The Party

by Bobby Fisher


Stepped out last evening with Chef Roy Choi (Kogi food truck, Chego, A-Frame, Beechwood) to attend a book launching party mid-town.

I met Roy while on assignment for Food & Wine magazine back in August. We ate our way from Waikiki to the North shore and back. The Pulitzer prize winning food critic Jonathan Gold was riding shotgun. The conversations were eclectic, ranging from post punk guitarist extraordinaire Keith Levene  to the stamina one needed for a 5 hr tasting menu. Who creates the best bacon in the world to Calvin Codozar Broadus jr.’s trial in the 90’s. How to boil the perfect egg to why Koreans open liquor stores in the most crime ridden volatile areas of LA? Roy’s last words before I left Oahu were ‘lets hang some time’. A man of his word….we have hung. This was my experience.

Although I never witnessed ‘the book’ being launched I did see a few female flagellants launching leather whips across the asses of smiling foodies. The vodka-avocado-cayenne pepper-mint infused-quail egg beverage tasted like soup in cocktail form. I hadn’t eaten, so soup interbred with 80 proof alcohol was hitting the spot. Still hungry I sucked the brains from langoustine heads straight  from the hands of Chef Paul Bartolotta. His right hand is missing a pinky and I’m positive I didn’t swallow it. I left his makeshift crustacean bar and spotted Mary-Louise Parker alone, gobbling bruschetta like she hadn’t eaten in a week . Perhaps staying in character she huffed a fatty before arriving? Wish I had.  I said hello to Daniel Boulud…and something along the lines of ‘Hey man I photographed you for GQ at your Vegas brasserie a couple years back’. He stared quizzically for a second, almost ready to reply, but turned to a leather whip with bright red lipstick instead…can’t say I blame him. Eric Ripert’s smile flashed by in a sea of nameless faces as I headed for the elevators. Snubbed by top chefs all night I said goodbye to Roy and his giant arms (great for whipping lemon meringue and pretty good for whipping ass!) and stepped out into the misty midnight  zigzagging home from 42nd and fifth to my tenement in Little Italy.