Spaghetti & meatballs for dessert
IndeBleu707 G St. NW
Washington, DC
Indebleu gets you talking about your food, and the conversation won't be dull.
When my friend insisted that we have spaghetti and meatballs for dessert -- at an Indian-French fusion restaurant? -- I figured it was a typo in her e-mail. Not at all. The server brought a
potato ricer to our table and held it over a plate. The product looked like pasta, but it was saffron-cardamom ice cream, delicious with the
gulab jamun "meatballs," donut balls in a not-too-sweet syrup. Next time, I'm not sharing!
We swooned over the sauteed fois gras topped with chocolate and served on brioche with a port-wine reduction. Imagine the richest
chocolate croissant you've ever had, but
meaty. (I will not be sharing this one, either.)
I didn't catch the name of the co-owner, a cheerful woman who stopped to ask if we were enjoying our meal, but I flagged her down the next time she passed so that I could rave about the spring-mushroom pasta with English peas, crispy greens and a bit of curry. I think I said something like, "This is what all pasta aspires to be." I can't remember the last time that a bite of pasta cleared my mind of all coherent thoughts other than "ummmm."
Some of the more exotic-sounding dishes (snow pea nest, curried shrimp fries) were tasty but not stand-outs. Half of the dinner menu was small plates, encouraging experimentation.
I'm trying to imagine "duck chili relleno," a chili pepper stuffed with duck confit, spinach and queso fresco, topped with basil vermouth cream and sherried cashews. I'm not certain that the chef can achieve fusion here, but I'd be willing to give it a chance.
Labels: food, restaurant, review, Washington
Playing with our food @ Alinea
Alinea1723 North Halsted
Chicago
A meal at
Alinea is surprising and funny. Nothing is what you expect, but when the dishes are revealed, they are thought-provoking and delightful.
This was my second visit, and I enjoyed all the little things that impressed me the first time. The plain storefront that you might easily pass by if not for the smiling valet who opens the door. The tunnel-like foyer that seems to close around you as you walk forward, searching for the entrance, and the unexpected sliding door that opens automatically, silently at your left. The plenitude of sharp-dressed staff who greet you with impeccable yet informal courtesy.
B & I opted for the full
tour, 22 courses. This sounds like a stupendous amount of food, but most dishes consist of just few intriguing bites or sips.
The unusual serving pieces pictured above conveyed Alinea's version of bacon and sweet potato pie. The strip of bacon was flavored with butterscotch, apple and thyme. The "pie," in its whisk-like cradle, arrived with a smoldering cinnamon stick as an accent to the flavors of bourbon and brown sugar.
Here are more of my favorite plates from the evening.
Pork belly was served in a delicate cup formed from pressed iceberg lettuce and cucumber. A "Thai distillation" was a non-alcoholic shot that somehow gave a whirlwind tour of a Bangkok kitchen in a single swallow: lemongrass, chili peppers without the heat, fish sauce. It reminded me of Willy Wonka's chewing-gum meal, without the unpleasant side effects. (See "
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," by Roald Dahl.)
Our server seemed to enjoy describing this "edible utensil." The dish began with yuba, also called tofu skin or bean skim, a thin sheet that forms when soy milk is boiled. The yuba was rolled into a stick and deep-fried, then wrapped in shrimp with miso and togarashi, a peppery Japanese condiment.
Here we have steak and potatoes, Alinea style. We were encouraged to dip bites of Wagyu beef into the sprinkle of powdered A-1 sauce on the plate.
This sweet dish of rhubarb, goat milk, and onion was accompanied by "lavender air." The plate rested on a cloth pillow, which emitted the scent of lavender blossoms as it gradually deflated.
Another sweet course was this arrangement of pound cake, strawberry, lemon and vanilla bean.
The penultimate dish was literally all over the table. Servers removed everything from the table, then spread a new covering of velvety silicone. Chef
Grant Achatz arranged our dessert directly on the silicone, applying dollops and swirls of blueberries and sauce, whipped cream, and gel bubbles filled with essences of maple and tobacco.
Just in time, a server brought an odd frosty chunk, which the chef placed in the center of his creation and cracked into smaller pieces. It was chocolate mousse that had been frozen with liquid nitrogen. The final touch was more blueberry, dried into translucent sheets and stuck upright like sails. The frozen mousse softened quickly, and it was fun to scoop up spoonfuls of the sweet fruity rubble.
