Eleven Madison Park

Maggie, one of our favorite foodie friends, had been trying to get us reservations to go to a very fancy, highly renowned restaurant called Eleven Madison Park for ages. Part of the problem was that our group was to have six people in it, which made things challenging. Meals and Eleven Madison have many, many courses and take forever, and so it was a bit of an unconventional idea to go there for lunch. But when she told us she'd gotten us spots there for 1:00 on Saturday afternoon if we wanted them, we all jumped at the chance.

Eleven Madison Park is an elegant restaurant with sky-high ceilings and simple, classy decor near Madison Square Park. Alas, no pictures are allowed inside the restaurant, so I don't have any images of our meal to share; I was actually rather glad about this policy, however, because it allowed me to worry only about enjoying the food and not capturing every mouthful on film. It was a little strange to get all dressed up for a weekend lunch, and other than great food and lots of courses I wasn't quite sure what to expect from the experience. I've eaten at a few restaurants similar to Eleven Madison before, and while the food is almost always delicious sometimes they can be a little stuffy. Eleven Madison was anything but, however. Each of the fourteen courses (!) we were served over the four-hour meal was painstakingly crafted and delicious, and many were also creative and almost whimsical.

Smoked/Smoking sturgeon

The theme of New York was woven throughout the meal. We started with a box of the restaurant's take on New York's ubiquitous black and white cookies. Instead of being sweet, though, these were savory and included cheese. I could have eaten a whole stack. Other courses included things like smoked sturgeon (served under a still-smoky glass dome) served with caviar, cream cheese, and pickle spears, and a salad garnished with bread crumbs seasoned like everything bagels. One of my favorite courses came to us in a picnic basket that we got to unpack ourselves. Inside, we discovered ceramic dishes made to look like paper plates, pretzel sticks, raspberry mustard, soft cheese, and wheat beer. There was also a seafood boil course in which a pot of clams, shrimp, lobster, small potatoes, and baby stuffed peppers was dumped artfully on a board in front of us, then seasoned with herbs, spices, and a generous flood of lemon juice. All of this makes Eleven Madison sound casual; those who've heard of it know that it's anything but. But its class and refinement is accompanied by a good sense of humor.

The picnic basket, which was a fun change of pace from the other impossibly intricate courses we were served.

We noticed the same attributes in all of our servers, who joked with us while waiting on us hand and foot. I had scarcely settled into my seat upon arriving before a woman to my right had deftly placed a purse hook at the table which she invited me to use. Each time anyone from our table returned from a trip to the powder room, a staff member was ready to help push their chairs in for them.

The sommelier not only made good recommendations but also put on a great show. Nate, one of our party, is a major wine fan and had spent the previous evening poring over Eleven Madison's wine list. He was ready to go and after conferring with the sommelier put in an order for two bottles of burgundy. To our great surprise, the man returned a few minutes later pushing a cart bearing two bottles of wine and what looked a lot like Medieval torture devices. He explained that lots of old wines had to be opened through other means because sometimes the corks had been degraded, and that while this wasn't likely to be the case with our wines, it was a fun show anyway. He then heated a large pair of tongs--called port tongs--over a burner and fit them over the neck of each bottle in turn when they were glowing red. One of the bottles cracked neatly and he was able to lift off the whole neck in one piece, cork and all. The other required dabbing an ice-water-soaked shaving brush before it came off. Both wines were decanted through fine sieves before they were served and the broken parts of the bottle were dipped in wax. (Interested in learning more? I found this video of another sommelier from Eleven Madison demonstrating the process).

This is about a third of the kitchen.

We were the last ones in the restaurant and were thrilled when a maitre d' told us we were going to get a tour of the kitchen. (Turns out Maggie had been gently but insistently "suggesting" to the staff that we'd love something of the sort for some time.) After a round of complimentary apple brandy that was too strong for me to do more than sip at nervously, we were ushered back into a massive, sparkling kitchen. We were served boozy snow cones made from a block of ice shaved before our eyes with a beautiful 100-year-old ice press and invited to feast our eyes on the pre-dinner activity around us. There was a swarm of chefs in tall white hats at each station all busily spooning, chopping, and whisking. I watched one man plating a course; he passed a single daub of some sort of sauce back and forth between a pair of spoons about eight times before he was happy enough with its shape to place it on the plate.

In the kitchen was a large poster of Miles Davis. On another was was a framed poster of a list of words and phrases. Our "tour guide" pointed these out and explained that once an early critic gave the restaurant three-and-a-half out of four stars, saying it was very good but that he wished it had a little more Miles Davis. The master chef at Eleven Madison took this to heart and launched into some research. He and his team compiled eleven adjectives describing Davis and his music: cool, endless reinvention, inspired, forward moving, fresh, collaborative, spontaneous, vibrant, adventurous, light, and innovative. These words were printed and framed and now they serve as a reminder of the restaurant's food and service philosophy to everyone that spends time in the kitchen.

Chris Flint, chef and Cheley alum

The czar of the kitchen was the chef de cuisine. He tastes every single thing before it is carried out to diners with a bevy of plastic spoons and all of the chefs must respond to him with "oui" instead of "yes" according to custom. He came over to nod seriously at us and ask us if we'd enjoyed our meals. We all babbled happily. Then he asked if we all lived in New York. Everyone nodded, though Ed said that he and I were getting ready to move to Colorado. The chef sighed and said that he loved Colorado; in fact, he'd spent his childhood summers at a camp in Estes Park. "Which one?" Ed and I insisted just about in unison. Amazingly, he and Ed not only attended the same summer camp, but were there at the same time. The chef's face changed from polite indifference to real interest and he and Ed talked about how this camp had changed both of their lives. Ed asked his name (Chris Flint) and then introduced himself. "I saw your name on the wall!" the chef said, his eyes widening. "You were a Fourth Degree Mountaineer*!" Ed looked a little abashed and said that yes, he was, and the chef wrung his hand with a look of intense respect on his face. We all chattered for a few minutes about how small the world is, then he had to get back to work, though he shook all of our hands again and wrung Ed's with special intensity.

As at many fancy restaurants, we were given parting gifts. Each person got a copy of the day's menu in an envelope and a jar of absolutely delicious, house-made granola. It has pistachios, pepitas, and dried cranberries in it and it has been making my mornings a little easier to face.

One certainly can't eat a four-hour lunch often, but it's pretty fantastic to get to do something like this now and then. I was inspired by the creativity at Eleven Madison Park and had a wonderful time sharing the experience with Ed and our friends. I can't say just when we'll go back, but since the menu changes seasonally I'm certainly excited for more surprises the next time I return!

*At Cheley, being deemed a Fourth Degree Mountaineer is a big deal. Ed estimates that when he was at camp there were only about 20 names on the wall, and the list started in the 1920s! So it's no surprise that Chris Flint noticed Ed's name there.