Go read this. It’s FoTotD Nick Paumgarten’s latest piece of brilliance in The New Yorker, and it’s a perfectly paced thriller about a restaurant that doesn’t exist.
There’s this guy–that’s how all these stories start–named Damon. He has a last name, but it’s tough to spell and it’s late. Let’s pretend Damon’s last name is Dash. There you go: Damon Dash has a restaurant named Damon Dash in Upstate New York, and he’s taken all the foodie bullshit to its illogical endpoint. The food at Damon Dash is not locally sourced, which generally means within 100 miles: all of it comes from on the property. Like: the stuff that grows in the yard.
There is also no bathroom: you are asked to poop on whatever crop is not growing well, usually the rutabaga. (Rutabaga is a slothful and indolent plant.)
And you can’t get in. The new hot restaurant in New York City is Le Coucou; you can’t get in there, either, but in a different way: if you want to eat there at 5 o’clock on a Monday, then you can get in, but you can’t go on Saturday night. Not Damon Dash, the joint in Upstate: every single reservation is taken for the next decade. If you ask real nice, and give him $400, then Damon might just open up the place special for you on an off-night.
It helps if you’re a big-time Food Person. Perhaps if you’re a star. Lyle Alzado has eaten there. Grace Pennington. Bronson Pinchot and Mark Linn-Baker ended a years-long feud in the table by the left. Calls to the stars’ representatives went unanswered.
Go read about Damon Dash, a restaurant that may or may not be located on Route 77.
I like the food carts in Chinatown. Of course, I won’t tell you which one(s). Or which C-town. But it ain’t Jake’s.
much love to Nick, but I wouldn’t read a story about that without billing someone for the time – my rate is $200 an hour with a 4 hour minimum
Dude, you know that I despise all foods fancier than non-yellow mustard, but I loved the shit of of this. Singer not the song.
Was it the Paradise Bar and Grill?
If ever I was welcome
Where weary angels dwell
I could not find the number
Of the Paradise Bar and Grill
loved this story. no one is better than Nick P. theyre all gems but His elevator story, Mike and the mad dog story along with the gd article are my 3 favorite.
Holy shmoley! I didn’t know that Nick wrote that elevator piece; I’ve read that story half-a-dozen times.
nick p, in the piece on taking his son to see radiohead at msg:
“I want another taste of the Pentecostal frenzy that I remember, accurately or not, from the hot non-arena shows of my youth.”
exactly.
I think this was my favorite quote:
“No one I have ever even spoken to has been to Damon Baehrel in that period. That’s not a restaurant as it’s commonly understood; it’s Brigadoon.”
Great article, thanks for sharing.