No More Noma!

Show of hands. Who had never heard of René Redzepi and his Best Restaurant in The World, Noma, until he announced that he is closing this Best Restaurant in the World? Which is in Copenhagen, in case you need to quickly make a reservation.

Ok, so I’m no stranger to fine dining. Even though I can’t afford to eat at places in New York City like Le Bernardin or Tavern on the Green, I know people. I know people who can and some of these fine people have even been known to come from out of town and treat me to dinner at these and other legendary New York City eateries. And the meals there and at the thousand or more other restaurants worth writing home about in this city have been memorable. I feel fortunate to have had these experiences.

That said, my life would not be poorer now if I hadn’t had those meals.

My life would be poorer by far if I was not in the enviable position of being able to afford food from the local grocery store that I like to cook and eat. I’ve often noted that true prosperity in my part of the forest means being able to walk into Fairway and buy whatever I like without having to check the price.

Nothing I’m saying here is new.

The streets are littered with soapboxes from which every manner of crank holds forth. We rail against the crimes perpetrated by the ruling class which is now (again?) putting all of humanity at risk while they indulge in a high-stakes game of chicken. We bemoan the lack of equality, the prevalence of violence at every level of society, the utter disregard and even disdain for simple virtues such as honesty, generosity, and connection. At the same time, we’re all still shuckin’ and jivin’, playing the angles and hoping for the Big Payoff.

When our friend, The Virus, first came to stay the then-mayor of New York City moved many of the people living in the streets into the suddenly empty luxury hotels all over the city. Personally, I slept a tiny bit better in those early days of constant sirens and total uncertainty thinking about men finally sleeping in warm beds.

However, if you pause at the corner of West 79th and Amsterdam on New York’s Upper Westside, you can still hear the hysteria about men peeing on the sidewalks. The clutching of pearls was almost instantaneous.

That’s happening now with the thousands of immigrants being shoved around like so many tiny playing pieces in a disgusting game of Gotcha!

After throwing thousands of dollars into tent cities out on Randall’s Island, the city decided to move the migrants into midtown hotels. It’s hard to tell what the actual situation is in these hotels because the only “news” outlets freaking out about those nasty, dirty immigrants cooking rice in hotel rooms instead of eating the nice sandwiches provided or getting drunk and screwing in stairwells are the usual suspects: The New York Post, Fox News, and Breitbart.

Not saying that’s not going on. But I’m not seeing the hysteria coming from any other quote-unquote news source.

So into all this mayhem, here I come with my little soapbox to say RIP Noma, we don’t need your kind no more. Since it’s unlikely that I’ll be named King of the World any time soon, those with standing reservations at Noma — it’s not actually closing for another year — or Eleven Madison Park or Per Se New York can relax. For now. Don’t get too comfy there, Wall Street and Park Avenue.

Remember, and I quote: the French aristocracy didn’t see it coming, either.

You can only grab so many cookies before people notice you’re the one with all the cookies and we’re the ones going hungry. Keeping us well supplied with Popeye’s Chicken and Mickey D’s along with cheap street meth and now-legal pot is only going to work for so long. Living, as you do, in your clean, secure, well-appointed series of state rooms it can be difficult to remember that, baby, this is The Titanic and when she goes down, you go down.

Now, there are great thinkers and such who believe — as you do, obviously — that all those cookies will ensure you comfortably ride out the shitshow you’ve created.

As the blood and money lust rises over Ukraine, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.

That said, I’ll probably do as you’re doing. Savor each delicate bite of that salmon tuna tartar as well as the superb company around the table. As I’m doing that, however, I’m also counting my blessings one of which is that I’m almost certainly enjoying this meal in a direct blast zone should the missiles start flying.

I don’t want to survive this.

The world you will have created won’t include $500 tasting menus.

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