LA FOLIE - Countdown to Foie-hibition...



It begins...

 
When it became increasingly apparent that the forces determined to outlaw the sale of the fantastically decadent "fatted liver of the goose," otherwise known as foie gras, were going to be successful, we made a series of reservations for as many meals as we could afford (and digest) in the months leading up to the fateful date: July 1, 2012.

The Upside:

The impending legislation did have some unanticipated benefits. Chefs were up in arms and madly preparing their best versions of this delicacy in countless special menus. There were dishes of seared foie, chilled torchons and country patés. The precious lobes had been grilled, seared, baked, frozen, flaked and liquified. These months we spent eating before the spectre of the long arm of the law and it’s restrictions on commerce, were a whirlwind of foie, in a cornucopia of flavors, textures and presentations.

The Downside:

Foie, truffles, and some other delicacy
(who notices after the foie?)



Months later, I find myself reminiscing about these meals, missing the spectacular and inventive preparations of this fatty delicacy, and wishing foie were more readily available. It’s hard to say how long the eagerly misinformed will continue to prevail. I know that while they have succeeded in shutting down one major California foie producer, (a small tragedy in this economy), they have not succeeded in turning anyone away from it who is so inclined. Foie will continue to be raised and to be eaten. While it may have to be purchased by the consumer before the Chef can prepare it, or given away by some establishments, it will not disappear. Prohibitions don’t work, they simply force people around the rules. That which comes from imposing one’s will on another without real purpose, always falls away in the end.

The Meals:

Of our many excursions (or as one waiter called them Sa-FOIE-ris), the one at which we almost cried uncle was one of the early outings. When one is looking to experience a true French delicacy, one has to head to the French,, and Chef Roland Passot was accommodating. He was more than accommodating, he just about buried us in foie.



The piece de resistance

 We thought we were badasses. We were "ready" for what he had to offer up. The man who was flitting about his kitchen like a whirling dervish in the kitchen had nothing on us. We had appetites for foie that could never be sated. The waitress warned us. We laughed. "Ha ha, we thought, we can eat all the foie you can throw at us." And we began. Appetizers of foie gras. Mains of foie gras. Foie gras specialities. There were only three of us, and the fact was I have never seen such large servings of foie. It was like this man had decided to feed the world, not just our little table of three. We powered through the appetizers, sailed through the first and second courses of foie laden delights, but by the time we hit the giant lobes of seared foie in a sea of tart summer cherries, the best among us were beginning to slow down. 

Foie Sliders



The plates kept coming, and we kept eating, but it was slow-going toward the end of our meal. We’d been beaten into sleepy comas of bliss, having been served mounds of the most delectable dishes I’ve ever eaten. Forced to admit to our waitress that we’d maybe, just maybe, had eyes a tiny bit bigger than our stomachs. But only a bit.

 The portions were massive compared to other fine dining establishments, but I can’t say we were sorry. Looking back, I’m delighted Chef Passot indulged our cravings so thoroughly. With no immediate foie on my horizon, I can at least, remember that night of bliss.

Chef Passot skills are legendary for a reason. Check it out for yourself, make a lasting memory of your own.

La Folie
2316 Polk Street
San Francisco, CA 94109
1-415-776-5577
http://www.lafolie.com





After the Fest Has Gone - (New Orleans Part Two)



Boudin Sausage Plate @ Cochon Butcher

The City has quieted down somewhat since the festivities have concluded. The loud whirring of the refrigerator truck that was keeping mountains of Abida beer chilled and at the ready for the crowds along Royal Street, has been replaced by the strains of a lone accordian player who has perched just below the ledge of our hotel window to serenade the few passers by. This particular musician has mastered only the chords of a single song, so the melody is unchanging, which as time passes becomes somewhat monotonous. This is unusual for New Orleans, the buskers here are generally very, very good. Nevertheless, I find the music soothing as it vibrates through the closed window of our hotel room overlooking the busy corner of Chartres and Madison, now nearly abandoned. Yesterday the sound of the party could be heard outside our window into the wee hours of the morning.



Duck @ Herbsaint

Nevertheless, we are able to get some much-needed rest before we head back out into the city for the second part of our stay, which, not surprisingly, also consists of unwinding with food and drink. This is, after all, what one does when in New Orleans. There will be just a little less street music as the City hunkers down in preparation for Jazz Fest, the musical equivalent to the "eye of the storm" as we pass through from one festival to another. Though we have enjoyed our whirlwind tour of the music and dance of our beloved New Orleans, we are ready for some time in the City that is all our own.

We have a grueling schedule ahead of us: shopping, stopping for drinks, visiting the cemetery and a lineup of reservations at some of the finest restaurants in the City. Poor me.
The Monday after Fest, we take a ride on the St. Charles Streetcar up to the Garden District to visit one of our favorite haunts, [Emile] Commanders’ Palace. The restaurant is a fixture in the city — having been run by the Brennan family for the past few decades. Its kitchen has been a training ground for such chefs as Emeril Legasse and Paul Prudhomme. Commanders is one of the original New Orleans fine-dining establishments. Currently led by Chef Tory McPhail, the kitchen behind those familiar swinging doors is a place both inventive and traditional. Behind these heavy black doors (one marked YES and the other NO, to assist in warning off potential oncoming traffic and averting culinary disasters), is a staff capable of the most current of dishes, while managing to evoke in every plate something of the lazy hot Mint-Julep Sundays of centuries passed.



"The" Bread Pudding Souffle
@ Commander's Palace

There are a lot of newer restaurants I will talk about in a moment, but Commanders bears mentioning, not just because it is established, representing the pinnacle of all that which is "Gone With the Wind" but because it is has managed to remain so, fulfilling the expectations of those who cling to a Southern milieu, while at the same time re-inventing itself . Chef Tory takes the traditional flavors and ingredients one expects in New Orleans and blends them into dishes that are light and flavorful and captivating. His style could be termed "Traditional FRESH." Behind the familiar bright turquoise exterior, lays a restaurant capable of delivering as memorable a gastronomic experience as any one of the newer, "hipper" restaurants that have sprung up in the Crescent City post-Katrina, such as Cochon and Stella! New Orleans takes such pride in the history of its food that familiar memes will surface in each of the restaurants around town in one form or another. Occasionally this repetition can seem a bit worn, but nothing in this restaurant will fail to deliver the potency of flavor that wasn’t around in such delicacy of layering even two decades past.

