The Thanksgiving dinner that could have sucked, but didn't. Well, not really.

For a lot of reasons, my frugality and a sincere plan to take the GMAT in early December top among them, I didn't go home to California for Thanksgiving. I spent the three or so weeks preceding T-day refusing to believe that I'd have to spend it in NY. I feigned an optimism about making the meal myself; you know, having a couple of friends and my brother (who also opted out of a brief date with Pacific Standard Time) distract me from the solitude of my apartment, get the oven working, some smells in the air etc. Really though, all I wanted was for my Mom to say "This is Bullshit! Its Thanksgiving and you are coming home. Here's your ticket, see you at Long Beach airport at 7:55 on Wed." I didn't ask her to, and she made no such offer/demand. Had she, I'm sure the tone of this post would be one of a furious pre-teen, cursing her presumption, her inability to respect my independence, and the entitlement she feels to override my every decision etc. Let's all be grateful that that's not how things transpired.

Thanksgiving in NY became a reality on Wednesday night, and it was then, tired and hungry, hauling my suitcase up to the 2/3 platform from Penn Station, heading home from Boston, that I was glad I took precautions by way of reservations. I called to confirm our Reservation for 2 at Blt Prime, tomorrow, Thursday, at 5:30.

Popovers. They're so un-sexy; large, and fungal in the unruly way that they bake. They're light-hearted and whimsical, removed from any connotation of delicacy or high-brow, and I think its precisely this- their accessibility and their non-conformity (to the pan) that make for such delight when they're set down on the table. Well that, and the Gruyere. Served hot, with cold butter, and a tall, aluminum, barn style salt shaker, I'd contend they're what sustain Laurent Tourondel’s culinary enterprise. (His initials are the "LT," preceded by "Bistro" to make "BLT." Yes, I too wondered about the homage to the sandwich in the names of all these 'sophisticated' restaurants.) We were seated at a booth, the noise level more moderate than times passed, but the A.C. unnecessarily high, as usual.

The Popovers didn't come as promptly as they usually do; the waitstaff was far from well-oiled, they had "their B team on as" my brother so aptly put it. But they did come, eventually. And devour them we did. And because we did so so immediately, I don't have a picture for you. I'm new to this, ok? And while I'm sure I'll get there, I'm not quite unabashed flashing pictures at plates of food in public. Courtesy of Martha Stewart, who once had L.T. as a guest on her show, here's a glimpse of popover magic:

The tops are firm, and crisped with Gruyere cheese. The second they're pierced, a gust of stream puffs out, coming from the dense, hot, base of the popover. This part is moist, almost gooey, and so perfectly compliments the dry, crispy top. The variance of textures experienced in a single popover and the bite of gruyere are what make them so insanely satisfying.

I hate to say it, but there, about 5 minutes in, was the climax of the dinner. The rest was good, just not amazing. I had the Turkey, Amr had the Prime-Rib. They came with family-style sides: chestnut stuffing, ehh. Hen of the woods mushrooms which were amazing, like taking a bite of earth. The brussel sprouts were totally imbalanced, as though no restraint was exercised when sweetening their glaze. The sage carrots and green beans were both just good, and the mashed potatoes were definitely enjoyed, though I should admit that I have a hard time discriminating against this food. The turkey was generous in portion, but not in flavor- moist, bland, and chewy. There was cranberry sauce and gravy as well, and neither were memorable.

The dessert was fine too, we shared apple pie and flour-less chocolate cake and predictably given the meal thus far, neither shone.

The meal ended with something reliably delicious, just as it started. As if to atone for those who were less than impressed, or to ensure that those who were pleased return, L.T. drops another gratuitous bomb, this time, in the form of a two-bite caramel espresso brownie. While there's a crunch biting into this little wonder, the inside, a chocolaty, espresso-y ganache, could be slurped out.

Call me a sucker to this near insulting tactic of flanking a satisfactory meal with tasty freebies, but I will go back. In fairness, I've had more satisfying meals there- a fillet mignon, a swordfish steak, and grilled shrimp in times passed that were commendable. The Hen of the Woods mushrooms, a side on the regular menu (which I don't think I mentioned wasn't offered on this night) are ambrosial. I just don't think that a prix-fix tasting menu is this restaurant's competency; they do individual steaks well, aways cooked "just a little pink" if that's what was promised. But cooking a lot of the same dish early in the day I'm sure and served all night at BLT Prime is like asking the CSI peeps to solve a murder with just a dusting of fingerprints; there's much more in their arsenal that for sake of time and the uniformity of the menu was underutilized, making the challenge more challenging, and the team more suceptible to failure.

The BEST part about this meal, I repeat, the best, was that I now have the popover recipe. They have it printed on a little card in the basket that they're served in and several times I've forgotten to take it, or have lost it, but not this time. I'm immortalizing this 2 and a half inch piece of card stock here, and promise to get back to you with my attempt(s) at recreation.