Stone

Crumble red peppers into sauce. Three hours later take out one contact lens. Jump around the apartment, bumping into things, and realizing slowly that I had to take out the other. No, repeated washing of hands didn't help that much. Putting lens back in the next morning and realizing quickly that soft-lenses absorb and retain capsicum as readily as they do water.

I did this over and over again, until I bought a coffee maker that wouldn't work until you put the pot under it. That was great, except I kept forgetting to turn the damn thing off. Coffee would burn down and then BAM, one exploded pot. After 6 exploded pots, I went out and bought a coffee maker that had to have the pot under it to work AND turned itself off after two hours. I did this at the office. You really shouldn't push the "brew" button twice.

Maybe the economy is such that Trotter can't charge enough extra for the foie gras to make his margin on the dish?

Tonight I went to The Bell Tower (Pacific and Polk), which someone had mentioned had a good burger. I've eaten there a number of times -- I used to live a few blocks away. It's a strange place. The building is faux-Spanish? It's actually got a little bell tower facade. It's a good casual bar, and I used to stop in for dinner or a beer every so often. The food selection is odd. There's a bar menu with burgers, pulled pork sandwich, fish and chips, wings, etc. There's also an "upscale" menu, with fish on a bed of wilted . . . . loin of something with a . . . reduction. Etc. I give them kudos for trying to be more than bar food, but the problem is that they end up not doing anything particularly well. I think the upscale menu ends up providing better food, but I wish they would focus on one and get it right. The burger was a disappointment: I ordered it medium rare, with swiss cheese. The patty is, as you see, not big and dwarfed by the bun, which is not good. It was dry and had the consistency of hard foam. My first bite reminded me of those toaster pizza things -- Hot Pockets or something like that. The meat is kind of mushy, and it appeared to have been steamed more than grilled or broiled. It had a greyish color, not a good black char. Turn up the heat, folks. It was, of course, medium well. The cheese did not melt. The fries were a little mushy, but I don't mind that at all. The pulled pork sandwich actually tasted much better: It would have been great if there was more meat to battle with the dry, flavorless bun. Pabst Blue Ribbon -- $2.50.

Not a beer. But my friend Steve will never live down his Pink Chample days in high school. I just had two Pabst Blue Ribbons with my bad burger. It's not a good beer, but it's not offensive. There's no bad flavor to it.

Ha! I completely missed that. I was going to comment about the travesty of their serving white wine in a red wine (Burgundy) glass, and how that too ruined my meal, but I assumed they knew what they were doing.

Seghesio makes a pretty good zin. (Look at me, recommending wine and all.)

I thought this was the case. Odd that the MD told us the menu changes daily. And that he explained what Keller was trying to do in creating the salmon cornets (or did Cabby tell me that). I got the impression that the kitchen was constantly inventing and we would be eating new creations. I didn't realize that I could buy a book and make all this at home.

I don't know the answer, but I believe the oranges were in their sections -- not chopped or otherwise cut. (But I pretty much just popped them into my mouth to get them out of the way.) I'd expect that in this form the membrane would hold in the juice.

Two sections of a small, clemintine like orange. Overlaid atop the pork belly. That's about it as I remember.

I liked it. I thought it looked like an old inn that a weary traveler might happen upon whilst trying to get out of the rain and devour some butter. Clean, sparse and unpretentious.

But if I recall correctly, they blended well into the color of the hood. They did not stand out like flashy gold stars. I think Keller's absence ruined the meal.

"Maytag Blue" with rosemary poached dried fruits and rosemary-infused oil Oregon huckleberry sorbet with toasted almond "financier" Crispy sweet polenta cake with candied apples and brown sugar ice cream Post-Dessert -- Creme brulee; Ginger pot-au-creme The remainder of the meal was good, but it was definitely the denouement. . . . The cheese was very flavorsul and creamy. I really like the sharp taste of the rosemary with the sweet fruit. The huckleberry sorbet was also fine, but fairly strong. The toasted almond financier had nothing to do with Wall Street. I really enjoyed the polenta cake. The texture of was, again again, smooth and soft. It was not too sweet, nor heavy. It sat on the candied apples (which to me got lost) and was topped by some delicious brown sugar ice cream -- I thought it had a bit of a hazelnut flavor. The best part of this dish, to me, was the cap of a thin, baked slice of apple. I wish I had a picture to do it justice. It was sliced paper thin and transparent. The result was visually astounding. The cell-structure of the apple appeared and created a fine texture when viewed closely at an angle. It looked as if it had been embroidered with fine gold thread. I assumed that it had been pressed between fine parchment paper and dried softly under the hot breath of flushed, nubile virgins, but I was informed that it was merely sliced and baked. (My version is better). I thought the creme brulee and pot-du-creme was fine, but nothing spectacular. A little too much ginger in the pot. Before the final desserts (and there were small cookies to finish), Cabrales and I both felt a little hungry (she tried to convince me to drive her to In-n-Out Burger for "real food" as she put it). But as I drove away I realized that it was the perfect amount of food -- for a normal person who, unlike me, does not always walk away from the table stuffed to the gills. Driving home one flavor remained with more more than the others -- truffle. Not like the aftertaste of garlic or onion, I say that it was more of a memory. When I thought about it, I could quickly recall the essence of the truffle, earthy, full and slightly sharp, as if I had just put another slice in my mouth. I realize that the more I have truffle, the more I love the stuff.

