Created out of celeriac broth, lobster meat and cream, adorned with a crown of froth flavored with the coral of the lobster and served in a coffee cup, the lobster cappuccino is both playful and volumptuous, qualities I admire in a woman but hardly expect to find in a soup.

How could I have gone for decades without coming across anything resembling Chef Eric Ripert's purple mustard-shallot sauce, which accents his assemblage of foie gras, truffles, cabbage and black bass? The sauce is silky, grainy and spicy, and yet, after all, it's just mustard sauce.

How it is that his seared yellowfin tuna crusted with pepper and thyme and served with a truffled vinaigrette is better than all comparable preparations, even those of the celebrated regional chefs of Hawaii, for whom seared tuna is the building block of their culinary universe? Is this a divine gift, or does Ripert just know how to shop for tuna?

The fish at Le Bernardin is somehow not like other fish. It is minimally embellished, inordinately fresh, lovingly cosseted and unabashedly admired. Fish served here rises higher in the food chain than it does anywhere else, possibly because no other restaurant so understands and believes in fish.

—Alan Richman
GQ, "The Greatest
Restaurant in America"