tupac17616

It's been, oh, probably over a year since I've posted to this thread, but no time like the present, I suppose Pollo al Diavolo from Molto Italiano

I finally got around to posting some PICTURES of this amazing place

sounds like a great meal, ue. that is definitely a special place, more about the experience of the farm, even, than the food (which is quite good in its own right). i think you captured that very well. i agree with you about the texture of pasta made with embryonic eggs. it is certainly different than your typical fresh pasta (even when made with egg yolks only). the first time i had it, a chef in modena was telling me about how rolling it out is a pain in the you-know-what. oh, and by the way, what the heck is piracicaba?

alto 6 annisa 9 anthos 9 apizz 6 country 6 craftbar 7 or 930 craftsteak 7 or 9 cru 530 danube 6 or 930 felidia 545 fleur de sel 915 gonzo 630 or 8 gotham 530 hearth 6 insieme 630 or 830 knife + fork 8 le cirque 630 or 9 oeust 530 perry st 530 quality meats 630 porter house 845 salt 6 or 830 town 715 or 8 trestle on tenth 9 granted, some of the above times are absolutely horrible, but there are lost of options depending on what exactly you're looking for. personally, i would book anthos at 9:00 and call it a day.

(To view the photos from the following meals in the downstairs restaurant....eh, who gives a CLICK? ) Name three great chefs. The first three that come to mind. Depending on what constitutes your idea of culinary greatness, a fairly standardized list of names might be running through your head right now: Ducasse, Adrià, Robuchon, Bocuse, Alajmo, Keller, Blumenthal, Gagnaire, et al. (Hey, I’ll play along too… Kinch). Easy enough, right? Now name three truly influential chefs. Not quite so trivial, is it? Influence is a powerful idea; revolution, a loaded word. But neither of these notions is an exaggeration, really, when applied to the work of Alice Waters. Founding Chez Panisse back in 1971, I doubt she or anyone at the time had any idea what was underway. The beginning of this restaurant represented the beginnings of the very idea of “California Cuisine.” It was, in short, an American Food Revolution. Odds are that Waters has even influenced some piece, however small, of how you eat today. This sounds crazy, I know. But I can show you how. Your favorite local restaurants? I’d bet that a good number of the chefs just might have been her disciples at one point before moving on to open places of their own. That public school lunch reform program you are so happy to see your local school district championing? You might have a little program called The Edible Schoolyard to thank. That all-organic farmers’ market you go to every week now? That book you just read condemning the follies of agribusiness? That local Slow Food chapter your city just founded? The fact that your menu told you the name of the farm from which the heirloom tomatoes you ate at that fancy-pants restaurant last night came? I’m telling you, her influence is just about everywhere. Though it is not, some disappointedly complain, at the restaurant itself. At least, not physically. Downstairs, the chef’s duties these days are split between Jean-Pierre Moullé and David Tanis, each working half of the year and spending the other half in France. Going in for dinner and asking “Is Alice in tonight?” will earn you nothing more than the satisfaction of providing the staff with a good laugh. It should also be noted that the downstairs restaurant and the upstairs café are not one and the same. They are two completely different restaurants, in fact, that just happen to operate under the same roof. Downstairs: fixed menu, fixed price, dinner only. Upstairs: a la carte, lunch and dinner. The choice is yours, and frankly, you can eat quite well in either one. In this write-up, though, I’ll focus on the downstairs restaurant. You can see my thoughts on the café here. My most recent visit was just a couple of weeks ago. In the days leading up to the Thursday night reservation, my excitement was already growing. I’d seen the menu posted online the previous Sunday, and it sounded incredible. King salmon, heirloom tomatoes, chanterelle mushrooms, figs, sweet corn — these are not items that easily escape my notice. This particular night’s offering was strongly evocative of the season, a Chez Panisse trademark. My parents and I were in for a good meal, it seemed. Arriving at the restaurant for our 6:30 reservation (there are two seatings nightly), we were shown to our corner table near the beautiful open kitchen. A small dish of delicious Lucques olives was set before us after we had placed our drink orders and looked once again at the night’s menu. Not long after that, two types of Acme Bread were brought out — fresh, crusty and pleasantly chewy. The first course came out: Slow roasted king salmon with green beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, and fennel. This was utterly tasty, a pure expression of fresh, crisp vegetables. The green beans had the perfect snap. The cucumbers, a refreshing crunch. The tomatoes deliciously straddled the line between sweetness and acidity. The fennel added that licorice-y top note to it all. All that, and I haven’t even mentioned the buttery salmon, so tender it fell apart at the slightest provocation with the side of one’s fork, much less the tines. Nor have I mentioned the wonderful champagne vinaigrette (a vinaigrette may be a simple things to master, but it’s among the most elusive to actually be well-executed in a restaurant), or the chopped bits of hard-cooked egg, adding even another layer of richness to the dish. What can I say? Things had most certainly started off on the right foot. Next, we moved on to the Chanterelle mushroom soup. The soup had a lovely consistency. Smooth enough that you know it had seen a few trips through the chinois, but still slightly rustic at heart. It was finished with chopped bits of sautéed chanterelle mushroom and a drizzle of fruity olive oil. A dish, undoubtedly, of few ingredients. Yet the care chosen in sourcing them really came through. This kind of flavor clarity is not something that comes easily. These weren’t just any mushrooms. The main course that evening was Spit-roasted loin of Laughing Stock Farm pork with fig chutney, sweet corn, and fried onion rings. At first you might read the menu and think to yourself, “‘Spit-roasted’? Hah!”