Best. Meal. Ever.

Superlatives are a slippery fish. They should be easy to catch, right? Best film, best book, best birthday... But once asked, their outsides congeal like day-old bacon drippings, and we fumble with them to grab onto something firm, something right. "Erm, uhhh.... Spaceballs? No, that can't be... Goonies? Close, but not quite... Dr. Strangelove? Wait, too dark... " What seems like the easist question to answer becomes, in its very answering, an inevitable impossibility.

Food is even less concrete than other arts. (Unless the Ladyfriend Companion has her way with a burger. She likes them cooked all the way through, the better to throw at my head when I tell her to stop complaining about her chipped tooth. [That could be taken the wrong way. The meat's really tough and overcooked, I mean. {Hm, I guess that could be misconstrued also. Let us forge on.}])

Meal preference changes. My best meal as a kid? Homemade Enchiritos. It had all the fixin's of a Taco Bell burrito, cooked lovingly in our decades-old microwave. (My hypothesis: The higher radiation levels of early Micros gave the cheese a meltier, gooey goodness unable to accomplish now.) A soft flour tortilla, spread thick with refried beans, topped in seasoned ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, Old El Paso taco sauce, then folded over and topped with more sauce and more cheese. Stick a toothpick in it and zuke that baby until all cheese is melted and sauce is bubbly. Let cool for 10 seconds, take a bite, burn the top of your mouth, let the boiling hot cheesy bite drop out of your mouth onto the plate, damn yourself for doing that again, wait another 2 minutes, and enjoy.

At 11, nothing's so good as cheese and meat and sauce. A decade and a half later, tastes expand. So the question of a Best Meal Ever necessitates many an asterisk and footnote and ever-increasing list of asides. Nostalgia accrues many points, swaying even the most hardened foodie away from the perfectly cooked monkfish and back to that pot of perfect chili eaten before the big game. A satisfying answer demands a massive system of specification, like animals and their many classes (family, genus, etc.) Is it a vertebrate? Mammal? Egg-laying multi-cell organism that breathes only bog water? I've gotten off track. Suffice to say, it's a hard question to answer. But one important enough to belabor the process.

For now, though, I have no doubt in my mind. My best meal took place in the spring of 2005, at the gone-but-not-forgotten Restaurant Bandol, in Portland, Maine. A full transcription of the experience would take many words, too many, and for me to say such a thing is remarkable. If a picture's worth 1000 words, a duck leg is worth, oh, 12,000. So I'll let the menu tell the story for me. Thanks, Erik and Jess.

-American Spoonbill Caviar with Creme Fraiche
-Caspian Osetra Hard Cooked Egg
-Winterpoint Oyster with 100-year-old Sherry Vinegar
-Italian Black Pearl Caviar with Coddled Egg
-Glazed Carrot Soup with Stewed Apricots
-Crispy Duck Tongue, sauce Graliche, Frisee Salad
-Maine Diner Scallop, Black Perigod Truffle, Creamy Leeks
-Crispy Calf's Brain, Capers and Cabbage in a Brown Butter Vinagrette
-Duck Tartare, Swiss Chard Wrapped Breast, and White Bean Cassoulet
-"Roquefort Papillon" with housemade Brownbread and Wildflower Honey
-Sorbet
-Creme Brulee
-Valrhona Chocolate Mousse Mille-Feuille with Creme Anglaise

Accompanying this was six small glasses of wine. I finished off with a coffee and housemade madelaines. Total Time: 4+ Hours. End result: Giddy euphoria, but that's not quite right. You've heard of Food Coma? This was Flatliners, prix-fixe style. They took me under and brought me back. I was changed that night. Into what--that is what we still don't know.

If you care to nibble on some of the tastes above, your best bet is Evangeline, Erik Desjarlais' newest foray in downtown Portand, ME. You might not get the Tartare or the Tongue, but by god, try the Crispy Calf's Brain. Best. Bite. Ever.