Bar Boulud

Is it possible to be honest on a blog without disclosing TMI, or, too much information, for the acronym-handicapped?

I know my parents read this. I know some of their friends read this. I know my friends read this. I know some of their parents read this. I know my uncles and aunts read this. I know co-workers read this. I know past, present, and you never know, maybe future lovers and dates read this. Does this mean I have to tweak my story so I don't upset or freak out any one party?

I've never been good at keeping my life's happenings or my feelings to myself. I am, to a fault, too honest and open. My office neighbor frequently responds to my weekend stories with a "JEEEEEEEZ-usssss!!!!"

"What?" I'll ask innocently.

"Really, M-?"

Yes. Really.

My mom recently told me over the phone, "Honey, I know it's probably too late, but try NOT to wear your heart on your sleeve?" She'll usually say it with an inflection so it's more of a question or a plea than a simple, protective request. My heart's not on my sleeve. It's on my forehead. It's on my nose. It's on my head. It's on my cheeks and it's in the color of my eyes. Many see it and run the other way, while some see it and stay a while.

My dear friend Winette and I meet up every few months for our epic lush and gush sessions and Bar Boulud was the setting of our last hurrah. I wish we got together more often but I'm usually so wrecked after all the food and wine we consume that it takes me a couple of months to recover.

Winette needs no introduction as my surrogate mom/friend in the city. She's been around since the inception of Mona's Apple and she's seen me through countless boys and dating drama. If you trace the path of our dinners you can trace the roller coaster that is my love life. We schedule our pow wows around my new and exciting, sometimes old and depressing, boy stories. Unlike the crew I get rowdy with regularly, Winette is married and living happily with her husband HefeWeisen, though she still likes to get rowdy. The stability and security in her marriage balance well with my "dating" life of chaos and fluidity, kissing and dissing.

I don't know how it started, but long ago she began using the acronym SCU. Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you won't.

"I need an SCU please."

"What's the latest SCU???"

"Anybody there? You owe me a mega-SCU!"

I e-mail her the latest flavor's stats: name, height, hair, age, occupation, hometown, etc. There's usually an "Ooh la la" that follows then we go back and forth deciding on a date we can meet up to discuss.

I was off to California for my annual fall break and I was in the middle of a boy crisis. Winette treated me to an extraordinary birthday dinner at Bar Boulud before I left. It was mid-September, the weather was al fresco-friendly and we snagged a table outside. I hardly remember what those days feel like. Darn that bugger Punxsutawney Phil for seeing his shadow. Maybe if someone gave him a haircut or put him on a diet he wouldn't see it.

"So ... SPILL IT!"

"OK, OK..."

There were a few names floating around my birthday month. One untimely crush had finally, after a painful year of my fruitless advances, revealed his feelings for me. I received an e-mail both my mom and I cried over (collectively we have the emotional restraint of a two-year-old), but it wasn't enough. A taste of his words: "I spent a week up on the Cape with my family, and I found myself thinking about you all day, every day -- and then even mentally inserting you into scenarios with my family, like a 16-year-old girl who repeatedly writes her name with her boyfriend's last name to see what it looks like..."

No man will ever write me more sweeter a letter than he did late that night (after a few beers, he confessed), but what did I do? I realized it took him too long to come around and I wasn't into him anymore. Sad and typical.

"M-, you make these guys fall for you then you run the other way! What goes around comes around," said my mom. Maybe it's a sickness. I remember it happening as early as high school with one of the football jocks and being so confused with my sudden 180. One minute I'm about to throw myself off a building to be noticed by a guy, and the next I'm so repulsed I'm trying to throw myself off a building to avoid him.

"Hmmph. I'm not making anybody do or feel anything, Mom! I'm just being me.

"OK. Next..." said Winette as she swigged her wine glass finished.

Then there was the out-of-state, political nut who I'd been virtually flirting with. I invited him to my birthday party, hardly expecting he'd really fly cross country for it. Well ... he did. We had a great couple of nights, he even stopped in Carmel to visit me over Christmas and we haven't spoken since. Sad and typical. The revolving door never stops.