. But then you sneak a glance toward the open kitchen and see the meat guy at work. At the spit. (Did I mention the kitchen is beautiful? “Rustic” seems cliché until you realize that is exactly the word this space embodies.) The pork loin was rich, flavorful, and incredibly juicy. The fig chutney provided just the right sweet counterpoint to the meat and its tasty jus. The sweet corn was buttery, with a subtle spice in the background from being sautéed with little bits of hot peppers. The onion rings were crispy and very tasty. A nicely balanced dish overall, definitely. Dessert was Apple and quince galette with burnt honey ice cream. “Apple pie à la mode,” my Dad happily noted. And a great (French) rendition of that American classic, it was. The tart crust was somehow flaky and crumbly at the same time. The apple and quince slices were cut thick enough to give you something substantial to bite into, yet thin enough to be tender when baked. The caramel overtones of the burnt honey ice cream brought a very pleasant level of richness to the cold sweetness. Later a small dish of petits fours was brought out as well, providing the crowning touch. This was a nice end to what had been a very, very good meal. And just to show that I don’t consider it merely a fortunate coincidence that I ended up reserving on an evening whose menu sounded particularly good and tasted even better, I’d like to talk about another meal I had there. At the end of August, my father and I enjoyed a menu that was fittingly more suggestive of summer than of autumn, yet no less delicious than the meal I described above. Instead of the dish of olives, this meal started out with a plate of roasted almonds. Rubbed with a delicious blend of spices that I couldn’t quite discern one by one, these were incredibly addictive. Our plate was quickly emptied. Then came some of their delicious bread and butter, which we nibbled on for a few minutes. Our first course that night was Green bean, shell bean and cherry tomato salad with basil and goat cheese croûton. For years, I thought I would never eat a tomato in a restaurant that would come close to those I’d pluck straight from the vine at home in Texas. Still warm from the sun’s rays, I’d eat them unadorned, unabashedly letting the juice run down my face as I smiled with delight. There is nothing quite like that. Still, these particular tomatoes came close. Awfully close. There were several heirloom varieties, among which I remember Green Zebra and Black Prince. Collectively, they hit every point along the sweet-acidic flavor spectrum, creating a stunningly well-rounded tomato flavor. The shell beans, purple and white, were cooked just to the point of being creamy without being mushy. The green beans were bright and crisp. And the goat cheese croûton was creamy and nicely tangy. Dressed lightly with olive oil, this was really a wonderful salad. The second course was Fideus pasta with roasted peppers, white shrimp, and aïoli. This is a traditional Spanish preparation in which the noodles are browned in oil before broth is added, creating an extra depth of flavor and allowing you to slowly add liquid until the noodles are cooked to the desired level of doneness. The result of this cooking method, familiar to anyone who has ever prepared risotto, is a lusciously creamy texture. This pasta was, for my tastes, taken to just the right level of doneness, with a slight al dente quality to give it some integrity. The shrimp were plump and juicy, neither over- nor under-cooked. The roasted peppers and the pleasant spicing throughout this dish made it a real pleasure to eat, and the garlicky aïoli just put it over the top. Very nice. Our main course was Grilled James Ranch lamb rack, loin, and leg, with fried eggplant, olive sauce and garden lettuces. Having the different cuts of lamb was nice, allowing one to enjoy the different levels of leanness and richness. Every piece was cooked exactly to my liking, a juicy medium rare. The panko-breaded eggplant was tender and piping hot on the inside, wonderfully crisp on the outside. The olive (not an ingredient I’m particularly enamored of) sauce was pleasantly assertive without being overly so, an accompaniment strong enough to stand up to the meat. The garden lettuces, lightly dressed with a tart vinaigrette, provided a nice foil to the rich flavors of the meat and a nice way to cleanse the palate. Last but definitely not least was the Summer berry sherbet coupe with champagne granité. What is a coupe, you might ask? Just take a look at the second paragraph here. Call me uncivilized, but it sounds to me like just another word for a sundae. And, in this case, it was delicious. The champagne granité was actually made with Moscato d’Asti, one of my favorite dessert wines, so I decided to order a glass to accompany the dessert. Regular strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, and beautiful tiny white wild strawberries (a.k.a. fraises des bois) were all a part of this dessert. The combination was sweet, tart, and incredibly refreshing. Just a lovely way to end the meal, along with the petits fours this time, consisting of lemony thumb-print cookies and pistachio chocolates. After the meal we met chef David Tanis, who is a really nice guy. After chatting with him for a few minutes, he graciously offered us a tour of the kitchen. And what a strikingly beautiful kitchen it is. The first thing one notices upon entering are large presentation bowls showcasing the fresh ingredients that are being served up that evening (see the cherry tomato photo). There is a markedly calm feel to this kitchen. No frantic motions. No yelling. It is an almost-confident calmness that begs the question, “What’s the hurry?” In a culture that often encourages us to whisk ourselves from one activity to the other, never taking the time to really stop and enjoy each one, this is an important question to ask ourselves. Sit down. Relax. Enjoy a meal at Chez Panisse. A meal that dazzles not with technical fireworks, but with simplicity. Nature’s voice is not muffled here; it is given center stage. Don’t come here expecting foams, flashy ingredients, or menus overwrought with quotation marks. But do come here expecting absolutely pristine ingredients, treated with care, so fresh they are nourishing to both body and soul. With that understanding in mind, you will quickly see that it is a special place.

