Balthazar

There is one restaurant in this town that I never fail to leave happy, and that is the french-asian-fusion fabulousness of Balthazar restaurant.

Eating there is not without drama. David made us 1 pm lunch reservations today to celebrate Valentine's Day a little bit early. We arrived about five minutes after 1 pm, and walked in the door to a completely empty restaurant. No people. Incongruously, the music was blaring.

After a minute or so, a man walks out from the kitchen wearing an undershirt and torn jeans. He stared in shock at his customers. Apologizing, he explained that the waiter had not yet arrived.

He told us to take our pick of tables. (There are a total of four in the non-smoking alcove.) Ten minutes pass. The waiter, thankfully wearing proper attire, appears and serves us water.

Another ten minutes pass. The waiter reappears with a frightened look on his face. Evidently the table we are sitting in has been reserved specially for someone else, and could we please move to the other identical table which is located less than three feet away from the special table? We do, with much amusement.

I tell David that I bet the customer coming for his special table will be a big, fat, self-important businessman who will smoke in the non smoking section. (It turned out I was right on all counts except for the latter.)

It's an hour until we are served our meals. At this point, I have eaten all of the rolls, most of the truffle butter, and am considering eating my napkin.

I writhing with impatience until, finally, the plates arrive: caramelized scallops for me, seared sesame crusted tuna for my Valentine. Perfect, yet understated, presentation. For dessert, a lemon meringue tart with vanilla ice cream.

I leave sighing with happiness. The nearly naked waiter and ridiculously long wait forgotten, Balthazar wins again.