ulterior epicure

snekse: I believe that California abalone harvest seasons are from April through June and August through November. Might you have been at Manresa in July or one of the hard winter months?

Gah. That's a shame. That was probably the most memorable course for me from that dinner.

Sorry if you took my statement the wrong way. I meant, simply, that to my knowledge, I don't ever recall hearing about anyone ordering a la carte (and I assumed that's what you were hinting at). I would agree with tupac17616: get the tasting menu. I'm sure the a la carte is great as well. But, if you can afford the extended ride, the adventure will be worth it.

You know, it's telling that you would even have to ask that question.

To get us back ON topic, does anyone know if the online menu is current. Now, for the last shot back: moosnsqrl, you shouldn't assume that my visits to TCF *haven't* been business meetings. In fact, all four times (yes, I remember each and every time) has been for business purposes.

you *EAT* there??? That's even worse. ← moosnsqrl, some aren't as privileged as to CHOOSE where/what they eat all the time. And, for that matter, what right do you have taking pot-shots at a place you've (I'm assuming) have never been?

I don't need to see the kitchen to know that.It's obvious by what lands on my plate.

But moosnsqrl, there *is* assembly line mass production going at The Cheesecake Factory.

Marcus Samuelsson opens C-House, a "Fish and Chops" restaurant in the boutique Affinia Hotel in Streeterville. It's got a 28th floor roof-top terrace. I think I would have rolled my eyes with passing interest had it not been for a spectacular meal I recently had at Aquavit, his home office in New York. Now, I know haute Scandinavian in New York doesn't necessarily translate into seafood success in Chicago, but, I'd like to hope that Chicago is adding one more star to its food scene. Has anyone been?

Although I have never enjoyed my meals at Daniel, there is no doubt that Daniel far surpasses EMP in terms of the overall dining experience. I was thoroughly unimpressed with my one meal at EMP last fall. The service at EMP was not up to par. ← And, for every head there's a tail. My experience was exactly the opposite.

This sounds great. I don't know anything about what Solomonov was doing at Marigold, but it seems that there is a consensus that it was good, if not great. This "Quarter Kitchen" is only offered on Thursdays? So, it's different than the "Mesibah" ("Party Time") menu offered for $50 p/person in the lower right hand corner of the regular menu (I'm assuming this is something of a family-style eating?)? I love Israeli food. Their regular menu looks great as it is.

Going back to philadining's photos of the Kennett Square Mushroom tasting: That seems like an awfully generous amount of food for $45. I think this might be a great place for my other dinner.

It's good to know that I'm in good company. See my confusion?!

Okay, all of this Philly talk has nearly convinced me to augment my trip by two nights (read: two more dinners and lunches, each). Thus: Lunch beyond DiNic's at RTM is now possible. In addition to Tinto and Vetri, I can have two more dinners. I'm thinking about doing Vetri twice - advisable? Other considerations are: Zahav Ansill James (still feel rocky given the luke-warm response) Matyson Cochon Any votes as to this last group? Are any of these just as enjoyable/feasible for lunch? Edited to add: This also means two more blissful days of Capogiro.

Has anyone had James' "Chefs Tasting Men" (offered M-W)? If so, how many courses is it, and, are they smaller portions of the regular menu items?

