crosparantoux

MaxH provides good advice, but to add a bit more detail: ChezPanisse downstairs (never been upstairs except to use the bathroom) always has their A team in the kitchen. The real difference on Fridays and Saturdays is the audience. If you look at CP's weekly menu, the more creative meals are found Tuesday through Thursday. Because Fridays and Sats attract the date crowd, the one-time visitor, etc., the menus tend to be more accessible: recognizable meats, preps, etc. Long time regulars are spotted in the dining room earlier in the week. The other bonus: the prix fixe is only $65 Tues-Thurs. CP quality and their best menus for that price is amazing.

Basically, La Super Rica is a taco truck masquerading as a building. Just a cute white shack with aqua trim, on a safe Santa Barbara street corner. Nothing wrong with that, and the food is delicious, but with La Super Rica’s reputation and its link to the legend of Julia Child, the bare bones reality should be made clear to those planning a pilgrimage. And boy, do the pilgrims come! By 11:30, there’s a long line of them snaking down the side street, sweating in the sun, maybe expecting a mex-Per Se. Many of the patrons are too well-dressed or aren’t down-home enough for a taco truck. (Pressed jeans, starched dress shirts, lilac sweat suits, and lots of jewelry.) Prices are only a dollar or more per item than you’d find in a ground-level taco outlet, so La Super Rica is still a deal. The counter guy is really gracious and patient with all the visiting foodies. And despite the upper-level American clientele, the food is worth a visit. Not many vegetables, though. The signature taco consists of a little dessert-sized paper plate with two fresh made corn tortillas (less than 6” diameter), scattered with a small spoonful of wonderfully seasoned grilled beef. That’s it. For $2.10. No green onion stalk or pickled carrot stick on the side like you’d get at a taco truck. But the taco’s really delicious. So is the grilled pasilla pepper, chopped and sautéed with onion and cheese and served on those tiny tortillas. That’s really good. The chili mounts its attack after you’ve cleared your mouth: it starts at the back of your head and works forward to your brow. Your tongue remains unscathed. Just that interesting version of chili heat is a reason to order that taco. The coffee’s something else too: a tiny foam cup with standard brewed coffee spiked with cinnamon and brown sugar. Cuban coffee as a delicate ballerina. Overall, the food’s enjoyable. The handwritten menu board lists about a dozen more variations on the basic taco, but they all taste pretty much the same. You should add it to your list of foodie destinations if you’re in the area. The people-watching is a lot of fun. Just don’t think too much about the Julia Child hype.

