A reflection of the skill and talent of Chef Avner Samuel, Aurora has been consistently awarded accolades since its inception in 2003.
A editorial by Rod Dreher of The Dallas Morning News
Friday, February 6, 2009
Deep into what was without question the best meal we had ever eaten, my wife, giddy with pleasure, grinned and said, "This food makes me want to be good."
We laughed at the peculiarity of the sentiment, but I knew exactly what she meant. I've eaten some pretty great meals in my life, but this, this was sublime. It was both supper and sacrament, an aesthetic experience that did what high art is supposed to do: enlighten, uplift, transform.
How do you get from aesthetic delight to moral transformation? You first walk in the door of Aurora, Chef Avner Samuel's acclaimed Dallas restaurant. If you're anything like us, your usual public dining experiences involve crayons, not candles. It's hard to justify splurging at one of the city's finest restaurants when your rattletrap old house needs repairs. Besides which, how do you live down having to valet-park a minivan that doubles as a stale Cheerios habitat?
Lucky Drehers, some generous friends gave us a gift certificate to Aurora, and off we went. For the record, I had the black truffle risotto, the Viennoise of Dover sole and diver scallop in truffle pomme puree, Champagne and then a platter of chocolate dessert heavenlies that would have made Wonka weep.
Mind you, cooking is my hobby, eating my passion, but this was gastronomy on an exalted plane. As I ate, I couldn't help thinking of the 1987 film Babette's Feast, in which a French chef living in a wet, drab 19th-century Danish village prepares a once-in-a-lifetime grand meal for members of a pious sect, whose hearts have grown cold from their life of dutiful routine.
The rich food awakens something dormant in them: a capacity for warmth, for empathy, for gratitude and joy. Humble Babette, as it turns out, poured out her hidden creativity in an act of love for the people who had taken her in as a refugee. All partakers of her feast experience in her cooking a startling revelation of the divine, and a glimpse of the higher spiritual order that lies beneath and within the surface of our world. The kitchen genius makes spirit flesh, so to speak, and it changes the lives of guests at her banquet.
In theological terms, you call this a sacrament, which St. Augustine defined as "a visible sign of an invisible reality." As a snidely agnostic 17-year-old, I stumbled into the Chartres cathedral and was so overwhelmed by its majesty that my mind turned back to questing for God. Beauty proves nothing, but it can be a signpost leading one to a deeper understanding.
What invisible reality did Chef Avner's feast reveal on that startling January night?
For one thing, it re-enchanted the world. You lose your sense of wonder in everydayness. To taste what a gifted chef can do with mere rice, broth and fungus is to remember that greatness lies within the plainest matter, awaiting a creator's incarnational touch.
Similarly, it made us resolve to be more mindful. That dinner was extravagantly pleasurable, yes, but how often do we overlook the less lavish manifestations of grace in ordinary time and ordinary places? What ought we to cherish more dearly, and to do with more care?
That glorious meal also revealed to us the importance of prizing excellence. Our mass culture tends to exalt mediocrity and call it genius. We often suspect refinement and achievement as undemocratic. When you encounter true genius in a receptive spirit, it should inspire you to hold fastto high standards, and to make the best use of your own gifts.
Alas, I will never cook like Avner. But because of what that combustible sorcerer drew from his cauldron on that memorable night and sent to my table, I will be a better cook. And a better writer. Maybe even a better man.
Like Babette's feast, our dinner with Avner was as expensive as it was sumptuous, and perforce rare, especially in these austere times. But our unforgettable epiphany on our big night chez Avner is useful to the making of our own perspective. A taste of beauty, I find, whets one's appetite for goodness and truth.
Rod Dreher is a Dallas Morning News editorial columnist. His e-mail address is rdreher@dallasnews.com.