2. Philly Cheesesteak at The Bazaar.
Aside from “spatchcock,” it's possible there's no better word in the culinary lexicon than “espuma.” At least if you have the sense of humor of an 8-year-old boy, which we do. And what's better than the word “espuma” than being told by a waiter, repeatedly, that you need to eat this dish over a plate because the cheddar espuma will likely rupture from your “air bread” and spill out uncontrollably?
This is what awaits you when you order the Philly Cheesesteak at The Bazaar, José Andrés' temple to modern tapas in the SLS Hotel. Outrageously thinly sliced Wagyu drapes over pointy bullets of “air bread,” which is filled with a lusty amount of cheddar espuma, that does, in fact, pour out when you bite into the … what? Sandwich? Hot cheddar projectile? (This was the name of my high school band, btw.)
If the entire thing tastes very much like Cheese Wiz and hot beef, well, it's supposed to. In fact, this is part of what's so great about this dish — it channels something totally low brow, but in a fun and creative manner. Which is really the place where this type of food is at its best. Take molecular gastronomy too seriously and it becomes pretentious and dull. Make stupid childish jokes about the word “espuma,” load up the cheddar goo, and get drunk of foamy martinis and you've won us over. Wheeeeee!!
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