In addition to the plates at Chef McPhail’s table delivering consistently great food, Commanders is also beautiful. Inside, it boasts a glistening interior full of mirrors and linens and twisting passageways, evoking the essence of the mid-forties Deep South. The ambience providing the diner the means to time-travel back to an era when ladies wore gardenias in their hair and carried parasols to keep their skin unblemished by the sun, each accompanied by a gentleman in a Panama shade hat, who would never think to be without a [linen] coat and tie in the dining room. And Commanders maintains all of this historical elegance without for a minute giving the visitor the sense that they’ve stumbled into grandmas’ musty parlor, on the contrary, one is living in the moment — a moment preserved from a beautiful past, but as vital, alive and a part of the present as it ever existed in memory.



Lobster @ August

Commander’s Palace is a restaurant we have visited on every single trip to New Orleans. It remains our touchstone for the "City that Care Forgot," like standing at the foot of the Tour d’Eiffel in Paris or crossing the Plaza at the head of Main Street just beyond the entrance gates to Disneyland, one hasn’t really been to New Orleans until one has been back to Commander’s Palace.
We ate light on this occasion (or as light as we could given that forgoing the Bread Pudding Souffle at CP is simply not an option), as the longer we stay in NoLa, the harder it gets for us to maintain our Olympian-level eating skills. Commander’s bread pudding may be the best dessert on the planet. It is certainly the best version of bread pudding I have ever tasted. It encompasses everything about this staple of the South. Lovely spiced bread, slathered in butter and soaked in milk until it turns the consistency of pudding, then gently coupled with whipped egg whites and baked — a concoction so light and airy one would think it had been whisked by the wings of heaven’s happiest angels. At tableside, the souffle is gently broken open in the top center with a large silver spoon, the waiter then pouring a creamy serving of bourbon sauce from a tiny white pitcher directly into the steaming finished product. Like a saucer of milk beckons to a litter of hungry kittens, we lap it all up compliantly. Purr-fection.



Gnocchi @ Herbsaint, slathered in cheese!

Full and sluggish, we cross the street to wander the Lafayette Cemetery. It is our custom to visit here each time we dine at Commander’s, after which we venture out into the Garden District to stroll amongst the homes that themselves are the stately remains of old Dixie. There are flowers everywhere, in this climate that encourages a multitude of foliage. I assume this plethora of beautiful growing things is how the area got its name. Indeed, the blooms are abundant.

That evening (it is the Monday after Fest) Herbsaint is our destination of choice, which is why we tried so desperately at lunch to "save room for dinner." Originally the brainchild of Chefs Donald Link (Cochon) and Susan Spicer (Bayona), Herbsaint is an upscale "bistro" style resto in the CBD, just down the street from John Besh’s August. Though she was part of the team that helmed the restaurant in its infancy, Chef Spicer is no longer associated with the restaurant creatively, now concentrating her artistic efforts on Bayona, which is her original enterprise. Bayona is in the heart of the Vieux Carre and is an excellent spot to dine, but it so happens we didn’t visit it this time down South. It’s a shame, but I simply can’t eat twice a night. My bad.

The following day we slept in a bit before undertaking our annual walk down to Magazine Street for a little shopping and more eating. I would suppose that many of you might prefer a taxi, as it is a number of miles and quite a hike, but we look forward to the long walk past Canal, the Central Business District and into the quaint section of town that lies just outside the Quarter. We actually met a regular visitor to the City who had never been further out of the French Quarter than Cochon in his five trips to NoLa. I found that more than a little bit shocking, not to mention short-sighted food wise. There is so much to eat beyond the tiny square of French-infused New Orleans. There is the rest of a big, vibrant and beautiful City.

Duck Breast ala "Besh" @ August

We arrived at Cochon Butcher if not starving, certainly ready to dive into a good portion of the offerings to be found at this local treasure. Cochon Butcher is the tiny "hole in the wall" that is part butcher shop, sandwich counter & wine bar that will be found tucked into a tiny space (just a bit bigger than my dream clothes closet will be) at 930 Tchoupitoulas Street. The eatery is helmed by Link’s current partner, Chef Stephen Stryjewski. His food is straightforward, but chock full of complex flavors. And like any good wine bar in New Orleans, they also serve hard liquor. To geaux, no less. Absolutely divine. Nuff’ said.

Our evening reservations for Tuesday were at Chef John Besh’s August, a jewel in the C.B.D. crown. Having visited last year with our kids, we decided we had to make a return trip to see if it was as good as memory served. It was. We even had the same amazingly gifted server, who took us through the meal like a pro. Halfway through, I look up to see a tall (very tall) man in white with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on another human being. They were like big blue high-beams. It was his Besh-ness. In person. I confess that my feminine heart was a-flutter as he welcomed us so personally to his restaurant. Nice touch. Ladies, I cannot stress enough. His Besh-ness is as impressive as his food.


Duck in Broth with dumplings
@ Root

The following day we wandered the Quarter, making sure to hit all our favorite t-shirts stops, including any new ones that had particularly fetching versions of "I left my heart in New Orleans’ or any iteration thereof, for our friends back home. There is one worth mentioning, called "Fleurty Girl" that is chock full of lovely tees adorned with all the best inside jokes favored by the natives of the Crescent City. If you hanker for the Vo-dou (Haitian original of Voo Doo) there is a charming little authentic shop run by practitioners directly behind the Place d’Armes called Voo-Doo Authentica. All are definitely worth a look see.

We continued to wander the French Quarter looking for carry-away gifts until late in the day. Too late for a major meal as we’d secured reservations that evening at the new hot spot, Root; but the BH was hungry so with dinner still a few hours away, we pondered our available choices. We both suddenly realized we hadn’t yet taken a "ride" on the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone. We immediately headed up Royal toward Canal and stopped in for a drink. The bar was almost empty, which is rare, so we sat at the center of the "carousel" and let it carry us away. I had a milk punch, a new staple this trip, and the BH enjoyed their version of a Hurricane. The bar is circular, overhead is the topper to an old-fashioned merry-go-round; the seats each carved to resemble various animals seen on the familiar ride. It rotates, giving those in the seats surrounding the bar an opportunity to peruse the room from all angles (or just to become dizzy with booze consumed at its counters). This is a landmark destination in the City, and though the bar is novel, customers come mostly for the music. The piano bar is legendary, hosting such incredible talent as Tom McDermott and Jon Cleary. It had, in fact, been packed the entire trip, as it was one of the destination locations for local musicians at Quarter Fest. Newly renovated, the piano bar is now twice its former size — allowing a much more comfortable view of the entertainment. Perfect break in a long day. We left refreshed, both our buzz and our moods were significantly improved. And the bear was no longer hungry.



