Back in December when it was Danny's birthday, he said he wanted to go to New York. Jay Sr. said the same thing in March when it was his birthday, so we left early by train and went yesterday. Jay Jr. took care of making the restaurant reservations. We had Lunch at Bar Boulud, which offers a great charcuterie. We always order a lot of different dishes for all of us to share. The food was outstanding and we sat for at least two hours sampling everything.Then we walked to Central Park found a seat and baked in the shadeless sun, until we left and went to Jean Georges' for Mojitos, which couldn't have been more refreshing. We also had a snack of tuna tartare and a bruleed fois gras, both of which were spectacular. The bartender, Justin, gave us his father's business card for a connection to his Italian restaurant and factory. Jay Jr. has all of the info, but I can't wait to check it out. I'm also really looking forward to going back to Jean Georges' for lunch or dinner. So after our cool down there, we cabbed to Washington Square and went to the park, listened to some music and just hung out. We left there and walked around. We discovered a mews where I took some reference shots in hopes of doing a painting or two of it. Very charming. Then we stopped by Otto, Mario Battali's place on Eighth St. It's a glorified (in a very good way) pizzeria, with a cozy, european, trattoria feel. We had some proscuitto, olives and bread there with some wine. Another winner that I'd like to go back to and taste more.
We left there and searched on foot for Babbo. We found it, and went in where we met John at the front desk, who knew our name before we told him. He's from Bala Cynwyd. We were led upstairs and seated for the fabulous to begin. Mark was our waiter and Marla our sommelier.
Everything you've heard about Babbo is true, down to the nerve-biting music. I'd just finished reading the book, "Heat", by Bill Buford, so I already had a picture in my mind of what was going to happen, but I was wrong, really wrong. It was so much better than I had anticipated. I had read about the back of the house in Buford's book. I wasn't prepared for how great the service and the rest of the front of the house was going to be. The chef generously sent out the buffalo mozzarella with grilled ramps for the table. I still am craving those ramps. The mozzarella was an event in itself, being so deliciously creamy. Everything we had was above and beyond, but truthfully if you go, get as many pasta dishes as you can. I have never....please forgive me Grandmom...ever, had any, any better, anywhere. I mean I stood next to my Grandmother and helped her make fresh, homemade macaroni and ravioli. I've made it myself, but nothing near as good as what I had last night. Now I know why it's so good, I read the book, but I was foolish enough to think that it was going to be comparable to my Grandmom's or mine. Not. Now I'll be on a mission to try again, because not only do I know how to do it better, but I personally have the secret ingredient. It's what will make the difference. It's my obsession, it's the egg. The kind of egg that my chickens lay. The only kind that will work. So it's perfect that tonight's painting di giorno is an illustration to make my point. The fresh, raw egg in the painting has an orangey, well-formed, firm yolk, with a substantial, but not rubbery, white that doesn't run in the pan. It is literally, the best egg you'll ever taste. My Ameraucana hen laid that egg, that day, but my Marans and game hens lay the same quality and intensely delicious egg. I'm tempted to write a lengthy page on what makes that kind of egg happen, as opposed to eggs from the store or even some farm eggs. Instead of a comparison, I'll just tell you what happens here. During the day my hens that produce our eating eggs, run around the yard with no boundaries, they scratch around in the leaves for bugs...chickens are not vegetarians. They're omnivores and eat a lot of protein in the form of bugs, worms, and whatever meat, dead or alive that they can find. They also eat grass, greens, fruit and vegetables. We never treat our lawn or plants with pesticides or herbicides, nothing, ever. We have a creek behind our house, they drink from there and from the waterers (which have organic, apple cider vinegar with organic garlic steeped in it added to the water) that I provide for them. I feed them whole, organic grains, seeds and supplements. The chix get a starter mash, but again, it is totally organic. All of them get kitchen scraps. They don't get soy.
They're locked up after they go to bed and let out in the morning to do the same thing. Now if I'm not going to be home all day to protect them from the hawk, fox, etc. then they stay in their pen, but that's not often. This is the kind of egg that you need to get the kind of pasta, fresh or dried, that they make at Babbo. I'll try again. " Raw Egg on a Blue Plate and a Meyer Lemon", 8"x8", oil on gessobord, $150., framed.
Right after we got off of the train at Penn Station in NY, Danny and Jay Jr. headed directly to the shoe shine stand. I love that they still do that...meaning that you can still get your shoes shined like that.
