Yet another restaurant closed its doors recently. Ortolan, on Third Street, was a temple of high cuisine, the aesthetic and presentation was probably the closest thing we have to places like Joel Robuchon. I only made it to Ortolon once a few months ago, I guess I was right under the wire. I'll be sad not to be able to dream about returning for the seared foie gras in mushroom soup, a fatty-fungus combo that showed that foie gras need not be paired with something sticky-sweet to work. That, along with one of the smoothest, creamiest panna cottas I've ever are my best memories of that meal.
Fly away little ortolan, hopefully you will land on your feet.
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