
He weighed out and smelled Australian winter truffles the size of softballs, each worth approximately $1,100. "You see how this smells a little off?" he asked me, holding one up to my nose. I didn't. "I'm going to send it back."It gets better from there. We might have to work on a reservation. Fortunately the waiting time to get in will give us a chance to save up.
Then he took a mother-of-pearl spoon and in succession, scooped a generous spoonful from each caviar tin, smeared each on the fat of his thumb, then licked it off, as if he were about to take a shot of tequila. He asked me which caviar I liked best. They all tasted amazing. I willed my palate to perform, then, winging it, pointed to the second tin.
"Hmm," he said, "That was my least favorite. But to each his own." My heart sank. Hey, I'm the girl who likes the worst of the best caviar in the world, nice to meet you.
The picture at the top comes from the accompanying article about their three acre garden across from the restaurant that supplies almost all the produce they use.
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