An Apology to Wylie Dufresne

Dearest Wylie Dufresne,

You, sir, are The Shit. And by that, I mean the amazing The Shit, not the actual shit The Shit. The food that I watched you create and serve up last week at wd~50 in Manhattan was otherworldly.

If you're half as good at making love as you are at making dinner, I speak for us all when I say that we would love to see your version of the missionary (no doubt it's deconstructed and includes some kind of foam).

As I ate my holy-crap-every-bite-of-this-is-ridiculously-amazeballs dinner at wd50, I thought to myself, "If I ever got the chance to speak to The Mr. Wylie Dufresne, what would I even say?" Maybe I would start by telling you how much I loved that bowl of cauliflower soup with surf clams, ramps and smoked raisins (which looked exactly like this):

Or, I could tell you how I lost my mind over that stupid good, mind-bending "poached" egg and the edible shell with Caesar dressing, pumpernickel and lily bulb (which looked exactly like this):

I could save you some of the drool I drooled over that cocoa packet dessert with the "Rice Krispy treats."

Or maybe I decide to keep it simple and say, "Thanks, Sir Wylie Dufresne, for changing my food life forever on this night."

Instead, I went with this:

(Alice walks downstairs at wd~50 in search of the restrooms. She sees two signs on either side of a doorway that look like this:)

(Alice walks through the doorway that the signs point her through, but sees only sinks. She assumes that wd~50 does not expect her to piss in a sink and further realizes at this moment that maybe getting the wine pairing with the tasting menu was the wrong move for someone who gets drunk after three glasses of wine. If you're keeping count at home, she's on glass seven at this point. Which is no excuse. I'm just saying.)

(Alice turns to walk out of the sinkroom in hopes of finding the peeroom. Just then, Lord Grand Supreme Wylie Dufresne walks towards her. This is her one moment in life to speak to him. She says,)

Alice: Um...Where's the shitter?

The Chef Wylie Dufresne: (calm like Obi Wan Kenobi, badass like fucking Willy Wonka, pointing to those bathroom signs) Follow the signs. Then, just push the wood.

Alice: (stunned, but with a newfound confidence) OK.

(Alice walks back through the doorway and now sees seams in the wall where she hadn't before. She pushes the wood. The secret door in the wall opens up and the toilet is revealed. As soon as that hidden motherfucking door shuts, she bashes her head against the inside of it repeatedly.)

I'm so sorry, chef Dufresne. I so wish I'd have praised your works rather than ask you where I could put my poops. But, it was almost worth it just to hear you tell me to "push the wood." Thanks for the smartest, most delicious dinner I will ever eat. I'll be back (dining under a fake name next time) as soon as financially possible.

Follow City of Ate on Twitter: @cityofate.

KEEP THE DALLAS OBSERVER FREE... Since we started the Dallas Observer, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Dallas, and we'd like to keep it that way. With local media under siege, it's more important than ever for us to rally support behind funding our local journalism. You can help by participating in our "I Support" program, allowing us to keep offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food and culture with no paywalls.
Alice Laussade writes about food, kids, music, and anything else she finds to be completely ridiculous. She created and hosts the Dallas event, Meat Fight, which is a barbecue competition and fundraiser that benefits the National MS Society. Last year, the event raised $100,000 for people living with MS, and 750 people could be seen shoving sausage links into their faces. And one time, she won a James Beard Award for Humor in Writing. That was pretty cool.
Contact: Alice Laussade