Meat & Pickled Bits Sampler @ Root
(absolutely to DIE for)

We got back to the hotel and had a brief siesta before dressing for dinner. Root was recommended to us some time ago by Chef Dean Dupuis (formerly of Pican in Oakland) who had heard multiple glowing reviews of the place and insisted we put it on our itinerary. Trusting his judgment in all things culinary, we headed to Root expecting to be pleased. I had no idea just how much so I would be. The decor is extremely modern chic, capturing an underground vibe, its green and wood interior recreating in my mind a space that felt much like a cave at the base of a tree. I had the feeling I was visiting an upscale hobbit nest in New York City. Only I was above ground, and in New Orleans. It’s absolutely one of the most successful interior decorating efforts I’ve encountered to date. Magical as Disneyland and extremely inviting. Now for the food.

The menu is varied, with plenty of choices for everyone, but one of their features is a "meat platter" that is a mountain (and I mean a mountain) of meats and pickled goodies. We had a modestly priced version, as we wanted to try other dishes, and it was almost too much for us. There is a $50 dollar version I am dying to try, as this was such a memorable food experience it still keeps me up nights salivating just thinking about it. The meats were house-cured and varied, tongue, liver, salumi, you name it. The assortment of pickled accompaniments were likewise varied, containing pickles, onions, peppers, vegetables of all shapes and consistencies. If it can be pickled they will bring it. The pickling itself was perfectly acidic, some of the selections a bit spicier than others. They also brought this miniature tube of a lovely house mustard to be applied as desired to the combinations. Perhaps it was the "Choose Your Own Adventure" aspect of the serving methods I liked as much as the food, but whatever the reason, I was seriously overwhelmed by the heavenly variety of goodies in my mouth. This is a dish to be had, and had again... and again. They also do a magnificent scallop surprise in a box that is as imaginative in presentation as it is delicious. Do not miss Root if you are ever in New Orleans. Seriously, y’all, do it.



Deconstructed Bananas Foster @ August

That was our last evening in the city, and as we packed up our room, we couldn’t help but comment on what a perfect rip this had been. Music everywhere, plenty of booze, great food and for the most part perfect weather (except the two-day thunderstorm, it was clear for 8 days, which never happens). We took one last walk down to the Riverfront before catching our cab to the Metairie Airport. There is just something about the Mississippi. The familiar smell off the water, carried along on the cool breeze as one walks down Decatur; the calming sound of the water as it laps the rockbed on the shore as one approaches the foot of the steps that take all travelers who venture it, right down to the water’s edge. Her gifts are my last bit of lagniappe before leaving the city I love like home. As we turn to go, The Mighty Mississippi calls on the breeze, she whispers "Don’t go. Stay and rest yourself a bit longer. But if you must leave, do come back. I’ll be here to welcome you when you return. Always." And she is, with her magic and her quiet and her ghosts. I gaze out over the expanse, remembering in the silence all those lost to her waters just seven years ago. They are here in spirit, keeping watch, as the water whispers "Always..."

"Y’all come back..."

Root
200 Julia Street (in the Warehouse District)
New Orleans, LA  70130
504-252-9480
http://www.rootnola.com/

August

301 Tchoupitoulas Street

New Orleans, LA  70130

504-299-9777

http://www.restaurantaugust.com/

Herbsaint

701 Saint Charles Ave

New Orleans, LA  70130

504-524-4114

http://www.herbsaint.com/

Cochon & Cochon Butcher

930 Tchoupitoulas Street

New Orleans, LA  70130

504-588-2123

http://www.cochonrestaurant.com/

Hotel Monteleone

214 Royal Street

New Orleans, LA  70130

504-528-1019

http://www.hotelmonteleone.com/

FIFTH FLOOR - Foie Fest 2011 “Twitter” pated by Chef David Bazirgan

Every once in awhile the stars align to bring with them an opportunity.  As it so happens, astral chance provided one such gift to my lovely little family over the holidays.  I must say that we took full advantage of it.

Heavenly Oyster

Twitter is an unusually chaotic form of communicating, but the connections that “tweeting” can form between members various groups of similarly interested people is impressive.  For some, the spontaneous voice it fosters can lead one to trouble, for others it can lead to delightful opportunity.  It’s all about thinking before you tweet, people.  Careless words can fly out into the Twitter-sphere to linger, haunting one with missteps.  But a thoughtful query can reward us with a new form of genuine human connection.  Some people might toss off a tweet as casually as a hat flies onto a coat rack; but my advice would be to pay a bit more attention.  Remember that what is made public remains so in perpetuity.  Our comments often land with unexpected affect, especially in the Land of Twitter.

In my case, a particular Twitter conversation between myself and @theDapperDiner, a fellow foodie particularly astute in where to find great dining, led to the most wondrous of offerings. I’d thrown him a challenge: find me a resto where my daughter could have some yummy foie over her Christmas holiday in the States.  Visiting from Rome, Italy, she was in the mood for loads and loads of the soon-to-be-banned substance.  @TheDapperDiner responded quickly to my query, mentioning several possibilities.  Among his suggestions were Lafitte’s on the Marina and Fifth Floor.  As the discussion progressed, @bazsf  (aka FF’s New Executive Chef, David Bazirgan) jumped into our twitter thread with an offer to prepare a 12-course Foie Dinner for me and mine.  After pinching myself heartily in disbelief at receiving such a generous offer, I discovered I was indeed, awake.  So before he had time to reconsider, I responded with an enthusiastic Yes!  It was on...

The Untweeted Course, Part One:
Seared Foie Gras

The Untweeted Course, Part Deux
(Terrine of Foie Gras with Toast)

A few weeks later, in the dark, wintry cold of California December in San Francisco, we arrived at Fifth Floor.  The wait staff appeared green with envy at what we were about to enjoy, mentioning that Chef Baz had been laboring intently over various ways to present the delicacy to his guests.  (Pinch self again, at being the actual “guests”)  Chef had, indeed, worked up an imaginative and unusual tasting menu that began with an apple cider concoction and ended with foie ice cream and cake!  All but one course featuring foie gras (Chef Baz in his wisdom opting to omit the foie from the palate cleanser).