(To view the photos from this meal in the upstairs café, all it takes is a CLICK.) Name three great chefs. The first three that come to mind. Depending on what constitutes your idea of culinary greatness, a fairly standardized list of names might be running through your head right now: Ducasse, Adrià, Robuchon, Bocuse, Alajmo, Keller, Blumenthal, Gagnaire, et al. (Hey, I’ll play along too… Kinch). Easy enough, right? Now name three truly influential chefs. Not quite so trivial, is it? Influence is a powerful idea; revolution, a loaded word. But neither of these notions is an exaggeration, really, when applied to the work of Alice Waters. Founding Chez Panisse back in 1971, I doubt she or anyone at the time had any idea what was underway. The beginning of this restaurant represented the beginnings of the very idea of “California Cuisine.” It was, in short, an American Food Revolution. Odds are that Waters has even influenced some piece, however small, of how you eat today. This sounds crazy, I know. But I can show you how. Your favorite local restaurants? I’d bet that a good number of the chefs just might have been her disciples at one point before moving on to open places of their own. That public school lunch reform program you are so happy to see your local school district championing? You might have a little program called The Edible Schoolyard to thank. That all-organic farmers’ market you go to every week now? That book you just read condemning the follies of agribusiness? That local Slow Food chapter your city just founded? The fact that your menu told you the name of the farm from which the heirloom tomatoes you ate at that fancy-pants restaurant last night came? I’m telling you, her influence is just about everywhere. Though it is not, some disappointedly complain, at the restaurant itself. At least, not physically. Downstairs, the chef’s duties these days are split between Jean-Pierre Moullé and David Tanis, each working half of the year and spending the other half in France. Going in for dinner and asking “Is Alice in tonight?” will earn you nothing more than the satisfaction of providing the staff with a good laugh. It should also be noted that the downstairs restaurant and the upstairs café are not one and the same. They are two completely different restaurants, in fact, that just happen to operate under the same roof. Downstairs: fixed menu, fixed price, dinner only. Upstairs: a la carte, lunch and dinner. The choice is yours, and frankly, you can eat quite well in either one. In this write-up, though, I’ll focus on the upstairs café. You can see my thoughts on the downstairs restaurant here. Not too long ago, I happened to find myself in Berkeley, CA. If you had asked me what I was doing there, I’d have answered that I was on a little vacation. You see, ostensibly I was visiting to check out the school, but we all know the only things I was excited about were the restaurants this trip gave me an opportunity to explore. It was a dreadfully rainy, dreary, and chilly afternoon, and I decided there was no better way to spend such a day than to have a leisurely lunch at the Chez Panisse Café (a “light” lunch before dinner at Gary Danko). I’d already been to the downstairs restaurant and thoroughly enjoyed it, so I wanted to see how the upstairs experience would compare. As usual, I was in no particular hurry, and several things on the menu sounded quite good, so I tentatively decided I would do four courses. I asked the waiter if he thought I had ordered too much, because I was a bit concerned about the quantity. I’d ordered fairly light dishes, he thought, so it should be fine. While I waited for my first course to come out, the bread and butter arrived. Delicious Acme Bread and nice, soft room-temperature butter, no less. Very tasty. Pretty soon, my first course arrived: Pizzetta with spring onion, sorrel, and egg ($12). With a beautiful wood-burning oven, and the phenomenal ingredients that the café has access to, it should come as no surprise that they make a mean pizza. This one was no exception. The almost lemony acidic tang of the sorrel and the bright flavor of the spring onion contrasted nicely with the rich creaminess of the egg as the yolk spread over each piece that I cut. The crust was crisp and nicely charred in places, with a pleasant chewiness and remarkable airiness throughout. Quite delicious. Next up was a bowl of Wild nettle soup with pounded pine nuts and parmesan ($8). This soup had a vibrant green color, and a flavor no less bright. Toasted pine nuts were coarsely pounded and then spooned on top, along with a drizzle of fruity olive oil and delicious bits of parmesan cheese. This was a very tasty soup, and the perfect companion for the crusty bread I already had on the table. My third course was Baked Sonoma goat cheese with garden lettuces ($9.50). There is something refreshing about the French tradition of having the salad course near the end of a meal rather than at the beginning, and this course served as both palate cleanser and cheese course in one. The goat cheese was delicious. Lightly breaded before baking, the warm, golden outside gave way to the creamy, pleasantly tangy center. The garden lettuces were dressed with a simple vinaigrette, tart and refreshing, and a nice foil for the cheese’s richness. A very simple dish, but a tasty one. By this point, I was getting pretty full. But there is always room for dessert. I chose the Rhubarb tart with muscat sabayon ($9.50). Ah, two of my favorite things: rhubarb and sabayon. The former, one of my favorite signs of spring; the latter, France’s answer to one of my favorite Italian desserts. This tart was pleasantly, well, tart. So often paired with sweeter strawberries and overloaded with sugar in pie fillings, it was nice to see more of rhubarb’s natural flavor shine here. The sabayon was light, eggy, and sweet. It was a perfect match for the tart. “Hey, I could have cooked that meal!”, you ambitious home cooks out there might be saying to yourselves. And the truth is, you probably could. But odds are that you don’t have access to ingredients of this caliber in your local markets. And odds are that you haven’t built up relationships with the very best purveyors and farmers over the past thirty-five years. You certainly aren’t really paying for technical fireworks at Chez Panisse Café. But you are paying partially, as with all famous restaurants, for a name. For a philosophy. For something that was revolutionary back before you or I had even heard of the place. And, beneath it all, you’re paying someone to shop for you. But as long as they keep doing what they do so very well, that’s price is one I am certainly more than willing to pay.

