ACT ONE. Scene One: A completely bare set, save for a coat rack and, on the rear wall, a neon sign reading “NO EXIT.”  Two shabbily dressed men—one, Tarragon, apparently once fat, now with his flesh sagging; the other, Ghee-Ghee, as thin as the coat rack; both wearing derby hats—stand center stage, their arms at their sides.

Tarragon: Well, nothing to be done.

Ghee-Ghee:  I’m beginning to come round to that opinion.

Tarragon: We just have to wait.

Ghee-Ghee: For what?

Tarragon: For Gigot.  [Ghee-Ghee groans].

Ghee-Ghee: I am so hungry.

Tarragon: That’s why we are here. To sit down and have a good meal.

Ghee-Ghee: But there’s no one here. Not now. Not yesterday. Maybe Gigot will never come.

Tarragon: Didn’t you eat yesterday?

Ghee-Ghee: I don't remember.

Tarragon: Well, if you don’t remember, how can you be so sure you are hungry?

Ghee-Ghee: I am always hungry. Isn't that why we came here?

Tarragon: We came because I heard Gigot is un maître cuisinier!

Ghee-Ghee: What does that mean?

Tarragon: It is French—I think--the language of master cooks!  I read it in a cookbook once.

Ghee-Ghee:  But you don’t cook.

Tarragon: I wanted to but I stopped reading the book because I owned no spoons at the time.  Otherwise I might have made myself into a great maître cuisinier!  Gigot would become my friend and we would eat and drink together all the time!

Ghee-Ghee: So you’ve met Gigot?

Tarragon: No, that is why we are waiting for him. You are so ill-bred.

Ghee-Ghee: No, I am so ill fed.

Tarragon: Wait, I have a carrot.

Ghee-Ghee: [Taking the limp carrot] It's a turnip.

Tarragon: No, you ate the turnip yesterday. How's the carrot?

Ghee-Ghee: It's a carrot. [He pauses as he eats the carrot] Well? What do we do?

Tarragon:  Don't let's do anything. It's safer.

Ghee-Ghee: Let's wait and see what he says.

Tarragon: Good idea.

Ghee-Ghee:  Let's wait till we know exactly how we stand.

Tarragon: I'm curious to hear what he has to offer. Then we'll take it or leave it.

Ghee-Ghee: What exactly did we ask him for?

 

Tarragon:  I can't remember. [He pauses and shrugs] We can leave if you want to.

Ghee-Ghee: But then we might never eat.

Tarragon: Then we will stay. He must come eventually.

Ghee-Ghee: Who?

Tarragon: Gigot, you moron! [Ghee-Ghee moans].

Ghee-Ghee: How long have we been together all the time now?

Tarragon:  I don't know. Fifty years maybe.

Ghee-Ghee: Do you remember the day I threw myself into the Rhône?

Tarragon: We were grape harvesting.

Ghee-Ghee: You fished me out.

Tarragon: That's all dead and buried.

Ghee-Ghee: My clothes dried in the sun.

Tarragon: There's no good harking back on that.

Ghee-Ghee: Why don't we go to sleep?

Tarragon: How can we eat if we go to sleep? And what if Gigot comes while we’re asleep?  He would be furious.

Ghee-Ghee:  But we could have breakfast.

Tarragon [frustrated]: How can we have breakfast if we haven't even had dinner yet! [Then, softening] All right, you go to sleep and I will stay awake and wait.

Ghee-Ghee: Yes, that is a good plan! I will dream of bread and butter! Irish butter and scones! [He immediately drops off to sleep, followed, a few moments later, by Tarragon.  The stage slowly goes dark.]

 

Act Two

 The stage brightens and the two men begin to wake. Off to the side stands a willowy young boy.

Tarragon: Ah, nothing like a good night’s sleep to improve the appetite!

Ghee-Ghee: Breakfast then!

Tarragon: Eggs and bacon and coffee and cream!

Ghee-Ghee: Let’s order everything on the menu!

Tarragon: We can’t.

Ghee-Ghee: Why not?

Tarragon:  We have to wait.

Ghee-Ghee: For whom?

Tarragon:  For Gigot. [Ghee-Ghee moans.]  Wait, do you see that boy over there? [The two men huddle together.]

Ghee-Ghee: Is that Gigot?

Tarragon: No, you idiot, he’s too young. But let’s see what he knows.

[Tarragon flexes his arms, adjusts his hat, and, not moving, asks, sheepishly:] Boy, who are you?

Boy: Gigot sent me, sir.

Tarragon: Ah! Capital! Then soon we dine!  [Ghee-Ghee claps his hands together.]  Boy, has Gigot arrived?

Boy:  No, sir, but he told me to say he will not be coming today.

