the whole hog - pig dinner at DBGB for wellfedfred, the whining diner, some friendly Visigoths

We're on a lot of email lists, and sometimes I actually read what appears in the Inbox. This time, we opened an email from DBGB, Daniel Boulud's downtown restaurant, which I've blogged about before, and learned that the restaurant was having a "limited number" of "whole hog dinners," (one table, one piglet, per night) for a "limited time," further described as serving from one to eight jolly diners. I called this to the attention of Himself, and he said, "I'm in, would you like to join me?" I suggested that we line up six other people to join us, which dampened his enthusiasm, but not for long. Game plan: reserve one of the "limited number" of dates, then see who could come. Otherwise six more people would have seven or eight different plans and preferences  each, that way lies madness. The plan worked, a suitable group of hungry Visigoths committed, we booked our piglet, and our dinner took place last night.

There was an option to add all the beer you could drink, that is, all the beer the entire table could drink from a stated selection while there was food on the table. We didn't add the option: four of us enjoyed a nice Alsatian riesling, and the other four chose beer. That worked.


The dinner began with head cheese,   an unfortunate choice of nomenclature. On the other hand, if it had been described as, say, "Terrine de porc," which is what it looked and tasted like, well, then, everyone would have had some, and there would have been less for us.

 After the fromage de tête was finished, the whole roast pig was introduced.

 The pig was taken away and carved. It had been stuffed with chunks of pork, bacon and apples. 

the pig, elegantly carved to show off its beautiful stuffing

the pig, after we'd been at it for some time

 There were also bowls of sauerkraut (braised in beer, mild and savory), roasted brussels sprouts, and roasted fingerling potatoes, all lovely, and a gratin of endives with ham, which last I frankly felt was a little thin. And one die-hard at the table insisted on French fries, which were not part of the set menu, but if ever there was a time for self-indulgence....

And here is the only side dish I felt like memorializing. Not onions. Not calamari. If you don't know what it is, well, let's just say that long before the creation of the potato chip, this was a beloved snack.

 Yes, there was a Baked Alaska, yes, it was brought to the table and flambéed, turning us all into goggle-eyed ten-year-olds, and most unusually, it was actually delicious. My experience has been that after everyone says "Ooooh," the dessert itself is either soggy or rock-hard. Not this one. We all enjoyed it.

These days, everyone offers cookies with the coffee, and I needn't have wondered about how the kitchen would stay true
 to the piggy theme.

Shortly before we headed to the restaurant, one of the lady
Visigoths called and asked what to wear.
 "Something washable and comfortable," I told her.

and home again, lunch at DBGB

There may be many reasons I don't remember CBGB all that clearly, and I think I might gasp or blush or deny everything if some unkind person told me what they are. However, Daniel Boulud has done a terrific job in turning the dear smelly cavern into a place fit for daylight entry, and first off, I love the crowd. It's a wonderful mix of families, young couples, old couples, really snappy dressers, people on v. obvious first dates, and guys who just came in for lunch, which is what we've done a couple of times, and did again as soon as we were back in town.

Next, I love the food-and-drink centered quotes in the bar. My camera wasn't up to immortalizing them, since they're written in white marker on mirror. Many of the quotes are from dear old friends of mine, probably of yours too:

I like to have a martini,

Two at the very most.

After three I'm under the table

After four I'm under my host!

I think it is a sad reflection on our civilization that while we can and do measure the temperature in the atmosphere of Venus we do not know what goes on inside our soufflés.

And a favorite from Fernand Point, the kitchen deity in my house:

More butter!

Ok, enough, we came to eat. Recent travels having led to weight gain, the invisible guest at the table was Dr. Atkins. He shook his invisible head in despair as I chowed down on delectable Pappardelle Bourguignonne, that is, the noodles are noodles, and the sauce is gloriously overcooked falling apart Boeuf Bourguignon with a few (cooked, thank Heaven!) baby vegetables. And Himself had a large bowl of Moules Poulette, perfectly cooked, followed by a snack of hand-cut Boeuf Tartare. Kind of a beefy theme here. Oh, Moules Poulette - make Moules Marinière and finish the sauce before serving with cream, a beaten egg yolk or two, and a little butter. Lazy me, I'll let the Equipe Boulud do it.

We skipped dessert. That made us feel like we were in abstention mode.