Dinner with the pirate chef

Lafitte
Pier 5, The Embarcadero
San Francisco

Chef Russell Jackson invites adventurous diners to approach the plank, a six-seat bar at the edge of Lafitte's open kitchen. There he seems to compose dishes on the fly, combining disparate ingredients that sometimes meld, sometimes shout, but always excite.

Lafitte, at Pier 5 on the Embaracadaro, opened a little more than a year ago. Its market-driven menu changes daily and harks back to Chef Jackson's days as the Dissident Chef at the helm of SubCulture Dining, an underground supper club. Subscribers received passwords and were instructed to call a phone number to learn the secret location of each night's meal.

As we perused Lafitte's intriguing cocktail menu, the chef claimed to have no idea what he was about to set before us. "You're early," he commented, not at all fazed. He chortled as he rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out mostly unidentifiable bagged foodstuffs.

My drink, the Mohawk, smoothly blended sweetness and a hint of spice with Russell's Reserve bourbon and a generous twist of lemon. The chef was carefully carving slices of hard cheese, which he combined in a bag with sprigs of fresh thyme and olive oil and set to simmering in sous vide.

The first plate started things off with a flourish: a rosy chunk of pate de fois gras, a spoonful of house-made applesauce, crystalline cava jelly, Chinese fleur de sel, and Italian orange oil drizzled over all. A lively bundle of flavors, but they played nicely with each other, and the fois gras was superb.

As I watched Jackson compose the next course, all I could think was, "How is that going to work?" A thin slice of pure white Iberian lardo went down next to a similar portion of compressed cucumber, adorned with pickled lychee, crushed hazelnuts, extra-virgin olive oil, and slivered Italian prunes. It was smooth, chewy and crunchy; rich, nutty, tart and fruity. Each bite held your interest, and how often can you say that about a salad?

"Spicy time!" the chef announced, presenting grilled padrone peppers, quail, and cherries resting on a wash of pepper jelly and spiked with fresh marjoram. The first-of-the-season cherries were meltingly soft from the grill and moderated the heat of the padrones. Jackson described finding the unusually large peppers in the farmers' market and surmised that a week of warm weather had given them extra bite.

The sun went down and the Bay Bridge lit up, framed by large windows set in bare concrete walls. We watched Jackson sampling ingredients as he plated, smiling broadly. Once he tasted, frowned, then pitched that bag in the trash. "Candied fennel. Didn't work out."

A heavenly, lemony scent wafted from a bowl of fresh pasta, twisted tubes topped with shreds of braised rabbit, peas, and dollops of ricotta that had been soured with Meyer lemon juice and dressed with the reserved whey. I was so enraptured that I didn't put my fork down 'til the big bowl was empty (thus, no picture!).

Next came... hmmm. Pork with anchovies? Intensely meaty Iberican pork tenderloin held its own against the salty briny flavor, along with onions, capers, and radishes washed in a poussin demi-glace. "A marriage made in heaven," Jackson declared. "Surf and turf." I wasn't so certain; it made me think of those couples whose relationships seem to consist mostly of high volume and drama. A little too much excitement for my tastes.

Jackson handed us porcelain spoons, each holding a smooth brown sphere. "Chocolate fois gras salty ball," he intoned, gravely advising me to eat it in one bite. He cackled at my reaction when the ball popped like a balloon in my mouth, spilling liquid salty chocolate richness.

The cheese finally re-appeared. It was Manchego, and the warm bath hadn't softened it at all, just infused it with herbal flavors, with the added touch of a cherry reduction.

Our final course was startling: a gin cocktail and a Meyer lemon souffle. The Corpse Reviver, despite its name, was a softly fruity, floral drink. I admit a bias against souffles that don't contain chocolate, but this one was perfectly textured, pure lemon sweetness.






It was a roller coaster of a meal, but hugely enjoyable, and a fascinating glimpse of an original chef in his element.

Ame: Amo, amas, amat

Ame
689 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.

Flavors of place @ Coi

Coi

373 Broadway

San Francisco

An evening at Coi will expand your culinary vocabulary. At a recent visit, the 11-course tasting menu was a progression of fascinating flavors, textures and scents. Several times I had to quiz the obliging waiter about ingredients that I'd never encountered before.

Daniel Patterson, the chef at the helm of Coi (pronounced "kwah"), emphasizes "flavors of place" in his menu, which changes daily. Coi's Web site elaborates on this point, describing the chefs' use of "the best ingredients we can find in our area: cultivated plants grown from heirloom seeds; wild-harvested leaves, flowers, barks and roots; local fish, seaweeds and coastal grasses; pastured meat, poultry and eggs from small farmers"

When the server presented the first course, a salad of pink grapefruit, ginger, tarragon and black pepper, he pointed out a dot of oil at the side of the plate. This oil had been infused with the ingredients on the plate before us, and we were encouraged to enjoy the scent, even to dab it on our wrists if we wished. It made a pleasant spicy perfume, but it faded too quickly from my skin.