 [The two men are crestfallen, Ghee-Ghee groans loudly, holding his stomach]

Tarragon: But. . . will he come tomorrow?

Boy:  I don’t know, sir.

Tarragon: Will you see him today?

Boy: I don't know, sir.

Tarragon: Well, please please tell him—if you do see him—we have been waiting here for a long time and are very hungry.

 Boy: If I see him, sir, I will tell him.  [The boy walks offstage.]

Tarragon: Ah! Well, that is promising!

Ghee-Ghee:  Why?  He said he didn’t know if –

Tarragon: Fool!  Why would Gigot send the boy to tell us he wouldn’t be coming today if he didn’t know we were waiting for him?

Ghee-Ghee: Maybe Gigot is trying to torture us. Maybe he came while we were sleeping and was insulted by our not staying awake for him. It’s possible.

Tarragon [sadly]:  That has crossed my mind, Ghee-Ghee. [Pause, then, more sadly:] I’m beginning to think he may never come.

Ghee-Ghee: But I’m still hungry.

Tarragon [brightening, slapping his thighs]: Then I say we go! 

Ghee-Ghee [emboldened]: Yes, let’s go! [The two of them move towards the NO EXIT sign.]

Tarragon: Look at that. We can’t leave.

Ghee-Ghee:  Why not?

Tarragon: There is no exit.

Ghee-Ghee [sighing]: Well. . . let’s make the best of it.

Tarragon: Yes, I suppose we must. [Pause.]  But he must come, he has to come sometime. And tomorrow is another day!

Ghee-Ghee: Who?

Tarragon [very quietly]: Gigot. [Ghee-Ghee moans.]  Ha! It will do me good to lose a little weight. So we stay?

[Ghee-Ghee shrugs, puts his hands to his sides.]

Ghee-Ghee:  Nothing to be done.

Tarragon:  No use struggling.

[The two men slump and do not move.  The stage slowly darkens. Only the NO EXIT sign still glows in the darkness.]

 

                                                                                    

                                                                                                   

                                                                                                               FIN

 