After a quick debriefing, we ordered a flight of white wines, soon to be followed by red. It's our routine: white before red, you'll recall what you said. Daniel Boulud, the father of Bar Boulud, Daniel (voted one of the top 10 restaurants in the world) and several other noteworthy restaurants, is passionate about the wine regions close to his home of Lyon, France, and his restaurant serves wine from them -- the Rhone Valley and Burgundy. The wine menu is split into three sub-categories: decouvertes, or lesser-known wines, classiques and legendes. Winette and I went with the decouvertes flight option and we were pleased with our choice. Someday I'll go back and splurge on the legendes.

We ordered the mesclun salad with arugula, olives, tomato radishes, fennel and fried artichokes. We asked them to hold the anchovies, which they forgot, but they weren't hard to remove. Our server felt awful -- you'd think she broke a bottle of wine over my head -- but I told her it was totally fine. I couldn't hold it against them with the fried artichokes sitting on top of the garden-fresh salad. It had a bitter vinaigrette that I liked. And ask my mom. I hate radishes but I ate them all in this salad. I don't generally enjoy meatless salads unless they have hearty extras and this was all heart.


Next up was the super green spinach, a side of cauliflower gratin...


and last but not least, the gnocchi with mushrooms and ricotta.


There wasn't a single item on our table that I didn't want to horde all to myself, starting with the complimentary gougeres. As soon as we sat down the waitress took our drink order and brought them over. They were heaven to my mouth and they gave Artisanal's a run for their money.

The spinach was hot and sweet, but not so overcooked and soggy that it lost its flavor. I enjoyed not having to squeeze the spinach with my fork to get rid of the water. It always seems a challenge to serve spinach that doesn't come out watery and looking like a pile of recently cut, wet grass.

Every time I eat cauliflowers playing the part of potatoes I'm reminded that I really should try them at home. These suckers were smothered in cheese but they maintained their crunch.

My only complaint was with the gnocchi. It was sitting in a soupy mushroom sauce and as a result the gnocchi's puffiness had wilted. They were a little too wet for me.


We proceeded to order a flight of reds and some dessert cheese. I was stuffed but Winette insisted.


She also insisted I cruise around inside to check out the wine cellar on the way to the bathroom and the community wine table in the round. I'd been hearing and reading about it for months.

When I stepped through the doors I was greeted by two friendly hostesses. It felt like I'd stepped into the belly of a modern-day Noah's Ark. The beautifully smooth, light wooden ceiling was curved forming a semi-circle and went the entire length of the dining room -- nearly 50 to 100 meters back. The decor was heavy on the wine accents which also gave me the sense I was standing in a giant's wine cellar. One wall had corks for as far as the eye could see while the other had a straight line of prints of bottle-sealing wax. It was sleek and stark -- a geometry teacher's dream. It wasn't the coziest atmosphere, but something about the energy made me want to come back and sit at the bar.

This was what I found on the way to the bathroom. It wasn't your grandfather's cozy, cavernous wine cellar, but it was cool nonetheless.


I returned upstairs to a French dessert plate of various cheeses...


and this adorable birthday surprise. Winette didn't speak a word of my birthday to our server (she hates unnecessary attention so much she'd never think to subject anyone else to it). The waitress must have seen me digging through my gift bag from Winette that she decided to take it upon herself to wish me a Happy Birthday from the restaurant.

It was a chocolate sundae, but instead of nuts, there were gourmet Captain Crunch-esque puffs surrounding the scoops of ice cream. I had already decided I loved this place and my birthday treat was a bold exclamation point on the evening.


I enjoyed Bar Boulud so much I brought CalGal back one night before we went to see "Rachel Getting Married." We sat at the long bar in front of the glass display case and ordered a couple different pates. They were each delicious. Boulud's other restaurant, DB Bistro Moderne, is one of my favorite spots in the city for a middle-of-the-road fancy night out, and now I'm inspired to go for the gusto and try Daniel, his flagship.

I have to thank Winette for her generosity that evening and her patience. I don't know how she or any of my friends put up with me. I'm like the girl who cried wolf, only I cry man (and in some cases boy).

I've stayed low on the radar for the past few weeks in preparation for our swim meet last weekend (best proved by my lack of an updated Facebook profile picture in ages). Now that the competition is over, the partying and hanging out will recommence. Next week Winette and I are headed to Kefi for a long overdue lush and gush session.

Several months have passed since our wine night at Bar Boulud, and I'm looking forward to sharing another SCU with Winette next week. Now you'll just have to wait till Christmas to see who I brought up and what happened. Will the revolving door stop? Nobody knows...

1900 Broadway, near 64th St.
(212) 595-0303