Last week, the Guide announced its awards, and we remain at two stars. Naturally, I am delighted. The silence from my chest is only the sound of a calm, mature chef.
What is a star? A star is a distant ball of burning gas. A third star is a distant ball of burning gas that I did not receive. I will not let it define me. I will, however, spend the next 12 months perfecting a single dish: a duck egg in a nest of fried potato, which I have named Revenge. We open for the season on Tuesday. Pray for the egg.
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