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The last night at Le Bec-Fin
Perrier's castle wasn't going to shutter with a whimper. It would end with a bang, and I wanted to be there. So I gathered my wife, and, along with 130 other diners, we sold out the last night featuring Nicholas Elmi's cooking and Perrier's reign on Walnut.
The last night at Le Bec-Fin
If you didn't know the end of Le Bec-Fin was near, you've not been paying attention to the signs. Despite the rebranding of its basement space as Tryst and the threats of closure from Georges Perrier that resulted in a temporary reprieve, those in the real estate business (let alone the food biz) will tell you: Georges wanted out. He told me as much last week — how he waited for someone as formidable as Nicolas Fanucci (the former LBF GM last of French Laundry) to want in, that he was tired of long days and short marriages. A recent negative critique from the Inquirer's Craig LaBan had nothing to do with the sale. Perrier simply had enough.
To paraphrase Noah Cross in Chinatown, Perrier built this town. OK, not all of it, but he was the architect of Philly's restaurant renaissance, the guy who put us on the map when New York Times scribe Craig Claiborne claimed LBF as the East Coast's best. That was Georges. About 15 years ago, I dined on his Grande Degustation menu and it was magnifique. No matter what you thought had become of LBF — its loss of Mobil stars when it went a la carte, its questioned culinary reputation — Perrier's castle surely wasn't going to shutter with a whimper. It would end with a bang, and I wanted to be there. So I gathered my wife, and, along with 130 other diners, we sold out the last night featuring Nicholas Elmi's cooking and Perrier's reign on Walnut. (Elmi has moved on quickly to Rittenhouse Tavern, opening in April in the nearby Art Alliance.)
The legendary dessert cart strolled the center aisle. The cheese display rolled along. The ambience wasn't tense, teary or sad, but rather softly alive and electrically cheerful — everyone was ready for a party that they knew would end for good at shift's close. I could recount the Philly food guest stars and out-of-town journos, but who cares? This was Perrier’s night.
A perfect Grey Goose martini and a glass of Champagne to start and we were ready for the pistachio-laced foie gras terrine, the sunchoke soup with Meyer lemon and persimmon and the Gallete de Crabe with whole grain Dijon mustard and Haricots-Verts. For all of the bad raps their menu has received of late, Perrier's signature crab cake was light and lovely, the terrine mightily flavorful and the soup creamy but not heavy. Then came entrées — day boat scallops with pecan gomasio, rutabaga, sage-licorice emulsion and saba along with the Muscovy duck breast, chestnuts in brandy, huckleberry, roasted maitake and vanilla grains.
No sooner had our appetizers come, Perrier stepped up to centerstage, below his towering chandeliers (Fanucci says he'll keep those crystal ships afloat), and began to speak in that heavy accent of his. Throughout the night, friends and diners and ex-employees of his would make speeches (a few mentioning they learned to cook from Perrier or that he should teach them his secrets), but Perrier's long talks came off like FDR fireside chats, full of a father’s past victories and ruminations on the present. Perrier reiterated some of the same points that he made during our recent talk — the divorces, the fact that he missed his daughter’s childhood, the hope that he might finally be able to enjoy life and see friends. While he mentioned LaBan’s review during his first speech in passing, by his second talk Perrier was more revved up, sarcastically confused about how LaBan could have given high marks to a chef that had directly learned from him not so long ago, quick to mention the majestically kind words of Claiborne back in the day. He still respected LaBan's opinion and considered him the worthiest of adversaries — just a little less the second time around than the first.
Also during speech No. 2, Perrier started a story about wild nights in the red bathtub at Sassafras, whose naughty finale he promised to tell me later. He riffed about his various staffs and praised them and Elmi to the high heavens. The room swelled with non-diners, food pros who had come to pay respect, crowds from Walnut Street who had just stopped in for a last look before today when Fanucci would start the era of reconstruction.
It was a lovely perfect last night. Historical, even. Perrier hugged and kissed us and said, "I'll be around." I trust he wasn’t kidding. Still, this Le Bec-Fin of his — all his — will be missed.
Photos: A.D. Amorosi
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