Oh, come on. How big of an issue is service, really, when you stop in somewhere for just some wine and a few cichetti? It's a wine bar, not a restaurant with the slightest aspirations of formality. Granted, I've only been once, but the service was fine.

Well-said. I hadn't seen that Keller quote before. Maybe I should've heeded our captain's suggestions and bought the cookbook already!

I've not been to the restaurant, but I suppose I should've clarified that the part of Gusto I was recommending is the wine bar's cicheti menu.

Abso-friggin'-lutely! It's out of control. (By the way, I'm glad you enjoyed the report!)

You're brutal today, U.E.! I can't be held responsible for things I type literally about 5 minutes after waking up! Indeed.

With permission from the gardener we met out there, of course! Robert40, thanks for the heads up on the lamb purveyor. I'll make the change.

(Pictures of the following meal can be found HERE) Even though I’ve spent the past several years on the other side of the country eating my way around NYC, I knew it was only a matter of time before I made the culinary pilgrimage to The French Laundry. Fast forward to the present time, when I now call sunny California home, and my opportunity came. Adam had made a reservation for mid-October, an e-mail he sent from Buenos Aires explained. Would I be interested in joining him and another friend of ours who works in San Francisco? You bet your Oysters and Pearls, I was. Though I’d been to the restaurant’s NYC counterpart Per Se several times, this was to be my first trip to The French Laundry, and our friend’s as well. That being the case, I wanted to sample the absolute best that the restaurant had to offer. A reasonable desire, no? I called the restaurant a few weeks before our reservation to see if I might request an extended chef’s tasting menu. After a long-winded explanation, the gist of the response was simple: they cannot guarantee such a menu in advance. Why exactly it is that some advance notice does not help the restaurant in such a scenario is beyond me, but as it is, we were left to hope for the best. On the car ride up from Berkeley, my hungry stomach dragged my mind off into quiet curiosity about the experience we were soon to have. How would this restaurant’s fame, its countless awards, stars, plaques, and distinctions carry over to what was on my plate? In the end, that is all that matters to me. With globe-trotting celebriy chef Thomas Keller so busy these days with movie consulting and frozen foods, who has been holding down the fort in Yountville? The answer, of course, is the young chef de cuisine Corey Lee, under whose leadership in the kitchen The French Laundry has maintained its status as the premier “destination restaurant” in the United States. I’ve heard both sides of the story. The complaints about restaurant whose cuisine is sometimes claimed to be almost cold, mechanical and soulless in its precision. The raves of those proclaiming there is not a better restaurant in the US, period. I didn’t expect to be swayed too far toward either of these extremes by the meal’s end (and, truth be told, I happen to think another place is the best restaurant in the country. Shh!), but I was certainly excited to see just how good the French Laundry might be. We arrived a bit early for our 6pm reservation, taking a few minutes to stroll through the beautiful French Laundry gardens across the street. Had we arrived even earlier, a glass of champagne sipped slowly in the restaurant’s lovely courtyard would have been nice, too, but before we knew it, it was dinner time. We re-entered the restaurant, and were soon shown to the corner table on the first floor as we’d requested. Very nice spot, but of course there are no cheap seats (literally) at The French Laundry. “I understand you’ve requested the Chef’s Tasting Menu,” our captain mentioned after a long song-and-dance about “How our menu works here at The French Laundry.” Ah, the magic words we had been hoping to hear. We responded affirmatively, then in a gesture that honestly seemed more theatrical than anything else, he stepped away for a few minutes to go “check with the kitchen.” All systems were go, he said upon returning, and just like that, we were off. We began exactly as expected, which is to say, we started with the textbook Thomas Keller openers. First, warm Gruyère gougères, warm little cheese puffs filled with creamy Mornay sauce. Then, salmon cornets with sweet red onion crème fraîche. These small starters were each delicious, if disappointingly predictable. While I’ve never really been wowed by the gougères, I do find the texture and flavor of the salmon cornets to be spot on pretty much every time. A few minutes later, our first course arrived, and with it, our first wine of the evening. The “SOUPE DE MUSQUÉE DE PROVENCE” with Kakai Pumpkin