By: Robert Buxbaum
A few nights ago, 25-30 of NY’s most prominent, important and, dare I say, lucky chefs enjoyed what I hear was a spectacular game dinner replete with that hiding under one’s napkin while eating unmentionable flying oiseaux. Conversation, one would suspect, must have been stimulating, but if I’ve correctly heard that one skinny ass chef replied to a mention of my name by calling me a hero, I’d guess otherwise. In the meantime, most of us are going to have to settle for finding some Scottish grouse, or perhaps even some woodcock on a menu this winter, but we can drool over this.
