tupac17616

Sweet serendipity to read something like this after having just gotten off the phone to make a reservation at EMP.

A few thoughts from my meal at Au Trou Gascon back in March over HERE.

This being the only thread with the restaurant name in the the title, for those doing searches in the future I'll add my write-up from late March here as well... Au Trou Gascon (pictures available here) I believe it was Ron Burgundy of Anchorman fame who said “When in Rome.” I know others might quote a slightly more elaborate version of that old adage, but I prefer the conciseness of this one. And I’m not always prone to grasp the philosophical nuances of such sayings, but I think what the wise Anchorman means is that eating Tex-Mex in Toledo or lobster rolls in Lexington is crazy. Trying to eat like a local is definitely the way to go. Then again, so is trying to speak like one. And frankly, I did a horrible job of both at Au Trou Gascon. As the name suggests, this restaurant features the cuisine of Gascony, an area of southwest France known to geography scholars worldwide for its exceedingly high density of people… enjoying copious amounts of foie gras and Armagnac. The region also happens to be famous for cassoulet, a slow-cooked white bean stew that can include all sorts of happy things: duck or goose confit, mutton or lamb, pork sausage, pork skin, pork belly, pork shoulder, and other particularly pleasing pig parts. So we found ourselves about, oh, 600km from Gascony on this particular night, but this restaurant and this dish were calling my name. When the waiter expressed some hesitation in substituting the cassoulet for yours truly in lieu of a pigeon course listed on the 50€ Dîner Gourmand, I wowed him with my language skills by asking: “Plus supplement?” More supplement? Please, sir, could I pay a larger supplement? I would be ever so grateful. Yep, I am an idiot. I should have just admitted from the start that my French fluency doesn’t extend beyond the four corners of a menu page. But the guy smiled (well, laughed) and said the substitution would be no problem as long as I was hungry. Then I felt like it was my turn to laugh. The poor guy had no idea what kind of an appetite he was dealing with. But in any case, we were all set — the five-course tasting menu for me and Adam, and à la carte selections for our friend. First they served some sticks of toast with a tasty bean purée and a small container of piment d’espelette that would stay on our table the rest of the meal. Nursing a glass of rosé champagne while we snacked on that, we asked the sommelier to recommend a bottle of white wine to go with our first few courses. He delivered in a big way with the Domaine Arretxea “Hegoxuri” (2006, I think), an AOC wine made on a biodynamic vineyard in Irouléguy. We tasted it and reacted with a slew of four-letter words that I can assure you included none of the following wine terms: body, deep, foxy, hard, legs, long, lush, oaky, rich, ripe, soft, tart, thin. I’ll leave it to you to judge which set of words is more lascivious. In any case, let’s just say the wine was really, really good. Hopefully Santa Claus will come down the chimney with a case for me next Christmas. The first course on the tasting menu was Gambas, royale de foie gras, émulsion de châtaignes. A single shrimp found a happy home on an island of foie gras custard in a frothy chestnut emulsion. We had seen the combination of chestnut and foie gras somewhere before, and it is a tasty one. I enjoyed the naturally sweet shrimp counter-balancing the rich and buttery emulsion, while a crispy crouton brought some much-needed texture to the dish. On the other hand, the foie gras lacked much of an assertive liver flavor, and I would’ve appreciated a slightly smoother texture (like, say, the sea urchin panna cotta I know and love at Picholine in NY). Meanwhile our friend had the Chipirons “plaqués minute”, orzotto aux piments doux et chips de gingembre (17€), baby squid cooked on a griddle and served on sweet pepper orzotto (a fancy word for orzo prepared like risotto). A few streaks of a vibrant green parsley puree sat on either side, and some “chips” of fried ginger on top brought its characteristic spice and a new texture to the dish. I didn’t get a chance to taste this myself, but her silence while eating could only mean two things — (1) it was really good and she didn’t want to share, (2) it was disappointing and she didn’t want to share. Just kidding. The truth is she’s always really generous with the samples and most of the time she ends up ordering the best things on the menu anyway, so this was probably pretty tasty. The next course — Noix de St. Jacques, endives fondantes — was a tango between bitter and sweet. The seared scallops were seasoned only with salt and a tiny sprinkling of espelette pepper, so their natural sweetness was allowed to shine through. Meanwhile, the tender “melting” endives had a pronounced bitterness that challenged that sweetness. A few flakes of parmigiano-reggiano cheese and a buttery foam provided some extra richness. And the brush stroke of parsley sauce on the plate brought, well, mainly just a pretty color to the plate. We quickly downed slowly savored the first bottle of wine, so we asked the sommelier to recommend something to go with our meat courses. And by that, I mean Adam asked him while I just nodded and smiled like I knew what the hell they were saying. The sommelier came back with a bottle of Domaine de la Garance 2002 Les Armières Vin de Pays de l’Hérault, a red wine made by Pierre Quinonéro in the Languedoc-Roussillon region of southwest France. I liked the fact that he again kept a regional focus to the wines, but we weren’t crazy about this one. It was highly tannic, and although it worked reasonably well with my main course, it was a bit too harsh to drink on its own in-between courses or even with the