Archive for the 'san francisco' Category

12
Jul

Like clockwork

By Misha 5 Comments
Categories: chefs, houston, restaurants, san francisco, soapbox and tasting menu

I was cringing by the time I finished reading the first paragraph of the latest Houston Press review of Voice at Hotel Icon. I was wrong, Randy was right and it was only a matter of time before he went off like a hand grenade.

The disagreement Randy and I had a few weeks ago was about Robb Walsh and what Randy called his limited palate (there is some creative license there with the exact terminology). I have always liked Walsh’s reviews and had never given much thought about his palate, but it does seem as though he prefers rustic American fare and ethnic food to what’s loosely classified as fine dining. I didn’t argue that Robb Walsh doesn’t have a strong affinity for burger shacks, taco trucks and pho houses, only that I didn’t think he was entirely one dimensional in his coverage.

I still love Walsh’s writing, but maybe Randy has a point. When your experience with a gastronomic restaurant begins and ends with burgers, perhaps you are missing the point.

To be fair, Walsh does seem to like the food at Voice, but what he really likes are the bar snacks. The beef sliders are his favorite. The rest of the review is full of complaints about high prices, small portions and more mentions of hamburgers than seems necessary. To really drive the point home, he suggests that people intent on eating at Voice stop by a nearby convenience store first and grab a $4 cheeseburger before their dinner.

High end dining is a funny business. The very same people who complain about spending more than $60 on a meal in Houston are very likely to go out of town and gladly fork over twice as much in a subpar restaurant like Aqua in San Francisco - enjoying themselves immensely in the process. That visit will be justified by glowing reviews from local critics who play up to the well heeled readership and the Michelin rating of 2 stars. In reality, the food is much better at Voice than at Aqua. Voice just happens to be in a “wrong” city, where critics love a good burger.

I cannot explain why Robb Walsh would form an opinion about Voice based on bar snacks and business lunch boxes, when the restaurant clearly excels at multi-course dinners. The tasting menu at Voice is the best way to experience what Michael Kramer can do at a reasonable price. At $80 for 7 courses (there is also a 5 course option for $65) it’s a relative bargain, when you compare it to restaurants in the same class that charge $100-$130 on the West Coast. A review of that experience would have been the review I would have liked to read, even if it was a hatchet piece.

Before you start down the “people in Texas would never spend that kind of money on a meal” argument, consider this. Harris County is 6th in the country in number of millionaires; close to 100,000 households in all. This economic class spends freely on leisure and entertainment when they travel and many of them are very sophisticated diners. Is it possible that Houston Press readers may be interested in something other than the local greasy spoon? (a rhetorical question, for the most part).

Some photos from a Voice lunch in May. My friend had a rather stellar burger. Oh, the irony…

30
Mar

Da Marco really is good. No, really. It really is.

By Misha 0 Comments
Categories: houston, italian, restaurants and san francisco

I remember reading a piece by a guest critic in the Chronicle several weeks ago and being quite surprised. A bad meal at Da Marco? Disappointment at t’afia? Genuine excitement over Beaver’s and The Grove? My recent experiences have been almost the exact opposites. Maybe people look for completely different things in food in New Jersey and San Francisco than we do in Texas.

Ironically, my own dining itinerary included a recent romp through San Francisco and some of the very same places visited by Alison Cook’s critic friends in Houston. I found San Francisco to be a mixed bag. Local foodies were fawning all over Canteen. I loved the place, but found basic execution lacking. Quince, a highly regarded Michelin starred restaurant, was less than deserving of all the hype, in my experience. Incanto, on the other hand, blew me away and made me wish desperately that Chris Cosentino gets sick of California and moves to Houston, where his rustic food and big, bold flavors would be a huge hit. Incanto is hardly struggling for business, but it doesn’t have nearly the acclaim I thought it deserves in the San Francisco food circles.

Can palates really vary that much from coast to coast, or do restaurants just routinely have off nights when they misfire?

I stopped by Da Marco for a dinner on Saturday that was as good as ever. I kicked things off with a hamachi crudo with wasabi roe. Not exactly an Italian classic, but it was a nice way to start and the olive oil based dressing somehow grounded it to the rest of the meal quite nicely. Da Marco wasn’t all fireworks that night. My wife ordered an arugula salad, butternut squash ravioli and a side of polenta in an attempt to assemble a vegetarian meal. All three dishes were dressed in so much pecorino or reggiano that the cheese completely overwhelmed most other ingredients, but that seems like a problem that stems from a less than traditional Italian dinner progression. More important, my food was great.