Seeds was paired with Schramsberg Vineyards, “J. Schram,” California, 1999. This sparkling wine was quite good, prompting our friend to proclaim it possibly the best champagne he has ever had. This deep orange heirloom pumpkin variety made for a delicious and lusciously creamy soup, though the pumpkin seeds didn’t really add much in my opinion. I understand the textural contrast they were meant to provide, but to me that contrast was one that distracted, rather than enhanced my enjoyment of the dish. I ended up picking the bland seeds out and eating them separately. I must say, though, it was refreshing to start with something besides Oysters and Pearls, which has begun almost every Per Se meal I’ve had. Whoops, I spoke too soon. Next up was “OYSTERS AND PEARLS” “Sabayon” of Pearl Tapioca with Beau Soleil Oysters and White Sturgeon Caviar. This dish is a Thomas Keller classic, and its flawless preparation that evening was a strong indication why. Accompanying the description of the dish was our captain’s first of many endorsements for The French Laundry Cookbook. While one or two of these scattered through the course such a long meal would have been fine, I’m afraid we heard one too many. That little quibble aside, did I mention this dish was wonderful? Because it was. The oysters were gloriously plump, briny and delicious. The caviar provided bright, oceanic little bursts of flavor on the tongue. The buttery sabayon and the slightly chewy tapioca tied it all together in beautiful harmony. For a dish that I’ve had several times now, this was by far the best rendition I’ve enjoyed. Oh, and we were still working on the 1999 J. Schram with this course. Next on tap was “SASHIMI” OF PACIFIC KAHALA with Blis Maple Syrup and Applewood Smoke. Why there are quotations on the word sashimi in the menu description is beyond me, but this was a very interesting presentation. We were each brought a clear glass orb, smoky on the inside, that looked almost like a snow globe shaken up. Once the lid was removed, the trapped applewood smoke aromas filled the air, leaving an intoxicating scent that lingered throughout this course. The fish, which you might have seen in sushi bars as kampachi, was bland and disappointing. As was the dish as a whole, really. I found it to be bland, almost flavorless. The texture of the fish was quite firm, and its flavor was overwhelmed by the smoke and the maple syrup. Also a very difficult course to eat, with tiny slivers of onion resting beneath the fish that proved to be almost impossible to extract. This course made for a nice bit of theatrics, but in the end did not deliver. This was the last course with which we drank the 1999 J. Schram. Moving right along, we had the WHITE TRUFFLE CUSTARD with a “Ragoût” of Périgord Truffles. With this, we enjoyed a pairing that I thought went fantastically well with the food, as Adam and our friend both agreed: Barbeito, Sercial, Madeira, Portugal 1978. Giving us this fortified wine immediately following the delicate champagne was a bold move, but one we certainly appreciated as it proved to be a match made in heaven. Both components layered in the egg shell were wonderfully redolent of earthy truffle. The custard was smooth and creamy, cooked perfectly until it was just set. The black truffle ragout on top was an almost syrupy reduction that further enhanced each bite. Really nice. Oh, and did I mention, “If you take a look at The French Laundry cookbook…” We now return you to our previously scheduled program. (I shouldn’t make fun…it was very nice of our waiter to bring out the tools they use to get the tops off the egg shells when we expressed some curiosity about that.) Next we enjoyed what for me was the most elegant presentation of the evening, with the SALAD OF AIR-CURED WAGYU with 100 Year Old Balsamic Vinegar. An elegant take on a type of Italian salumi called braseola, which is simply air-cured beef often sliced paper thin like prosciutto. The intense marbling of the Wagyu beef made for beautiful looking translucent slices, among which were ripe wedges of pear, leaves of slightly peppery arugula, toasted pine nuts, and syrupy-thick 100 year old Balsamic. All the flavors — salty, sweet, nutty, peppery, acidic — complemented and balanced one another nicely. My only complaint with this course was how quickly it disappeared. A slice or two more of the Wagyu to make it the undisputed star of the show certainly wouldn’t have hurt, especially considering all the other flavors on the plate. Ah, and for those keeping track of the wines, with this course we drank Naia, Verdejo, “Naiades,” Rueda, Spain, 2005. Up to this point, they had held off on bringing out the bread for us. We had a lot of food still on the way, they had warned. But now, a warm roll for each of us emerged. With this first piece of bread they brought two types of butter, one