cheese that would follow. The main course I’m talking about is of course Le cassoulet “Trou Gascon” aux haricots de maïs, confit de canard, couston de porc, côte d’agneau et saucisse de couennes. This was so big and hearty as to be entirely inappropriate for a tasting menu. Which is to say I reveled in the excess and later returned the dish completely clean. The white beans were neither grainy nor mushy but instead just tender and quite flavorful. And how can one choose favorites among duck confit, rack of lamb, pork couston (the upper part of the rack), and pork sausage enriched with pork rinds? Thankfullly I didn’t have to — they were all in attendance and all quite tasty. An added plus was that I felt like the cassoulet gave me a headstart on developing a sufficient layer of blubber to comfortably hibernate next winter. Who says I am not a good planner? Adam stuck with the Filet de pigeonneau en croûte de noisette, la cuisse effilochée en cannelloni de chou tendre originally included in the tasting menu. And I guess he was happy with his decision since he pronounced this pigeon perhaps the best he has ever eaten. Granted, we were about two and a half sheets to the wind by this point, so I took that with a grain of salt. Until he let me try it. The breast was crusted in hazelnut and cooked to a beautiful rosy pink throughout. The leg meat was stuffed into a roll of cabbage and accompanied by some potato purée and a rich pigeon jus. I must say, Adam was right — this was absolutely delicious. Our friend, on the other hand, was underwhelmed by the Agneau de lait des Pyrénées, pommes de terre écrasées aux cebettes (32€). This was just two huge chunks of milk-fed lamb from the Pyrénées mountains served next to a large pile of chive mashed potatoes. Nothing more, nothing less. The flavor of the meat was unremarkable, and the texture was not quite as fall-apart fork tender as one might expect from a (presumably) braised cut like this. The bigger problem, though, was the repetitiveness of eating this. She seemed to get bored with it about half-way through. We also tried a few cheeses, the first of which was part of the tasting menu. The Faisselle pastorale, miel citronné, huile d’olive et pignons was a soft, almost Greek yogurt-like cheese served with honey, lemon juice, olive oil, and pine nuts. I hate to be so blunt about it, but this was just not good. It was like a fight between the natural tanginess of the cheese and the overwhelming acidity of the lemon, and really they both lost. At least the wine hadn’t completely washed away our mental capacities yet — we still had the good judgment to leave most of this behind. Thankfully the other cheeses — Cabécou fermier et Brebis de la Vallee d’Ossau (9€) — saved the day. The small round of Cabécou goat cheese from the Midi-Pyrénées region of France was creamy and soft. Slightly runny beneath the rind, it was also udderly utterly delicious. Too bad it is made with raw milk and matured for less than 60 days so I won’t be seeing it stateside anytime soon. The other cheese we had, called Brebis, is a sheep’s milk cheese made in the Ossau Valley. In my opinion the sheep’s milk cheeses that come from this area are just phenomenal — Abbaye de Belloc, P’tit Basque, Ossau-Iraty, I could go on… — so it was no surprise that I enjoyed this one. This simple, unadorned cheese course was really one of the highlights for me. At this point, we realized we were the only ones left in the room. Even the waiter was gone. Or maybe he was just hiding behind the huge display of Armagnac along the opposite wall. Mmm. Sweet, sweet Armagnac. Wait, no! We needed dessert first! Adam and I each had the Glace chocolat noir “minute” servie devant vous, meringue vanillée, mangue confite. The English translation of the menu on the website calls this “instant dainty chocolate ice cream”, though I’m not sure what exactly that means. A frozen form of Jell-O instant pudding, perhaps? Nah, that’s an unfair comparison because this ice cream actually tasted like a product derived from the cacao bean. And it was pretty good, in fact. The texture was almost mousse-like, and flavor was pleasantly bittersweet. Formed tableside into pretty little quenelles, the ice cream was served with mango confit and a really nice layered sandwich of vanilla meringue and Chantilly cream. With this presentation I think they did a good job of dancing around the fact that this dessert was basically just a serving of chocolate ice cream. I said earlier that our friend inevitably finds the treasures on restaurant menus, and I meant it. Her dessert here even caused a case of Plate Envy on my part. She got the Tourtière chaude et croustillante, glace caramel salé (pate très fine étirée à la main avec quelques lamelles de pommes cuites) (9€). Almost like a strudel, this pastry is also sometimes called Pastis Gascon or Croustade, and it is a regional treat. The filling is comprised of Armagnac-soaked apples, and for good measure this one had a few Armagnac-soaked prunes on the side. The tourtière was flaky and buttery and friggin’ tasty, if I do say so myself. And I haven’t even mentioned the salted caramel ice cream that kept this thing company. It was great also. Not everything we had that night was perfect. But at pretty reasonable prices for food of that general quality, it didn’t need to be. Between the combination of the food, wine, and great company, I’d say this was one of the most enjoyable restaurant experiences I’ve had in a long time. We were able to take a short trip to Gascony — on a weeknight, no less — without ever leaving the big city. Now I’m not recommending that you stumble from restaurant to restaurant in a slightly inebriated state mumbling “cassoulet, plus supplement” over and over again. Far from it. You might get some funny looks. Instead, just head to Au Trou Gascon. It shines exactly the way a Michelin star should.