Favorite dishes at Masa the other night: A) Slices of fugu flesh, liver, and skin arranged over radish sprouts, drizzled with a light, citrusy sauce, sprinkled with tiny purple shiso blossoms and flakes of gold. The varying mix of textures and flavors in each bite was astounding. The fugu’s back bone was served up later, deep fried in a light gingery batter, the gelatinous bits of meat to be sucked out with the help of your fingers. B) Toro comes in many ways over the course of the evening. Masa carves layers off a huge hunk of belly to serve as sushi. He cuts away the silvery sinew between the layers of toro and grills them, serving them separately in a hand-cone, accented with yuzu. From his fingers directly to your fingers—there is nothing between you and the chef but that luscious cone. C) The one-two slam to your head: Masa takes a huge white truffle, so big that his stretched fingers cannot reach around it, and scrapes it with a truffle cutter. He scrapes and scrapes and scrapes, and the rarified air of his pristine sushi counter fills with the carnal stench of fresh truffle. He then rolls a small ball of rice around and around in the large pile of soft truffle flakes. The riceball expands as every bit of truffle sticks to it. With pinpoint wooden chopsticks, he drizzles a few drops of homemade white truffle oil on it, then a few crystals of his beige sea salt. He reaches over to serve it to you. Looking directly into your eyes he simply says, “Truffle,” and nods, his eyes wrinkling up at the corners in a smile. It is simply, and explosively, white truffle. While you savor the aftertaste, Masa lays out nori, a bit of rice and a fistful of chopped toro, sprinkled with chives. He rolls up a fat maki of the stuff and hands you two pieces. One large mouthful of toro blasts you instantly out of the galaxy. The next mouthful kills you. D) Cuttlefish, sliced sheer, is wrapped completely around rice. It’s skewered with three long needles; minced matsutake mushrooms are sprinkled over. Masa lays it on a grill and works on other sushi for you. The cuttlefish returns later, hot, accented with char, sprinkled with yuzu juice. The matsutake is now crisp, the rice expanded in flavor from the grill and hot cuttlefish. Ocean, earth, fruit. It’s psychedelic. E) The lobster and foie gras shabu shabu has accurately been raved about by others. The broth, served afterwards, glistens with the golden fat from the foie. It’s restorative. Was there a disappointing dish? The golf ball-sized mound of minced toro topped with a heaping tablespoon of caviar would be spectacular anywhere else. The toro is perfect. But the caviar is farm-raised, from California. In the scale of the entire evening, this signature dish is just another course at Masa. Nothing you’ve read or heard prepares you for the atmosphere of Masa. It is tiny and spacious at the same time. The 10 seat counter glows under halogen spots. The velvety wood counter and Masa’s work space seem to float out of shadows. There’s a wooden box of fish to the chef’s side, cooled by a large clear block of ice, and in front of him, a pair of yuzu, his single knife, and a few small bowls of sauce, salt, and herbs to accent sushi. Coals under a simple wire grill crackle just behind him. Everything is focused on the fish he carves and serves. The room is so quiet. Various helpers silently appear at your side to top off your tea, refresh your finger bowl with fresh warm lemon water, to replace hot hand towels, and periodically straighten the precise arrangement of water glass and chopstick holder before you. At one point Masa stopped slicing a julienne of needlefish. He looked at the little plate resting on a stone between us. The landing pad for the dozens of sushi throughout the evening, it didn’t seem right to him. He reached over and nudged it just a millimeter. Then he resumed slicing his fish. That perfection is everywhere. Watch him make wasabi. The large root is ground on sharkskin. Then he carefully, but swiftly, kneads the mush with his index finger, his other hand on his hip. As he pushes the wasabi smoother and smoother, he dabs at tiny bits and removes them. Then with his one knife, he chops at the little mound, refining it further. After adding drops of water, he kneads the wasabi thoroughly again with one finger, dabbing here and there for a few remaining bits. The pace of the meal is unexpected. You’re welcomed with a slow, careful sequence of composed dishes. Then suddenly, you notice that Masa’s pace intensifies. He places fish after fish on his board, slicing, trimming, carving. The sushi comes one piece after another for the next two hours. It’s quick, but not rushed. There’s just enough time to savor an aftertaste of sweet or sea or earth before he delivers something new. The onslaught of sushi is staggering. Variations of eels, shrimps, snappers; fish grilled, raw, or pickled. Things you thought you understood, like scallops, squid, or octopus, are sliced differently, to bring out new flavors and more pleasing textures. And then, with the delivery of a rice ball accented with plum and rolled in a chiffonade of shiso leaves, it’s over. A new tea is served. You can linger. Cool pear is served. But eventually you have to return to the real world outside. Right now the seasons for fugu and white truffle overlap. Masa’s prix fixe goes up in November. When you book, ask to sit in front of the master.

"How is it that a bulk food broker had samples with a proprietary private label to offer you? Wouldn't that be illegal in Califorinia?" There is a level of food brokering that moves overstock product. When brokers showed samples, some cans were unlabeled, some with labels. When we made the purchase, original labels were stripped and a generic was applied. Not a canned food consumer myself, I could only judge by appearance, not taste.

Don’t know what all the fuss about Trader Joe’s is. Out here in CA, so-called foodies rave about it. I’ve tried TJ twice and have been severely disappointed in their quality. On one visit, bargain spaghetti packages on the shelves were full of broken noodles. The color was off—white and powdery. When I tried to cook a package, it took forever: it was just too old. I threw the other noodles away, uncooked. I tried TJ’s private label olive oil. It was just green-colored bland cooking oil; I threw it out. Maple syrup is lauded by many; it’s awfully thin and weak tasting. Threw that out too. TJ’s is the only store where I’ve had to throw away product. Many years ago I purchased truckloads of food to supply soup kitchens and social service agencies. A food broker once explained the quality/cost differences of various grades of canned beans. If I remember, there were about 6 different quality grades. At the top were the Green Giants of the canned veg world. I don’t eat canned food myself, but the highest grade had bright color, uniform shape, and snapped like a real bean. For budget reasons, we purchased a truckload of the middle grade. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to buy the lowest grade of canned green beans, which were mushy, smelly, and off color. Those cans contained only bits and pieces. The broker’s sample cans of lowest-end beans were labeled with Trader Joe’s private label. Haven’t been to Trader Joe’s since. Their product quality was lower than that used by the very poor! Funny, really, when you see TJ’s parking lot full of euro cars and well-groomed white people. If you’re a real cook accustomed to fresh ingredients and you care about the source of the organic vegetables you trim and cook creatively, TJ is not for you. Interesting to see who, in the center of the universe that is NY, will become the next generation of TJ fanatics.