unsalted and one salted. Both were amazing, but the oh-so-soft salted butter was an especially beautiful thing. With this first roll, and the other 3 or 4 types of bread that we enjoyed throughout the meal, I was doing basically a 1-to-1 ratio of butter to bread. And that was working very nicely, indeed. The course that followed was a show-stopper, arguably the best dish of the night: HAND-CUT “TAGLIATELLE” with Parmigiano Reggiano and Shaved Burgundy Truffles. Definitely a delicious reminder that great dishes need not be accompanied by a whole laundry list of ingredients. Flour, egg, butter, parmigiano-reggiano, truffles. Done. The fresh pasta was tender and delicious (al dente fresh pasta non va bene). Buttery and warm, if there is a tastier bed for fresh shaved truffles, I certainly don’t know what it is. The truffles were shaved tableside, and the amazing scent turned a few heads in the small dining room. We all loved this dish. Not that we spoke much while we ate it….we were far too enraptured by what was on our plates. Coming back down to earth, we had some wine with this course, as well: Tor, Chardonnay, “Durell Vineyard,” Sonoma, 2004. In a textbook example of how Thomas Keller’s menus are often ripe with apparent oxymorons and indecipherable ironies, our next course was COLUMBIA RIVER STURGEON “CONFIT À LA MINUTE” Potato “Rissolée,” English Cucumber, Pickled Pearl Onions, Sorrel, Salmon Roe and Dill “Crème Fraîche”. Um, confit à la minute? Whatever you say. And believe it or not, the “browned” potato was, in fact, browned. Crazy, I know. Anyhoo, with this course, we enjoyed a glass of Schloss Gobelsburg, “Renner,” Grüner Veltliner, Kamptal, Austria 2005. The fish was lightly poached, served with refreshing little balls of cucumber the same size as the slightly salty salmon roe. The pickled onions brought a nice acidity to the mix, and the crème fraîche provided a nice tangy sourness with a pleasant herbal note from the dill. The french fry (I mean, uh, Potato “Rissolée”) was crisp and very tasty. Yet even with a well-cooked piece of fish, and well-balanced accompaniments, this dish failed to dazzle me. Maybe something as simple as another contrasting textural element could have helped this dish sing a little louder. Next up was SWEET BUTTER-POACHED MAINE LOBSTER “MITTS” Sautéed “Foie Gras,” Hazelnuts, Sunchoke Purée and Coffee-Chocolate Emulsion. Wow. What can I say? Along with the truffle pasta, clearly among the best dishes of the night. This was fantastic — luxury on a plate. The foie was buttery and rich, while the lobster was done just right, not the slightest bit tough or chewy. A couple of well-caramelized cippolini onions provided a nice accompaniment, as did the coarse ground roasted hazelnuts. The sunchoke’s presence was subtle and the coffee-chocolate combination almost imperceptible, but perhaps I was already enamored of the perfectly cooked foie gras and lobster to notice. Ah, and I haven’t even mentioned the salts yet. Six different types were brought out for us to experiment with — ranging from grey salt and fleur de sel to black lava salt and red clay salt — each with a different coarseness and intensity. The red clay salt seemed to be the favorite among us, but all added a different boost to the dish. Reading our minds, the staff even left the salts on the table for the rest of the savory courses so that we could use it to salt the butter as we’d already begun to do. Aha, and I’ve yet to mention it, but with this course we drank Spencer Roloson, Viognier, “Noble Vineyard,” Knights Valley, 2005, which I found to be a nice pairing. Moving right along into the heavier meat courses now, we had SCOTTISH RED-LEGGED PARTRIDGE Glazed Chestnuts, Caramelized Splendor Apples and Spiced Bread Purée. I had seen this on the day’s menu before the meal started, and it sounded particularly nice, so I was glad to see it pop up as part of our tasting. While the partridge was moist, and the caramelized apples and the spiced bread puree tasty, the large glazed chestnut on my plate was horribly undercooked. Neither Adam nor our friend noted any problems with theirs, however, so I must have just been the unlucky one of the bunch. I love chestnuts, so the nasty grittiness of that chestnut kind of ruined the dish for me. All was well, though, as I was able to drown my sorrows in a glass of Brewer Clifton, Pinot Noir, “Rio Vista,” Santa Rita Hills, 2005. It is a rough life, I know. Now we moved on to the RIB-EYE OF ELYSIAN FIELDS FARM LAMB “Plat de Côte Braisée,” Toasted Pearl Barley, Niçoise Olives, Sweet Peppers and Baby Artichokes. From this small farm just outside Pittsburg comes some very tasty lamb; it’s no wonder they provide both Per Se and The French Laundry with the good stuff. A perfectly uniform layer of caramelized meat surrounding a supple pink center was evidence that a