Say When with Max Silvestri: Momofuku Ssam Bar
A man about town writes about town
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Guys, I have some breaking news: It is so important to eat lunch. Also, breakfast. And dinner, I guess? It's important to pretty much always be eating. A.B.E., like Alec Baldwin says in Glengarry Glen Ross. "Snacks are for closers!" But lunch, and a big one, is really truly important if you are planning to have a nearly three-hour-long dinner with generous portions of wine and less generous portions of food. Otherwise you are going to have major problems with your brain, and your liver, and your stomach. Maybe you are saying to yourself, "Oh, I'll be fine. I'll just eat a lot of bread." But what if they don't give you bread? Now you are up drunk creek with booze for a paddle. Oh man, my kingdom for some rolls. (That is a famous line from Richard III, when the King really wants to have some bread with dinner.)
What I am trying to say here is that this past Monday night's special tasting menu at Momofuku Ssam Bar, prepared by acclaimed French chef Alexandre Gauthier, got me really drunk. What a problem to have! My life's a waking nightmare. I bet my ancestors are looking down at me from Heaven and saying to themselves, "It is a shame that we worked so hard to build a life for our children and our children's children, so that they could have everything we could not. But no, things have only gotten worse. Our poor Max got too drunk on wine to remember what a $14 grilled pickle tasted like. Let's spin in our graves." But I'm kidding. If my ancestors are really looking down on us, Lovely Bones-style, they are probably watching models shower. Let's get real.
The Momofuku empire invited a bunch of very famous French chefs to come over and cook for one night only, at each of their four restaurants. A friend offered me a reservation and convinced me that the once-in-a-lifetimeness of the meal justified the cost, and we tried to stick to a plan, too. We'd all had a few drinks beforehand, convinced that we'd take a pass on the wine pairing. But then we didn't take a pass. I am pretty sure this is because when we initially said no to the wine, the waiter gave us a look that said, "Well then, babies, will you need your diapers changed before, during, or after the meal—or all three? Are your spare diapers in your purses? Goo goo ga ga." So then we said yes to the wine. Nice work, waiter person. Our shame made you money.
But almost two glasses of wine in, all we'd had to eat so far was a single piece of sea bass floating in saltwater. I was so hungry I slurped the leftover seawater out of the bowl. My friends convinced me it'd only dehydrate me more. Every course afterward was interesting, but miniscule. Potato gnocchi in a sweet lemon cream sauce? Delicious. I'll take 500 more please. Roasted chicken stuffed with salmon roe? Super, though I'm curious not only how they got the roe in there but also how they made the piece of chicken so small. That's the real mystery. And oh, did the wine flow. I don't remember what the desserts tasted like. Probably wine. Wine and wanting a cigarette. At a certain point we talked (yelled) about boxing with our neighbors. Despite having seen maybe one fight and two episodes of 24/7, I apparently have very strong feelings about Floyd Mayweather.
For the sake of journalistic something or other, I should probably say that because my friend Josh decided he was too drunk, he gave up drinking his wine about two courses in. So I drank double wine for the rest of the meal. Maybe, then, it is my fault I got so drunk. But the waiter certainly didn't stop me from drinking Josh's wine. Or give me any rolls. Shame on him. Instead of tipping, I should have written, "Here's a tip: more food. Also, less wine."
