The reason why it's good to write letters:

Eleven Madison Park is an amazing restaurant. It's at a great location, just down the street from the Flat Iron Building, that iconic 1920's era wedge shaped building that is one of the hallmarks of New York City. The walls of the restaurant are made of marble, and it features the vaulted ceilings of the lobby of a grand old bank, which this used to be. It's a beautiful place, and it was the perfect spot for a meal celebrating a performance at Carnegie Hall.



I couldn't help wondering if the pastry chef received the letter I sent her, since I never heard back from her. I was looking for any sign of acknowledgement as we checked into the hostess' station, but there was nothing. They were all very courteous, much more than we were accustomed to from our usual haunts back home, but we attributed this to the fact that we were dining in one of Gourmet magazine's top 25 restaurants in NYC. I figured they treat everyone right, as soon as you walk through the door.

There was a sign from the sommelier, however, that the letter had been received. As he poured us the wine, he said in a playful voice, "I hear you all are low brass players. The word from the back is that you all prefer raw meat." There were laughs all around. We are sort of the animals of the orchestra--give us some raw meat, and we'll blow the violas out of the water. Raw meat for us equals loud, in-your-face music. It was clear the pastry chef had been telling stories about the letter she received, and telling stories about trombone players. She was probably surprised that it was the trombone section who was so interested in fine dining in New York City. A place like Eleven Madison Park you'd think would cater more to the oboe section. Thankfully, though, we kept up at least part of the image of the gauche trombone section. One of the guys in the section was wearing a Hawaiin shirt, and some sort of a flip flop type shoe, and his wife was wearing a fleece. Thankfully, they kept us from appearing too hoity-toity.

The menu was amazing, and as we were looking through it, the main chef and a couple of the waiters paraded before us a massive stuffed sea bass that apparently the chef had caught himself on a charter that very morning. He had the photos with him to prove it, too. It was impressive, and I decided to order that. And soon after the visit by the head chef, the pastry chef herself came out to visit our table.

I stood up to greet her, and we all thanked her for coming to the table. She asked us about our trip, and our concert, and we chit-chatted for awhile. One of the women in our group asked her what she recommended from her dessert menu. She said she liked it all, but that the restaurant was best known for the chocolate souffle. The woman in my party mentioned that she didn't think she'd ever eaten a souffle in her life, and so the pastry chef was kind enough to offer to give us a free souffle at the end of the meal. Score!

The meal was absolutely fantastic. Everything was perfect, and we were treated like royalty. The attentiveness of the waitstaff was remarkable. They were watching our table the entire time, and the slightest need was taken care of before we even were aware we needed it. At one point, I dropped my napkin on the floor. I was offered a new napkin, before I even realized it had fallen out of my lap. Now, that's service!

After finishing our meal, the waiter brought out the dessert menus for us. Everything on the menu looked fantastic. It was hard deciding what to get, but we all decided to stay clear of the souffle, since she had mentioned she would give us one, on the house. As the waiter came back to take our order, I was still stymied by the menu.

Suddenly, three or four waitstaff descended on our table, each laden with scores of desserts, which they proceeded to lay on the table. There were indeed two huge souffles, fresh out of the oven, and with a flourish, the waiter opened a hole in the top with a spoon and ladelled a hot chocolate ganache into the center. These oozed with chocolate, and screamed decadence. I couldn't wait to try it, but thought that perhaps I needed to start someplace else. There were bowls with homemade ice creams of various sorts, and tray after tray of homemade cookies, fudge and cakes.

Let me tell you something: if there's anything I know, it's desserts. I've had some amazing desserts in my life, but these were the best I've ever eaten. Everyone at our table expressed that view. For starters, let me wax eloquent about the vanilla ice cream. You would think that vanilla ice cream is vanilla ice cream. But this--THIS was the stuff dreams are made of, the quintessential vanilla ice cream, the pinnacle after which all others seem nothing but a pale and wan imitation! I've tried my hand at home, using the finest ingredients I could find, and nothing but vanilla beans for flavor, and it doesn't even approach the vanilla ice cream at Eleven Madison Park. I don't understand how and why it could be so good. But I suppose there's a reason this woman was named one of the top ten pastry chefs in the country.

There was more! She made whimsical takes on old familiar homey desserts of our childhood. Have you ever thought a Ho-Ho could be turned into a gourmet dessert? These were part of the desserts she gave us, Ho-Ho's beyond compare. And how about fudge? Alas, I've been robbed from enjoying fudge ever again. Pralines, chocolate cherry brownies, linzer cookies, pistachio ice cream: all were the best I think they each could be. It was all amazing, and there was more than we could possibly eat, and it was all given to us, compliments of the house.

The reporter who was travelling with us for the local paper caught wind of our dinner. It made the paper, and in fact, much to our satisfaction, it took up more words in the article than any other anecdote on the trip.

Here's the excerpt from the news article:

"On Friday evening, many musicians scattered across the area to take in the sights. Trombonist Dan ______ organized a dinner for the low brass section and spouses at Eleven Madison Park, named by Gourmet magazine editor Ruth Reichl as on of her top 25 in New York.

Dan had written to pastry chef Nicole K________, a professional flutist, to say he was bringing a table full of musicians to sample her fare. "We got the royal treatment, " Dan said. "It was the highlight of the trip for us, other than Carnegie Hall."

The letter was just tossed into the wind, and I was so happy as to how it turned out. I like to think that the person who collects the mail at the restaurant just tossed her this note, and she opened it, assuming it was some sort of junk mail. I like to imagine she took some enjoyment out of reading it. It's clear she talked about, and I think it, at least for a day or two, it broke up the normal routine of her job. It was a complete gamble on my part, but I'm so glad it paid off. We all have memories of that meal that we'll have for the rest of our lives, thanks to her generosity. And I hope she got something out of it too. I like to imagine that from time to time, when she's with her fellow chefs, and talk turns to guests and the customers that walk through the doors, she might just tell them a story about this trombone player from the midwest who wrote a letter to her out of the blue.