Kingfish, pork belly, and ice cream. Poor guy.

This may sound strange, but the cauliflower first course I had two weeks ago was just amazing - one of the best restaurant dishes I've had in the last several months. A main course with scallops and beets was very, very good, but the cauliflower is the one that stays with me. Not strange at all, Robin. Thanks!

Idiazabal soufflé

Pizzichi di farro con pomodoro, ventresca di tonno, origano e briciole di pane tostate (or, in the language you and I speak, farro pasta with tomatoes from our garden, tuna belly packed in extra virgin olive oil, fresh oregano from the garden, and toasted bread crumbs)

you are my hero, u.e.

Ha. Agreed. Although if you mention from the get-go that you'll tip in cash, it's usually less of a problem. Sounds like your trip was easily worth a mere 3 lbs. I'd sacrifice 3 lbs right now just for a trip back to Capogiro...

Good question. Without a doubt, my favorite is Steingarten. Least favorite is probably Akiko Katayama, whose main comment about 80% of the dishes is that they are "too oily". Please, find a new criticism!

Can anybody here share any recent experiences at GT in the tavern room? Anything you would consider a must-order?

Clearly, I suck at life. But I finally wrote about my meal at Tofuya Ukai in January. Pictures are here, and the description is below. Enjoy! I had only been in Tokyo a week, but my practice of the Japanese art of kuiadore was progressing quite nicely. By eating my way to financial ruin and an irreversibly larded midsection over the past several years, I had actually been getting a head start on connecting with this culture before I even arrived. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I tried to justify walking around with this ridiculous piece of paper in my hand. Let me explain… It was my last night in Tokyo, and I was on my own for dinner. Both of my friends had already left, and our collective knowledge of Japanese had gone with them. Beyond food words, I know essentially nothing (for me this is a trend across several languages, English included). So I asked a staff member at the hotel to write out a simple message for me on a sheet of paper — Please give me the longest menu this restaurant offers. Thank you. To observe this woman using all the willpower she had to stifle her laughter is to understand how much the Japanese value politeness. But she indulged me nonetheless, and soon I was on my way to Tofuya Ukai. Adam had actually been before on a previous trip and so his endorsement echoed the praise I had already been reading, so I was quite excited for my dinner in the shadow of the nearby Tokyo Tower. I arrived to find three set menu options priced at ¥8400, ¥10500, and ¥12600. (Word to the wise: lunch prices are about half that.) My disappointment was palpable when I was given an English menu and an English-speaking waitress came to take my order — I couldn’t use my paper now! In any case, I got the “Yuki” set menu (the largest, natch), which featured beef as the main course. But I was intrigued by the fish main course on the middle “Tsuki” menu also, so I asked if it would be possible to work that in as well. Her surprise (disgust?) when I made that request reminded me how easy is it to feel like you’ve just offended someone in Japan. After running downstairs to get permission, she hesitatingly said they could do it for an additional ¥1800, an offer I happily accepted. Things started off with some steamed shredded turnip, yam, tofu and mushroom. This was served in a soy-based broth and dotted with wasabi. With a firmness almost like a mushroom, this was the first of many textural incarnations of tofu that I would see that night. The other flavor accents here were sweet, salty and hot all at once, each interacting in a different way with the subtle flavor of the tofu. Next was deep fried tofu with miso and scallion, and tamago topped with shredded turnip. The texture of the fried tofu was spongy, but in a good way — a very good way. It was also crisp on the outside and tender within. An added plus was that it was served very hot, which really activated the aromas of the miso and scallion. The Japanese-style omelette, meanwhile, displayed a restrained balance between sugar, soy sauce, and mirin. And a skilled cook must have prepared it, as the result was a custardy smooth texture and a taste that skewed neither too sweet nor too salty. My waitress claimed my sashimi course would be more “special” since, along with the main course, it offered the only distinction among the differently priced menus. But unfortunately they brought a dreadfully mundane trio of ebi (shrimp), maguro (lean tuna), and karei (flounder). I liked the presentation on a bed of ice, but it only intensified the ghastly mental image of cocktail shrimp I got every time I looked at this (unfortunately) cooked shrimp. I’d just had live kuruma ebi (tiger prawn) a few days prior to this so I wept a little inside as I found this tough and flavorless by comparison. I found consolation in the crunchy and tasty shrimp head, although the maguro was mediocre and the flounder, forgettable. Next up was a fish dumpling with shredded scallop (I think) served in a hot broth. “Dumpling” seems almost a misnomer for something that graces your tongue with such lightness. I really hope there is a poetic Japanese term for these things. The texture was a cross between soufflé and custard, and the flavor was just slightly sweet. Think exceptional quenelles de brochet with a Japanese sensibility. The fish broth just tasted so pure and I really liked drinking it as a soup for a clean finish. The next dish held three separate presentations: soft buckwheat tofu topped with uni; boiled abalone served with seaweed; and the gracefully