Some Say...

Uncle Punch seems to have reined in Bruni in recent weeks, but you cannot stop Frank, you can only hope to contain him. In this respect, at least, Frank has much in common with Dominique Wilkins. This week, Frank visits Bouley, and does not bust out until after the jump but when he does, he takes a page from the blogosphere, and bites Grambo's style:

Among many appealing salads was a mix of frisée, watercress and goat cheese with what seemed to be the slyest application of truffle oil ever.

Bovs all over your truffles. Perhaps I exaggerate, but the phrase does suggest that there must also be sly and slyer applications of truffle oil.  Finally, it just wouldn't be Frank if it did not make you a little bit uncomfortable:

But what won't change is Mr. Bouley's talent or the opportunity to experience it at restrained prices that reflect the odd ethos and atmosphere. The dining room is reached via a staircase covered in a dingy carpet. (There are also some tables on the sidewalk.) Acquaintances chat with Mr. Bouley as he cooks. One night, just before he nonchalantly wandered over and said hello to me, I watched one of those acquaintances grab a clump of herbs from the kitchen and sniff it.

The last sentence is so disconcerting that it can make you not notice that Frank seems nonchalant about gladhanding chefs running restaurants he reviews. On the other hand, I guess if you go, you can feel free to fuck with Bouley's mise and not lose a finger.