NEW YORK CORNER
By John Mariani


THE MODERN
9 West 53rd Street (near Fifth Avenue)
212-333-1220
themodernnyc.com

      Back in 2005 when The Modern opened adjacent to the newly designed Museum of Modern Art, I named it the Best New Restaurant of the Year. Ten years ago I described The Modern as restaurateur Danny Meyer's masterpiece, with a glass-rich décor by Peter Bentel, a bar dining area packed from lunch through dinner, and a main dining room (left) so distinctive that it will endure as a classic of New York sophistication and urbanism, overlooking, as it does, the Museum's glorious sculpture garden. Now, after a visit last week, I can say that, if The Modern had opened in 2015,  I might well award it the same honor today.     
        The restaurant has worn those ten years well. Last week both dining rooms were packed, and I, in the main section, was again amazed at the striking beauty of it all, with its huge flower displays (which must cost a small fortune), the fine linens and stemware, the leather banquettes that you slide smoothly across, and a wait staff, now under manager Simon King, formerly of The Fat Duck in England, that proves that dining at this level demands a specialized style of highly informed servers whose respect for the guest is paramount.
        Lighting is soft and complementary to everyone, though it seems darker than it used to be at night, and the boom of a bass line from the bar intrudes into the room after 9 p.m. Most men wear jackets and ties, and women dress up with pleasure.
        For eight years Executive Chef Gabriel Kreuther defined The Modern’s style of cuisine, which epitomized the very name of the restaurant: progressive cooking based on a long history of classic excellence and rigorous adherence to consistency.  As Mr. Kreuther said,  “The idea of modernism opens a door to creation, but also a more sleek and streamlined presentation with a more purist side.  You take things off instead of adding them in."
        Mr. Kreuther left The Modern a year ago (he’s opening his own place soon), and one of his former cooks, Abram Bissell (right), took over the kitchen in 2014, after service as chef de cuisine at The NoMad restaurant; before that he had been at Eleven Madison Park (which Danny Meyer used to own); earlier, after moving from his home state of Florida, Mr. Bissell worked at Boston’s L’Éspalier and the Sierra Del Mar Restaurant at Post Ranch Inn in Big Sur.
        The transition at The Modern has been seamless. Not only is Mr. Bissell's cuisine every bit as good as Mr. Kreuther's, but he has performed the uncanny triumph of maintaining the style of The Modern since its inception while bringing it very much into a new era.  Just about every dish showed a refined taste level for which The Modern is justly known and of a kind that proves indisputably that this kind of cuisine lives and thrives. 
        Can one find dishes like this in Brooklyn or in the Lower East Side or Bowery storefronts cooked up in cramped, noisy, barebones kitchens with three cooks behind the stoves? Occasionally, yes. But not with The Modern’s degree of consistency or elegance—-the kitchen brigade is very large and the space itself huge--so when I hear the drumbeats of our current food media about how people don't want to dine in places like The Modern anymore, I would show them the sea of customers that filled both rooms the night I was there, as well as at Le Bernardin, Daniel, Gotham Bar & Grill, Gramercy Tavern and so many more. Photo: Melissa Hom
        Our meal began with a lovely foie gras and orange tart in a sweet fennel vinaigrette, the flavors subtle and wholly pleasing as a starter. Fresh roasted foie gras was superb, linked with bitter red endive and sweet-tangy quince, while a potato-thickened potage of scallops and Scottish langoustine with leeks and frisée lettuce might be a signature dish at any three-star restaurant in Paris charging thrice the price. As an appetizer, a good portion of lobster was marinated with truffles (though they were barely evident), radishes and herbs (below).
        The winemaker from Washington state with whom I was dining insisted on ordering salmon (I thought he’d prefer to try another species in New York) and was rewarded with a silky slice of nonpareil wild Alaska salmon with a classic sorrel sauce, creamy potatoes and lettuce. Mr. Bissell learned well his lessons from Mr. Kreuther about roasting suckling pig, for it was perfect, its spices enhancing the flesh and crisp skin, with dried plums and onions sweetening the dish to wonderful, succulent effect.  Another classic, duck en chartreuse, with apples and green peppercorns, showed the precision with which this kitchen works in spicing, forming, and slowly cooking a dish suffused with flavor. According to Mr. Bissell, "the duck breasts are aged for one week then rendered in a low pan.  When the skin is crispy the meat is wrapped in blanched green cabbage leaves and roasted in a low oven.  The legs of the duck are brined for 14 days and braised with white wine and duck stock.  The leg meat is picked from the bones and pressed into blanched green cabbage leaves."
         I suppose a chicken dish is inevitable anywhere, but Mr. Bissell has borrowed from a similar, signature item at The NoMad, stuffing pistachios and foie gras under the skin of a beer-brined bird, so that when it is sliced, you get this steamy, swoon-worthy aroma and crisp skin, along with acorn squash and chanterelles.
        As you walk into the dining room you may notice a splendid cheese cart, but you’ll have to ask for it because they don’t wheel it through for each table to see.  If you do order some selections, you will be thoroughly informed of the cart’s offerings, though, as is the baffling case in American restaurants, the cart is wheeled away and the cheeses plated somewhere out of sight, rather than, as in Europe, plated in front of you, which saves time and increases the gustatory anticipation.
        Pastry chef Jiho Kim, Korean-born, is wholly in step with The Modern’s commitment to elegant presentations, as evident in his green apple panna cotta on almond layer cake with lemon verbena ice cream, and in his rich and sensuous gianduja crèmeux with wafer streusel and Nutella ice cream.
        The Modern’s wine list has always been distinguished among the finest in the world, and Master Sommelier Michaël Engelmann has made sure there is nothing on that list that does not have good cause to be there.
        The fear of becoming jaded after forty years of writing about restaurants might well occur, were I based in any other city but New York. Even in Paris there is little but French cuisine, however fine it may be. In Hong Kong, too many Chinese restaurants can dull the palate. In Rome, a thousand wonderful pasta dishes can make one long for something else. In NYC, however, that is simply not possible, and restaurants like The Modern, refreshed and infused with eager, young talents like Mr. Bissell and maintained with a very specific and very genteel NYC character by Mr. Meyer only mean that I could never ever lose my appetite for dining out in a city that has always been the stewpot of culinary culture.  

The Modern is open at the Bar for lunch and dinner daily, with the main dining room open for lunch Mon.-Fri. and dinner Mon.-Sat. Fixed price dinner menu $98 for three courses, $108 for four,  $128 for seven.

 

NOTES FROM THE WINE CELLAR


COLUMBIA WINERY GOES PROGRESSIVE
AT A PRICE EASY TO LOVE
By John Mariani

    As every wine writer and connoisseur knows, wine tasting pronouncements offer a higher degree of error than any critical judgments except for modern art.  The chance of being fooled into overpraising a wine tasted blind is part of the game, just as is underpraising a wine while staring at the label.  Thus, many inexpensive wines may receive high points when the label is hidden as they might receive low points if the label were in view. 

    It’s human nature, of course, to fall in line with accepted opinion, that a First Growth Bordeaux or California cult wine will always win high marks while a $10 Argentine wine may get grudging respect.  But increasingly it is in the price range of wines between $10 and $20 that educated opinion is shifting, because so many delicious examples are now in the market, many of them blends of grapes bought from others’ vineyards, not raised or owned by the vintner on the label. Of course, that is also the case  in Burgundy, where an illustrious bottling may be a blend of several estates’ grapes, the same as with many of the most highly regarded California cabernets.