First dinner at Picholine. You can read the entire review at the ulterior epicure. My friends and I ordered the Menu Royale, with a few changes due to allergies and one expectant mother. Amuses Bouche Tomato Confit and Roquefort Custard Tempura Blue Foot Chanterelle Sea Urchin Panna Cotta Sauteed Foie Gras Warm Maine Lobster Atlantic Halibut Licorice-Glazed Squab Cheese Course Passion Fruit “Cannolo“ I find it interesting that the restaurant’s cuisine, which I find rustically haute, is billed as Mediterranean, even though there are quite a few Asian inspirations on the menu, like the Warm Maine Lobster, the third course on the “Menu Royale” tasting menu. It featured a fat lobster claw draped over a crispy cake of basmati rice surrounded by a thick, spicy and fragrant kaffir lime-lemongrass coconut curry. Gutsy, fragrant, and full of body, it was the hit of the evening. The best move of the evening, for me, was requesting a substitution for the seared foie gras. My friends thought it was fine (with rhubarb and hazelnut), but it wasn’t anything to write home about. I, on the other hand, chose the “Foie Gras Shabu Shabu” from the prix fixe menu. This featured a thin slice of foie gras au torchon topped with a slice of duck ham and dusted with truffle salt. The server poured a steaming “sweet and sour bouillon” (imagine one part of each veal stock, dashi and hot and sour soup (emphasis on the sour)) over the foie gras to gently poach it (12 seconds recommended). I think that a diner would miss the point of this dish if they thought that the foie gras was supposed to play the lead role. In fact, I think that diner would be disappointed. Rather, I think that the foie gras, both the texture and flavor, is intended to compliment the bouillon, which I was immensely satisfying by itself. The foie gras dissolves with time, adding to the flavor. That diner might also be missing the point if they thought that the Sea Urchin Panna Cotta - the most anticipated dish on the menu for me - was supposed to be all about sea urchin. While the sea urchin panna cotta did constitute the majority of this dish, it was certainly not the emphasis. I especially appreciated Brennan’s chutzpah for including this on the Menu Royale. Presumably anyone who’s going to order the Menu Royale would want to try what is probably the restaurant’s most well-known dish (other than cheeses). But, I can see how it might be considered “controversial” (I do know of at least one caviar-averse friend who asked for a substitution (not at this dinner)). (The Roquefort custard with Sauterne gelée, served as an amuse bouche, was an equally gusty move.) Two notes on this dish (because it really is worth mentioning): (1) Don’t think that the Sea Urchin Panna Cotta is entirely *not* about sea urchin. In fact, more than any other sea urchin creation I’ve ever had (that is, something that has sea urchin incorporated into it as opposed to whole sea urchin roe sacks), this panna cotta actually tasted very much like sea urchin roe - slightly sweet and creamy. The consistency of the panna cotta also mimiced the texture of sea urchin roe; it was like very soft custard, despite it’s rather firm, Jell-O-like appearance. This gave me an extra reason to like this course. (2) My friends and I noticed that Brennan has a fascination for thinly-shaved or wafer-like preparations. This course came with two perfectly-round tissue-thin “potato wafers” (about the size of a 45 rpm vinyl). I’m thinking they’re made with potato starch, and baked instead of fried. The wafers are intended to be used as a vehicle for the custard-soft components of this dish. In theory, it’d be great, but two things made this impractacle: First, the wafers were so thin that they barely stood up under the weight of the panna cotta, no matter how much or little you put on them. Second, they would have worked much better had the wafers been closer to bite size; there were wafer crumbs everywhere. That being said, I loved these wafers and would have been happy if they had just brought out a basket of these instead of bread. The other course that I was especially looking forward to was the Licorice-Glazed Squab. Part of my fascination was that the preparation was surprisingly similar to a dish I had at de bookkedoorns, a two-star Michelin restuarant in the Nederlands. Both featured licorice-treated squab with beets. I recognize that on a tasting menu comprised of “greatest hits,” the concept of seasonality goes out the window. This squab presentation sounded very autumnal/wintry. And, it was. So, I wondered if the inclusion of rhubarb was a acknowledgement to those seasonally-minded diners of the dish’s asynchronism (same with the seared foie gras course mentioned above). Overall, this dish was heavy. Although, I did, strangely, enjoy the flavor that the cashew purée contributed, I found it too sloppy and greasy to truly enjoy (plus, I hate it when they put a piece of meat that needs cutting on a pile of something mushy). The same is true for the purslane “salad,” which was much more foie gras vinaigrette than greens. However, the squab and accompanying cubes of foie gras were perfectly-cooked. The licorice glaze on the squab skin was the highlight of this dish. The spicing was subtle, but definitely discernible, lending a slightly sweet and anise-like aroma that I tend to shy away from in larger amounts. Tempura is not this restaurant’s strongest suite. Both the tempura Blue Foot Chanterelles (on a stick, served as part of the amuse bouche) and tempura soft shell crab (that my friend substituted for the lobster - bad move) were limp. The plating on that tempura soft shell crab was a little busy, which I think was the most disappointing and least successful dish of the evening. The crunchy vegetables “a la Grecque” and raisin-mustard emulsion were creative acidic substitutes for more traditional ones. Since I have more than just a passing interest in cheese, I’ll note that the selection is