The sandwich board on the sidewalk outside Le Bec-Fin last week advertised, among other promotions, discounts, and specials, an express lunch for $15.23, which, of course, is the address (sans decimal) of the gilded salon on Walnut Street, west of 15th.
The incendiary Georges Perrier himself was planted at the end of the downstairs bar, holding court (if an audience of two so qualifies), decrying the abuses visited on French cuisine, the thanklessness of the media, the punishing financial losses that his properties were incurring even as ingrates (really only a handful, maybe only one) sent him letters (a letter?) accusing him of sacrificing his sky-high standards in pursuit of the almighty dollar.
He is a perfectionist, a prideful chef, easily wounded: “How many did I serve for Restaurant Week? Over 3,000. How many complaints do I get? One!”
He has his own small empire now: a place in Atlantic City; Table 31, the power steak house in the Comcast Center; Le Bec, with its gem of a downstairs bar called Bar Lyonnais; Georges in Wayne; and, well – Brasserie Perrier didn’t make the cut.
Perrier closed it abruptly after dinner on New Year’s Eve.