Batifole

Batifole true story: a short while ago, a newly formed couple of babes I know spent a Saturday night eating dinner at Batifole. Both gourmands (read: gluttons), they ordered a kingly (read: grotesquely indulgent) spread. They shared a ramekin full of chef Jean-Jacques Texier's brain-boggling chicken liver brulé ($8), a delicately smooth, pinkish paste of whipped mousse, trapped under a dark amber caramelized crust, to be smeared on little golden toasts and dribbled with the accompanying blob of sweetly acidic berry preserve.