Eleven Madison Park

A friend gave me a copy of Unreasonable Hospitality, and it did a very effective job of making me want to go to Eleven Madison Park. Supposedly one of the best restaurants in the world. I read the book and started dreaming about sitting at one of its tables. Quite a lot of expectation to acquire from a present.

And then there I was. New York City, a fully loaded wallet, and a reservation at Eleven Madison Park. I had done my part to make this happen, including making peace with what it was likely to do to the wallet.

I also had the privilege of fantastic company. That deserves to be said early, because it is the part of the evening I feel luckiest about.

The food was okay. I know that is a small word for a restaurant with that reputation, but it is the one that fits. It certainly wasn’t the best food I’ve had. I had wanted to love it, and I don’t think there is much point in pretending I did just because I had been looking forward to it.

I should make an exception for the bread and butter. Very good. They deserve their own sentence, and I would hate for them to get caught up in my feelings about the rest of dinner.

What I remember most is another book. A recipe book, with a little note written inside by my dinner companion. That is what I have kept from the evening in a way that none of the dishes quite managed. A few words in a book.

I find it quite funny that I went to a restaurant I had dreamed about and came away attached to a recipe book for something written in it that wasn’t a recipe. I can be disappointed by the food and still be very glad I went. The company and that note are more than enough to explain why.

It was a book that brought me there, and it is a book that keeps me there. The food has very little to do with it. The bread and butter can take a little credit.