It’s a bit ironic that I tried the same rabbit cacciatore dish that was panned by the guest critic the very next night and thought it was fantastic. Braised chicken and rabbit are hit and miss in restaurant, where kitchens prep everything ahead and assemble at dinner time, because they are less forgiving to over or under cooking than more robust meats.On this particular night the rabbit thighs were fork tender, yet retained their distinctive rabbit texture and rabbit flavor. The sauce, often too heavy on the wine or tomatoes, was well balanced. Combined with the fresh cherry tomatoes and polenta it made nice little clumps of rabbit flavored goodness.

The polenta, reportedly sludgy the night before, was cooked to right density and texture. Risotto, polenta and eggs are the most deceivingly difficult things to cook. Find a restaurant that can execute them correctly and it’s a sign of good things to come from the kitchen (I once read about a chef in Oakland that only cooks risotto once a year, because it requires so much concentration). Polenta sins come in many forms - undercooked grains of corn meal that retain their individual texture, polenta with consistency of runny grits or reliance on butter fat, rather than starch, to achieve creamy consistency. Da Marsco suffers from none of these flaws. I’ve had polenta at Da Marco on three different occasions now and it has been near perfect every time.

Does Da Marco’s kitchen oscillate wildly from night to night or have my taste buds have been ruined by years of Tex-Mex abuse? It’s a mystery wrapped in a riddle.

15
Mar

SF notes: Quince

By Misha 1 Comment
Categories: chefs, italian, restaurants and san francisco

I don’t have a whole lot to show for my dinner at Quince. Save for a few brilliant dishes that hint at just how much talent Michael Tusk has, the restaurant takes itself far too seriously for a comfortable night out and delivers too little to justify the excessive fuss. Even taking the snooty, staff that envelop every spare inch of this tiny restaurant, out of the equation, you are still left with a feeling that Quince could be a lot more if it didn’t let the foam of accolades go straight to it’s (proverbial) head.

Photo shoot cut short at Quince

Except for a lonely frog leg amuse, I don’t have any pictures of the food. You’ll have to settle for my mini-diary, instead (I was quite bored).