I asked Chef Achatz why he chose to compose the dessert this way. He talked about how he wanted to remove the restrictions imposed by a plate or serving platter. Later, I found an article by Achatz describing how this "plating" evolved in his kitchen. The essay is on the Web site of
The Atlantic.
Have a look at Alinea's
Web site for beautiful photographs of the food and the restaurant itself.
Labels: Chicago, restaurant, review
Things I didn't notice the first time
I took these photos all within a few blocks of my home. I must have walked by more than once before I really saw them.
On the front porch of a Cowper Street cottage
This dome tops the building across the street from my apartment. Sometimes the window beneath the dome is lit at night. When I researched the dome online, all I found was the Flickr page of a renter in the building, who relayed the rumor that the top-floor apartment was the residence of the building's eccentric owner. Wonder if s/he owns a telescope.
The sushi at this University Avenue restaurant is okay. I like the cranes better.
These fellows are in the front yard of a nearby residence. I find them a little disturbing.
Labels: art, personal, photos
Changing the sound of the train
From my fifth-floor apartment, I hear trains sounding their horns, all day and into the night.
I used to like the sound. It's just a commuter rail line, but those long, low signals reminded me of speed, of my favorite cities, of travel to exciting new places.
Now the trains sound mournful, even threatening, and I think about the despair of a boy, a stranger to me.
Two days ago, a 16-year-old high-school student was killed at a train crossing, in what appears to have been a suicide.
As I sat in my car at a red light, taking my son to school, this boy's life ended, a stone's throw away. When I passed the crossing a few minutes later, on my way home, the police cars and ambulances were just arriving.
The Web site of the local newspaper contains an outpouring of shock and grief. Classmates and parents post tributes to the boy, and condolences to his family and friends. All describe him as friendly, funny, bright and caring. Could he not see how much he was valued? Or was it just not enough to hold him here?
I can't get away from the sound of the trains, so I am trying to change the meaning of that sound.
What I'm trying to hear is, simply: stop for a moment. Be here now. Feel the sun and the breeze, hear all the sounds. Gaze at the mountains, taste the food, sit in comfort, write with a pen, dance on strong legs, talk with a friend.
And I keep returning to the words of the boy's high-school principal, in a message to her stricken community: "It is very, very important that we look out for each other...
No problem is so big that a solution cannot be found if people ask for help and support. Please look after and take care of each other. Each of you is precious to us."
Labels: personal
Calafia bounty
Calafia Cafe855 El Camino Real
Palo Alto
Calafia opened earlier this year, heralded by full-page ads in the local newspaper. Chef
Charlie Ayers is known for being the original chef at
Google and, before that, personal chef to the
Grateful Dead.
The spare interior is inviting. A communal table at the front of the room is made of reclaimed redwood; overhead is a long chandelier composed of 66 amber glass milk bottles.
A first visit for brunch, about a week after the opening, revealed a few rough edges. French toast had a lovely orange-cinnamon aroma; inside, however, it lacked the proper egg/bread fusion. Sourdough pancakes were fluffy and generously sized, but one was frankly burnt and should not have reached the table.
The best dish was chicken fideo, a spicy noodle entree. A cumin-scented tofu scramble looked a little messy but tasted great, and came with a good-sized portion of crispy-velvety hash browns.
I returned for a mid-week lunch and was greeted in the parking lot by a lovely smoky scent from the woodburning oven. My affable server confirmed that my choice of small plates would not be an overwhelming amount of food for a solo diner. He also made wine recommendations confidently and offered a second choice if I wasn't pleased by my first selection.
If all vegetables were as delicious as my bowl of braised greens with almond butter, no one would have trouble getting their recommended daily allowance. The chard was cooked with onions and turmeric, lightly sweetened with dried cranberries and topped with toasted walnuts.
Lamb meatballs looked like party food, skewered with cubes of toasted bread and Manchego cheese, then dipped in a sweet and savory tomato sauce. I was glad I didn't try to resist the crispy fries; I ate more than I intended, trying to decipher their spice mix. Garlic, definitely; cumin, maybe; sweet paprika?
Calafia's pyramid of "death by chocolate" is worth the caloric binge. Real whipped cream, intense chocolate flavor, super-strong (not burned) coffee... sip, repeat.
I've been back since then for an evening meal, and every dish has been a winner. Thoughtful touches abound. Nearly half of the seats in the house are barstools facing the shiny open kitchen, but there are purse hooks and a thick wooden beam at the ideal height for a footrest. The hostess who seated us saw me shrugging off my jacket and returned to hang up my coat.