I also asked if I could steal the glass, and he seemed to say yes. Alas, I didn't, but hopefully Amazon will run a special.

The glass was beautiful. It looked somewhat like a large buttercup, with the top of the rim leaning back from the center. I offered to steal one, but Cabrales firmly objected. Coward.

We glanced in the kitchen after eating, during the break between lunch and dinner. I was surprised both by how clean and orderly the kitchen looked, and by how many cooks were in there, all happy and clean. I did notice two young fellows whisking large pots filled with butter. They make 20 pounds of buerre mont a day. God bless 'em.

More of a dark maroon, blood pudding. We did make a smashing couple. Yes, I remember thinking these were out of place. The bulb was in the center of a circular pattern or mirrors (like sunflower petals). It reminded me of a flashbulb.

Crispy skin filet of Atlantic sea bass with wilted arrowleaf spinach and vanilla-saffron sauce. I had mixed feeling about this dish, but most of it was good. Again, the best impression made on me was the presentation. The piece of fish was served crispy skin up, of course. And the skin was beautiful. It must have been seared for no longer than a whisper, because most of it appeared completely unadulterated. Instead, fine, dark, weblike lines of raised texture appeared as if they were penciled in by the staff. Imagine if one overlaid a thin sheet of paper on the fish and traced it softly with the side of a pencil point to discover the relief of the skin below. The skin itself was thin and papery crisp, without any soft fat beneath. It had been scored precisely to aid in cutting, so that pushing the fork through the skin did not crush the flesh of the fish beneath. I thought the meat itself was not special, however. It was a very well-cooked, moist piece of fish. The vanilla saffron sauce was subtle and surprising. I would not have expected a vanilla flavor in a main course. It was (like so much of the meal), smooth and soft. I really liked it. "Peas and Carrots" On the bottom of the plate was a puree of carrots. On top of the dish, fresh leaves off pea shoots. In the middle, heaven. Peas and Carrots was the presentation of butter-poached lobster. It came wrapped in a gentle crepe purse, speckled with chopped chive. About the size of . . . well, smaller than a baseball and larger than an egg, it was healthy portion of lobster. I expected that the crepe would be weak, and disintegrate with the moisture from the meat and carrot puree, but it held its form well even when cut. The purse was filled with chopped bits of lobster meat. The lobster had absorbed the butter into its pores and bonded with it to make something rich, yet, again smooth. This wasn't hunk of tail dipped in drawn butter. It was supple pieces of sweet meat basking in the aroma of butter, almost as if coconut creme were added. Cabrales thought she detected a little curry, and that suggestion was there. The carrot sauce on the bottom was missed by me, but I was surprised at how aromatic the few pea shoots were. They were not bitter at all (although on first glance I thought they were watercress), just fresh and green. If I had been served nine courses of this, I would not question in the least whether the meal was worth the money. Hobbs Shore pork belly with melted leeks and "confit" of navel orange This was another of the true surprises of the day. I have never had pork belly, and expected a thick, fatty and chewy piece of unsmoked bacon. Or something like that, but sounding nicer (after all, it is FL). Instead we were served a large, matchbook sized piece of pork belly, with crisp golden fat on top and tender juicy meat below. The fat was not chew at all, and broke well under the fork. The meat inside was tender, not at all the texture I expected from pork. I thought the combination of the crispy fat and tender meat reminded me, in taste, texture and prentation, of duck breast. Cabrales suggested, rightly so, that the meat was fish-like in its consistency -- it was moist and flaked apart on the fork. Not chewy in the least. The flavor was, again, softer than I expected. It was meaty, with a little salt, but certainly not too overpowering to linger through the remainder of the meal. I wasn't a fan of the "confit of navel orange", which appeared to be just two section of orange laid on top, but I don't particularly care for the ubiquitous pairing of fruit with pork. The melted leeks were great, but were, for the most part, minced leeks with butter. Ahh, butter. Pan-roasted "Chateaubriand" of nature-fed veal with forest mushrooms, "rissole" potatoes and natural "jus" This was the weak portion of the meal, and the more I think about it, the less I liked it. The veal loin just didn't have much flavor. It appeared not to have been seared, and did not develop any browning. The three or so cross-sections served had grey rings around the side and a soft pink center. The meat was very tender, but not much else. Even if it were not trying to meet FL standards, I don't think it would have been a success. The mushrooms did not add much, and the rissole potatotes were little more than small marbles of potato. Just didn't do it for me.

