| The Palace: Splendor in the Foie Gras | | | | Well, no one has ever accused Frank Valenza of |
| The Palace hustled into being one year ago with an | | | | grace. To him, the Palace’s first birthday was not |
| acute sense of terminal decadence. Was there ever | | | | merely an occasion to celebrate. It was a time to |
| more an obscene moment to launch the most | | | | gloat. Loyal patrons and friends were invited to a |
| expensive restaurant in town? The Dow Jones was | | | | party, tariff $125. Enemies were invited, too, |
| so low its chin pinched its toes? Breakfasts grew | | | | especially competitors who said he’d never make |
| bitter at the specter of swollen Mauritanian bellies | | | | it; even, by accident, one who was dead. A ransom |
| haunting the morning paper. All summer New York | | | | in truffles was marinated for weeks. Two bottles of |
| City teetered on the edge… a fat rotten apple. | | | | pear brandy at $18.75 each went into the silken ice |
| It was a time to buy gold, talk poor and postpone | | | | that unjaded guests’ palates between the baby |
| that new sable. Even the very rich economized, | | | | lamb and the terrine of wild duck; Valenza opened |
| patching the old Porthault sheets to make them last | | | | two priceless bottles of 1897 Lafite-Rothschild; |
| another season, limping along in last years Mercedes, | | | | poured Margaux ’53 in magnum and |
| canceling summer in Cap d’Antibes, making due | | | | Romanée-Conti ’33 with the cheese. |
| with an $18,000 beach rental in the Hamptons. Would | | | | The dinner was flawed. It’s a challenge to serve |
| anyone be crass enough to boldly patronize the | | | | great food to so many at once. The pace was slow, |
| Palace’s Trimalchian bouffé? Surely he’d | | | | finally a torture in its fifth hour. And still Claude’s |
| be heckled and stoned by bands of roving | | | | sainted touch shone in the sublime |
| unemployed. | | | | sweetbread-and-truffle stuffed puff pastry tourte; |
| A gossipy cabal of French restaurateurs sneered. | | | | the salmon-trout, plump with pike mousse, skillfully |
| Proprietor Frank Valenza of the Bronx, a failed actor | | | | sauced and wittingly garnished; and a celestial |
| and the creator of the gimmicky Proof of the | | | | confection of savarin and soufflé perfumed with |
| Pudding restaurant, would never pull it off, they | | | | rum in fragile crème anglaise. |
| gloated – he was neither professional nor French. | | | | But I’d been indulged by a sybaritic friend at |
| In my set, where it’s my mouth that counts, the | | | | dinner ($227.30) only the week before. So my sense |
| Palace was anticipated as sheer hype. | | | | of what the Palace can be was still fresh. It had been |
| Well, the Palace has survived. No doubt some come | | | | one of those sense-tickling times. We came near |
| to bask in its cachet as the most expensive fueling | | | | weeping over the mussel soup with its tiny skeins of |
| stop in town. Oiled Arabs, weary of toting all these | | | | carrot and celery and its sweet bay scallops afloat. |
| greenbacks around, are grateful to have their wallets | | | | And giggled inanely all through the parade of sweets, |
| so sweetly lightened. Six customers have earned the | | | | succumbing to simple silliness and a dozen wicked |
| house’s eighteen-karat-gold credit card by | | | | petits fours. |
| spending $10,000. One enthusiast has dropped | | | | Who knows if the Palace can survive another year? |
| $19,000 so far. IRS whimsy finances a lot of fresh | | | | Will Claude cave in? Will Valenza abandon gastronomic |
| truffles. | | | | philanthropy if the house fails to pay its way? Will |
| But the Palace survives because it is not merely | | | | puritans, moralists, and revolutionaries lurk in wait to |
| good, it is dazzlingly splendid. I don’t know a | | | | mow us down as we stagger from dinner? |
| restaurant in America anything like it. For sheer luxury | | | | The Palace tells us more than we may care to know |
| and excess, for exquisite detail, for its caviar, its wild | | | | about who we are. I am not Albert Schweitzer or |
| mushrooms, its pastry baskets sculpted in sugar, for | | | | Mother Cabrini. I have yet to meet a single saint in |
| the innocent unhaughtiness of its style and its | | | | this town sworn to poverty, chastity, and cottage |
| nouveau-riche glitter, nothing else comes close. It | | | | cheese. There are men and women noble and true, |
| may not yet be the best, but it is certainly…the | | | | dedicated to research or music or evangelism or |
| most. | | | | chasing the bogeyman from traumatized psyches, |
| Two driven egos rule: Valenza the incurable ham, and | | | | and they spend their income on horses and houses |
| Claude Baills, his brilliant young chef. Theirs is a true | | | | and Halstons and hatcheck girls. I buy 99-cent |
| folie à deux, a duet in madness. Each makes | | | | stockings at Alexander’s so I can feel |
| outrageous demands on the others. Frank roars. | | | | comfortable paying $6 a pound for goat cheese. I will |
| Claude threatens. Frank smoothes everything with | | | | continue to spend small checks to CARE and buy |
| green paper – it’s only money. He counts | | | | datebooks from UNICEF and be a Friend of the |
| every penny, telling anyone and everyone how much | | | | Library. But I won’t apologize for being a saint to |
| it all costs, amazed at his own extravagance… | | | | my stomach. |
| spending, spending. And Claude delivers. “He has | | | | 420 East 59th Street, 355-5150. |
| the eyes of a saint,” says Valenza. | | | | |