Two posts in two days! Will wonders never cease?
But seriously, folks. I don’t want to say I have a high bar for linking to “Eater”. I think I link to them pretty often, sometimes criticizing something stupid they wrote, sometimes using them as a source for a story.
This time, I have what I think is an actual worthwhile article that I had to link to, for reasons that should become apparent in a moment.
“Confessions of a Tableside Flambéur”.
There are several common pitfalls that lead to flambé failures. If the pan isn’t sufficiently hot or the sauce isn’t reduced enough before the alcohol is added, it retards the flame. Shockingly, staff rarely go through any formal training to learn how to flambé. Most servers are, quite literally, thrown into the fire. As a novice, I definitely had to step away from the table and start over after a few flambé bloopers. I’m not gonna lie: It’s embarrassing when your flambé doesn’t flambé, like striking a book of matches in the rain.
I had not heard the story about the two people being killed in a flambé accident before now. And I hate to make light of their deaths, but…
Police have launched an investigation into the causes of the fire.
Really.
At Papi Steak, a steakhouse on steroids in Miami, a $1,000 wagyu rib eye is shepherded to the table raw, nestled inside a diamond-studded, golden briefcase and accompanied by a platoon of boisterous staff. One of the servers unlatches the case, which glows from the inside like the opening scene in Pulp Fiction, revealing a bloody steak concealed underneath a cloud of smoke. With the crowd goading them on and everyone’s smartphones held high, a manager comes over with something resembling a cattle prod and brands the words “Papi Steak” into the marbled hunk of beef. The steak even has its own designated entrance music that blares in the dining room to announce its arrival.
As I’ve said before, I am a libertarian. But I think I could get behind imposing the same confiscatory tax rates on people who order the wagyu rib eye at Papi Steak as I would on people who buy $5,000 turntables for their 78 RPM records.
And as a reminder of why I had to link this, for those who may have forgotten and those who may be unfamiliar with it: the SDC review of The Veranda, with Lawrence’s meditations on the subject of flambé.
