Chez Panisse

[MaxH]

I believe the founder of ACME is a Chez Panisse alumni.

Yes, some time ago. Steven Sullivan worked at Panisse (if I remember, he was a Berkeley student around then) and then in 1983 with his wife Susan opened the bakery which proceeded to supply P. and other restaurants and the public. (Later, satellite bakeries, Steve Sullivan on Julia Child's program, and today you can do a Web search on "Acme Bakery" and find references to a US "artisanal" baking industry giving some credit to Acme.

More, with recollections, here.

[ulterior epicure]

...continued from my earlier post.

Out of the five spectacular restaurants that I visited on my eating tour of the San Francisco Bay area and Napa Valley last month, I have decided to review Chez Panisse, the Restaurant (not the Café), first. (The other four were Manresa, The French Laundry, ame at the St. Regis and The Dining Room at the Ritz Carlton). Why? Because in retrospect, out of the five meals, the one I ate at the small Berkeley institution lingers with me the most.

Anyone who has visited or read about Chez Panisse knows that Alice Waters started this restaurant to focus on seasonal and eco-friendly eating. (You can read more about the restaurant’s philosophy and history here.) As well, Waters and the restaurant’s co-founders wanted a place where they could “do things the way they would like them done at a dinner party at home.”

The meal started out with an aperitif (offered on the Friday and Saturday dinner menus). On our night, it was a Kir. I don’t drink alcohol, so I was served a non-alcoholic Gewurtzraminer - a clear, bright grape juice from Germany. The Kir was accompanied by some gruyere gougieres - not perfectly round, in fact a little rough around the edges, but just as good as any I’ve had elsewhere.

1st Course: Jellied Beet Soup & Beet Salad

Our first course was a duo featuring of beets: a beet salad and a “jellied beet soup.”

This course really showcased what Chez Panisse is all about: a focus on fresh ingredients. The beets in both the salad and the soup were delightfully sweet and clean tasting - not earthy (read: muddy) at all.

The beet salad was dressed simply with extra virgin olive oil and garnished with shaved fennel and ricotta salata cheese. The roasted golden and red beets were perfectly prepared - not raw and crunchy, yet not overdone and mushy. Composed, the salad was simple, refreshing, yet satisfying.

I've never had "jellied soup." This vibrantly magenta beet soup was indeed "jellied." It is garnished with a bit of crème fraiche and a dollop of California sturgeon caviar. The soup, as well, really highlighted the root vegetable's natural sweetness. The tangy creme fraiche and the salty-bitter caviar provided a perfect measured contrast in flavor. As well, the creaminess of the creme fraiche and the silky caviar gave the chilled soup a sexy and luxurious mouth-feel. Both were immensely refreshing and really whetted my appetite.

2nd Course: Soft Shell Crab

There's nothing happier than a fried soft-shell crab in season with some crusty bread and a (measured) smear of aioli. This is exactly what we got for our second course - usually a seafood item.

My fat little darling, perfectly coated and fried waddled out on a silky pavement of green garlic aioli spread on a crusty toasted slice of bread. While I appreciate the familiar "fried soft shell crab sandwich with mayo," I thought this course was not eater-friendly. One of the joys of eating a soft shell is the unabashed usage of the digits. Chez Panisse’s presentation made that a no-can-do - what kind of house party was this? Cutting was difficult because the bread, which was satisfyingly crusty, was unfortunately immune to my not-very-sharp knife. Toasty shards went flying off this way and that. The crab ended up in my tummy, but the rest largely went, well, everywhere else.

My biggest complaint about this course was that it was rather greasy. I know - what do you expect from a fried course? I think what overdid it for me was the generous slather of green garlic aioli - which my dinner-mates had no problem licking up.

3rd Course: Trio of Cattail Creek Farm Lamb

Our main course featured a trio of lamb. Luck had smiled upon me. For as long as I can remember, Chez Panisse has served fowl as their main course on Friday nights and lamb on Saturday nights. My Friday night visit was joyfully anomalous. Not that I don’t like fowl - but presented between fowl or lamb - I go for the four-footer.

