A Voce: Stop, Duck and Balls
Ah, Andrew Carmellini. What a stud:
“During his six years at Café Boulud, the chef Andrew Carmellini achieved something remarkable.”
He crossbred a greyhound and a vegas showtranny?
“Although [Café Boulud] restaurant bore the last name of one of New York's most celebrated culinary figures, Daniel Boulud, ... its many fans came to see it as Mr. Carmellini's place. They gave him the credit, along with their trust.”
"CARMELLINI SAID IT WOULDN”T HURT!!!:"
And so, Frank notes, everyone anticipated a Carmellini breakaway from Boulud. But in what form?
Frank asks: “Would it be French and somewhat fussy?”
People who anticipated this outcome for Chez Carmellini were mostly basing their anticipation on his French culinary background and/or perhaps they had previously met Carmellini’s immaculately groomed French poodle, Tresor Bisou Pouffiasse III.
Tresor prereparing for a Brazilian bikini wax.
But back to Carmellini's new venture: “Would it strain for invention and strut for attention?”
Or would it strive for convention and sweat for detention?
Sweating for detention. Brought to you by Frank Bruni, Dr. Seuss, Google Image and B.O.
But the Count is here to cast aside all those anticipatory jitters with one swoop of his girlish, ruffle-sleeved arm: “A Voce, which means ‘word of mouth’ and is generating plenty of it, doesn't fit either of those descriptions.” It’s just delicious, inventive Italian, where there’s a “premium on sating diners as opposed to wowing them.”
This is brave of Carmellini. I think we’re all aware of the astronomical success of the recently opened Jerry’s Wow ‘Em Eyeful Bistro, where the order of priority is quite the opposite.
The ladies can’t get enough! And when he starts masturbating, FORGET ABOUT IT! The B & T crowd goes nuts.
Among the dishes that snapped Frank to attention were the many and expert uses of duck: “Duck doesn't get as much play in Italian cooking as in French, but Mr. Carmellini isn't about to let a good bird go unplucked.” And the Archaic Lexicon Society will be presenting Frank with an award tonight for bringing that expression back from the dead.
“Goodie Spritefart, would you hence be aft for a roll in the hay once I spit this snuff out?”
“Why, Sir Whiffleshitte, I for one am not about to let a good bird go unplucked. To the barn?”
Frank’s language actually centers on the food in this review, which tends to mean that he’s gearing up for some real star action. An agnolotti in a foie gras sauce gets the paragraph treatment, and Frank touches on everything from the well-executed classics (asparagus with parmesan, egg, truffle) to the “unforgettable” version of meatballs, and on that note, pins a last suggestion to his 3 stars:
“For his inevitable next venture, maybe Mr. Carmellini, now 35, should consider an all-meatball restaurant. I wouldn't put it past him. And I wouldn't want to miss it.”
Definitely hard to miss.
At least it's good to know I've hit immaturity rock bottom. It's all intellectual uphill from here, gang!
Next week: Julia rides a dodo with copies of the Aeneid in her underpants.