Balthazar

Balthazar is a New York institution, and though I've had breakfast and dinner there, and it's my go-to-stop for a decent baguette, I can't recall if I've ever gone for lunch before, which is a shame because lunch at Balthazar makes one feel civilized and happy.

My friend opted for what I think is a grilled salmon, which had a nice char on the skin but kept the fish moist.


I was pretty happy with my steak tartare, and it made me think of my first experience with the dish in the summer of 2001 at L'Express. It's shocking to realize how much I've learned about food in these few short years. On that late evening, I discovered both the joy of a steak tartare and a cold glass of Chimay, and took one step closer to enlightenment.

Skinny French frites piled high in a paper cone are one of the simple pleasures of life.

Balthazar's pavlova was light and sweet as my pavlova was dense and almost nutty. Ah technique, that elusive skills.

Balthazar, 80 Spring St. (@ Crosby St.), New York, NY