Is that not how the song goes? No. No, it isn't. Not only are those not the words, but with around twenty people showing up for this particular F-wagen event, no one was standing alone. No (wo)man is an island.
Blue Elm, Lower East Side. Cuisine from all over the world, conveniently placed in one somewhat teeny, albeit gorgeous Orchard Street location. Well, I certainly know all about teeny and gorgeous. Hmm...my sense of humor may be off today. Anyway, why the name Blue Elm? My friend Avi, the restaurant's owner, told me the reason behind the name choice: "I picked a name that I could spell, pronounce and understand."
You see, Avi is a simple man. He opened Blue Elm last month. We (and by "we" I mean "you guys as coordinated by me") decided to go support a friend's new business...and to test the limits of his patience. As it turns out, his patience is limitless, and Blue Elm's food is delicious. Everyone's happy.
Technically, was this adventure really a Fressenwagen event if it neither took place in the outer boroughs, nor employed the Fressenwagen? Being the dictator that I am, I'm going to go with "yes." Not that I need to justify myself to any of you, but I will do so anyway for the more contentious ones among us.
:Fressenwagen trips do not have to be to the outer boroughs. It's generally preferable because those tend to be the restaurants offering the ideal combination of esoteric, inexpensive deliciousness critical to a successful F-wagen event. But a Fressenwagen event is really solely defined by whether or not I say it is a Fressenwagen event.
:Fressenwagen trips should, ideally, involve the Fressenwagen, but her involvement is not as mandatory a component to the experience as, say, food. The F-wagen was parked, alone and unmolested, on Orchard Street just a hop, skip and a jump away from Blue Elm. I daresay she wondered why no one was gracing her pretzel-encrusted pleather. But really, in a week when someone could win the Nobel Peace Prize without establishing peace (ooh, snap!), surely it's not too radical of a logical leap that there can be a Fressenwagen event which does not involve group transportation in the Fressenwagen.
And yet I will concede that something was missing...like the motivation to clean my backseat. Where *is* that f*&5@!$ open chocolate milk container? Eh, whatever...good teachable moment about bacteria.
Where were we? "We" being "me"again...oh, yes.
Blue Elm is a truly gorgeous space. Wood-paneled walls, paintings of lush-looking tropical flowers, intimate lighting. I wanted the designer to come to my place and get to work. The place, however, seemed to draw people with my general aesthetic. I noticed someone not in our party wearing the same dress I'd worn to my birthday party earlier this year (the red strapless one, for those who keep track. Um, chilly? In the words of the arguably immortal group Expose, "seasons change.").
Blue Elm is not only gorgeous physically, but the service that we received there was the best we've had at any dinner together. That was no small feat. We were a HUGE party that not only kept growing with every passing 15 minute interval, but also kept switching seats due to the pushy insistence of the Napoleon-complex Fressenwagen Driver who wanted to make sure everyone met one another. Despite what could have been chaos, Avi and his crew kept everyone happy and even seemed happy themselves. Perhaps Avi, due to his sordid past as a lawyer, was well-versed in how to deal with annoying people. The lovely Meli, our waitress, knew everyone's names and by the end of the night seemed almost sad to see us go. Almost. She even reminded me that I had forgotten my iPod when I was already out the door (though arguably perhaps she didn't want it within a 500 foot radius of her after she heard some of my more offensive 80s workout music picks).
The drinks received universal praise from those who indulged. One person called the lychee martini "the best I've had in Manhattan," and another admired the Pinot Noir. The food mirrors Chef Malik Fall's worldly upbringing and training, in Senegal, France and Asia. For $20 per person, we got a three course prix fixe trip around the world.
What is not to like about french fries? I'll answer you: nothing. And I'm all in favor of them as starters, as entrees, as desserts, what have you. But they're really perfect when presented, as they were here, with a deliciously spiced mayonnaise, a sriracha-inflected aioli, and a little condiment I like to call "ketchup." Tasty. Everyone loved the lamb and the steak. The salmon with hearts of palm got mixed reviews -- some loved it, some thought the yucca was too much.
The sushi was exceptional and universally loved -- fresh, beautifully presented and exquisitely tasty. Avi himself says he eats the sushi almost every night, with the personal goal of becoming the next Jeremy Piven. Well, I've hung out with both Avi and Jeremy Piven and much prefer the former to the latter. Let's compare and contrast. Avi thought I looked hungry and offered me his favorite roll, the Golden Dragon, a beautiful and simple essay in salmon deliciousness. In contrast, Jeremy Piven thought I looked like I'd be interested in any dreck he'd have to give me and offered me his off-the-cuff, flamboyantly-signed pen-and-ink doodle of Michael Jackson (of blessed memory) as a Hasidic Jew. It's no contest. The Golden Dragon tasted SO much better.
Love was expressed for the bitter chocolate gelato...but really, again, what's not to like? I mean, I love chocolate, and I can be bitter. It was a match made in heaven. When I asked those eating it if the pineapple mint gelato tasted like a cruise ship in the mouth, I was met with both blank stares and vehement nods of drunken acquiescence. The mojito sorbet was, rumor has it, "luscious." At this point, people may have been too inebriated to provide truly meaningful feedback.
Some members of our party seemed confused by the fusion of Blue Elm's three disparate cuisines. "When one eats french fries and sushi as a first course, the question of 'fusion' versus 'eclectic' versus 'random' comes up," one dissenter e-mailed me after the fact.
I get it -- it's unfamiliar, and there's a degree of cognitive dissonance afoot. It's true that Blue Elm doesn't have the traditional thematic cohesiveness of your usual restaurant. But I, for one, would gladly trade that element of cohesiveness for the things that we *did* get in return: fresh and delicious food, beautiful setting and amazing service, for an unbelievable price. $20. I mean, I've paid that for an overpriced pair of tights. And they ripped.
Plus, there's an unseen bonus to Blue Elm. As Avi told me, perhaps off-the-record, "a consulting firm the restaurant hired determined that 69.2% of all dates at Blue Elm will result in at least some dry humping." Insert some joke about "fusion" here.
"We use the finest French, Asian and West African aphrodisiacs in our cuisine," Avi elaborated. "I challenge One If By Land, Two If By Sea to show a higher amore rate."
Really, what more can I say? Seacrest out.