translated “rape and milt in bitter-orange juice”. You can top all sorts of things with good, fresh sea urchin roe to create something successful, but I thought the nutty buckwheat tofu matched with it particularly well. The softness of the tofu also mimicked the creamy uni, creating nice textural continuity. The abalone had the firmness characteristic of that tasty mollusk but it was neither tough nor chewy. In another display of culinary minimalism, its flavor shined brightly and simply. But, oh, about that milt! You might know it as shirako (meaning “white children” in Japanese), but let’s call a spade a spade — it’s fish semen. And it was the single most delicious thing I ate during this trip to Tokyo. One would expect that being presented with bodily fluids meant for ingestion would arouse a certain level of inquisitiveness, but I’m actually still unsure to which species of fish I owed this pleasure. Though I failed to ask who the — shall we say — benefactor had been, that ignorance tasted blissfully good. Smooth with a mouth-coating creaminess, the milt’s flavor was delicate and subtly sweet. Meanwhile, the slight bitterness of the orange juice and broccoli rabe contrasted the natural flavor of the shirako beautifully. I just loved this dish. The waitress then brought a huge bowl holding a sea of warm soy milk and an island of silken tofu. She proceeded to set this on the table and carefully ladle it into a smaller bowl. This seasoned soy milk was just delicious. Its warmth unleashed a satisfying aroma almost reminiscent of cinnamon. The taste was sweet and nutty in a way that reminded me of the almond milk I enjoyed in Sicily. The unadorned block of tofu was bland, but dressed with kombu and soy sauce its taste was enhanced. And its texture was totally deserving of the “silken” title. There were two components to the fish course that came next: salt-grilled Spanish mackerel with yuzu, and a croquette fashioned from a mixture of lotus root and rice. The salt-grilled fish was dead simple but just stunning. The skin was beautifully charred, while the flesh remained moist. A squeeze of fresh yuzu juice and a sprig of some sort of tempura-fried herb heightened the natural flavor of the fish even more. Meanwhile the croquette had just the thinnest crispy layer on the outside while the inside was a moist and creamy blend of glutinous rice and lotus root. I was reminded of a particularly rich form of Italian arancini that are filled with béchamel, but this somehow had a lightness to it, and a delicate sweetness I found almost enchanting. I really enjoyed this course. The charcoal-grilled beef, on the other hand, I was not entirely thrilled about. In fact I thought it pretty pedestrian. Seasoned simply with salt and pepper, I expected a stronger beef flavor to shine through but it never did. The seared outside I’d enjoyed so much on the fish was nearly absent here. It was instead just gently browned, although it was thankfully rosy pink on the inside and thus fairly tender. But oddly, between this course and the sashimi, the two courses that accounted for the higher priced menu were the most disappointing of the evening. Frankly neither warranted spending the extra cash. I guess even in the food paradise that is Tokyo, you can’t win ‘em all. The last savory course included a wooden dish full of rice topped with snow crab, miso soup with tofu, and pickled vegetables. Never have I encountered a culture that cooks its rice so incredibly well as the Japanese. Seriously. It’s something to behold. Each grain here had integrity and flavor on its own, while seamlessly disappearing into an ocean of others. It was not clumpy or dry or broken. It was not over- or under-cooked by a second. With nothing accompanying it but a few pieces of sweet snow crab, it was, in a word, fantastic. The miso soup was basically umami in a bowl, and I enjoyed the lone piece of tofu floating in it that had soaked up that flavor. The pickled vegetables were good also, like a savory palate cleanser. But I’m still thinking about that rice… Dessert is usually an incredibly simple (or completely non-existent) affair in Japan and this was no exception. Just a small cup of red bean soup and couple of wedges of fresh persimmon. The soup was fortunately less grainy than red bean desserts can often be, but I wouldn’t call it particularly great. The fresh fruit was just a simple, clean way to wind down the meal. And I also happen to really like persimmon, so it was a happy ending. After the meal, I sat in the now-empty dining room drinking tea for a bit before deciding to explore the restaurant grounds. Passing back through the lobby I saw a huge barrel full of soy beans, this tofu-focused restaurant’s raison d’être. From what I could see from my upstairs window the enclosed garden area looked quite peaceful, and it was. An outdoor grill area still smelled of charcoal. A small stream snaked between the different private dining houses. I could have stayed out there for a while just relaxing, but I was already chilling a bit too much on that nippy January evening. While I wouldn’t call this the single best meal I had in Tokyo (that would be Kyubey), I would say my dinner at Tofuya Ukai was an eye-opener. The wonderfully varied texture, temperatures, and presentations of tofu I saw that night shattered a lot of the pre-conceived notions about certain soy products, (okay, that last one’s actually pretty good, but still). I think Adam said it best — Japan makes you a better person. This meal showed me that maybe this tofu stuff isn’t just for hippies and Buddhists after all. So I say forget all the crap you’ve heard and tasted before. Tofuya Ukai should be on any Tokyo short-list. After all, where else are you going to get your milt fix?