Always liked Patterson from the old ElisabethDaniel jewelbox. "The issue is that everyone seems content with one narrowly defined style of cooking." --that's why SF restaurants are so boring and homogenous. But what can shake it up? He's right about the rigidity of class: look around you next time you're asked to eat at ZuniA16IncantoOliveto. See much variation in color, politics, etc? Despite it all, I still love Chez Panisse. It's the offspring that's tedious. Anyone know about Daniel Patterson's upcoming restaurant?

I asked for any day during the season, no restrictions. My rejection email said that they had to meet the requests of returning customers as well as the requests of new customers, and that the whole thing is overwhelming. Does this suggest a pecking order? Naively I thought el bulli was egalitarian. Business is business, so they can do whatever they want. But, if returning customers come first, how can anyone new slip in? Very graciously, Mr. Garcia suggested I call/email just before the season begins or call after 3pm during the season for cancellations. Oh well, I'll turn 50 somewhere else in the world.

You're missing the point. What's fascinating is the opportunity to reach people with no culinary interests by designing innovative stuff with a global company, not just a business aimed at gourmands. What kind of cool foods can result from Adria's access to industrial-level technology and huge markets? Wouldn't it be neat to shake up the snack racks of corner stores all around the world at once? Of course this discussion began with a simple package of mediocre chips/crisps. But I suspect there's more down the line. A global soft drink company?

By "first product" I meant the partnership with a global mass market food company like Lays. Reaching the everyday person through accessible cookbooks, newspapers, etc. is common fare. Working on food design with a Frito Lays or other company is something new, isn't it? I may be wrong.... I look forward to the results.

Yeah, I wondered when these would surface on egullet. There’s a tiny picture of The Man on the back of the package. I found them to be too greasy—the chips are thin and can barely hold the weight of the heavy oil used. Maybe chef Adria’s putting his foot in the door with this first product and we’ll see interesting flavours down the line. But for decades, the Brits have been serving up interestingly seasoned crisps (steak and onion is my fave). Why do the same? (Moderators, move this thread somewhere. It could be an interesting discussion of how high end creativity can move into the mass market products. )

Anybody have exotic poultry resources? e.g., varieties of duck, blue foot chickens, partridge, etc.

Back from Hilo/Volcano with some eating notes: Hilo: Nori’s for lunch. This is a local fave. From my table in the entry hall, I counted 21 people waiting for a table. And more waiting for takeout. Saimin (fish-based noodle soup) with silky wonton, served with a stick of grilled teriyaki chicken on the side was perfect for a rainy day. What a minute…it rains every day in Hilo. Kaikodo was highly recommended, but it appears to have gone down. There’s the typical note on the door: Closed for Renovations, then a number to call if you have a gift certificate. Nihon. This Japanese restaurant is at the end of beautiful Liliokalani Park, in a tsunami resistant building, up on the second floor. Great view of Hilo across the bay and the slopes of Mauna Kea rising behind the old town. It’s next to a public fish auction where one morning I saw pallets of monstrous, uncut, fresh ahi, ready for the markets and Japan. Taste it at Nihon before the rest of the world? The sushi bar serves up the usual suspects, but talk to the locals and you’ll be steered off the menu to the best stuff. That’s how I discovered marlin sashimi. Wow. And after grazing through the local waters, Nihon’s dessert tops ‘em all: simple, palate cleansing shave ice. Volcano: This is a little village with lots of B& Bs hidden in the forest, across the road from the Volcano National Park. On the one little road, there are 3 very good restaurants. Thai- Thai’s menu reads like Thai menus all over the mainland, but what you get here is pretty special. I ordered tofu with thai basil, thinking of the usual juices, basil, and tofu with rice on the side. Wrong. The plate was heaped with perfect, small-farm vegetables. Tiny sweet florets of broccoli, julienned haricot verts that really tasted like beans, cabbage that was deep green and crunched and tasted like dream cabbage. Even the sprigs of thai basil were far more fragrant than I’ve found in California Thai houses. Beers were more than Singha. Local brew Kona Pale Ale was good, but Mehana Brewing’s Volcano Red (from Hilo) was smokey and better. Kilauea Lodge. What a pretty place: high ceilings, koa wood tables, a fireplace, Hawaiian wood floors. Unpretentious, high quality cooking at reasonable prices. $28/ three courses: a bowl of deeply flavored, clear duck soup dotted with local farm vegetables. A salad made of of the littlest lettuce heads. Not the bitter, weedy type of greens you find in California farm mixes. These were like miniature limestone lettuces, colored red and green, moistened with a berry/papaya seed dressing. Main: a huge steak of ono (local fish), sautéed so the inside was just a few seconds from raw. Simple butter, wine, capers drizzled over. Very appropriate to the casual but elegant setting. Lots of other good meals, a few mediocre ones. The Big Island is more than the moneyed hotels and golf courses on the Kona/Kohala coast. It’s quieter, friendlier, and greener on the other side of the island. (Thank you, locals. I’ll let you tell the next adventurous gourmand where to find the best breakfast and coffee: fried rice, eggs with orangey yolks, and wood-grilled Portuguese sausage.)

