A return to form....

Our boy Adams finally got his shit (and his laundry) together and presented plates that any TC member should have been proud of. He released the menu last Wed, for consumption the following day so we had a good 24 hours to slobber, drool, and wait impatiently.

His menu:

• Mixed Green Salad with Bay Scallops and a Citrus Vinaigrette
• Sautéed Chicken Livers with Grapes and Caramelized Shallots
• Potato Pancake and Beef Tenderloin “Sandwich” with Apple-Pear Sauce
• Vanilla Panna Cotta with Pomegranate Gelee

Some of it may sound unconventional, but I believe that was the intent. Heaven knows how the kid from Buffalo came up with some of this shit, but he did, and it was delicious. Together with some rather special wines (Bordeaux 1999, I don't remember which 'yard) and amongst good company we had a grand old time. The scallops were cooked nicely, although a little moist which wilted the salad, but they did indeed smack of the Atlantic, as any self-respecting scallop should.

I think the livers and the beef were personal favourites - The livers were flash-fried in a little oil, with shallots, and then the rich sweet grapes added at the last minute. The result was a dish with serious meaty depth of flavour, a faint saltiness, twang from the shallots, and then came the sugary hit every time I punctured a grape with my teeth....What a mouthful, superbly balanced....Some crusty bread was all that was needed to mop of those yummy juices, and we scoffed the lot down like we hadn't been fed for 3 days. We drank a NZ Chardonnay with it too - liver should always be accompanied by a fruity wine I think.

But the best was yet to come. That beef. Shit alive. I'll never forget it.

Forget all that bollocks I wrote about Bobby Van's - Adams is the New Steak King. If he can replicate that beef, I never need to go anywhere else again. NSK seasoned 3 fist-sized well-aged filet mignons a touch of Kosher salt, a quick crack of pepper, and into the hot pan they went. Sizzle, Baby, sizzle. That unmistakable aroma of frying meat filled the kitchen. Stunned, and lost for words, J-Boogie and I stared motionless at NSK, while he whipped up some fruity dollopings, cooked his potato pancakes (crisp, dense and utterly potatoey). So the 'sandwich' was pieced together with a nice cap of sour cream and rosemary sprig on top. We were dying to find out what the cross section looked like, but so excited and hasty were we that we neglected to take a photo. We sliced through the meat - soft, burgundy-pink, juicy, marbled with melted fat and so fucking tasty. Words cannot do it justice. I called off my engagement to Serena, and made a serious marriage proposal to Adams. I want our kids to eat that.

Despite our obvious satisfaction (slumped in chairs, slurping wine and rubbing our rotund waists) he then launched a final assault - the panna cotta. Personally I've never made one, I don't suppose they're that difficult but regardless, our boy NSK span out a sublime example. Creamy, wobbly, crowned with an oversized pom syrup that dribbled down the sides and formed small pools of fruity goodness on the plate.

With that gone into our ever-expanding guts, we were all in a spot of bother. I don't think anybody said anything for the next hour. A few mumurs of contentment maybe, the sound of cigarettes being lit and the clatter of ice cubes in crystal.....the faint whiff of scotch in the Brooklyn night air.

Bravo. Encore.