After the cocktails were brought out by the waitstaff, I looked up to hear the next course presented and did a movie-worthy double take.  I was dumbfounded to see that we were being served by Bazirgan himself.  That delightful gesture was a thread throughout the evening and I was thrilled.  I like to think it was because I’m special, but in reality, he’d just worked up the menu, and may have been the only one he felt could describe his preparations correctly.  Whatever his reasons, it made for a very special evening, indeed.   We felt like a thrilling combination of family and the judges on Iron Chef, as he showered us with the fruits of his labors.  As it happens, Chef Bazirgan live-tweeted the event, so rather than my feeble attempt at reciting the menu, let’s recap in the Chef’s own words:

Tweet one:
@bazsf (david bazirgan)
Aperitif , foie gras hot toddy http://pic.twitter.com/w93rO5ey

Nantucket Bay Scallops

An imaginative cocktail that tasted of apple and a hint of buttery foie, it was intriguingly flavored, its heat nicely warming any lingering chill from our brisk walk in the December cold.  The fatty richness of the foie was nicely offset by the spices in the beverage. The cocktail reminded me a bit of an apple pie that had been subtly laced with bacon, but the flavor profile was a bit more elegant and complicated than my clumsy description might suggest.  It was a lovely way to begin a meal held in the frigid heart of winter.

Tweet two:
@bazsf (david bazirgan) 
First course , island creek oyster, bearnaise glacage, grated foie, grey mullet bottarga http://pic.twitter.com/8k8OYLp3  

Chef Baz prepared each of us a blissful oyster, still in the shell and presented appetizingly on tiny plates, cuddled in their shells and bathing in a blanket of foie-flavored goodness.   These single bites of delectable perfection glided creamily over the palate. The perfect opener for our delectable adventure.

Tweet three:
@bazsf (david bazirgan) 
2nd course; winter harvest, foie mousse , pomegranate gastrique , za'atar , walnut http://pic.twitter.com/zG8kScmX 

 This leafy salad of bitter greens, was crisp and refreshing after the rich and creamy oyster. The wonderfully acidic gastrique of pomegranate, the nutty sesame of the za’atar and walnut all blending into a rewarding flavor profile.  And we can’t forget the foie gras mousse.  Another hit... what could be next?



Pheasant Roulade



Tweet four:

@bazsf (david bazirgan)   

3rd course Nantucket bays, blood orange gel, sea cress, Vin Jaune foie monte , satsuma http://pic.twitter.com/aC8yf1jc 

The tiny Bay scallops were perfectly cooked.  The tiny buds of briny fish were complimented beautifully by the richness of the foie, and the acid of the various citrus components added up to culinary magic.

Tweet five:

@bazsf (david bazirgan) 



4th course Pheasant roulade, prune, candy caps, crosnes, purple mustard greens, squash gnocchi @FoodAprecianado need a picture posted! 



The pheasant was mad good!  Rolls of beautifully prepared roulade covered in jus, the greens and the squash another perfect balance.  I love a well done bird, and this concoction was particularly toothsome, blending blissfully with the hint of fruit in the prunes... and the tiny gnocchi were killer.



Venison



Tweet six:

@bazsf (david bazirgan)

5th course Venison Loin, grains of paradise, celeriac, foie powder/espuma , chestnut, pain d'epices http://pic.twitter.com/yoHkAX6X

Venison carries with it the flavors of the hunt.  The meat’s natural flavor is almost spicy, the elements of the forest the animal consumes forming in alchemic fashion flavors that have always reminded me vaguely of cinnamon.  The venison in this dish was so moist that its natural juices melted into a lovely gravy, enhanced by the requisite foie in the foamy espuma.  The toasted slice of nut-crusted pain d’epices providing a lovely textured crunch against the toothsome slices of  meat.  We were getting full, but that’s never stopped us before!

Tweet seven:
@bazsf (david bazirgan)
Dessert ; foie GRAS ice cream lolli, cotton candy, yuzu/ foie gras cake foie gras buttercream , yuzu mousse,Francis Ang http://pic.twitter.com/gSMCx5ey



Foie Cotton Candy

 The first of these two dessert treats was a lovely cotton candy dish that was both light as air and fantastically plated.  The second was a tiny little cake made with, you guessed it, foie gras.  It was rich but not overly sweet, which was good because by this point we were near to bursting.  The two desserts were topped off by a platter of fruit gelatins or pate de fruits.  Tiny, succulent sugary treats to conclude a magnificent feast.

As I recount an evening filled with such delicacies, I can’t help but think of the impending ban of foie gras that will hit California this July.  Spear-headed by vegetarian/vegan zealots, and mast-headed by several well meaning celebrities, it is a short-sighted and outrageously misplaced law.  I respect those who choose not to consume animal proteins, but resent the desire others seem to have to impose their own morality on those around them.  The subject is less a debate about the alleged cruelty of foie gras production than it is about the almost religious posturing of people who believe the consumption of any animal protein is immoral. The anti-foie group would outlaw any meat if they could, foie is simply the easiest target because it is a small industry without high- profile lobbyists and a history that is too easily misrepresented or misunderstood.  Much of the horrific facts that are presented as truth are, in reality, a fairytale.

Foie Cake

Some online resources to better inform the diner:

http://www.artisanfoiegras.com/about/

http://incanto.biz/2009/02/01/shock-foie/

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMA5J3gfxNQ&feature=player_embedded
http://www.zesterdaily.com/zester-soapbox-articles/1173-don’t-ban-foie-gras
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/16/us/in-california-going-all-out-to-bid-adieu-to-foie-gras.html
http://la.eater.com/archives/2011/10/17/local_chefs_rally_to_keep_foie_gras_legal_in_ca.php
http://restauranteugene.blogspot.com/2011/07/foie-gras-our-story.html

SIGN THE PETITION TO STOP THE BAN: http://artisanfarmers.org/

To say that this was an unusual and imaginative journey in food preparation would be an understatement.  Chef Bazirgan was on a mission to create, to amaze and to entertain and he succeeded brilliantly.  When I thanked him via Twitter, he responded with

@bazsf (david bazirgan)
@FoodAprecianado Right on, So stoked to cook with that much foie , you are much appreciated!!!