non-traditional cooking method such as sous vide was probably at work here. The meat was exceptionally tender and juicy. The pearl barley added a nice heartiness to the dish, and the olives, peppers and artichokes kept a nice salty-sweet interplay going. Served with a simple reduction, this was a dish without any fireworks, but great technical execution. With this course, we drank Ridge, “Home Ranch,” Cabernet Sauvignon / Merlot / Petit Verdot, Santa Cruz Mountains 2002. By this point, the nuances of the wines were probably slipping right past us, but of course we’d had far too much wine to care. The last of the savory courses was a cheese course, if you could call it such: “TOMME BRULÉE” “Gratin” of Broccolini and “Sauce Mornay”. This very tasty sheep’s milk cheese from the Basque region of France has smooth, sweet, and slightly nutty flavor. Rather than being presented as a small wedge alongside the accompaniments, in this case the cheese was shaved table-side into thin sheets that quickly began to almost melt over the warm, creamy and cheesy broccolini gratin. While the slight caramelized flavor of the cheese due to its flame-singed rind was still able to come through, I think I would’ve preferred a more traditional cheese course. With a cheese so flavorful on its own, why not let it shine a bit more? Transitioning toward the sweeter end of the meal now, we had PERSIAN LIME SORBET and Coconut “Granité”. This was light and refreshing, as a pre-dessert should be. The sorbet tip-toed the line between sweet and tart very nicely. The coconut granite was actually more like a coconut powder, perhaps freeze-dried coconut milk or something like that. There was also a few cubes of coconut gelée, which provided another texture to carry the subtle flavors at work in this dessert. The first full-sized dessert is one of the Thomas Keller signatures: “COFFEE AND DOUGHNUTS” Cinnamon-Sugared Doughnuts and “Cappuccino Semi-Freddo”. For a dish I’ve had a handful of times now, this is by far the best rendition I’ve enjoyed. The doughnut and doughnut hole were nice and warm, dusted with delicious cinnamon-sugar. The semifreddo was just right, with a texture almost like frozen mousse, and a coffee flavor just assertive enough to counter the sweetness without overwhelming it. Nicely done. And did I mention that if you open The French Laundry cookbook and turn to page…Just kidding. With this dessert, we drank Domaine Fontanel, Rivesaltes Ambré, 1997. I don’t typically like to drink dessert wines with the actual dessert, but I did enjoy this one on its own afterwards. In the home stretch now, we had one last full-sized dessert: “S’MORES” Peanut Butter “Parfait,” Caramel “Délice” and “Sauce à la Guimauve Flambée”. The last part part of this translates roughly to burnt marshmallow fluff (I’m serious. Look it up.). But the French sounds so much more elegant, no? Other than the presence of marshmallow, I’m not really sure I see the S’mores thing (where, oh where are the graham crackers?), but maybe I’m just blind. Whatever the case may be, this was a pretty tasty dessert. The slightly salty peanut butter worked very nicely with the chocolate flavor in the parfait. The caramel and the burnt marshmallow components added some caramelized depth to it. I didn’t touch it until well after I’d finish the “S’mores,” but we capped off the wine pairing for the evening with a lovely glass of Kiralyudvar, Tokaji, “Cuvee Ilona,” Hungary, 2001, one of my absolute favorite dessert wines. At this point in the meal comes the almost never-ending parade of smaller sweets so innocently referred to on the menu as “MIGNARDISES”. First a vanilla bean pot au crème with a thin layer of sweet strawberry preserves at the bottom. Then a beautiful selection of chocolates (The correct response at this point is “One of each, please”). Then marzipan, pumpkin pâtes de fruit, and oblong chocolate truffles. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget the ultra-buttery shortbread cookies they gave us to save as a treat for the next day. People have often referred to meals at the French Laundry being much like marathons. If that is the case, we had finally completed this test of food and wine endurance. Our wallets had gotten a workout, too, now $500 lighter. But to what end? Were we dazzled? Did we leave absolutely star-struck, floating on cloud nine? Not quite. That’s not to say this was not a damn good meal. It was. The very good wine pairings went above and beyond our expectations. And this restaurant’s cuisine is about as close to technical flawlessness as it gets. But in the end, I’m still left with one question: Where is the love? To me the meals that leap that magical line between very good and transcendent all share one thing: soul. And while the Thomas Keller, French Laundry trademark experience is a delicious one… soulful, it is not.

