This afternoon NBC held a lunchtime party promoting their "Locals Only" coverage. It was all very secretive: lunch would be served from a pushcart, like those wheeled stoves you see parked on every street corner in New York piled high with pink chicken. David Chang -- one of New York's very finest chefs, and the only one who can serve a meal for under $500 -- would man the grill. The top-secret location would be provided at the last minute, and guests were assigned a code word to gain access.


Reality turned out just as mysterious as I'd imagined. A velvet rope cordoned off a parking lot, with black-suited bouncers keeping the riffraff out. One attractive young woman took our orders -- chef's choice for me, vegetarian for Raoul -- which were forwarded to Chef Chang at the pushcart. An erstwhile maitre d' led us to seats at a picnic table.

Now, I've always been a picnic kind of guy, but in the past that's meant wilderness, not Soho intersections jammed with curious bystanders desperate to get in. When they discovered that a code word could gain them access, they ran through the dictionary. "Antelope?" one guessed. "Artichoke? Avocado?" Three strikes, you're out. Next!


I got lamb, both gamey and crusty (those are great in everything but a man), with sides of beets, greens, and white rice. Raoul got a vegetarian bun with noodle salad and something like rice fries. Diners descended like locusts on everything from foie gras to lobster, and there was nearly a fistfight over whether the duck was a confit or rillettes. ("Confit, you bastard!" I screamed.) Dessert was Chef Chang's legendary donut ice cream.


Despite my reservations, the sunny weather, the friendly crowd, and the spectacular food won me over. Sure, there wasn't a river, but there were taxis streaming by. There weren't any trees, but there were street signs and traffic lights. And there weren't any squirrels, but happily stuffed and sated I tossed toast points at the curious onlookers who scurried after them with delight.