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Girl dinner.

“A perfect Tokyo Neapolitan pizza is defined by locally sourced wood burned in a locally sourced oven, an extra punch of salt, and a delicateness of dough that extends to the tip of the fire-seared crust.” FFS. From Eater of course

I have a PhD and am therefore a hot date. Surely.

Interestingly, after doing some digging, it appears that Sean Brock has stepped back from Audrey. His new place serves "Tokyo-inspired pizza." Stiil considering Husk.

MR’s birds are out East, too

I was there with my dad in January. He has a PhD, so this partly checks out.

Yes.

😱

I very much appreciated the lower sodium level. And I completely agree that the duck was spectacular.

Thank you. Almost identical to how it would be made in Bukovina a century ago, except somewhat less salty because I can.

"I realized that this glamorous hot spot was in fact just a front for a piercingly intelligent and original restaurant, with a kitchen whose dexterity and finesse handily outshone the dining room’s influencer glow. A meal at Bridges can feel like discovering that your hot date also has a sizzling wit and a Ph.D." 🤢

Don't worry. We won't tell Significant Eater.

$9. Damn tariffs.

Indeed, though I was hoping for a brush or two!

And as far as you go @MitchW if you're who I now think you are, the person behind you was a young woman reading an Arabic book, and was brushing no behinds.

--Chicken thighs marinated in Nando's lemon-pepper sauce and grilled --South African-style curried rice salad: (brown) basmati rice, lots of curry powder, red onion, red pepper, raisins, canned peaches, and cilantro

1) Although I found it "impenetrable" on attempted rereading (as said above) I was able to penetrate it as a young man (ghastly pun aside). 2) All love/lust was unsuitable in the India of the 1970s -- the crushes I had on teachers, on our cleaning lady, on the girl on the 123 Bus (we gazed at each other eagerly, morning and afternoon, for two years) -- no love was suitable. That angst might have been the appeal to me then. 3) The "exotic". To me that was England -- all cricket and moors and dogs. 4) Every boy's fantasy.

Maybe Wuthering Heights is a young woman’s book. The angst of love deemed “unsuitable”. A fascination with the exotic. Every girl’s fantasy. I read it in 11th grade English.

I'm curious how news like this gets out. The people on line for Foxface seemed slightly different from the people who dine at Foxface -- younger, for example, and less food-centric. The three men ahead of me talked for a while about how much alcohol in an evening was enough alcohol -- how did they hear about this pop-up, and why did it interest them so? The sign outside was nicely cryptic "Duck on Rye". Several passers by paused briefly and looked puzzledly at it. Whether it induced them to join the throng I can't say. A woman with a rolling carrier asked the man behind me what we were in line for. He looked up briefly from his cellphone and said "sandwiches". That excited her. "Free sandwiches" she exclaimed, and her eyes moved hungrily to the back of the line. "Not free", he said, "duck". That squelched her enthusiasm. I've many problems with lines, and this man behind me epitomized one: No respect for boundaries. Yes, we're postish Covid, and don't need 6' any more, but how about 6''? (The Stonehenge scene from Spinal Tap, anyone?) Must you breathe down my neck, and constantly brush my behind?

I'd had a sandwich put aside. That was why I was able to concur with you. I'd also pre-ordered bread and cookies. They ran out of sandwiches just when the group-of-three ahead of me stepped to the counter. They'd been on line 30+ minutes but took it well. If you, "Mitch", hadn't pre-ordered, then you got the last of the walk-in ones -- and that group has you to blame. (Sivan then went out and broke the bad news to the 30ish people on line.) Like you, I'm averse to lines at this stage of my life. Done a lot of line-standing in my yout'. I'd been tipped off by a usually reliable source that getting there before noon would help me avoid lines. When I saw that there were a dozen+ people already waiting at 11:30 I nearly turned around and left. But it was a nice day, and I felt I owed it to Foxface to wait. You really should wear a nametag. I could have at least passed the time profitably ribbing you. The bread is, as you say, superb. When they had Wednesday morning pickups, I was able to reserve, skip the pickup in the morning but eat at the bar at 5 pm (at heart I'm a Florida retiree, I guess) and grab my bread then. I'm not usually in this town on weekends, but yesterday was an exception. Circling back to the duck: the sandwich was excellent, but the duck, by itself, glorious. I deconstructed the second half of my sandwich, and had the duck, with a light residual smear of mustard, by itself, with a tiny, occasional cube of rye bread for balance. What can I say? I'm a savage.

I am surprised I can't find a thread for Le Crocodile. I know I haven't been in a while but it's hard to believe my last visit was before we lost all that earlier content. Anyway, I do keep my eye on the menu and there was enough of interest to take me back. I was lucky to have the sommelier, Miles, as my server. We bonded when I referred to the "cod fritters" on the menu as buñuelos de bacalao and there followed a very conversational evening (I was dining solo). Three savory courses (because no cheese). A pig's head terrine that reminded me of one eaten years ago at Lupa; served on a warm plate so just starting to melt. Then the buñuelos or why don't we call them breaded brandade balls? Crisp, great filling, excellent aioli. The menu switches back and forth between duck breast and leg and I was lucky it was a leg night. It was dusted with herbs of which the anise stood out; served with baby beets and accented with slivers of rhubarb. I still find this to be such a good kitchen, even if it spends most of its time making roast chicken and fries for the guests. With the bacalau, a very pale orange wine, Schödl "Frühstückswein" -- a blast to pronounce and, as Miles pointed out, literally breakfast-wine. With the duck a Cab Franc. Instead of dessert, a revelatory glass of Domaine Tissot, a fragrant red from the Jura.

Moulard I think!

Was that the Rohan?

I might have been - were there sandwiches left for you, or had you reserved?

Baked whiting, Spanish style. Roasted broccolini, maybe Italian style? Parm is involved.