The closest I ever got to dining at New York City's top-flight French restaurant La Grenouille was pressing my greasy nose against the window to envy the beau monde flitting about the exquisite floral arrangements. At the time I worked around the corner, and knew even less about French food than I do now, which is to say "practically nothing." These days I can at least pronounce the names of the mother sauces. Nowadays I hear the motherland of haute cuisine has started transplanting flowers from the vase to the plate. French chefs are whipping up creations ranging from carnation and herb salad to veal in daisy gravy. The pretty plate above was created by three-star (Michelin, naturellement) chef Yannick Alléno, who recently declared, "France is now my garden." The dish consists of king crab with rock rose, chickweed and borage flowers.
At the risk of being gauche, this floralization begs the question: Can high-concept tiki bars where patrons with edible leis consort with the chefs be far behind?
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