Servers take your order on hand-held devices that allow you to settle your bill at the table. Coffee is brewed a cup at a time using a
Clover machine, an $11,000 built-to-order device revered by coffee fanatics.
Even the servers' uniforms are designed with the customer in mind: The T-shirts helpfully provide a phonetic spelling on the back, "kal-uh-fee-ya."
Labels: food, Palo Alto, restaurant, review
Ame: Amo, amas, amat
Ame689 Mission St
San Francisco
My delightful evening at
Ame began with "forbidden fruit," a cocktail composed of pear-spiced vodka, cinnamon quince puree, apple and lemon juice, apricot brandy, and Angostura bitters. It smelled like an exotic flower, but the taste was not overly sweet.
I almost didn't order this drink, because it sounded like too many disparate ingredients. Likewise, Ame's
Web page describes the approach of chefs Hiro Sone and Lissa Doumani as "a refined blending of local ingredients with the flavors of southern France and northern Italy, filtered through Hiro's Japanese culinary sensibilities." Somehow, this succeeds.
B and I ordered the tasting menu, the prudent choice for both the indecisive and the adventurous. The colorful first course offered three goodies: scallop ceviche with candied jalapeno and watermelon radish, seared tuna with ponzu vinaigrette, and trout sashimi served with roe, asparagus and heart of palm. Next came oxtail soup with green garlic and farro verde, and rich oxtail tortelloni.
Another brothy plate followed: broiled sake- marinated black cod in
shiso broth. The fish was slightly sweet and very lightly cooked.
My favorite savory plate was the grilled beef strip loin steak with poutine and green onions. Traditional poutine, I discovered, is Canadian comfort food: French fries topped with fresh cheese curds and brown gravy. This version was more elegant, but just as comforting, with a bed of crispy-starchy cubed potatoes beneath the well-marbled beef.
Desserts did not disappoint. I enjoyed the frozen banana cream pie parfait with white chocolate and rum caramel sauce. But when I think "pie," I think of flaky crust -- not an artistic dusting of crumbs on the plate. Why not just call it a parfait? And I would have liked more than a few dots of sauce on the plate.
B kindly let me taste his dessert, but he was quick to move it back to his side of the table, and I didn't blame him. Semolina pudding fritters were a little like beignets, and the lively citrus salad and elderflower soda pop kept the taste buds interested throughout.
If we hadn't ordered the set menu, I might have tried the "staff meal:" cuttlefish noodles tossed with sea urchin, wasabi, and umami soy sauce. Even though I'm not that crazy about sea-urchin sushi. Even though I can't quite imagine cuttlefish noodles.
Or perhaps the chawan-mushi, Japanese savory custard with sea urchin, geoduck clam, shimeji mushrooms and mizuna sauce. Again, my imagination fails.
Ame's Web site has beautiful pictures of the jewel-box room and the food -- much better than I could manage with my iPhone in the dimly lit space.
Labels: food, restaurant, review, San Francisco
Midday meditation
For my second visit to
Jin Sho, I sat at the sushi bar, thinking I'd have a simple lunch. Instead, I decided spur-of-the-moment to ask for
omakase, a Japanese phrase that means "It's up to you" (from
任す,
entrust).
To a sushi chef,
omakase means, "Serve me whatever you choose, whatever is best today." Jin Sho's best is very good indeed. This meal was so pretty and flavorful that it was like a little midday meditation.
I watched the sushi chef assembling this attractive little bowl and hoped that it was for me. When it was placed before me, I found
yellowtail tartare, topped with a dab of caviar, and a small pool of wasabi soy sauce. I was instructed to save the small red fruit for last: it was
yamamomo, a soft-fleshed fruit rather like kiwi in texture, equally tart and sweet.
Next was tuna sashimi salad, a dish I tried on a
previous visit and was happy to see again. The fish was slightly seared and coated in crushed peppercorns, with just enough bite to accent the sesame dressing.
The rock shrimp tempura didn't look all that remarkable on the plate, but it was a perfect blend of crunchy, creamy, cool and spicy. It reminded me incongruously of a New Orleans
po'boy in the way it combined crispy seafood, seasoned mayonnaise and lettuce.
The miso-marinated black cod was another fascinating fusion: sweet and salty, earthy yet delicate. It was followed by a bowl of miso soup and a sushi plate: tuna, white tuna, ocean trout, and the freshest, sweetest scallop sushi I've ever tasted.
Labels: food, Palo Alto, restaurant, review
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