Cafe Boulud....in a word: pretentious crap. Sorry, that's two words, I know. Maybe I'm just a stick in the mud, but I've been there twice and after two visits I'm convinced that there's nothing there I can't make at home. It's so pretentious, or did I say that already? Red wine glass filled 1/3 of the way for a minimum of $20 per. Puhleeze. What is that? Chateu Neuf du Poppe (sp?). The pate was like bland, lousy Braunschweiger. Some guy with a phony French accent comes over wearing a tray with a velvet strap around his neck and threatens you with a pair of tongs as he offers you bread as though it was gold. It was just bread, and nothing to write home about (not warm, not nuthin'). Considering the location, I'm not surprised. The rent must be incredible, and Daniel has certainly spread himself thin. I'd never go back. I don't like the feeling there that I'm being judged, and I certainly don't want to pay for the privilege.