    This was brought into clear focus for me while tasting several wines made by Columbia Winery in Washington State, established in 1962 and not long ago purchased by the E & J Gallo conglomerate, better known for its  high volume, cheap 3-liter jug wines like Carlo Rossi and Boone’s Farm.  Indeed, for decades Gallo pretty much ignored the question “Why can’t a company as big and rich as Gallo make fine premium wines?”

    Only in the 1990s did Gallo start to win over the wine media with indisputable quality, with their Turning Leaf brand, which sold for about $7 a bottle. Purchasing the historic Louis M. Martini and Mirassou wineries gave them further prestige, and their Gallo Family Vineyards line, with bottles  priced above $10,  gave them more bragging rights.

    The purchase of Columbia  Winery, which pioneered plantings of Syrah, Pinot Gris and Cabernet Franc grapes, gives Gallo a place in that sweet spot of $12-$20, where most wine lovers actually feel comfortable, with four wines now available nationwide, as well as in the winery's tasting room (right): Composition Red Blend, Chardonnay, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, drawing on a wide variety of Washington’s 43,000 acres of vineyards, largely from Columbia Valley, Yakima Valley, Horse Heaven Hills, Wahluke Slope and Red Mountain.

    Columbia Winery’s winemaker, Sean Hails (below), a Canadian with wide training and experience in Australia and Canada, joined Gallo in 2005 and came to oversee production at Columbia Winery just three years ago.
    “The wide selection of grapes here provides me with an artist’s palette to work with in the cellar,” he says. “This diversity endures throughout the entire winemaking process as I’m always using new yeast strains and oak regimes to make the best possible blends that always pair well with food.”

    Clearly, Gallo wants Hails to produce wines at a certain value but made with high quality in mind, which is where Columbia’s current wines prove that bottle price is not always an indicator of quality.  Over dinner with Hails at The Modern restaurant (see article above) in New York, I found the wines not just cleanly made and well structured but having an individuality among them that indicated his talent for blending for consistent flavor.

    The 2013 Columbia Valley Chardonnay ($15) largely comes from grapes grown in Yakima Valley, where in 2013 the moderate, gradually rising temperatures aided steady maturation and acidity. Oak contact during fermentation is obvious in the West Coast style of Chardonnay, made with 92% Chardonnay, 5% Pinot Gris, and 3% other white, achieving a reasonable 13.6% alcohol level.  I found it a little sweet underneath its fruit, good for sipping as an aperitif or with a shellfish.

    The awkwardly named Composition Red Blend ($17) is a wine Hails says exemplifies his “progressive winemaking,” beginning with a soft Merlot majority of 55% blended with 26% spicy Syrah, 10% Malbec, 4% Cabernet Sauvignon and 5% other red varietals, with an alcohol of 13.7%.   The bottle shows no vintage because, says Hails, “With multiple incredible vintages in a row, it was hard to choose just one, so we didn’t.” Instead, he selected his favorite lots to create the best wine out of grapes from the Yakima Valley, Horse Heaven Hills, Wahluke Slope and a small portion of Red Mountain.  Not only is the composition of grapes somewhat out of the ordinary but the reliance on different vintages—a practice with a long history elsewhere but little prestige among red wines—shows the wisdom of the practice, just as in the blending of fortified wines like Port or Sherry. The nuances come from the strengths of each vintage used, so Composition Red Blend has plenty of complexity. 

         The 2013 Columbia Valley Cabernet Sauvignon  ($17) shows at a young age all the ripeness, intense dark fruit, acidity and remarkable balance  that you’d expect from older West Coast Cabernets. The tannins have already softened. Forty percent of the grapes were sourced from premier vineyards in Wahluke Slope and Horse Heaven Hills, where a warmer, drier climate produces grapes with approachable tannins.  Its components were 81% Cabernet, 13% Syrah, 3% Malbec,  and 3% other red varietals, with a very commendable 13.5% alcohol that proves West Coast Cabernets need not soar to 15% and above to achieve ripeness and intensity.

        The 2013 Columbia Valley Merlot ($17) is an enchanting, soft red wine that is also very versatile; it will go with just about any red meat, poultry, or Pacific Northwest salmon, and will pair well with any sweeter flavors in a sauce, like duck à l’orange.  Here the oak adds interest early on, with a fine 13.9% alcohol level.

        Those alcohol levels say something about Hails'—and Gallo’s—intentions at Columbia Winery. They are not trying to mimic Bordeaux, instead showing off a robust California style of red wine without the brash over-ripeness and high alcohol of so many California examples.  And to do that at the prices Columbia Winery charges means that having one of the world’s largest wineries at your back can achieve high quality in large volume.