Silly Disciple, Edsel pretty much answered the home-cooking question above. The setup is simple: a higher-quality Food Saver (I don’t know the model number), a medium pot, and an instant read thermometer which I constantly dip in the water to check temperature. Over lots of experiments, I’ve taught myself to feel the right temp with my fingers, but I still use the thermometer. My stove (Wolf) has a really low simmer function, and over 30 minutes to an hour, I may move the flame between simmer and low to keep it at the temp I need. As noted above and in other sous vide threads, liquids are sucked out by Food Saver machines. I first chill oils in the freezer to solidify them or I mix flavours into butters. For beef fillet, I simply use salt, parsley, and a pat of butter on each side. As someone said above, the Food Saver bags imprint a funny texture on the outside of meat, but that’s ok you don’t see it when sliced. I am not a professional , and only do this for fun at home. Therefore my guests are friends, not customers. You are right, asking people to pay for a new weird sensation is tricky. True, I let Ducasse get away with it and paid him hundreds to do it. Coming from N.California, where meats seem to be always grilled, what surprised me about that first sous vide experience is that no where in the meal, (fish, game, meat), was there a hint of charring or browning. Ingredients were gently prepared and each piece of vegetable or meat showed off its unique texture and concentrated flavor. That is the reason for sous vide, I think. Edsel, I notice you sign off with your Spoon number (2568/5000). If you notice, though it is not described in detail, sous vide is the method for cooking most of the meats and game in that book. I’ve used the various condiments and flavoring recipes in Spoon for my sous vide experiments.

Simply slice the sous vide meat and sauce it. (The liquid remaining in the bag can be used to enhance a sauce for the meat or accompanying side.) Sous vide is a whole other technique than grilling/searing. It yields a very different texture, appearance, and concentrated flavor of meat that should be appreciated rather than compromised with a technique (like searing) that may be more familiar. Sous vide filet should be proudly served in all its startling difference. Of course, I didn’t always think that way. Years ago, when I was first served sous vide lamb loin at Ducasse, I was initially shocked, then disappointed that I didn’t order something else. But days after that dish I was still curious and kept remembering and trying to figure out the new texture and intense taste. Like encountering food from Mars. Some of my dinner guests are simply polite and don’t say anything, or eat any more when I’ve served sous vide filet. But most guests really appreciate the new sensation. Curiously, my children prefer sous vide meat to grilled or seared. Traditional adults are harder to convince. I use 135 degrees for about half an hour. My kids like to cook it and call the temperature “hot tub” hot. After lots of experimentation you can learn to sense doneness by finger touch or color of juices. I’ve found that simple sauces with spicy North African or fragrant Southeast Asian flavors accent the smooth, melty texture of sous vide filet. How is Roca’s book? Are there enough innovative ideas to justify the price?

Somewhat related (too incompetent to open a new thread): Read the current ADNY thread on the NY forum. Ducasse's blue foot chicken, raised in the Bresse style, comes from Sonoma, via DArtagn. Who's raising these chickens? Are they available in Sonoma or the Bay Area?

“There was an extra element of transformation in several of the dishes so that as you ate them the sauce was slowly changing the character of fish, and so on – thus the last bite was different from the first…” Thanks for your refreshing comment, RichieRich, particularly in these times when certain American restaurants are argued to be equal or better than French 3 stars. I’ve never thought so; I’ve been disappointed, and made to feel guilty or old-fashioned for preferring the fewer but more fulfilling and complex courses of the best tables in France. That transformation you point to--the slow unveiling of new, more complex flavors as a diner works through a truly well-crafted dish--can’t be found in the strobe-like flashes of American two-bite dishes that have risen in popularity recently.