  • 9:25 Arrive at Quince. Parking is 10 dollars. They’ll be happy to add it to my bill through magic of vertical integration. You have got to love San Francisco!
  • 9:26 Enter the restaurant. Everything stops for a split second. Feeling From Dusk Till Dawn sort of awkward.
  • 9:27 Menu arrives with a tasting menu flap open. Subtle. I think the Quincinites want me to order this. Maybe I should order a la carte just to spite the man. Somehow I think the symbolism would be lost on these people.
  • 9:29 Hmmm. The tasting menu is $20 more than what’s listed on the web site. Quince is going to compete with Alinea and La Reve for value with only half the number of dishes. This place has Rocky Mountain Oysters the size of watermelons. Game on! I am ordering the tasting menu!
  • 9:31 First impressions. The space is tiny. Dining room looks comfortable, but quite cold and much more formal than necessary. Something like 16 tables set up in a grid pattern with as many waiters moving through the room like Pac-Men. They seem attentive and efficient; everything is done in carefully measured motions as if they work in a laboratory. If I didn’t know better I’d think this is a social experiment or a focus group.
  • 9:35 Starting the figure out the social order here. Waiters (toasters) wear brown Oxford suits and are perpetual motion through the dining room to make sure everything is in order. It may look like they aren’t hovering, but your every move is carefully observed. Once in a while the toasters will whisper something to each other, disappear into the kitchen and come out with a set of plates placed on the table in a set of perfectly choreographed motions. While the toasters are watching you, the skinjobs in black suits are watching the toasters. One of the four skinjobs works the front door, while others work the wine island, but their real function is to make sure the toasters don’t malfunction. After the dishes come out the skinjobs make a quick pass to observe the plate settings on the table and facial expressions of the diners. Nothing goes unnoticed, as the staff churns through the dining room like some programmable biomass. Basically, Quince is a creepy fucking place.
  • 9:37 Waiter arrives after noticing I have been sitting there a little while with nothing to do. He seems nervous. I really don’t mind, but I have a feeling the skinjobs are going to feed him to the pigs if I as much as raise an eyebrow.
  • 9:38 House baked bread basket. Looks good. Tastes… bland and sort of rubbery.
  • 9:40 Fried Frog Leg and Potato amuse. Cliched as it is, but it tastes like the garden variety chicken. This reminds me of the Escargot and Chicken Oysters Fricassee I had once at db bistro in New York. The escargot were supposed to give the dish its gravitas, but the chicken oysters completely outshined the rubbery little snails, tossed in only to justify the caliber of the chef and the price. I’d take great chicken over average frog legs any day of the week.
  • 9:42 Skinjob lady arrives at my table and informs me that photography is against house rules. I am nearly speechless, but I comply. First time this happens to me. Strange though, there are pictures of Quince dishes all over the net.
  • 9:51 Sformato of Black Trumpet Mushroom, Stracchino Cheese. A light soufflé thingy with black trumpet mushrooms that have a far more pronounced flavor than some truffles I’ve had lately. It’s a good dish, but the sauce is so impotent it could have been made with just about anything that melts. Stracchino cheese has a mild, but deep flavor, and its nowhere to be found here. Seems like an opportunity lost.
  • 9:59 Sea Scallops, Potato, Wild Nettle. The scallops are fine, but quite unremarkable. Still waiting for the fireworks to begin.
  • 10:10 Interesting. The table in the corner is taking flash photographs, lighting up the entire room. Flash photography in a restaurant is incredibly rude, so I wait for the skinjobs to converge and turn the offenders into human hamburger. Strangely enough, nothing of the sort happens even after a dozen or so shots. Just as I get ready to call the skinjob lady over to explain herself to me, she finally approaches their table. Minutes later they are back at it again.
  • 10:16 Saffron Chitarra, Dungeness Crab, Hot Pepper, Bread Crumbs. This dish is absolutely perfect and unlike anything I’ve had before. Very balanced blend of flavors and textures. The pasta is just the right density, crab is sweet, right amount of seasoning and a great kick of heat from hot peppers. Best part: bread crumbs provide a really nice contrast to the pasta and crab and brighten the whole thing up. I could eat an entire plate of this. Considering forgiving Michael Tusk for hiring the insufferable front house staff, but only for a moment. Really, how does a place this fussy send out a dish with crab shell fragments?
  • 10:32 Tortelloni, Castelrosso Cheese, Honey, Walnuts. Another perfect dish. No confusion over the meaning of "al dente" here; the pasta is delicate and complements all the other ingredients quite nicely. Again, not a single flavor out of place. I’ve never had castelrosso cheese before, but it seems very heat sensitive, which makes the tortelloni even more technically impressive. I could really go for another half dozen pasta courses at this rate.
  • 10:35 With tables this close together, and no dining companion to distract me, I can’t help to absorb the conversations around me. Quince really wants to be an elevated neighborhood joint, but with reservations impossible to secure without at least a weeks, often months, notice the place is stuffed to the gills by pseudo intellectual foodie snobs. The Ivy league windbag next to me is talking about the flavor profiles on his scallops being off and making sure to pronounce "panna cotta" with a perfect Italian inflection, as if making a point to correct the house staff. I want to stab this guy in the throat. I wonder if this is against house rules, as long as I don’t use my camera to do it.
  • 10:45 Sonoma Organic Veal, Erbette Chard, First of the Season Asparagus and Peas. The meat course is weak. I’d read that Quince doesn’t do mains well, but its really weak. The veal tenderloin is a shade of pink north of proper, the garnish entirely ordinary, demiglace is too strong. You can do much better in anytown French bistro. I should have stuck with the pasta dishes.
  • 11:00 Chocolate Hazelnut Bombe, Olive Oil Gelato. Not bad, but it doesn’t quite close out the dinner with a statement either. I think I am still hungry.

Quince is a fine restaurant, but it only transcends the average with it’s pasta. Maybe not so unusual in Italy, but it really is special here in the states. Does a one dimensional restaurant like Quince deserve the accolades it gets? Glowing critic reviews, clogged reservation lines, it’s Michelin star, breathless declarations that Quince is the best restaurant in San Francisco by foodie bloggers? Probably not. I think that’s more a function of the always hungry for more food scene in San Francisco than anything else.

Here’s the bizarre ending to this story - I might go back to Quince again. If I sit with my back to the dining room, stay away from the under powered tasting menu and weak meat mains, I can focus on the spectacular (and expensive) pasta dishes Quince turns out so well. A pair of earplugs to filter out the foodie windbags, and it might just be a good time.

