Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right
When I walk through New York's Times Square, I think things like, "I really hope the owners of those signs are involved with renewable energy credits," so the charms of a gigantc, digital M&M might be lost on me.
Further up Midtown, I do love Rockefeller Center and all its accoutrements, but generally my intense dislike of being jostled keeps me away, which is why it's surprising to some that I brave the journey to Brasserie Maison at 53rd and 7th. I love moules frites that much.
O, Succulent Morsel
The heavy, white bowls brimming with shells that stand like attentive skipping stones, the white wine and herbs sopped up with a sizzling spear of potato, the plump mollusks waiting to be plucked by tiny forks...bliss. It's too bad that I now have one less reason to go to Midtown, but I've been converted. A friend recently introduced me to Cafe Bruxelles, whose Chef Francis Cheru must be a kindly elf dusting the world with mussels, curry and smiles.
Not one shell in my Moules au Curry was lacking a juicy knot of meat and more bobbed like enticing, little buoys in a heavenly sea of curry, coconut milk and white wine. The crisp frites were enough to share after opening with a frisee and bacon salad.
Moules a L’ardennaise, with bacon, onion, mushroom, white wine and cream; Moules au Roquefort, luscious with bacon, bleu cheese and beer; mussels with green and black olives; mussels with basil, coriander, cream and white wine; Moules Casino...I could go there every night.