Five-Star Gluttony

MY GOOD FRIEND DANIEL, a well-traveled international jet-setter and frequent fine-diner, suggested that the next time he touches down in New York City we should try out Per Se, the most expensive restaurant at the new Time Warner Center-and the most talked-about. Per Se is said to be the most sophisticated dining in New York City, an unforgettable multi-course food orgy that leaves the guests spent (literally and figuratively-dining options are $125 for a five-course meal or $150 for nine courses) and sated. I wanted to try it.

Several phone calls later, I secured a reservation for four at 9:30 on a Sunday night. While it's not ideal to eat so much so late, Per Se's are some of the most elusive reservations in town, and being choosy is not an option. Daniel, his best friend Alex, my sister and I arrived on time and were seated almost immediately. We exchanged compliments, then silently observed Per Se's peculiar interior. A hodgepodge of large-scale stony-chic architecture, stuffy carpeting and staid taupe tones equaled a stifled atmosphere, Central Park view or no Central Park view. Later, Alex described it perfectly as "a cross between a really nice bank and a lounge."

Our waiter disclosed the dining options. "Some nights I would say go with the five-course," he noted primly, "but tonight the nine-course is particularly excellent."

He also offered supplemental options of shaved white-truffle risotto as well as a foie gras course, prepared hot or as a torchon, for an additional charge. In my excited state, I babbled incoherently to my sister-"What I really want to do is get the truffles but if we're here already I think I should also have the foie gras, since we're here anyway, just to taste the best of the best?" Looking back, I am embarrassed by my effluence. I was reduced to a puddle by the words "white," "truffles," "foie" and "gras."

We decided it would only make sense to have the full experience, and ordered the nine-course meal. With the exception of the first course-chef Thomas Keller's signature "oysters and pearls," a soft tapioca with island creek oysters and explosively flavorful Iranian Ossetra caviar-nothing, not the hot foie gras, nor the white truffles ceremoniously shaved onto delicate risotto, impressed me. Although my companions were mad for the truffle course, overall they, too, were unmoved.

I had had enough by course number three, but the dishes kept coming, and I carried on eating until I was nearly ill. It is rare that I do not leave food on my plate when I go out to eat. I make a general habit of sharing entrees rather than ordering my own. But at Per Se, I ate almost all everything until I was past full. In the agonizing hours that followed, I asked myself why. No one at Per Se was putting a gun to my head. I didn't have to finish the fillet of Pacific Mo'i, a lackluster fish with crispy skin served on strands of julienned stir fry, the pappy hunk of roasted lamb, or the dome of milk-chocolate mousse with the unfortunate sprinkling of sea salt. The only dish I left a significant portion of was course number four: Novia Scotia lobster with truffles, tiny tubers called "crosnes," and chestnut puree. The lobster was unpleasantly springy and didn't mix with its earthy accoutrements. But the breaking point that haunts was the flabby cube of braised pork wrapped in its own fat. Both the texture and richness repulsed me, but that didn't stop me from shoveling it in.

The reasons why I forced myself to eat food that I did not enjoy, though somewhat complex, can be explained. First, Per Se is supposed to be the best restaurant in New York. As when dating someone who is "good on paper," I was trying to force a connection. Second, it felt wrong to leave a $150 meal mostly untouched. I wasn't comfortable turning away food so precious. Still, after completing the four-hour-long assault on my digestive system, I couldn't help but feel resentful when we got the bill. The total could have sent the four of us to Rome. Instead, I had the privilege of paying to feel vile.

The next day, I had the worst food hangover of my life. In addition to physical illness, my first waking moments brought guilty, dirty feelings, as though I were piecing together the details of a drunken tryst from the night before. In A Meal Observed, Andrew Todhunter equates his guilt of eating so much and so well with "talking an exceptionally refined young woman you've just met into spending all day and night for three straight days in her apartment." I've never felt guilty after eating well. My guilt was a result of eating obscenely. The more appropriate sexual parallel would be a frat-party gang-bang.

I spoke to Samantha Heller, MSRD, a Senior Clinical Nutritionist at NYU Medical Center, to find out whether overeating can actually cause a person physical harm.

"I don't think one day of overeating will kill you," she said. Further into our conversation, Heller shed light onto the root of the problem. "There is this unspoken notion that we need to eat everything because it costs so much money. I'm sure that your body was telling you before reaching the seventh or eighth course that you didn't need more food, but there is pressure from either the restaurant or your friends or financial pressure that makes you feel like you need to eat more."

Only one of my three dining companions, my sister, shared my day-after misery. My friend Daniel, who could hardly walk when we left the table, was okay after a night's rest. And Alex, at six-four and 200 pounds, felt no pain. I cursed my decision to go to Per Se. Where do people get off serving nine-course meals? After my regretful night, the whole idea seemed ridiculous.

After a bit of online research, I came across the Food Timeline, a collection of related web pages edited by one Lynne Olver, which provided me with some history of this excessive culinary practice. The origins of classic French cooking, including the multi-course French meal, are traditionally traced back to the influences of the court of Louis XIV and the works of 17th-century chef and cookbook author François Pierre de la Varenne. This firsthand account of the Sun King's indulgent eating habits appears in LaRousse Gastronomique:

"I have very often seen the king eat four plates of different soups, an entire pheasant, a partridge, a large plateful of salad, mutton cut up in its juice with garlic, two good piece of ham, a plateful of cakes and fruits and jams."

That's at least nine courses.

Another interpretation comes from the Cambridge World History of Food of 17th- and 18th-century French cooking. Kenneth F. Kiple and Kriemhild Conee Ornelas write: "?haute cuisine served to express courtly aristocratic lifestyles. Only cooking and eating that demonstrated wealth, luxury, and pomp could accomplish this goal and distinguish the aristocracy in no uncertain terms from the rising middle class."

In many ways, this description parallels Per Se's allure. The restaurant's golden status was, after all, hyperbolically confirmed by both the 2005 Zagat Survey and the New York Times. As written in Zagat, if Per Se had enough votes to qualify for listing in its Top Ratings, it would have gotten the highest score ever awarded by the guide. Frank Bruni at the Times gave it the first four stars of his career as food critic.

"I am handicapped slightly in evaluating the service," wrote Mr. Bruni, "because the vigilant staff repeatedly recognized me, and kept a special watch over my table."

With respect to Bruni, chances are the kitchen "kept a special watch" over him too. After our disappointing night at Per Se, in varying degrees of fullness and dissatisfaction, my friends and I all agreed on one thing: Given the chance, with money not a consideration, none of us would go back.