Foie Gras milkshake
Wherein I gotta get me some more
First off, I did not take any pictures. Second, I'll come back later for a recap of the full meal at One Midtown Kitchen (wonderful!), but for now let me describe the foie gras milkshake.
This menu item gained notoriety at Richard Blaise's first restaurant, the eponymous Blais. Much like Thomas Keller's French Kitchen--where Blais spent some time--Blais offered 20-30 course meals of amusing and appetizing plates. The one item that every review mentioned was the deconstruction of a Kystal hamburger and milkshake...heavy on the foie gras.
In a review of One Midtown Kitchen it was mentioned that the milkshake could be available off menu. So I asked. The server said she'd check, but it would depend on if any foie gras was in the pantry for another menu item. It was. The shake was brought out in a simple glass with a straw stuck in it. Maybe two inches tall and thick; too thick to suck through a straw. Smelled wonderful, a bit like coffee and maybe amaretto. I scooped up a large bite.
Before I continue, here's where I admit I've never had foie gras. The only liver I've had is the basic fried beef liver and onions and it's one of the most disgusting things I've ever tried to eat. Then as I'm raising the bite to my mouth, "Irish Coffee" flashes across my brain. Many years ago, in the middle of a typically cold Minnesota winter, I'm sitting in a bar with friends having a couple drinks. I decided something warm would be nice and thought I'd try an Irish Coffee. Despite the fact I like neither coffee nor whiskey. For this, I blame Disney. Specifically, Herbie, the Love Bug. Apparently the scene when Buddy Hackett gets sloshed on Irish coffee, while the bad guy dumps the rest into Herbie's gas tank, had been festering in my head for almost two decades causing me to order something there was no reason for me to like. And I didn't. It was awful.
And that's what I'm thinking as this fancified and fluffed, but still liver, enters my mouth. Boom. Not quite an explosion, but I think every taste bud freaked out in joy. Completely smooth texture, cool (not cold), each bite literally melted in my mouth. Tasting faintly of amaretto, vanilla, chocolate, and lord knows what else, it was easily the richest, most decadent thing I've ever eaten. Forcing the others to try, and they looked like they'd rather eat their own children first, joyous cries of "Oh my god" circled the table.
I could eat this until it killed me and as rich as it is that wouldn't take long. But I'd die with a happy smile on my face.
First off, I did not take any pictures. Second, I'll come back later for a recap of the full meal at One Midtown Kitchen (wonderful!), but for now let me describe the foie gras milkshake.
This menu item gained notoriety at Richard Blaise's first restaurant, the eponymous Blais. Much like Thomas Keller's French Kitchen--where Blais spent some time--Blais offered 20-30 course meals of amusing and appetizing plates. The one item that every review mentioned was the deconstruction of a Kystal hamburger and milkshake...heavy on the foie gras.
In a review of One Midtown Kitchen it was mentioned that the milkshake could be available off menu. So I asked. The server said she'd check, but it would depend on if any foie gras was in the pantry for another menu item. It was. The shake was brought out in a simple glass with a straw stuck in it. Maybe two inches tall and thick; too thick to suck through a straw. Smelled wonderful, a bit like coffee and maybe amaretto. I scooped up a large bite.
Before I continue, here's where I admit I've never had foie gras. The only liver I've had is the basic fried beef liver and onions and it's one of the most disgusting things I've ever tried to eat. Then as I'm raising the bite to my mouth, "Irish Coffee" flashes across my brain. Many years ago, in the middle of a typically cold Minnesota winter, I'm sitting in a bar with friends having a couple drinks. I decided something warm would be nice and thought I'd try an Irish Coffee. Despite the fact I like neither coffee nor whiskey. For this, I blame Disney. Specifically, Herbie, the Love Bug. Apparently the scene when Buddy Hackett gets sloshed on Irish coffee, while the bad guy dumps the rest into Herbie's gas tank, had been festering in my head for almost two decades causing me to order something there was no reason for me to like. And I didn't. It was awful.
And that's what I'm thinking as this fancified and fluffed, but still liver, enters my mouth. Boom. Not quite an explosion, but I think every taste bud freaked out in joy. Completely smooth texture, cool (not cold), each bite literally melted in my mouth. Tasting faintly of amaretto, vanilla, chocolate, and lord knows what else, it was easily the richest, most decadent thing I've ever eaten. Forcing the others to try, and they looked like they'd rather eat their own children first, joyous cries of "Oh my god" circled the table.
I could eat this until it killed me and as rich as it is that wouldn't take long. But I'd die with a happy smile on my face.
posted by bill at 4:24 PM
2 Comments:
Great description. If I get back to that area, I'll have to try this (sans DH, of course).
But [petulantly] I still think you should have taken a picture.
Just picture a light mocha colored mousse in a highball with a stir straw.
We're planning on a return trip in a couple weeks for the tasting menu. We'll take a camera. And I'll ask what else is in it.
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