Joel McNeely

Poor neglected food blog. I've been really busy with a film, concerts and recordings and haven't had time to cook, much less blog about it. But the nice thing about traveling is that I've collected some great culinary experiences.

Lyon, France is supposedly the gastronomic capital of Europe, if not the world. (So they say, whoever they is.) And yes, there are a lot of restaurants. Paul Bocuse, the legendary chef is from Lyon and has four restaurants there. So on my first night there I happened on one of his spots, which was right around the corner from my hotel. Café Le Sud. Traditional southern French cooking. It was very good with one extraordinary dish. Something as common as a salad with tomatoes, basil, feta and olive oil is a summer staple. I make it two or three times a week in the summer around here. Except that on this night, it was as if I were having it for the first time. I don’t think I've had tomatoes with such explosive and yet refined flavor, and feta that tasted as if it had just been made. But the real kicker was the olive oil. I kept looking around for ground up olives in the salad because it had a flavor exceptionally redolent of olives. And then I realized it was the oil. And I also realized that most olive oil is shit! I was tasting real olive oil for the first time. Incredible. With a little reading I learned that OO is best the moment it's been pressed. It's downhill from that moment. It doesn't like light and it doesn't age well. So the best OO is the freshest. This must've been really fresh. At any rate, this simple salad was the best thing I had in all my travels of France.

Now for the worst. I figured that I had been eating in brasseries, cafes and mid-level restaurants my whole trip. I should go for one meal in a really top Michelin-rated joint. And so, Nicolas Le Bec, with 2 shiny Michelin stars. The space was modern and inviting with an air of money. The staff was super snooty. All okay if they could really throw down on the food level. I ordered white asparagus and foie gras. No brainer. It came, presented in a checkerboard design, which must've taken the garde manger guy an eon to erect. And all this beautiful foie and asparagus, drowning in what tasted like vinaigrette out of a bottle. I swear it was a crime against foie. Shameful.

So, then came the duck, which my colleague's wife had also. After 10 minutes of the table shaking furiously as we tried to cut even a bite of the fibrous, rubber fowl, I gave up. There was nothing remotely edible on this bird. Just tough stringy fatty meat. And it was drown in a gooey, sweet sauce that even if getting a bite were possible, tasting it beyond the sauce wouldn't have been. I wanted to flee. And then the bill. Lets just say that lunch was more expensive than dinner at Per Se in NY, the best meal I've ever had or ever expect to have. Thomas Keller, you have nothing to worry about. In the end I decided that this place was all pretension and no substance. If the facade is impressive enough, I guess people will buy anything. The Emperor's new reduction. Sheesh. Give me a simple tomato salad any day.

Oh and one more thing: in France they call the conductor of the orchestra, Chef! It even said Chef Joel McNeely on my dressing room. So for a few days, I could actually claim to be a real chef!