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| Features |
Where Everybody Knows Our Name
Scott Haas
07/01/2004
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With a phone call to the restaurant’s concierge, I had somehow secured a
table at the French Laundry in Yountville, Calif., part of Napa Valley.
According to Gourmet editor Ruth Reichl and many of us food critics, it ranks as
America’s best restaurant. My wife, Laura, and our children, Madeline and
Nicholas, had spent four hours tasting über-chef and co-owner Thomas Keller’s
specialties. He prepared salmon chops just for us, along with golden Scottish
game birds and pasta with truffles—19 courses altogether. The kids, who have
been to most of the world’s best restaurants with me and can hold their own in
lengthy discussions about gastronomy, loved the subtle flavor of the truffles.
Our personal sommelier had opened no fewer than 15 wines: a rare Riesling, an
Alsace, a selection of pinot noirs and chardonnays. Other diners seemed to be
making an effort not to stare at the spectacle–or maybe they were wondering
exactly which duke and duchess we might be–as waiters scurried to and fro with
new dishes every 10 minutes.
Then Keller launched the parade of desserts.
Visiting the French Laundry is like coming home to an extended family for
me. Although I am not royalty, I ascended into the VIP dining elite by becoming
familiar to Keller over seven years of reporting on his kitchen creations.
During this gradual acquaintance, I even came to find out that he hates the
label “VIP.”
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