incredible - there are over sixty in the house on any given day. You can smell them too. If you give Max McCalman (the Fromager) some direction, he'll happily assemble a progression for you. That’s what we did. Since he recommended (or, one gets) three cheeses per person, we agreed to pool our collective selections and let him choose a progression of nine, with my sole request that he veer into more off-beat territories. Service was efficient and polite but otherwise a bit chilly up until dessert when I asked our head server what her favorite dessert was. “Being a woman,” she enthusiastically recommended the Chocolate Soufflé. Rewinding just a bit: the reason I got to choose my dessert was because the Passion Fruit “Cannolo,” the Menu Royale dessert, posed a field of allergy mines for me. This featured passion fruit mousse piped into a tube made from a thin sheet of dehydrated pineapple. The connolo sat on a bed of coconut tapioca pudding and was sided by a colourful quenelle of diced mango and kiwi. Big on table-side presentations, an “exotic fruit” soup was poured around the connolo. The soup made little sense to me (cold soup desserts rarely do), since the tapioca pudding dissipated into milky whisps (with tapioca pearls bobbing about; what’s the point of tapioca pudding if it’s doused in liquid? If they wanted to flavor the “exotic fruit” soup with coconut, then why not just add coconut to the soup?) and caused the otherwise crispy pineapple connolo to go soggy. I admit I did taste just a bit of the soup and the passion fruit connolo; it was quite refreshing and I do think that of all the desserts on the dessert menu, it was probably the right ending for such a heavy meal. We also got the Nouveau Carrot Cake (which was really a macaron) and the Chocolat Souffle. Both were good, but not nearly as good as the Warm Caramel Apple Brioche, which was mind-blowing. I generally dislike brioche; there’s often an after-bitterness that I deem offensive. Also, I find the hallmark mallowy softness of brioche intolerably inferior to the crustier breads and pastries that I prefer. Even worse, good (moist) brioche is hard to find, and a dry brioche is the kiss of death. But, apparently, all of my tics and nits go away when you soak brioche in a warm, sticky sweet warm caramel. This little loaf was oozing with warm syrup. By anyone’s estimation, this brioche was way too sweet. But, it was one of those rare indulgences that one can’t help but sneak. The real joy of this dessert, however, was the lacy tangle of what appeared to be dehydrated (baked?) apple strands on top of a salted caramel ice cream (that really didn’t taste much like salted caramel ice cream). They were crunchy (not unlike the fried noodles they garnish bad “Asian” salads with). Also, the tart “salad” of sauteed apples around the ice cream was extremely enjoybable, it tempered the sweetness of this dish. I’ll refrain from commenting on the restaurant’s make-over since Bruni did such an excellent job in his review (2006). Suffice it to say, I don’t really care for it; they traded tapestries for lavender. And, despite the attempt at an injection of youth, the dining room still felt somewhat tired and suffocatingly-tight (although the front room much more so than the back room). Like the interior, the restuarant’s culinary aesthetic, both visually and conceptually, feels dated and sometimes frumpy, if not beautifully so. Other than the tempura fumbles, a forgettable fish, and a greasy bird, I’d say that the food at Picholine is rather solid. My biggest criticism of the Picholine Menu Royale isn’t a criticism of the food itself. Rather it’s an issue that plagues ”greatest hits” menus, generally. And that is: by their very nature, “greatest hits” menus lack higher-level coordination, and thus, often, cohesiveness. Since they are most often forcibly assembled, they can be unbalanced. Greatest hits may be greatest hits, individually. But, strung together, they can make for a disjointed experience. I think Picholine’s Menu Royale falls prey to this. Might the halibut have been more memorable had it not followed the powerhouse lobster course? Maybe. Would the squab have been more enjoyable in the dead of winter instead of Spring? Probably. Was sauteed foie gras with rhubarb a bit over-played? Yes (For this reason, I think my progression, with the Foie Gras Shabu Shabu was probably better; I don’t understand why *that* dish isn’t a “greatest hit.” I think it’s far more interesting and special than the Sauteed Foie Gras course.). The service, as I noted, could have been a bit more friendly and consistent (other than our head server, it seemed that we were geting a revolving door staff betwen ordering and dessert). On a minor note, we did manage to inhale the (wonderful) basket of bread served with the cheese. When we asked for more, the server said they had run out of bread. Although I have no reason to doubt his word, we found this was odd. However, our party did request number of changes for allergies and preferences, and they were accommodated graciously. Is Picholine worthy of its second Michelin star? Yes, probably, although my meal didn’t quite reveal that level of consistency and merit. How does it compare with its peer restaurants? Strictly on a food basis, I’d say it’s much less finessed and refined than Daniel, more satisfying than Del Posto, and more imaginative than, though perhaps on par in execution with, Bouley. I haven’t been to Gordon Ramsay at the London or masa, which I would probably find hard, if not impossible, to compare with Picholine. What entices me to return to Picholine more than anything else (I still want to know why they retired the dining room’s cheese-themed tasting menu) is its “Tasting Flights” menu, which (I believe) served at the bar. I could easily see myself perching at the bar for this less formal sampling of Chef Brennan’s food. And, yes, I checked, Mr. McCalman does make bar calls with his trolley.