I am obviously terribly slow, but I finally wrote about my meal at Tofuya Ukai. Pictures are here, and the description is below. Enjoy! I had only been in Tokyo a week, but my practice of the Japanese art of kuiadore was progressing quite nicely. By eating my way to financial ruin and an irreversibly larded midsection over the past several years, I had actually been getting a head start on connecting with this culture before I even arrived. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I tried to justify walking around with this ridiculous piece of paper in my hand. Let me explain… It was my last night in Tokyo, and I was on my own for dinner. Both of my friends had already left, and our collective knowledge of Japanese had gone with them. Beyond food words, I know essentially nothing (for me this is a trend across several languages, English included). So I asked a staff member at the hotel to write out a simple message for me on a sheet of paper — Please give me the longest menu this restaurant offers. Thank you. To observe this woman using all the willpower she had to stifle her laughter is to understand how much the Japanese value politeness. But she indulged me nonetheless, and soon I was on my way to Tofuya Ukai. Adam had actually been before on a previous trip and so his endorsement echoed the praise I had already been reading, so I was quite excited for my dinner in the shadow of the nearby Tokyo Tower. I arrived to find three set menu options priced at ¥8400, ¥10500, and ¥12600. (Word to the wise: lunch prices are about half that.) My disappointment was palpable when I was given an English menu and an English-speaking waitress came to take my order — I couldn’t use my paper now! In any case, I got the “Yuki” set menu (the largest, natch), which featured beef as the main course. But I was intrigued by the fish main course on the middle “Tsuki” menu also, so I asked if it would be possible to work that in as well. Her surprise (disgust?) when I made that request reminded me how easy is it to feel like you’ve just offended someone in Japan. After running downstairs to get permission, she hesitatingly said they could do it for an additional ¥1800, an offer I happily accepted. Things started off with some steamed shredded turnip, yam, tofu and mushroom. This was served in a soy-based broth and dotted with wasabi. With a firmness almost like a mushroom, this was the first of many textural incarnations of tofu that I would see that night. The other flavor accents here were sweet, salty and hot all at once, each interacting in a different way with the subtle flavor of the tofu. Next was deep fried tofu with miso and scallion, and tamago topped with shredded turnip. The texture of the fried tofu was spongy, but in a good way — a very good way. It was also crisp on the outside and tender within. An added plus was that it was served very hot, which really activated the aromas of the miso and scallion. The Japanese-style omelette, meanwhile, displayed a restrained balance between sugar, soy sauce, and mirin. And a skilled cook must have prepared it, as the result was a custardy smooth texture and a taste that skewed neither too sweet nor too salty. My waitress claimed my sashimi course would be more “special” since, along with the main course, it offered the only distinction among the differently priced menus. But unfortunately they brought a dreadfully mundane trio of ebi (shrimp), maguro (lean tuna), and karei (flounder). I liked the presentation on a bed of ice, but it only intensified the ghastly mental image of cocktail shrimp I got every time I looked at this (unfortunately) cooked shrimp. I’d just had live kuruma ebi (tiger prawn) a few days prior to this so I wept a little inside as I found this tough and flavorless by comparison. I found consolation in the crunchy and tasty shrimp head, although the maguro was mediocre and the flounder, forgettable. Next up was a fish dumpling with shredded scallop (I think) served in a hot broth. “Dumpling” seems almost a misnomer for something that graces your tongue with such lightness. I really hope there is a poetic Japanese term for these things. The texture was a cross between soufflé and custard, and the flavor was just slightly sweet. Think exceptional quenelles de brochet with a Japanese sensibility. The fish broth just tasted so pure and I really liked drinking it as a soup for a clean finish. The next dish held three separate presentations: soft buckwheat tofu topped with uni; boiled abalone served with seaweed; and the gracefully translated “rape and milt in bitter-orange juice”. You can top all sorts of things with good, fresh sea urchin roe to create something successful, but I thought the nutty buckwheat tofu matched with it particularly well. The softness of the tofu also mimicked the creamy uni, creating nice textural continuity. The abalone had the firmness characteristic of that tasty mollusk but it was neither tough nor chewy. In another display of culinary minimalism, its flavor shined brightly and simply. But, oh, about that milt! You might know it as shirako (meaning “white children” in Japanese), but let’s call a spade