Magazine article The New Yorker

BLT Burger; Tables for Two

Magazine article The New Yorker

BLT Burger; Tables for Two

Article excerpt

470 Sixth Ave., between 11th and 12th Sts. (212-243-8226)--BLT, as most New Yorkers have come to learn, stands not for the bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich (memorably cited, along with Baked Alaska and lobster thermidor, as "queer food," in an essay on Slate several years ago) but for Bistro Laurent Tourondel. First came BLT Steak, then BLT Fish, then BLT Prime, and last year we got the most unlikely offshoot of all: all-beef patties via a chef trained by Claude Troisgros and Joel Robuchon.

Burgers, timeless as they may be, are the restaurant raison d'etre du jour, as though space aliens, or Frenchmen, have concluded that the best way to colonize us is by cloning burger joints. Cinematic law dictates that there must always be a wrong note or two, a seam in the matrix, that gives away the contrivance, and at BLT Burger there are several: the ladies' room is stocked with unbeefy lit ("Cathy Uncovers a Secret," "The Gender Bias Prevention Book"); the music repeats itself (Frampton comes alive more than once an hour); and the menu offers spiked milkshakes, such as the Master Blaster, which consists of strawberry ice cream, coconut milk, and Mount Gay rum (you can be sure that Arthur Fonzarelli never ordered one at Al's). …

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