Of all the celebrated superstar chefs who rose to prominence in the nineties, Daniel Boulud is arguably the most cautious, the most deliberate, the one who holds his cards closest to the vest. Until the opening of his new venture, Bar Boulud, he operated a mere three restaurants in Manhattan, compared with six (and counting) for Jean-Georges Vongerichten and for those boisterous fine-dining entrepreneurs Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich. Unlike Jean-Georges, or the omnivorous Batali, Boulud has never deviated very far from his culinary roots. He is the last of this city’s great classical chefs, a Frenchman who traces his lineage back through the glory days of Le Cirque to the celebrated regional cooking of his hometown, Lyon. Yes, Daniel has outlets now in Vegas and Palm Beach, but in this country, his real terroir has always been that traditional bastion of New York fine dining, the Upper East Side. And his bedrock clientele are the bankers, lawyers, and assorted fat cats who, once upon a time, set the standard for the style of dining we used to call haute cuisine.
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