What a host!  My recommendation?  Stop by Fifth Floor, Bazirgan is as talented as he is easy on the eyes.  Check it out, make a memory of your own.

Fifth Floor Restaurant
(Within the Hotel Palomar)
12 Fourth Street
San Francisco , CA 94103
Phone: 415.348.1555
www.fifthfloorrestaurant.com
@bazsf

ATELIER CRENN: An Evening of Art and Alchemy

Opening Notes, Foie & Pumpkin caviar...

Some people are born possessed of a boundless desire to make beautiful things and to share that beauty with the world around them.  It is how they communicate.  I have always identified myself as an artist.  When I was younger I envisioned my future self living in a dark and barren garret, filling canvas after canvas with mood, beauty and emotions — my world view would be realized in oil paint.  I imagined I would sell these paintings to earn my way in the world.  I took every class offered in high school and applied to be accepted at what was then the California College of Arts & Crafts.  For a young painter, it seemed the Julliard of its time.  Though I was accepted, I never made it to art school.  When it came time to put down the deposit, my father casually informed me that he could no longer afford it.  He’d paid an overdue bar tab with the monies in a trust account reserved for my tuition.  Visions of my garret faded as life took me on another journey.

Crackling fish skin
and bits of caviar

Although my imagined successes in art school failed to materialize, the need to express myself artistically never diminished.   I continued to interpret life via my muse, and the mission to create  tangible beauty fueled many youthful decisions. It shaped who I became.  Born with an artist’s brain, I struggled with math, yet could focus for hours on a pencil sketch in an attempt to capture the shadowed minutia of a human hand; the gentle slope at the nape of a neck.  A free-spirited child of the seventies, the only college classes I never missed were art-related.

A tiny bubble of chocolate,
more fragile than an eggshell,
meant to be lifted to the mouth
where it exploded in a burst
of liquid ambrosia
spilling across the palate

Once I started working there was less time for painting, but I always managed to find some outlet, eventually becoming a professional designer of theatrical costume.  Manipulating the fluid and dramatic lines of fabrics and millinery to enhance an actor’s performance on the stage was a rewarding pursuit indeed.  There were moments of personal and professional triumph that will last me a lifetime.  Before retiring several years ago, I was fortunate to find myself mentoring the next generation of talented young designers.  Watching these gifted young women flourish as they expressed themselves in the creation of beauty was inspirational.  We experimented together.  We shared successes and failures.  We grew.  We spoke the language of art, and it was good.

Unable to live a life absent some artistic endeavor, I now use language.  My labor of love is to craft a sentence precisely, to capture the essence of the emotional flavor of everything I experience,  and to share that joy with others.  There is no success greater than having made the effort.  No matter the medium, the process of translating life to art has always felt familiar, coming to me as naturally as I breathe.  I am connected to it, and it to me.

The infamous Foie Gras Log.  Nuff said

When I stepped into Atelier Crenn in San Francisco for a holiday meal with my visiting daughter, the Wandering Lawyer,  I was flooded with a palpable sense of connection to Chef Dominique Crenn's sensibilities.  It was clear we shared a kindred spirit.   Atelier is French for “workshop,” but I believe its usage in this context more closely resembles what we would term an “art studio”.  Her father was an artist, his Atelier Papa Crenn providing the inspiration for the name of her own establishment, which is decorated throughout its minimalist interior with an artist’s eye for detail.  The furnishings are precise, there is no doubt that a great deal of thought went into its layout. Sprinkled with sleek, amber tables whose wood glows beside soft green walls, the back wall is glass and provides a view into the kitchen, where Chef Crenn can be seen darting about, working her magic.  Occasionally one can hear a vibrant voice shout something in French.  The frenetic activity behind the glass is mesmerizing.    The restaurant manages to be clean and modern without being cold or dispassionate.  One wall is lined with elaborate lamps, sconce-less crystal spirals in appearance more fuse than lightbulb—  they are intriguingly beautiful.  There are personal touches— a small oil painting of a sailboat that hung on the wall just by our table.  Signed only “D. Crenn, 1973.”

Magic Mushrooms.  Flavors varied from woodsy
to something perhaps reminiscent of marshmallow
then to an herbal acidity... mind-boggling
in its complexity

I recognized something of myself in that simple little painting.  I have small canvases tucked away in corners of my home, recalling a time when I sat in my mother’s house and created for creation’s sake.  It is easy to imagine a young Dominique standing at an easel in her father’s atelier, painting to pass the time, sharing a passion with a parent.  My mother was a painter.  That’s how it starts.  If one is inclined, any exposure to art leads to that self-awareness: the knowledge that this is what one was born to do.  Starting a fire that burns for a lifetime.  I smiled in the realization that she’d been born to it, too.

The Alchemy Machine
prepares a warm concoction
of cinnamon and citrus

That Chef Crenn’s world view is that of an artist is unmistakable in everything she does. Throughout our meal we were presented with one remarkably expressive dish after another, each stunningly beautiful.  It was December, so her visuals on this visit recreated a lengthy foray into a dark and wint’ry forest.  My palate was tantalized as the various combinations of flavor danced on my tongue, daring me to experience them, to give myself over and succumb entirely.  Often these flavors seemed to me to defy any single identity of taste.  A plate of mushrooms, tasted at one moment of umami and earth; the next bite of the same dish gently sweet and effervescent.  It was a little like listening to a carefully orchestrated piece of music, the melody pleasing to all but each of us hearing a slightly different song.  Sirens performing variations on a forest.

Chef Crenn succeeds on a grand scale.  The thoughtfulness in her dishes dares her diners to travel down that forest road beside her.  I could hear the wind in the trees.  I felt the roar of a campfire.  I experienced this meal with a sense of wonder, at her almost alchemic skill with ingredients.  Maybe her mushrooms were, indeed, magic.