This course featured three cuts: rib chop, loin and leg of Cattail Creak Farm spring lamb. Accompaniments included artichoke hearts, fava beans and a shredded potato galette.

I've had so much lamb in hoity-toity restaurants that a preparation rarely stands out. As with the previous courses, Chez Panisse really delivered on bringing out the best of the star ingredient. Having three cuts of lamb next to each other, I was able taste each one and notice the distinct flavors in each. While I love the muskiness of the leg, I also appreciated the clean, yet beefy-tasting loin. The rack, always a favorite, was so tender and juicy, I was *SCREAMING* (on the inside). Firm fava beans and meltingly soft artichoke hearts were the perfect foil.

Like the soft shell crab course, my only complaint with this dish is that it was somewhat on the heavy side. The potato galette, especially was very greasy - a dense soggy

Dessert: Meyer Lemon Souffle

Dessert of the evening was a very fluffy Meyer lemon soufflé with cardamom crème anglaise. The soufflés were picture-perfect - as they were in texture and taste. I'm really impressed that the restaurant would be so daring as to coordinate soufflés for everyone in that evening! To be sure, in some aspects, it makes dessert servicing somewhat more predictable... but making all of those soufflés and timing them for each table, I can imagine, could spell disaster.

The soufflé was garnished with a Meyer lemon leaf. As well, little pots of cardamom crème anglaise were provided for each diner to sauce their own desserts.

The soufflé was not overly eggy, and was ethereally light. I'm personally not a fan of cardamom, but I will admit that the crème anglaise worked magnificently with the subtle and mild citrus. One note on the crème anglaise - although I could have sworn I tasted a heavy dose of ginger in the crème anglaise, my server, after checking, reassured me that there was only cardamom.

As I stated in the beginning, I have thought often about my meal at Chez Panisse since. There was nothing dramatic about it. No molecular gastronomy going on in that beautiful open kitchen and grill. There were no visual wonders to dazzle my eyes and distract my taste buds, no litany of outlandish ingredients or combinations to unravel in my mind. This was food the way people have been eating it for centuries… and maybe that’s how it should be.

A limited peek into the kitchen (which I encourage you to do) will take you back a century or two to a rather dark and unadorned, brick and timbered world. Meat is fired over an open flame. Bread is baked, housed in large baskets until it is ready to be cut and served. It reminded me that food can be great when it’s unapologetically unfussy. Somewhere in our human fussing, the nature of it all often gets lost. I’ve had lamb that is made to taste not like lamb. I’ve had crab made to look like something else (and then at some Japanese restaurants, I have other things that are made to look like “krab.”). To be sure, those kinds of meals are satisfying in a very different way. The reason why the food at Chez Panisse lingers with me the most is because it is the only one of the five that served food that spoke to my soul. It got to me. It made me think about more than just the food itself.

Inside the vine-covered tiny timber house on Shattuck Street is a truly a homey dining experience - almost children story-book worthy. It reminded me of many a rustic family-owned roadside restaurants that dot the Bavarian foothills and throughout the Alps. It’s the type of place you would be happy taking your girlfriend, husband, friends or the grandparents - and maybe altogether.

[docsconz]

Nice report as usual, U.E. That crab looks absolutely alive fighting to get out of its human imposed soft shell.

Next time I am in the Bay Area I will need to make sure I dine at the restaurant if I dine no where else.

[rjwong]

My full report with photos of Chez Panisse Cafe can be found here

[tupac17616]

(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.

[rjwong]

California cuisine: "... the freshest, local, seasonal produce, simply prepared ..."

By Jove, I think he's got it!!

Actually, Alice Waters is not a chef. She would consider herself a restauranteur. But definitely a very influential culinary personality ...

“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.

Hey, you're an ambitious home cook as well! Don't sell yourself short, Aaron!