Author Archives: aaron

Frej

The last time I felt like I made an important gastronomic discovery, I was two years old.

Hambuhbuh… shoop shies… toke…” a tiny, curly-headed version of me would babble. I fancied myself a pioneer, a spokesman and tastemaker for gourmet toddlers worldwide. Once I learned of their collective existence, all I wanted was a hamburger, french fries and Coke — and I felt inclined to tell everyone willing to listen.

Now I’m a few more than two years old. Whether or not I still babble is debatable. But again, I feel like I’m on to something.

Or maybe I’m just on something. Coke is not involved but mushrooms keep popping up during dinner. Acid, too. At meal’s end, the effect of staring at a subtotal so unreasonably reasonable is mildly hallucinogenic.

And now I’ve picked up a bit of a habit. I go to Frej every week. Fredrik Berselius and Richard Kuo always seem to have the good stuff. Continue reading

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Elements

I’m generally about as likely to visit New Jersey as I would be to meet my life partner at Tasti D-Lite. Maybe it’s the GTL presence in the former or the regrettable absence of LDL in the latter, but something about going to either place has never felt quite right.

But one day, every New Yorker wakes up feeling jaded and tired of all the restaurants by which he is surrounded. His mother comes to visit from out of state, and he wants to take her someplace nice. He is forced to think outside the boroughs.

In the past, this scenario has pointed my own compass northward to Tarrytown. But tonight my mom and I are in Princeton, and we’ve walked past leagues of ivy-covered buildings to arrive at a restaurant called Elements. Our table is situated in the kitchen — Scott Anderson’s kitchen — and my dad is here, too. Continue reading

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Le Grand Fooding New York 2011

I’ve just turned to page 44 in a book I can’t read, written by a chef whose last name I can’t pronounce. Pictured is a bird I can’t believe he got onto US soil. And while his restaurant is one I can’t wait to visit, for now this cookbook and this dinner will have to do.

At the moment, it’s somewhere between one and four in the morning, and it’s awfully damn hot in here. Could it be the abundance of candles? Or is it my displeasure that we are seated across from frat row, young finance types taking turns making fools of themselves? Twice in the last five minutes, their champagne corks have hit the ceiling. Why were these people even born? Continue reading

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