From the earliest days of the French Laundry, you knew to expect a very fine meal as soon as you walked through its signature blue door.
Not only was it one of the most delicious things I'd ever tasted, but its knowing poke at the haute in haute cuisine displayed a sense of humor both sophisticated and sly.
The silky wobble of the truffle custard as I scooped it with a potato chip from a translucent eggshell. The supple snap of the butter-poached lobster with leeks and beets.
Mr. Keller brought this precision and sense of fun as well as much of the French Laundry menu to New York City.
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