On a recent trip, I had exactly two days to spend in New York (which, let’s face it, is never enough). But alas I made the best of it, cramming my pie hole with as much ethnic and world-renowned cuisine as possible. For those of you who know me, when I say “cuisine,” I’m not referring to the high-priced, small-portion variety. I’m typically talking cheap and unpretentious. I could not, however, resist a trip to Les Halles this go-around, due to my growing obsession with Anthony Bourdain.
My good-natured friend agreed to join me at Les Halles on Park Avenue for the most affordable meal of the day – brunch. Even though Anthony’s own “Kitchen Confidential” warns food enthusiasts that brunch is often a convenient means of using up leftovers from the previous day’s menu and throwing some hours at the most inexperienced chefs, the $17.89 brunch price tag was the best I could do.
Upon entering the restaurant at 11:30 am on a Sunday, I definitely expected more fanfare than what I encountered. Sadly the restaurant was nearly empty, its dim lighting making it even more sullen. Loving celebrities as much as I love food, I of course had to grill our waitress as soon as we sat down on her encounters with my beloved Tony. Disappointingly, she informed me that she’d worked there for two months and had never met or seen him. As I perused the menu, I hoped that my mouth would have better luck here than my eyes and ears.
I made up my mind on the Parisian ham and gruyere cheese crepes and settled in to try the fresh squeezed orange juice and croissants that come with the fixed brunch price. The orange juice was awe-inspiring, like someone was standing above me and squirting ripe oranges directly into my mouth. And the croissant was the true epitome of the overused cliché “melt in your mouth.” The amount of butter in this thing really and truly caused it to disintegrate when it touched my tongue. So far, it was a flawless Sunday morning spread.
I had no real complaints about my ham and cheese crepes – they were hammy, cheesy and crepe-like – but it was the french fries served alongside that took center stage. I’d seen Tony brag about his fries on the Las Vegas episode of No Reservations, and these buttery, salty delights did not disappoint. All in all, everything I put in my mouth at Les Halles made me feel satisfied, comforted and exactly as I should on a lazy Sunday morning.
Neither one of us really wanting to depart once we were finished with our meals (or at least what we could fit in our stomachs without purging at the table), my friend keenly spied a fun-looking French coffee press being brought to our neighbors. “Ohhhh, can we have one of those?” she excitedly asked our non-Tony-knowing waitress. What arrived in that too-cute coffee device was without question the most delicious coffee I’d ever had the pleasure of pouring down my throat (and believe me, a lot of coffee has gone down there).
If it didn’t sound so absurd, I’d swear the coffee and OJ served at Les Halles contained as much butter as the food. Everything was so smooth and creamy, making me feel like I’d been wrapped in a nice, soft blanket, safe from the outside world and disconnected from the hustle and bustle of the New York streets. Maybe there’s something to be said for the peaceful, slow-moving ambiance of this celebrity-owned brasserie.
Overall, Les Halles is a wonderful place to sit, sip and savor – but don’t go there if your aim is to soak up some Anthony aura – it’s non-existent here. Even though they advertised autographed books by Tony for sale on every table, they were fresh out of them. I was assured by the staff that the other Les Halles location downtown had some, but when I called they also said they’d been out for awhile.
Despite my annoyance at this unapologetic lack of Tony memorabilia, I can’t be too mad. After all, the Les Halles atmosphere pretty much mimics Tony’s personality. He is not your typical celebrity chef. He is grudgingly famous and would much rather smoke cigs in dark, discrete digs like Les Halles than hob-nob with the city’s elite at a flashy hot spot.
In the end, Tony is Les Halles and Les Halles is Tony. I can only hope that he remembers to visit his charming little bistro when he’s back in town for the next book signing.
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