I simply cannot justify this comment in my mind. Any gelato that is not as good as il laboratorio's is not good at all, in my opinion.

Actually, I disagree. One of my many problems with Daniel is the price, especially the number of supplemental charges that are found on a typical Daniel dinner menu. ← I would agree, it's one of the few restaurants that I think is significantly out of line.

Or, maybe there is a perception that restricted service hours = more respect, although clearly per se (and perhaps a few others I'm not thinking of) ruins that theory.

Although I'd note that the fact that they're so similar (as Nathan points out) suggests that they don't intend you to eat a whole bunch of them together at one sitting. I agree with Nathan: if you don't order carefully, multiple antipasti at Franny's can get monotonous. (The way to avoid the monotony is not to concentrate solely on green vegetables.) ← While I had agreed upthread with Nathan that the (nearly identical) treatment of the vegetable antipasti is rather repetitive, I repeat (from above) that: "I'm a more avid and enthusiastic vegetable-eater than most..." I think you might underestimate how MUCH of an avid and enthusiastic vegetable eater I am.

And, apparently, as successfully so.

Don't worry, I just said it for you.

And, Nathan, as you point out - those "antipasti" aren't very large. Maybe I'm a more avid and enthusiastic vegetable-eater than most, but I could easily take care of one order each of the artichoke, sugar snaps, pea shoots and Swiss chard on top of a pizza, if I were moderately hungry. Of course, I would have spent the equivalent of two lunches at JG doing so, but that's beside the point you're making.

Okay, so I might as well come out and confess: The fact that we were a party of five salivating adults hovering over one pizza and trying to cut it to portion might have been the source of my frustration - not the fact that we had to cut it. That the pizza kept tearing was particularly bothersome at the time. So, right, given the proper way of eating a pizza (i.e. one pizza, one person), I suppose Franny's pizzas aren't any more annoying than pizzas in Italy; although I do wish they'd get flatter/larger plates (at Franny's).

I have to say I've never understood this. Uncut single-sized pizza has been standard in Italy since forever, and no one seems to have any trouble with it. 1. I expect better customer service in the U.S. then in Italy. 2. these pies aren't single-sized. 1. I don't know why, since that certainly doesn't reflect my experience. 2. Yes, they are. I have to say I've never understood this. Uncut single-sized pizza has been standard in Italy since forever, and no one seems to have any trouble with it. The pies in Italy aren't as large as the ones at Franny's. More importantly, the ones in Italy are served on a platter that is bigger than the pizza, which makes cutting immensely easier (i.e. Franny's pizzas are hanging over the edge of the plate. I've consumed dozens upon dozens of pizze in Italy, and my experience does not accord with either of your claims. Neapolitan style pizze are typically right around the same size as those served at Franny's... Sure, I might be willing to concede that I was over-estimating the size of Franny's pizzas vis-a-vis Italian ones. But, I don't ever recall having been as bothered by the cutting in Italy as at Franny's. They even give you toothed (not butter) knives at Franny's' - you'd think that'd make things easier. But, it actually ended up tearing the crust more than slicing it. Maybe a butter knife might be better (although I've been served pizza with both toothed and butter knives in Italy)? Or, maybe I just don't have the necessary skillz... or, maybe, everything is just better in Italy.