08
Mar

SF notes: Canteen

By Misha 1 Comment
Categories: Uncategorized, american, chefs, restaurants and san francisco

Alison Cook writes in her blog this week about a young American chef named Daniel Rose, who opened a tiny eatery in Paris against better judgement and proceeded to book out months in advance and charm the local Michelin reviewers. On the menu? Parsley root and chestnut soup — Pig’s feet, scallops and green apple — Pigeon, carrot purée, wilde hare, brussels sprouts glazed with balsamic vinegar. I’d fly for a night in Paris just to eat this stuff. No stopping there. Daniel Rose has a blog and broadcasts from the restaurant’s kitchen 24/7 via a set of web cams. It just might be the first Restaurant 2.0 in existence.

Small dining room, claustrophobic kitchen, a countertop and a chef is one of the best concepts to emerge in recent years (mix and match ingredients being the worst), very often producing exciting results. The menu changes every day, with dishes conjured up out of thin air during a morning trip to the market. It’s the antithesis of the fine dining experience, where precision and consistency rules, and menus change less frequently than governments.

One of the best restaurant experiences I’ve had was at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon in London, where small tasting plates dominate the menu and the diner becomes immersed in the kitchen experience a feet away from the bar. L’Atelier is far from a tiny chef driven operation, but the idea is the same and it works, remarkably enough, despite being a chain.

We don’t have anything of the sort in Houston (does it really make sense in our egalitarian city?), but on my recent trip to San Francisco I came across Canteen, which sounds like a mirror image of Daniel Rose’s Spring.

I knew very little about Canteen going in. It made a short list of restaurants that had an interesting menu. Quick check to make sure it was within walking distance and I was off. I found Canteen about 10 minutes away from Union Square, just a few doors down and a world away from the iconic Fleur De Lys.

I liked Canteen from the moment I walked in. Four tables, green Formica countertop, tiny kitchen, a cook, unassuming waitress. 20 seats at most. It was perfect. The place felt comfortable, like a greasy spoon with great food. You can tell a lot about the place by how the staff carries themselves and the staff at Canteen moved through the tiny space as if they were serving a casual lunch at home. It’s the sort of kabuki dance you encounter when you come across a confident hand in the kitchen. Canteen seemed light years away from the imposing pomp and disappointment of Quince I experienced the night before (more on that later). I was hopeful.

The menu provided a second clue. One of the three dishes was spaghetti carbonara, with eggs, pancetta, parmigiano and black pepper. Cream was no where to be found Most restaurants, including the we-really-should-know-better-than-that Prego, bastardize this dish to make it more palatable to the alfredo loving crowds by replacing the raw eggs with cream. Classic carbonara on the menu was all I needed to know to dive in.

First up - a simple dinner roll and butter, which was pretty good. Seems like an odd thing to notice, but bread is important. Sometimes you know just what’s in store by the quality of the bread. This roll was soft, yeasty and had just enough texture to tell me that someone made it by hand that mornong. The Belgian endive salad with goat cheese was chopped and simply dressed in olive oil right in front of me. I don’t like grapefruit much, but it was a perfect compliment to the slightly bitter endive. The salad didn’t really need more acid and not much more was added. Things were off to a good start.

I ordered the Dover sole (at least I think it was a sole) for lunch, rather than the carbonara, which seemed a bit much considering my ambitious plan for Incanto later that night. The fish came out perfectly cooked and the sweet roasted onions on the side turned out to be the best thing on the plate. Problem was that the crust that coated the fish fillets made the dish almost inedible. The corn meal was neither toasted nor was the fish cooked at high enough temperature to make it crisp properly, giving the effect of uncooked grits being slathered on a the fish after cooking it.

And just like that my budding love affair with Canteen came to a grinding halt.

Behind me a couple of foodie types were digging into their sole with much enthusiasm. One was a San Francisco native, the other seemed to be on a visit from New York. They both knew Dennis Leary, the chef/owner of Canteen, and seemed completely unaware that there was something wrong with the fish. Could it be that different than mine, considering all three fillets were cooked in the same pan?

Strangely enough, I wanted to come back to Canteen the very next day (I did not make it) and plan to do so next time I am in town. Maybe this time for dinner, to see how things go when Dennis Leary mans the stove himself. The truth is that even with minor imperfections, this is a better way to eat than being patronized in a stuffy restaurant where food takes a back seat to everything else. I am willing to take the lumps along the way.

"I wanted to do something different," he says, "and create a restaurant totally stripped of all pretension, the kind of place where I can cook for a small group of customers, interact and improvise, and offer very personally prepared, unique, and accessible food." As the sole cook in the establishment, he will personally prepare nearly every dish in the restaurant, from amuse bouche to salad to dessert. - Dennis Leary