a spade — it’s fish semen. And it was the single most delicious thing I ate during this trip to Tokyo. One would expect that being presented with bodily fluids meant for ingestion would arouse a certain level of inquisitiveness, but I’m actually still unsure to which species of fish I owed this pleasure. Though I failed to ask who the — shall we say — benefactor had been, that ignorance tasted blissfully good. Smooth with a mouth-coating creaminess, the milt’s flavor was delicate and subtly sweet. Meanwhile, the slight bitterness of the orange juice and broccoli rabe contrasted the natural flavor of the shirako beautifully. I just loved this dish. The waitress then brought a huge bowl holding a sea of warm soy milk and an island of silken tofu. She proceeded to set this on the table and carefully ladle it into a smaller bowl. This seasoned soy milk was just delicious. Its warmth unleashed a satisfying aroma almost reminiscent of cinnamon. The taste was sweet and nutty in a way that reminded me of the almond milk I enjoyed in Sicily. The unadorned block of tofu was bland, but dressed with kombu and soy sauce its taste was enhanced. And its texture was totally deserving of the “silken” title. There were two components to the fish course that came next: salt-grilled Spanish mackerel with yuzu, and a croquette fashioned from a mixture of lotus root and rice. The salt-grilled fish was dead simple but just stunning. The skin was beautifully charred, while the flesh remained moist. A squeeze of fresh yuzu juice and a sprig of some sort of tempura-fried herb heightened the natural flavor of the fish even more. Meanwhile the croquette had just the thinnest crispy layer on the outside while the inside was a moist and creamy blend of glutinous rice and lotus root. I was reminded of a particularly rich form of Italian arancini that are filled with béchamel, but this somehow had a lightness to it, and a delicate sweetness I found almost enchanting. I really enjoyed this course. The charcoal-grilled beef, on the other hand, I was not entirely thrilled about. In fact I thought it pretty pedestrian. Seasoned simply with salt and pepper, I expected a stronger beef flavor to shine through but it never did. The seared outside I’d enjoyed so much on the fish was nearly absent here. It was instead just gently browned, although it was thankfully rosy pink on the inside and thus fairly tender. But oddly, between this course and the sashimi, the two courses that accounted for the higher priced menu were the most disappointing of the evening. Frankly neither warranted spending the extra cash. I guess even in the food paradise that is Tokyo, you can’t win ‘em all. The last savory course included a wooden dish full of rice topped with snow crab, miso soup with tofu, and pickled vegetables. Never have I encountered a culture that cooks its rice so incredibly well as the Japanese. Seriously. It’s something to behold. Each grain here had integrity and flavor on its own, while seamlessly disappearing into an ocean of others. It was not clumpy or dry or broken. It was not over- or under-cooked by a second. With nothing accompanying it but a few pieces of sweet snow crab, it was, in a word, fantastic. The miso soup was basically umami in a bowl, and I enjoyed the lone piece of tofu floating in it that had soaked up that flavor. The pickled vegetables were good also, like a savory palate cleanser. But I’m still thinking about that rice… Dessert is usually an incredibly simple (or completely non-existent) affair in Japan and this was no exception. Just a small cup of red bean soup and couple of wedges of fresh persimmon. The soup was fortunately less grainy than red bean desserts can often be, but I wouldn’t call it particularly great. The fresh fruit was just a simple, clean way to wind down the meal. And I also happen to really like persimmon, so it was a happy ending. After the meal, I sat in the now-empty dining room drinking tea for a bit before deciding to explore the restaurant grounds. Passing back through the lobby I saw a huge barrel full of soy beans, this tofu-focused restaurant’s raison d’être. From what I could see from my upstairs window the enclosed garden area looked quite peaceful, and it was. An outdoor grill area still smelled of charcoal. A small stream snaked between the different private dining houses. I could have stayed out there for a while just relaxing, but I was already chilling a bit too much on that nippy January evening. While I wouldn’t call this the single best meal I had in Tokyo (that would be Kyubey), I would say my dinner at Tofuya Ukai was an eye-opener. The wonderfully varied texture, temperatures, and presentations of tofu I saw that night shattered a lot of the pre-conceived notions about certain soy products, (okay, that last one’s actually pretty good, but still). I think Adam said it best — Japan makes you a better person. This meal showed me that maybe this tofu stuff isn’t just for hippies and Buddhists after all. So I say forget all the crap you’ve heard and tasted before. Tofuya Ukai should be on any Tokyo short-list. After all, where else are you going to get your milt fix?