Re-purposed Pear... in appearance a faux fruit,
in taste a heavenly ice cream
in a bed of powdery goodness

Her website says it beautifully: “Atelier Crenn, a painting.  An empty white canvas.  With tools... a brush, paint and a vision, creativity is given its breath.  Here from this place, the artist can suggest emotions.  A lasting moment from childhood... little drawers of heartbeats.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Go.  Treat yourself to an experience that will last a lifetime.  For myself, I can’t wait to see where she’ll take her diners in the Spring.  A budding garden?  The French countryside?  Wherever it will be, it will be an adventure not to be missed.

Atelier Crenn - Poetic Culinaria
3127 Fillmore
San Francisco, CA
415-440-0460

Note: Parking is non-existent, so the restaurant shares valet services with the Balboa Café at Filbert and Fillmore for $16.

Service: Excellent
Noise level: Perfect for conversation
Price: $125/pp for pris fixe - excluding wine

MANRESA - On the Occasion of My Last Winter Garden

A little over a year ago, I had the privilege of dining at Manresa in Los Gatos.  It was my birthday celebration, and what could possibly be more special than dinner for two in one of the world’s premiere restaurants?

An Imaginative Amuse Bouche

While sitting in the tiny foyer waiting for our table, my glee at glimpsing the kitchen preparing the night’s repast became evident to the well-dressed man who I mistook at that time for the Mâitre d.  He approached and we chatted.  Being a food writer, I asked about the restaurant’s upcoming plans, and he told me that they were building a sort of garden bar, the specifics of which he did not disclose as it was to be something of a surprise.  Polite and informative while holding back any real detail about the planned project that might spoil it’s launch, I found him charming.  I’d met him before, on a previous trip to Manresa, and he was no less gracious on this second occasion, remembering me and addressing me by name.

Grapefruit & Fennel Ceviche of Scallop with Truffle

At some point during the meal, Michael and I (he’d introduced himself by this point) got to talking about the wait staff.  I’d become increasingly transfixed by their orchestrated movements, the way each one always came in one side of the room and left by the other, circling the tables as naturally as water flows downstream.  They were graceful, more graceful than many I’ve seen, and I’ve been to quite a few Michelin-starred establishments.  It appeared to me that they were actually choreographed.  Since I have a theatrical background, I wondered if they were indeed rehearsed in this seamless ebb and flow of perfect service.  I asked Michael if this were the case. He smiled, beaming, clearly proud of the effort and pleased that I had recognized this attention to detail.  I asked him if I might come back and interview them (and him) on the intricacies of their specific routines.  He replied that I would be most welcome to do so.  I wish now that I had managed to find the time to schedule the interview.  The opportunity has passed.

Michael Kean was Manresa’s Manager, but he was more than that.  Losing him, they lost a friend and a presence that cannot be replaced.  Certainly the restaurant will not suffer any lack of attention to detail, nor will it become less than it was, they will see to it that a great talent is brought in to fill the void.  But I felt it important to take a moment to let the world know that anyone who missed out on an evening with Michael Kean, missed something truly remarkable.

He wasn’t just the Manager, he was your host for the evening.  The kindly uncle who politely saw to it that each patron’s experience was something better than flawless, something even bigger than memorable.  I met him only twice, but he knew who I was on that second occasion, and I felt as though the restaurant was open just for me.  That everyone else dining there were guests at my table.   I'm sure all the other guests were made to feel the same way.  And that’s just how Mr. Kean would have wanted it.

Into the Vegetable Garden

At the conclusion of this magnificent meal, Michael asked me if I would like to stop by and visit the Chef in the Kitchen. An invitation to The Inner Sanctum! Of course I said “yes!” faster than a smitten teenager responds when first invited to the prom.  I cannot emphasize enough how lovely the experience was, and how much it was enhanced by Mr. Kean’s smooth management of the environs.  We rarely notice those who manage.  We don't notice because nothing goes wrong. The people who make things run smoothly, who spot problems before they happen, who solve, who labor to protect us from the things that might lessen our adventure protect us from the things that might spoil the moment.  Michael Kean was such a man, more guardian angel than administrator, he cradled you in the warmth of blissful abandon inside the cocoon of experience that is Manresa, until it was time to return to the less than perfect world outside those doors.  It was for me a perfect birthday, in large part, because Michael Kean had made it so.

Don't get me wrong, the meal was remarkable as well.  Chef Kinch is a master of the perfect meal.  We began with petit four of “red pepper-black olive” which was a red bell pepper pâtes de fruits mingled with black olives.  Next up were garden beignets seasoned with a lovely concoction called “vinegar powder.” The wine that was poured to accompany this delectable treat a Bailly La Tiere.

Enchanted Oysters

The oyster, aptly titled “elemental oyster” arrived on a bed of seaside rocks, looking hand sculpted of some beautiful, exotic stone ---  opening to reveal a large and luscious bite of meat.  Salty, seaworthy, the water refrain continued.

Next was a red enamel bowl of raw milk panacotta, and beautifully prepared Monterey Bay abalone, the hint of radish giving the briny dish a bit of earthy balance.  It was followed by a lovely garden green velouté, a sort of soup with Orleans mustard cream, assorted vegetable purees, and a delightful Riesling from Marin County.  The wine pairings are as precise as the feet of the dancing waitstaff.

We savored the scent of house made bread and sampled our Nantucket Bay Scallop Ceviche, delightfully enhanced with grapefruit, fennel & black truffle.  Divine.  As we nibbled we sipped a crisp, refreshing Ryan Chenin Blanc from Monterey, our wine tour of California landing in every major wine-producing port.

The shellfish in bonito butter was a mix of octopus and dungeness crab accompanied by a Cheverney Domain de Sabard Sauvignon Blanc.

One of the highlights of the meal was the next dish an amusing and whimsical salute to the winter “garden” theme of the evening: a platter of warm greens on a bed of faux “dirt” — picturesque and toothsome.  The wine, a Chenin Blanc, Chateau de Pierre.

The garden itself was followed by another bowl of liquid enchantment, the Winter Tidal Pool, warm, inviting and delicious.  The colors somber but the flavors inviting and reinvigorating.  Served with an Arvois red wine from the Jura region.

Sea Bass

After warming us with the soup, we were presented with a lovely serving of black bass, set off with sweet onion and marrow broth, and seasoned with chervil, and smoked lentil.  The next dish a crispy roasted portion of squab, on a bed of carrot, potato and truffle croquettes.  The wine a Sangiovese Pleiades.