Flipping through a copy of the cookbook which was on the bar, I came across the discussion of buerre mont. Keller noted that the restaurant uses a lot of butter, although very little is out on the table. In addition to the oyseters and pearls, there was a leek puree with the veal loin (coming later), that was basically leek with butter. Tasted great though. Given the amount of butter in the meal in various forms, I was surprised that it never got too heavy.

Interesting. Must have been the butter. butter = oil, no? Not only did the cone taste of oil, but it was left on the paper wrapper. Yes, that should have been "the egg yolk" instead of "some".

Amuse -- Salmon cornet amuse While we were still discussing with the sommelier, the waiter brought over the amuse. Wrapped in paper folded with small wings, he explained that Keller's goal was to produce something reminiscent of an ice cream cone. It certainly looked the part. The salmon was diced small, almost minced, mixed with chopped herbs and scooped on top a fried cone with black sesame seeds. Inside was filled with creme fraiche. Looking at the salmon, I thought it might be mushy and heavy. But no. It was fresh and clean and perfectly smooth -- a word that came to mind many times during the meal. The flavor of the herbed salmon countered well with the saltiness of the cone and cool creme fraiche inside. The cone was slightly oily, but if this wasn't FL, I don't think I would have noticed at all. Cabrales, bless her, noticed that one of the sesame seeds in her cone was white, not black. (Surely the French would never had made such a glaring error.) "Pearls and Oysters" One of Keller's signatures (?), I notice that when I googled the term many reviews of his book focus on this appetizer. The base of the dish is a scoop of herbed butter mixed with tapioca pearls in a small white bowl. Across the equator is spread a healthy line glistening black caviar (osetra?), and just above is one small oyster. We were given mother of pearl spoons for utensil. The presentation of the dish was simple yet beautiful, with the deep black caviar on the yellow creamy tapioca sabayon, resting in the clean white of the dish. I thought the white oyster got lost in the mix as it blended in the tapioca. I sampled the caviar first, and found it very mellow. The overwhelming flavor of the dish, however, was butter, which I found surprising and somewhat disappointing. (I think Cabrales didn't find the butter as strong.) When mixed together, I lost any hint of caviar or ocean and the oyster added little. The tapioca pearls offered a suprising texture, but what I really tasted was butter. But this wasn't bad. I thought it would be too rich after a few spoons, but the flavor of the butter was tempered by the tapioca (and perhaps some egg yolk?), and it came off creamy and smooth and fresh. I had not trouble finishing it off. Just the perfect amount. "Terrine" of Moulard duck "foie gras" with Perigord truffles, truffled salad and toasted "brioche"/Braised celeriac salad with Perigord truffles and cutting celery I'm not much of a foie gras fan, but I figured this was the place to try it again. The MD explained that the foie gras was pressed through a fine-mesh strainer and terrined (is that a verb?) with veins of balsamic and truffle. I was served a credit card slice, about 1/2 inch thick, with a small frisee salad topped with a slice of black truffle. To the other side were drops of balsamic and small sprays of salt and pepper. The dish came with two slices of toasted brioche, that, oddly, arrived a good five minutes after the foie gras. I thought this was oversight until I noticed that the same happened at the table next to us. The foie gras was, again, terrfic. The texture was silky smooth and moist without being at all wet. The flavor was mellower than I'm used to, and the veins of balsamic and truffle were subtle and excellent. The brioche was also suprisingly good. The slices (triangles) were a good inch thick, airy without being the least bit spongy, toasted golden and only lightly buttered.

