Tag Archives: el bulli
It was the kind of morning where you count the number of minutes you slept rather than the hours, and pretend that one coffee is going to be sufficient. I stood in the hotel lobby with a desperate latte still in one hand, when a man approached to firmly shake the other. “Ferran,” he said. No last name was needed.
We piled into a black SUV and the pinstriped suit in a backwards Kangol cap began to drive. “Es como Roses de Barcelona,” remarked Mr. Adrià. Our two-hour journey from Manhattan to Hyde Park felt like the one that gastrotourists fresh off the BCN tarmac used to make to visit him at elBulli, traffic and terrain excepted. That restaurant is now closed, of course. But since the last dinner service — el último vals — on July 30, 2011, both Ferran and elBulli have evolved. I needed to find out how. Continue reading
Love, like an American supermarket, is a fascinating and scary thing. To walk its aisles is to struggle to distinguish what you want from what you need. To fully understand its intricacies is to know too much. In a frustratingly beautiful way, its true nature can seem inscrutable.
Danish supermarkets aren’t much easier so far. This is the fifth one we’ve been to in Copenhagen tonight. My girlfriend and I have just eaten lunch — two days in a row — at noma, the restaurant some rank above every other one on the planet, and she is agonizing over which gummy candies to have for dinner. It turns out that she is to gelatin and sugar what Robert Parker is to wine or Roger Ebert to movies, a connoisseur of the highest ilk, an unequivocal arbiter of quality.