It’s not everyday that one hears a server and a bartender joking about bedding a mother and daughter two-top (and the ensuing therapy they would need) in a Michelin-starred establishment. Indeed, I have a fairly large sample from which to draw, and I can’t say I’ve ever been within earshot of such a sordid confab in a restaurant.
Even if I were to overlook that cassoulet of claudication, I still wouldn’t have much praise to shower on wd~50. Yes, the dense soufflé-like scrambled egg ravioli was as delicious as I hoped it would be, but that plate also included wholly superfluous slices of kanpachi, as if someone placed them there when Chef Dufresne wasn’t looking. The one course for which I couldn’t find fault was the slightly tart but also thoroughly refreshing aerated yuzu ice cream. The same could not be said of the “Amaro Yolk, Chicken Confit, Peas ‘N’ Carrots”: while a clever use of trompe l’oeil with carrot orbs made to look like peas, it was marred by a gummy cured duck yolk and an unpleasantly mealy chicken confit.
Initially, I was miffed when seated at the bar–despite making a reservation thirty days in advance–unable to occupy a table as a solo diner.* It didn’t take long, however, for me to be thankful, as I was able to order four courses that piqued my interest and leave within forty-five minutes, having incurred minimal financial damage without any intention of returning.
* A compact two-top, I noticed, remained vacant throughout my brief meal.