More on food to come.

French press coffee. Someone seems to have run my Bodum Santos vaccum filter do-dad in the garbage disposal and forgotten to tell me about it. Hmm.

Yesterday, dear Cabrales and I lunched at French Laundry. I suspect that if you're trying to find her this weekend, you should put a call into the restaurant, because she will be at the bar waiting hopefully for another reservation opening. The lunch was quite good. Exceptional, I'd say. It's been quite some time since I've had any dining experience of that sort. The only SF place I'd been to that pretends to offer a similar experience is Postrio, and it's really not the same league. I'd also been to Fleur D'lys, but I don't remember it that well, and whilst there didn't give the food the attention I gave to FL. For someone like me, dining at FL is more than food. Of course, it's the experience. Moreso than any restaurant I can recall, the staff at FL is part and parcel of the experience. Nothing is just brought to you -- everything is explained. And they allow follow up questions. For example, when the waitress explained that two types of butter served were churned at the restaurant with the addition of fleur d'sel, she deftly fielded the follow up question which asked for the source of the salt. She explained that it was in fact French, and came from a particular area of France. Later, she stopped by to explain further the salt's origin, having double-checked with the kitchen staff. Most surprisingly for me, of course, was that the question about the salt's pedigree was not met with a chuckle and shrug. After having experienced the food and paid my share of the bill, I drove home reflecting on the event. Two issues came prominently to mind. First, now that the meal was reduced to a memory, memorable though it was, did that memory merit the cost? Second, and related, was the unmistakable increase in the quality of the dining experience worth the extreme increase in cost? Typical cost benefit stuff that, I think, cannot be accurately gauged in this area, but is worth reflection before I see the credit card bill and think, "I paid how much for lunch?" On one hand, it was not lunch. It was much more. Would I have paid that much for tickets to The Producers during Lane/Bueller's run? Tickets to the Superbowl? To see Mr. Townshend perform acoustically, sans boy? A day at a spa? For the most part, yes, I would have spent money on those experiences. (Not the spa for me , although when I gave someone a Christmas gift of a spa-day at some hot place in NY, about $350 in total, and I thought it was a huge waste of money -- $350 for one afternoon? Hell, you could a new blouse (or two) or new shoes for that price which would last years. Enough women (and one questionable man) explained to me that, in fact, the enjoyment of a day at a good spa was worth the money.) Later that evening, about 5 hours after leaving FL, I went to friend's place for his bolognese. I didn't have much, but I was surprised at how good his sauce was. (I think this is the only dish he makes, and he's done it enough to have developed a great meat sauce.) The flavors were bold and spicy. The sauce was foreceful, developed, and the feel of putting a good twist of pasta covered in the meat sauce into my mouth was a more viceral experience than any mouthfull at FL. Could the $10 mouthful of food at FL be that much better, on any subjective or objective level, than the $.50 cent mouthful of spaghetti bolognese? I wonder. It's not just that one will eat bolognese often, but only at FL infrequently. I think there's more to the question. The restaurant is, as we all know, in a beautiful little building that had once been a laundry. It is very unassuming on a "main" street in Yountville, and very easy to miss. Walking around from the back brings you to a little courtyard with a small garden (nothing was growing at the moment). Whilst waiting for my guest I enjoyed the Napa sunshine, realizing that it had been quite a while that I had much sun in San Francisco. I went in an waiting at the bar, where a procession of three staff (hostess, MD and waitress) offered champagne or wine. I chose water. Cabrales arrived, we made our introductions, and went to the table. The dining room is small, and simple. So much so that I remember very little of it. The ceilings were relatively low (but not uncomfortable for me, at 6'6"), and a fading white. I believe that most walls were simple white, and there was a small dining nook with stone walls. It was much more to my liking than, say, Fleur D'lys with it's over the top opulence. They sat us with the menu, which included the chef's tasting menu for $135. Cabrales, who had done her studying, asked about substitutions, and they were very accomodating. (If she's comfortable, I'll let her describe the offerings more precisely, as she left with more suveniers than I.) We both substituted the famed "oysters and pearls" and we brought over the peas and carrots from the main menu. I let Cabrales handle the wine purchase, having to constantly reassure her that I knew nothing about wine. As she read off a number of suggestions, I thought of explaining that she might as well be speaking French to me. But, of course, she was.

Sorry, I thought this was an invitation. There's also some talk in there about quarry stones (it may be in the link offered by Vengroff).