Total agreement on Burgundy with salmon! (Hence, my egullet name) Any other Napa steak places? What's the story with Coles?

Detailed post, thanks. $99 porterhouse? Are the meats aged or of a particular breed, etc? You say, "...Salmon...not positive on price as with the Cabernet's we had brought I never gave fish a second thought" Salmon cries out for Bordeaux-structured or older, more well made cabs. With salmon, I'd never give WHITE wine a second thought. By the way, is there any place in Napa that serves up aged, prime high-end steaks to go with all the juicy high alcohol Valley wines?

Tavola in SLO is really delicious--better than Cafe Roma, which is more mass market (though Roma's setting in the train station can't be beat). And down the block from Tavola, on the parking lot, is a very nice Thai place. Also, Windows on the Water is really good. Dinner at sunset, with that wierd volcanic hump in the water is surreal. The service tries to be fancy but the cooks really do put out good food if you ignore the pretentions. They know how to treat vegetables. A delicate touch with local seafood and modern sauces, too. The wine list should not be overlooked--it could be your only chance to try rare Central Coast wines. Surprisingly, they even delivered a flight of high end rums at the end of one dinner (a few of which ADNY serves for the baba-Monte Carlo, thousands of miles to the east--Windows' food is not at that level, of course). Glad to hear Rebel R's recommendation for Windows. When I had two meals there a year or two ago, I was convinced that a place so fine would quickly go broke out in Morro Bay.

I grew up eating the mix of Asian and immigrant cuisines of Hawaii, mixed with Alabama southern cooking (don’t ask). When I was 8 we traveled all over the US for 3 months. Because the food was so shockingly different, my defense was to eat only steak (maybe prime rib) at dinner, as simply prepared as possible. Looking back now, I see that in those three months I learned to appreciate how a single ingredient can be cut differently and cooked (or ruined) through various styles of cooking. Now when I travel, I go out of my way to eat whatever will best reflect the local nature of where ever I happen to be. My youngest daughter, tiny as a fairy, will only eat prime rib (“blood rare”) or steak (“blue”) when we travel. She’s headed in the same direction.

Maybe its time to start a new thread: has anyone tried the new ADNY menu under the new chef? Who is he? Which Ducasse kitchen did he come from? Two dishes sound similar to past Louis XV dishes or more "classic" Ducasse: bass with a variety of shellfish; bluefoot chicken with crayfish, wild mushrooms, and asparagus. I hope the fall menu will be as interesting...

At Higgins, I had a miserable, badly conceived risotto with asparagus, blue cheese, and a bitter red wine jus. Three things that just don't go well together, ever. The wine by glass program was superb, though. I agree that Wildwood is far better, with a folksier feel and more soulful dishes--stuff the waitresses and mgt. feel proud to serve. There was a crowded, machine-like atmosphere to Higgins.

I never found decent tasting Kings bread on the mainland. In SF, the labels on the breads say they're made in Long Beach. Leonard's bakery in Kapahulu, Oahu, has the best sweet bread. The thin, shiny crust with the suggestive top is just delish with butter. Last summer I found really good sweet bread/pao doce, baked daily by Portuguese wives of lobstermen, up in Stonington Maine! Wow. Sweet bread with butter and fried clams! I forget the name of the place. It's out on the rocky edge of Deer Isle. Just a few picnic tables with kooky wind ornaments, piles of lobbster floats, and curious cats. They got both the sweet bread and the Portuguese soul right--something Kings can't do with their bread factories strategically located near big supermarket warehouses.

"The performance of any given hood will be optimized by placing it closer to the stove and keeping the ductwork short, simple and large in diameter." --Jon, 5.14/ post #7, above. Good info, Jon, but I disagree with placing the hood closer to the stove. Cooking activity needs space. See any low hoods in restaurant kitchens? I've cooked in homes with hoods installed low to address the issue you discuss, but when I try to pull long noodles out of a tall pot, my hand hits the hood. Try pouring stocks from one big pot to another--you need lots of space above the cooking area, and a low hood doesn't cut it. I agree that short, simple, large diameter ductwork is critical. Sales guys don't talk about that.

Well, I've got to eat at Incanto: those letters on their website! A Dante scholar in the kitchen?!?