Fear not, Abra, it's really good! Get a nice olive oil, maybe some sherry vinegar. Mmm.

the growling really has to stop

John Your second and third links are the same. I think for the third you were looking for this one: http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=117716

what he said

wow i miss bangkok. great, great thread, peter!

Great gift, indeed. If it were me, I would never freeze it. Instead like Kerry Beal suggested upthread, I'd cut it into smaller chunks, find a local grocer that does vacuum packing, and ask them to do it. Hell, you could even pay them with cheese.

I didn't realize there was a dedicated thread for this restaurant, so for the sake of any future eG'ers doing a search, I'll add my thoughts from a meal in late March of this year. It was a decidedly un-mixed reaction from the four of us -- we loved it. My write-up is below and the pictures can be seen here. Chez l'Ami Jean At popular chain restaurants in the US, the wait for a table can be nerve-racking. The little light-up coaster the hostess has given you may vibrate wildly any minute now. Your raspberry martini is not safe. And I know this was the first time we’d had to wait for a table in France, but the only thing the hostess at Chez L’Ami Jean handed us was a wooden board full of charcuterie. It comes as no surprise which of the two aforementioned countries has lower crime rates, higher voter turnout, lower cholesterol, and a higher life expectancy. It was 9:30 or so on a Wednesday night, and Chez L’Ami Jean was a madhouse. The kind of madhouse with several pork legs hanging from the ceiling. My kind of madhouse. I munched on some saucisson sec as they told us several times that the wait would be just a few more minutes. With cured pork in my hands, I am a patient man. Of course, it was about 700° (Celsius, naturally) in the room and there was barely any space to stand, much less to sit. So after we cleaned up the charcuterie board I dashed outside to lose a few layers of clothing. I came back in to find the place no less crowded. Like first graders hovering around the kid at school whose mom packed him homemade cookies for lunch, we had all jammed ourselves into this hot, raucous restaurant just for a taste of Stéphane Jégo’s cooking. I noticed I wasn’t the only one who stared longingly at the dishes that passed by and closed my eyes to take in their aromas. We all seemed to be captivated. We finally sat down at a tiny cozy four-top along the wall. There were a few daily specials on the nearby chalkboard in addition to the 3-course fixed price menu for 32€, and some of them were too good to pass up (so I’ll list the a la carte prices below). There was also a carte blanche menu for 60€. Next time I am all over that. In any case, we ordered and then snacked on some bread and a dip of cottage cheese, chives and Espelette pepper. Actually the dip was pretty terrible, so we really just snacked on the bread. It wasn’t long before our entrées arrived, and the first they set down was the Asperges blanche vinaigrette tiede d’herbes maraîchers (17€). Steamed white asparagus came dressed with a warm herb vinaigrette, topped with crispy carrot and beet chips and a thin slice of ham for good measure. The asparagus were fork-tender but not at all mushy, and the refreshing vinaigrette was a nice reminder that this was early spring on a plate, even if the temperature outside suggested otherwise. A friend of ours ordered the Emulsion de petit pois et asperge, croûtons, ciboulettes et lards, a vibrant green pea and asparagus soup with tiny crispy croûtons, chives and bacon. They brought her not just a cup or a bowl, but the whole tureen. Enough for each of us to have a bowlful and then some. It was thick, velvety, and really tasty. So much so that we seem to have forgotten to snap a photo. Oops. Certainly the winner among the first courses was the Confit de pomme grenaille au beurre, crème d’ail et escargot de Bourgogne. Ridiculously buttery potatoes with a beautiful bright green parsley and garlic cream, tender snails and spicy chorizo. Oh, and a crispy slice of ham. (Basically everything here is garnished with pork.) Offering my personal analysis with all the wisdom of a five-year-old, I declared this “the best potato-parsley combo ever.” That basically sums it up, I think. Really delicious. They had unfortunately just run out of the morel-stuffed chicken breast we had seen at a several other tables, so instead our friend got the Fricassé de poulet de ferme “cuisse” crèmé servi en cocotte de tradition. Stewed chicken leg served in a cream sauce and topped with carrots, onions and snap peas. And if that wasn’t enough, on a second plate they served her another huge piece of roasted chicken au jus, garnished with (you guessed it) two strips of crispy ham. The chicken in both cases was cooked well and it was very moist. She seemed to prefer the cream sauce-and-vegetable presentation