Bouchon

Bouchon: French Gastsodomy

Bouchon: French Gastsodomy
This is not French gastronomy. It’s French gastsodomy.

Bouchon. Just saying the name aloud turns me on like a Gomorrah mating call. Bouchon. Bouchon. Bouchon.

This is no ordinary or traditional bistro.

It’s the American Mothership of French Fare. In flavor. In stature. And, yes, in size.

Take everything you know and love about your everyday French menu then have it penetrated by a ginormous American cock.

That’s Bouchon.

This monolith to classic french bistro gastronomy with a modern twist towers over two levels both with indoor and outdoor seating. It has an outstanding bakery on the bottom floor and a sprawling regal wooden staircase taking you to the upper deck.

The dining hall is Titanic.

With its bright patterned tiled floors, the columns and the golden lit hues, shit,  you’ll be clinking glasses with Jack and Rose  before you reach your table.

Bouchon: French Gastsodomy
This is what I imagine a $10,000 a night hooker looks like.

The ceilings must be thirty feet high if they are an inch and the palatial wide open dining space allows you sink into your cushioned chair comfortably knowing that you are not going to be imposed upon in any way, shape or form. The tables are spaced out with respect to the patron not to the bottom line and I for one am greatly appreciative of that.

As with everything at this roided bistro it’s the grandeur and respect for perfection that entices you; from the decor to the service.

All the waiters wear white shirts with black tie and apron and approach their position with the utmost professionalism and courtesy.  The busboys move quickly and with purpose. If service is just as important to you as the flavor of your meal then you must come here.

Now for how this modern twist on traditional french fare raises this hare’s tail.

First OFF – Best. French. Fries. Of. All. Time.

There are three things that make me giggle like the Pillsbury Dough Boy: eggs, fried potato and my girlfriend.

The secret with Bouchon’s french fries apparently is that they fry them in peanut oil then bathe them in sea salt. I don’t know what my girlfriend’s secret is.

I have been to Bouchon twice. Once for brunch and once for dinner. I recommend both. If they have a snack tray menu I’d recommend that too. They shave black truffle on their eggs (Pillsbury Doughboy giggle here) and the eggs are perfectly scrambled, wet and delicate.

Couple that with the french fries and, well, I patted myself on the back for not beating one out in their bathroom stall.

The bakery turns out insanely wonderful bread, croissants and pastries all of which my girl and I enjoyed, as we did the butter.

Fuck!!! Their butter is GOOD!!!!!

It’s more like salty soft cheese. It’s actually kinda dangerous.  The Laitue (bibb lettuce salad) was spectacularly refreshing après le french fries, almost like a shower after swimming in the ocean. When I come back I’m gunning for their Boudin Blanc with Hen Eggs.

Look out Ms. Prissy, Foghorn Leghorn is coming to scramble you all up.

Their infamous Ad Hoc fried chicken dinner night, well, it lives up to the hype and worth every frickin’ penny. The experience is beyond the realm of what one comes to expect when the words “fried” and “chicken” are placed side by side. I get aroused just thinking about their breaded birds.

[Note: See the review on Addendum in my Napa Valley FlavorLog. It’s the same bird, same recipe, same genius.]

That’s the thing about Thomas Keller, his genius is everywhere. First of all he has taken over Yountville in Napa Valley with the flagship Bouchon, Ad Hoc,  Addendum and of course The French Laundry. There is another Bouchon in Las Vegas and Per Se in New York City.

In a world that I feel that I am just starting to know, I am happy and comforted that Thomas Keller has become one of my founding teachers.

Thanks, Chef Keller. You are the balls.

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