>> anthony: no elbows on the table? >> david: no. it's not -- it's not -- it's not proper. >> anthony: i'm a total failure as a dining companion. what -- what is that? what's that, you ask? an iconic escoffier-era classic of gastronomy? ho, look at that sauce. holy crap. the devilishly difficult lievre a la royale, a boneless wild hare in a sauce of its own blood, a generous heaping of fresh black truffle, garnished with thick slabs of foie gras, seared directly on the top of the cabin's wood stove. oh, damn. look at that. >> david: we're -- we're in a wooden shack, over 3 feet of ice and 100 feet of water. >> anthony: you are hopeless, hopeless romantics, gentleman. oh, jesus. look at that. oh. the seared foie is perched atop an ethereal suspension of joel robuchon-inspired potato puree, of course. >> david: this is cornas from