Chez Balthazar
NEW YORK -- The first time I had ever heard of Balthazar, I was in Mexico visiting my "only famous in Mexico, but very famous in Mexico" cousin. He's one of those triple threat acting/singing/dancing types and he had just come off placing second in Bailando por un Million. Yes, that's Mexico's version of "Dancing with the Stars." We were out to dinner at a restaurant of which he was a part owner and somehow he got on the subject of his frequent trips to New York City.
"What do you mean you go to New York all the time?" I hadn't seen him since the last time I was in Mexico. I think I was 4.
"Yes I go to New York all the time. To see the shows and to eat at Balthazar. Do you know it?" He later explained that he didn't realize Brooklyn was so close and accessible and he made it a point to visit after that. And I explained that I did not know Balthazar but would definitely give it a try.
It took me six years.
Turns out Balthazar is not the kind of place that a 20-year-old college student incapable of getting a paid summer internship can visit on a whim. After graduating from college, I got a marketing job at Facebook where $100 steaks and $400 bottles of wine were standard fare at team dinners and client meetings. Fine dining was a regular part of my job and so it was only a matter of time until it became part of my real life as well. A girl gets used to these things, you know...
The occasion was none in particular besides a weeknight dinner with two of my favorite friends from college. Both named Katie, both very fancy ladies - also with a taste for "these things." In fact, we wound up at Balthazar for my very first time because one of the Katies had just eaten at Tao the night before and had reservations at Nobu that Friday, essentially leaving us with no other choice but Balthazar. Makes sense, right?
And so it was. Balthazar, at last, on a random Tuesday night...and no one was even celebrating a birthday!
Regardless, we started with a round of champagne, because really what else was there to do while they took our coats? And moreover, what better way to soak in the amber-hued surroundings?
Surely I had died and gone to Paris...
First up, along side our champagne were a dozen oysters: a mix of east coast and west coast - just like us Stanford girls living it up in New York City. Then, a tarte a l'oignon split three ways and the steak tartare for the table (it was my first but I didn't dare out myself and I loved it so much that it didn't matter anyway). I went with the Moules Frites on the menu because it was the very first thing I zeroed in on and also because if mussels are on the menu, you better believe I'm going to order them. One Katie got the Steak au Poivre and the other the Duck Confit. (“I mean, how could you not?” she said.) And for shits and giggles, we challenged out waiter to come up with a bottle of wine that just might work for all three of our dishes.
Beaujolais Nouveau? How predictable! But we go along with his suggestion because after all we are chez Balthazar. After the first bottle we are pleasantly surprised and order another, perfectly timed with chocolate mousse split three ways again for dessert. It's late (even for dining in New York), so the waiters aren't rushing us to seat anyone else which lets us linger like we did in our freshman cafeteria after dinner every night.
As we debate a third bottle, one of the Katies remembers she has a date (ironically a late dinner at which she will pretend she is one of those girls who doesn't eat anything instead of a girl who just had a full meal at one of New York's best restaurants). Down one, the remaining Katie and I decide to make the responsible choice and order a half carafe to split. The other Katie is very put together. She has a serious lawyer job and is married to an equally serious business man and they live in a nice apartment uptown, but she's my favorite person to get inappropriately drunk with, especially on a Tuesday night. Especially for no reason. And now, especially at Balthazar.
That was three years ago.
I went back to Balthazar tonight. Again for no reason. It has become a thing I like to do from time to time. I doubt I'd be interested in making a spectacle of myself with a towering raw seafood platter or singing waiters on my birthday, nor would I ever go on a Saturday night when the wait-time and crowd size are equal parts discouraging and degrading. An old friend from the Bay Area moved to New York two years ago and recently mentioned that she had never been to Balthazar. I called immediately (a week ago) for a reservation and the best they could do for us was tonight (Sunday) at 5pm. Or 11pm. The telltale available hours of a veritable hotspot.
After all of these years, Balthazar’s still got it. And I still want it. Because, as my cousin taught me so many years ago, everyone should "know Balthazar."