As our evening drew to a close, the dishes got richer, each portion a partner in a dance, the music lasting just long enough to tantalize before that particular partner was whisked away to be replaced by another.  Our plates suddenly contained a roast rack of veal prepared tonnato, chilled and drizzled in a sauce of tuna.  The veal atop a mixture of assorted garden cabbage, porcini mushrooms & onion.

Squab

After a moment to breathe and to acknowledge the journey our tastebuds had been on, it was time for a palate cleanser, this time a lychee champagne gelee with lychee ice cream, and a kiss of rose foam.  And then, of course, the elaborate red cheese cart rolled up to the table.  Manresa has a beautiful hand tooled cart, as lovely to look at as the wide variety of cheeses that ride its surface like Cleopatra on her palanquin.  We sampled a Cow’s milk from the Loire valley, that had been aged in abandoned railway tunnels.  It had a beautiful hazelnut and butterscotch quality, the humidity of the tunnels having provided the perfect environment for its maturation.  Next a cheese whose name sounds a bit like “de la vorc” with a similar flavor and texture to a parmegian.  Also a fudgy-textured delight with a nutty profile from the Western Pyranee’s Basque region; a Pireille papillion from Rouillard France (its double buttercream texture holding nuances of truffle and mushroom); a Goat’s milk Cyrus Gouda (the goat’s-milk is produced locally but aged in Holland);  a Cel Courshare, also from the Loire valley.  This cheese has a wood ash rind of blue mold, which makes it tangy with a nice runny interior; Finally a Trepa fuillard robiola – the mix of sheep/cow/goat, mingling to make it firmer than a triple cream.  This kind of world tour of cheeses is one of my favorite parts of any fine-dining experience.

Dessert was light and refreshing, a panacotta of orange, meyer lemon and vanilla ice cream & honey over a light graham cracker “crust.”  Simple, sweet, delectable.

Cheese Cart Magic 

There are many things about that wonderful meal that I have long-since forgotten. Details of presentation and preparation that elude me with the passing of time.  But the experience, the memory that I was warm, and comforted and dining on something like edible magic, that has not dimmed.

As we left, and Michael handed us those lovely envelopes that contain the evening’s menu, my copy thoughtfully signed by each member of the staff with birthday wishes, I had no idea it would be the last time he would do so.  So if you haven’t been to Manresa, or to any other special place you’ve always wanted to experience, don’t wait.  The lesson is, there is always a beautiful experience to be had, but just like live theater, no two shows are ever the same.  I’m glad I was afforded the opportunity to enjoy the Michael Kean experience, and will cherish my memories when I return.

A Sweet Finish

Go to Manresa as soon as you can.  Do not wait.  Life is short and meant to be lived with abandon.  Ask Michael, he’d have told you the same thing.

PLUM Oakland - (Pork) Belly Up to the Bar

A Rose....

It began with an email.  I get a lot of email, and even though most of it is information I have requested in one form or another, life just never seems to allow me to read every article on every new opening.  Hard truth is, there just aren’t enough hours in a day. The fact that I managed to receive this particular invitation was a combination of luck and timing. Guess some things are just meant to be.

One of my favorite new restos in Oaktown —  Daniel Patterson’s, Plum, helmed since shortly after opening by the incomparable Charlie Parker — was having a special prix fixe dinner.  The first of a series of such meals to be held on Monday &Tuesday nights, which will feature local-grown produce and proteins.   What could be more enticing?  Great food that supports local farmers.  Everybody wins.

The star of this particular dinner was to be The Pig.  A local pig butcher who’d worked with HAVEN Chef Kim Alter during Eat Real was sourcing the pork.  (Now, I’m a girl who loves pork in almost all forms.  Despite my decades old conversion to the laws of Moses, I still consume pork.  Raised Italian Catholic, giving up prosciutto seemed worse than cutting off an arm.  I was prepared to make the sacrifice, but my BH wouldn’t have it.  Fortunately the rabbis never asked me that question.)   Tantalized by all the potential in that “other” white meat, I made a reservation within seconds of receiving the emailed invitation.  Didn’t even run the menu by the BH.  We were down on the dance card.  All that was left to do was to wait and show up.

Beattie's Cucumber Cocktail

We arrived on the evening of our reservation, and after a brief delay while we waited for the hostess to deal with a fairly hostile walk-in, we were seated at the chef’s counter.  The counter is my favorite place to eat at Plum, or any other place that offers one.  I love sitting where I can watch the magic, the food becomes a lovely bonus while watching the best show ever.

There’s a certain kind of playful risk in a prix fixe meal.  Whether it consists of a simple and straightforward handful of courses or the more elaborate eleven-plus course “Chef’s Tasting,” one must be willing to submit their entire dining experience into the hands of another.  The patron has only one choice — to participate or not — he or she must become a guest at the table, dining at the pleasure of the Chef.   I find it invigorating.  Some Chefs are expanding on that experience, limiting their menu descriptions to suggestions of what is to come.  Recently, while being seated at Saison in San Francisco, we noted the “menu” contained only a single word to describe each course.  Last fall at the re-opening of service at the newly refurbished Eleven Madison in Manhattan, the diner was given a cryptic table, looking more like a game of tic-tac-toe than a menu, which contained several words in each line, supplemented by lithographs of seasonal symbols.  The diner was to select one word from each line, creating a mystical menu laden with unknowns, the words suggesting little more than which protein or other single ingredient might be in the dish.  The rest was left to the imagination.  Adventurous.  In the words of Anthony Bourdain “...your body is not a temple, it's an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.”

Pig's Ear Chicharrones

For the record, although the pig dinner was the first, there will be more of these collaborative prix-fixe dinners coming to Plum at the hands of Guest Chef Kim Alter of HAVEN*.  These neighborhood celebrations will each focus on local-sourced ingredients, whether from farmers, beer and winemakers, or any other talented vendor with wares worth experiencing in a meal.  Showcasing that which is locally available to the consumer and giving each a featured moment at a particular meal is a wonderful way to teach people what they can find in their own backyard, as well as allowing them to experience those ingredients manipulated into something delicious by some spectacular local talent.  It’s also a pretty genius way to introduce folks to new talent.  Personally, I want to be first in line when HAVEN opens later this fall.   The five course menu offered last week was also priced very reasonably at $49 per person.