to the one served with the pan juices. But I think we were all lamenting the unavailability of the morel-stuffed chicken. I say “we” because I definitely would’ve asked for half a small bite of it. It looked wonderful. We got our morels anyway with the Assiette de morilles cuisinées à la crème tout simplement (32€). These mushrooms are one of my favorite signs of spring, and this ultra simple preparation — basically cooked with loads of cream and butter — was delicious. Mixed in with the morels were some lovely fat English peas, onions and a few stray bits of bacon. In addition to the plated portion, a second helping came in a separate crock so that it stayed warm while you ate, which I thought was a nice touch. It was much easier to enjoy this very tasty dish once I chose not to remind myself of its equivalent price in US dollars. The weakest of the main courses, and really the lone disappointment of the evening, was the Joue de porcelet cuisiné mijoté en vinaigré de lentille de Puy. It tasted as simple and straightforward as the menu description: braised pork cheeks (garnished with crispy pork, obviously). It was very tender, pulling apart easily without the use of a knife. But ultimately the flavor was bland, even dull. The carrot and onion did little to hide the fact that this was basically just a big chunk of meat that had been cooked for a really long time. Nothing wrong with it, necessarily, but I was hoping for more depth of flavor considering some of the great stuff we’d eaten already. Far from disappointing were the Ris de veau “pomme” rôti, puis braisé à la vanille, jus tranché (42€). Two fist-sized pieces of sweetbreads (poetically translated as “the calf’s laugh” in French) were first roasted and then braised with vanilla bean. Some very thin and crispy carrot chips were on top. The sweetbreads were cooked very well — really creamy on the inside — and extremely tasty. And the whole dish smelled absolutely fantastic. The portion was so big that I needed some help to finish it off. (And by that I really mean it was so good I was able to use it as a bargaining chip to taste everyone else’s food!) Oh, and I definitely should not forget to mention the smooth, extremely buttery potato purée that came as a side with both the sweetbreads and the pork cheeks. It was Robuchon-esque — which is to say it was a cardiologist’s nightmare and an eater’s dream. If the myriad of recommendations I had read for this restaurant were to be trusted, Riz au lait grand-mère en service, confiture de lait was the way to go for dessert. And they were right. This rice pudding was thick enough to stand a spoon in and very creamy. It had a very pronounced vanilla flavor; milk jam drizzled everywhere made it even richer. There was enough in the self-serve bowl to feed a small country, but we quickly polished it off (out of politeness, of course). I thought for a second about asking for another round for the table, but we’d already ordered a second dessert to share — the Sablé breton maison, tombé de fraise et framboise, glacé vanille. A thick round of buttery shortcake was served with macerated raspberries and strawberries, and topped off with vanilla ice cream and crispy nougatine. The cake was sweet and tasty, if a bit dry. But this problem was easily solved if one got enough ice cream in every mouthful. Overall this dessert definitely paled in comparison to the rice pudding, but then again that was a tough act to follow. Fortunately some extra consolation came in the form of a small dish of warm madeleines they brought out as well. That was a nice little surprise. By the time we wrapped up, it was approaching 1am. Between this dinner and lunch at Pierre Gagnaire it had been a wonderful day, and I was a very happy man. Now I know the exchange rate is killing the US dollar right now (which probably explains why all the folks we stood elbow-to-elbow with before this meal were speaking French). But as far as I’m concerned, Chez L’Ami Jean’s 32€ prix fixe is an incredibly fair neighborhood restaurant price for Michelin star-quality cuisine. This is the kind of bistro I had dreamt about before coming to Paris, but only in the the way a little kid dreams about the tooth fairy. You don’t know if it actually exists, but you sure hope it does. And in the mean time you’ll enjoy whatever gifts it brings your way.

I vote for... First Urasawa in LA, then Manresa in Los Gatos.

With the show "Jamie at Home", Jamie Oliver has surprisingly become one of my favorites

Cool-looking, indeed. Ya gotta hand it to 'em, haute French chefs can be precise with their pasta presentations. See Joël Robuchon's osetra caviar and capellini, Jean-Francois Piege's "spaghetti carbonara", Thierry Marx's spaghetti au ris de veau, cèpes et truffes. Crazy business. Agreed. Great stuff so far, Bryan. Thanks!

I'll second this. My experience with them last summer was 5/5.

Francois Payard Anthony Bourdain Suvir Saran