julot-les-pinceaux, Finally got around to writing a bit about my recent experience at TFL here. Manresa will hopefully be soon to follow.

20 cheeses? bravo

Daisy May BBQ 46th/11th

I enjoy chuckeats, though maybe I am biased since we share the same favorite restaurant

Matricianella is wonderful. Don't miss it. Also, open on Sunday, I'd recommend 'Gusto Osteria on Via della Frezza 16. That was one of my favorite stops in Rome.

Why's that, Tupac? Serious question: It does (or at least it used to) mean something.[...] You hit the nail on the head, Max. Truffle oil is exactly the culprit I had in mind. I've yet to have truffle oil in any restaurant that has provided 1/1000th of the pleasure of smelling an actual truffle freshly shaven over, say, warm taglierini and butter. It frustrates me to no end to see a description of "truffled" ____ on a menu, only to find the dish finished with a drizzle of the oil and not a truffle in sight. Its seems to have become a stupid tool for restaurants to throw a luxury ingredient on the menu and charge $X more for something that is a sad approximation of the real thing.

hmm, that looks vaguely familiar to me... i had a porchetta panino from that same truck! tasty.

what do you see as the biggest mistakes or oversights?

Definitely not surprising, considering that the Piemonte region is Italy is easily the biggest hazelnut producer that is only a stone's throw from France. **quietly sneaks out the back door to go enjoy his crema di pistacchio, Sicily's answer to Nutella**

way to go, michelin. one of just two bib gourmands in berkeley is now closed...

oh man. the linguine con bottarga, the gnocchi di zucco, the pasta with canocchie. you're killing me here, chufi!

prize-winning (not to name names, but...)