Another fabulous addition to Plum: the long-awaited bar next door is about to open and is currently offering mixology through a delightfully “speak-easy” styled service window that opens into Plum.  The as yet untitled saloon is another of D. Patterson’s brainchilds, and brings to Oakland’s bright mixology landscape the substantial talents of Michael Lazar, gifted mixologist  who will be serving masterful concoctions prepared by himself and which will incorporate recipes from the renowned Scott Beattie of Spoonbar (formerly with Cyrus).  Lazar is an expert in liquors, most particularly Bourbon.  Mr. Beattie’s artistic input comes in the form of recipes from his vast array of seasonal recipes, and yes, they’ll have the familiar floral garnishes and elaborate ingredient preparation that have become legendary in the modern mixology movement.  Cocktails with flourish.   Look for the bar to be opening within the next few months.  I know I’ll be there!

Bloody, Bloody Mary

Though I love a good glass of Malbec, and am fond of the occasional IPA, I cannot resist a fancy cocktail.  To complement my Pig, I chose one of Mike’s inviting libations, a little something titled “By any other name” which was a lovely ambrosia of vodka, I believe, if I am remembering correctly.  The drink had hints of rose that made it very special indeed.  The BH ordered the simpler-titled, Cucumber Collins, which he found refreshing and much to his liking.  Mine was a Lazar original, his a recipe by Scott Beattie.  Both were perfection.

Now to the meal.  The first course description read: “PATÉ CAMPAGNE - bloody mary, chicharrone.”   We were served a lovely little plated containing a miniature house made Bloody Mary (a shot glass containing vodka, spicy tomato juice, seasonings and a dash of pig’s blood), which featured a cube of rustic paté on a toothpick with an olive, several haricot verts and a pickle as a “garnish.”  In appearance an invitingly precious mini-rendition of the cocktail.  The paté was rich and flavorful, seasoned beautifully and with a perfect mouthfeel.  This tasty little mashup of meats and herbs was a complete success in my book.  The chicharrone were fried pig’s ears, which looked like crushed onion rings and tasted almost like bacon, but not as fatty nor as naturally rich in flavor.  While pig’s ears are not a food group I would seek out, I found the presentation inviting and the flavors appealing.  See what I mean about adventure?

Tomato & Bread Salad

The next course bore the title “TOMATO & BREAD SALAD pancetta vinaigrette, flatbread, crema, arugula.”   This dish arrived on a share plate.  Broken flatbreads hot from the oven, mingled with a nicely tossed salad of the above ingredients and several chunks of gorgeous, chewy pancetta, beautifully browned, and crispy in the mouth.  The acids in the dressing mingling perfectly to balance the fat in the salad.  Lovely.

The next savory dish was titled:  “BACON & EGG “salad lyonnaise”, braised bacon, fried egg, chicory.”  This dish was a one-per-customer affair.  A thick crispy slab of pork belly, a bed of luscious greens, all topped off by the perfectly-cooked fried egg.

We watched them fry the eggs from our vantage point at the counter.  First they are cracked one at a time into a glass dish and the thinnest part of the whites drained away;  then the egg is slid carefully from the dish to be fried for just about a minute on the hot steel griddle, and lastly broiling it in a hot oven for another few seconds to seal in the yolk, keeping it soft and runny in the center with the whites neatly cooked to perfection.  Tricky, smooth, intriguing.  The end result went beautifully with the pork, which was crispy and delicious.  The BH insisted he didn’t like any kind of egg that was loosely cooked.  I insisted he try it.  He ate it all, and says he’s a bit of a convert.  Personally, whenever I am offered the option, I “egg” it.  Always.

Loin of Pork over kale

The last of the four savory dishes was the “ROAST PIG fork mashed potato, braised kale with apple, crispy pig.”   A moist perfectly prepared loin slice of pork over a buttery mashed potato on a bed of kale.  Simple, juicy, toothsome.  We polished them off in moments.

We were just about stuffed by now, but the sweet tooth had been activated.  It’s like a little button in my brain that goes off when I eat that well, everything on my palate teased to perfection except that one place that needs a hint of sugar to finish off the meal.  The dessert that evening was prepared by pastry chef Matt Tinder from COI.  The menu read:  “PECAN PIE smoked lardo crust, chicory cream.”  The BH also decried pecans.  He announced before we began the meal that he hates them, particularly in pie form.  Has never eaten a bite of pecan pie on any holiday event, not since he was a kid and gagged on a mouthful of the most loathsome preparation.  Or so he says.  When the subject first come up (he’d finally got a look at the menu) I’d reassured him that we’d order him something else.  When we realized upon arrival that that wasn’t an option, I kindly offered to eat his, and whip him up a proper dessert when we got home.  The dessert plate hadn’t been before him for two seconds, when he said with a sly grin “You’re not getting any extra dessert tonight.” I love being right.

Pecan Pie & Chicory Cream

The pie was excellent.  Rather than being overly cloying, it was just sweet enough, the fresh frozen cream served with it forming a milky marriage of flavors.  Along with the ice cream was a powdery dusting of something that was delicious when mixed in with a bite of the pie and the chilly cream.  Not sure if it was lardo hit with a blast of nitro, or some other magical concoction because the waitress forgot to come back when I sent her to ask the kitchen.  No worries though, it added to the mystery.  I don’t need to know why everything tastes delicious, or even what I’m eating, as long as it’s served by a trustworthy chef.  It heightens the adventure, and I’m all about adventure.

If you’ve got an evening with nothing to do, and you are thinking about going home to waste an hour or two on reality TV, do yourself a favor.  Check it out. Make some adventure memories of your own.

Plum Oakland
2214 Broadway
Oakland, California
510.444.7586
info@plumoakland.com
Twitter: @plumfooddrink

*HAVEN will be opening in November and will be located in the new space adjacent to the  Oakland Train Station at Jack London Square, in the same facility that now houses the Farmer’s Market.

Soapbox Sidenote: The walk-in was so rude and clueless that it made me wonder, again,  if there is anyone left on the planet who recognizes that they are not the only person living.  She stormed into the place ahead of those who’d been waiting patiently in line and had made reservations, demanded a table, and refused to listen to the hostess as she attempted to explain the format for the evening. When she finally did pause long enough to understand the meal was a set menu for the evening, she tossed the menu back in the face of the hostess (who remained patient and polite throughout) and stormed out.  There’s just no excuse for such rude and thoughtless behavior.  Ever.