Today was the day we set ourselves up for a borderline absurd back-to-back: Le Bernardin at 2PM, followed by Jungsik at 5PM (were we even thinking?), and yet the moment we arrived, the friendly front-of-house staff took our coats and ushered us into a dining room bathed in subtle, almost disconcerting light that gradually gave way to an intimate glow—like slipping into another world. As we settled in, I found myself falling for the place well before we even looked at the menu, which was swiftly explained to our group of four. We all opted for the ($135) prix fixe—an unbelievable offering at this level—and though the timing was tight for a doubleheader of this caliber, the early promise of Le Bernardin’s understated elegance left me convinced it was exactly where we needed to be.

I should note that we were a group of four thoroughly enjoying one another’s company, so I wasn’t overly focused on photography—hence the less-than-stellar images. Between the near-constant flow of plates and our close-quarters table, capturing pristine snapshots proved challenging, so my apologies in advance for the picture quality.

After the menu was thoroughly explained, the sommelier approached our table, tastevin dangling from his neck—once a vital tool for gauging wine in dim cellars, now little more than a nostalgic emblem—and we chose two bottles for the afternoon: a Sancerre Vacheron and, for the second, I handed him a $300 budget and asked for a dry, snappy Riesling. He surprised me with a Karthauserhof Schiefer 2021 at just $98, an unexpected gem that earned him serious kudos. Almost on cue, the amuse-bouches began arriving: first a tuna tartlet, then another small bite I can’t quite recall, and finally a velvety lobster bisque that practically stole the show. (8.0 /10)

The first appetizer to arrive was a flash marinated Fluke adorned with mini capers and croutons, served in a “brown butter vinaigrette.” Truth be told, out of everyone’s appetizers, this one resonated with me the least—it had a lot of potential, but came off a touch too oily and slightly overseasoned. That said, it was still a respectable opening act, even if it didn’t quite hit the high note I was hoping for. (7.9 /10)

An additional course we decided to indulge in—thank the gods we did—was a tuna preparation hammered paper-thin into a perfect oval, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with chives. But the real marvel lay inside: a delicate, toasted baguette layered with foie gras, which, for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, struck me with an unexpected wave of nostalgia. I couldn’t stop raving about it the entire meal; it was simple, to be sure, but in that simplicity lay something truly divine. (9.2 /10)

Another course soon arrived that left me over the moon: a “warm lobster carpaccio,” delicately sliced so each bite retained its oceanic essence, topped with a squash-herb salad, with a Thai curry–lemongrass bouillon. The interplay between acidity, heat, and the lobster’s richness was nearing perfection—exactly the kind of dish that makes you realize you could live on Thai curry forever, provided it always came imbued with this level of finesse. (8.9 /10)

When it came time for the main event, I opted to supplement the Dover sole (a $28 upcharge I’d pay again in a heartbeat), pan-seared to a golden perfection and topped with green olives and toasted almonds, all brought together by a bright lemon–olive oil emulsion. Each element felt meticulously balanced—the citrus tang, the contrasting textures, and even the briny pop from the olives I initially hesitated over—resulting in a dish that was not just harmonious, but downright addictive. (8.8 /10)

Now for the reason I’ll be returning to Le Bernardin every time I’m in New York City: the Peruvian dark chocolate tart, which wove in just enough warmth to contrast beautifully against a scoop of Tahitian vanilla ice cream, while two delicate chocolate tuiles added that perfect bit of texture. Sweetness, saltiness, and rich decadence all mingled in a way that was downright transcendent, and I’d be hard-pressed to name another dessert this year that left me this enchanted. We did order every other dessert on the menu as well—most of them proved every bit as lovely, with only a single slight misstep among the bunch. But let me tell you, if you’re here for lunch, treat yourself to the whole dessert lineup; it’s a showstopper through and through. (10.0 /10)

Finally, the petit fours arrived—though, truth be told, I can’t recall a single bite, likely because I was saving room for Jungsik, booked just an hour later. Yet as we lingered over the last sips of wine, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I simply didn’t want to leave, so enveloping was the ambiance and so genuine the hospitality. Le Bernardin feels less like a restaurant and more like an institution of New York City’s culinary canon: the impeccable service, the banter with our hilarious waiter (who jokingly deemed us “players” for attempting two such restaurants in one afternoon), and the consistently extraordinary seafood and desserts all conspire to create an experience that calls me back year after year. Eric Ripert, you’re a rockstar—thank you for making each visit feel like a homecoming.