Per Se

Everyone was standing around talking about the grandeur of a restaurant and rattling off names and places unfamiliar, and I braved the question "What is Per Se?". It's always hard to speak up in a circle of knowledgeable people and admit to ignorance.

"Per Se?" The sweetie stared at me like I was a sea urchin in drag. "Per Se?!?! Um, its Thomas Keller's hailed restaurant in New York, I've been wanting to go there for years, (inaudible shock noises to follow)....". He's obviously been into this guy for longer than he's been into me. However, due to scheduling, couldn't make it to dinner, so he sent me in his stead, APPALLED that I didn't know the legendary Mr. Keller.

Apparently we've already eaten at one of his restaurants in Las Vegas. Another fact I only learned through an awkward public question to my kitchen staff. "Hey guys, have you ever heard of Per Se?". Deadpan to follow. Yes Emily, of course we've heard of Per Se. So has half of the country you half wit. A trip to the cooking book cupboard later I was shown Mr. Keller's cookbook, "French Laundry" (the name of his flagship restaurant in Napa Valley). After reading the back cover "yada, yada, yada, french food, yada, Bouchon, yada....HEY, I'VE BEEN THERE!" "Bouchon? In Vegas?" "Yea, it was pretty amazing" "I hate you."

My kitchen wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day. Or the week. Actaully they just barely started talking again.

Needless to say, there were very few people that were actually happy to see me go, who's voices weren't laced with sheer disdain that I was going instead of them. I guess it would be like the sweetie going to Fashion Week and not me, or for my whole kitchen staff to high tail out to Sorrento without the proper awe. But regardless, I was NOT willing to let poor attitudes stop me. I was putting on my best black pencil skirt, cutest black top, and sexiest black pumps paired with borrowed black Chanel bag, borrowed black BMW 328i, and borrowed black frock. Add some red lipstick and I'm the modern day Cinderella.

I barely made it up there in time, after battling with PhillyCarShare for my car, but Jesse and James to the rescue! They saved me and got me up to NYC in time. Made sure I didn't leave the house looking like a complete fool, double checked my directions, toll money, and made sure I had the confidence to walk into a four start restaurant like I owned the place. ("James, what am I looking like?" "Fabulous, get in the car") I love my friends. I really don't know how I find them all.

I barely made it because I took the wrong tunnel (damn you Holland!). I showed up 20 minutes late, BEGGED the valet at the Trump Tower to take my car, and sprinted across 8th Avenue in heels, but I made it. Met up with my dinner partners, who were gracious enough to wait for me, and took it all in.

The space is beautiful with sweeping views of New York. Quiet and above the bustle. The linens, flatware, and plates were flawless with beautiful lines. The servers are gentle, calming, and accommodating. It all felt so surreal, and not because it was Per Se. Because it was an experience.

I think we all have moments where we look around and think, this is it. I think I'm an adult. I think I made it, or at least, I think I'm MAKING it. I'm not so bad, I can carry myself. I can walk across a room with confidence. I can experience wonderful things. I can wear read lipstick and be okay with it.

I took a few minutes to revel in my adulthood. Even if I wasn't supposed to be there. Even if I wasn't the ideal candidate for a Thomas Keller dinner. Even if I was 20 minutes late. I took a minute to look around and just REVEL. Do a dance in my head, celebrate with class, then turn to the main event. Eating. Once we started eating, all reveling went to the wayside to make room for an enormous amount of delectable French cuisine.

We ordered 9 courses. But got 16. Holy foie gras.

I tasted everything, but I can't boast that I finished everything. My dinner companions were sweet enough to finish my plate for me because they "didn't love the dishwasher enough" to watch a Nova Scotia lobster tail in a butter sauce go back to the dish pit. I'm embarrassed to say that I don't remember all 16 courses, something that I've been scolded for since my return, but it was all delicious. A few examples being:

"OYSTERS AND PEARLS"
"Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters
and Sterling White Sturgeon Caviar

TERRINE OF HUDSON VALLEY MOULARD DUCK FOIE GRAS
Black Winter Truffles, Frisée Lettuce and Balsamic Glaze
with Toasted Brioche

"BOMBE AU PAMPLEMOUSSE"
Chocolate "Roulade," Manjari Chocolate Mousse
and Grapefruit Curd with Pink Grapefruit Ice Cream

We ate from 9:30-2:00am. Undoubtably the longest meal of my life. I could go on to gush about the plating, and the flavors, but I'm affraid if I repeat it too many times it'll be like chewing on a peice of Kobe Beef for too long, it'll lose the flavor, and I'll lose the feeling that only I could really remember.

I got home at 4 am. Jesse slept on my couch, and came to pick me up just in time for me to turn back into a pumpkin. The BMW got traded for my '91 red civic, the heels for dansko clogs, the red lipstick for chapstick. And no, I'm sorry, I don't have any pictures (sorry Mom), but I think you get the idea.

I truly hope everyone gets the chance to feel that way, whether it's during a swanky dinner, or through a professional moment, or within a relationship, or hidden in a daily activity. It's important to feel that wonderful, that loved, that important, and that full. You don't need to go to Per Se, but if you do, say hi to Mr. Keller for me.