per Se for a moment--theirs is the worst. First you have to get through. Then, once they deign to take your reservation, they give you another number to call to find out about their dress code and the fact that they will charge you $150 per head if you poop out on your reservation at the last minute. And, despite the penalty, you have to call the day before to re-confirm the reservation. I wonder if they still charge you if they fill the table with a walk-in. LOL, as the kids say. Nobody just walks into Per Se.)

Anyway, so there we are at the Lizards, the five of us, and they tell Chuck they don't seat parties of five. Does Warner Brothers know? After much tugging--including the suggestion that we sit as a party of two and a party of three at two adjacent tables which was hurled back in our face the way Andre Agassi used to return service--we were seated at the bar.

This annoyed me. In fact, I'm so annoyed I'm going to go to a bar where I actually like to have lunch and have some. I'm thinking a BLT on rye with mayo. And a Bass Ale. I'll continue my report about our experience at the Lizards in a later post.


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