(The restaurant reviewer for the New York Times felt "a little absurd" when he was served the same dish during a visit to Coi. I guess I like playing with my food. He also explained the restaurant's name, derived from an archaic French word for tranquility.)

A dish described in the menu as "shiny beets" turned out to be thin slices of beet topped with a layer of citrus scented gel and seasoned with vadouvan, a roasted curry powder that is the French version of Indian masala.

Then we had a "tart" of goat cheese and paper-thin black olive crisps, decorated by a salad of chicories, green apple and mint (picture at left).

The course that followed may have been my favorite: young artichokes poached in olive oil, with fennel, puntarelle (a type of chicory, a leafy green with serrated leaves), slices of a very yellow-fleshed potato identified as "rose finn apple," and the zest of rangpur lime, an orange-colored hybrid of a mandarin orange and a lemon.

The next three courses each offered a choice of two dishes. First was an "abstraction of garden in winter," which turned out to be a salad of root vegetables. We couldn't decide why it was deemed an "abstraction." Perhaps this meant a reduction of the dish to its most basic, fundamental ingredients.)

Also served at this point in the menu was a crab melt, "California style." What made it Californian? Generous amounts of Dungeness crab meat, wheatgrass, sprouts? The other main ingredient, lardo, isn't particularly Californian.

The poetically named "earth and sea" was a small bowl of tofu-based soup with fresh seaweeds and mushroom dashi (Japanese stock commonly made from edible kelp). The yuba (tofu "skin") formed ribbons similar to pasta, only chewier.

The next course was lovely on the plate: vivid green cannelloni made from nettles and filled with ricotta cheese and wild mushrooms. Tiny oxalis (wood sorrel) flowers were scattered over the pasta.

I've eaten abalone before, but I never understood why it was considered a delicacy. This abalone was delicious, sauteed and served with escarole and "caper berry-sea lettuce vinaigrette." I'm still not sure what qualifies as sea lettuce -- "edible green algae" doesn't sound all that attractive -- but the tart and tangy dressing was plate-licking good.

The final entree course included a beef sirloin steak and an egg dish. I was startled by the accompaniment to the beef: the menu said only "marrow, cauliflower puree," and I was expecting something vegetal when I tried a forkful. But it was overwhelmingly rich and meaty, nearly pure marrow, much better when spread on bread. The slow-cooked egg was served with green farro (whole-grain wheat), chard, and brown-butter Parmesan sauce.

Our cheese course featured a two-year-aged cheddar, served with rye bread and a tangy little salad of cabbage and grainy mustard.

The picture at the top of this post shows one of the two desserts, quince and huckleberry parfait. I liked the almond brittle that showed up in every bite, and the hint of lemon thyme.

But I was really looking forward to the other dessert, trying to imagine "chocolate-mesquite cake, smoked pepitas praline, Kabocha squash sherbet." Vegetable ice cream, really? Believe it! It was only a little sweet, making me think for some reason of green tea ice cream.

We also enjoyed the drink pairings for this meal. With our appetizer, we were served a cocktail of sparkling Vouvray and hibiscus tea, seasoned with Indonesian long pepper, cassia, and Asian citrus. The combination was refreshing.

Other courses were paired with a Madeira, a nutty sherry, and a very tasty Japanese beer (Hitachino XH) that was new to us, in addition to several unusual wines.

This post probably reads as an interminable recital of bizarre dishes. But each plate held distinct but harmonious flavors that revealed themselves throughout the course, and each portion was exactly the right size. It was an excellent dining adventure.

Inventive food @ Orson

Orson
508 Fourth Street
San Francisco











An impulsive choice turned out to be a good way to celebrate my birthday. Orson was fun, and the desserts were genius.

Chef Elizabeth Falkner has been known for her pastries since she opened Citizen Cake Patisserie and Restaurant in 1997.

Reviews of Orson frequently use the words "edgy" and "modern" in describing both the food and the decor. The most eye-catching feature of the place is the 30-seat bar in the round, with a large striking pendant lamp above. (I believe it's a design called "Big Bang.") The interior has the vibe of a hip loft apartment, with bare white walls, dark wood floors, exposed steel beams and abstract art.

The cocktail menu had interesting takes on classic drinks. I was tempted by the celery gimlet -- gin, celery, lime and agave nectar. But I ordered "the modern," curious to see what the result would be with a mix of bourbon, lemon, apple and mint. The drink was refreshing, a little like a mojito, a little like a mint julep.

With our drinks came a small bowl of toasted brown and white rice, a pleasantly crunchy and salty nibble. We asked for the chef's tasting menu, which was described as the chef's choice of dishes of the menu in three courses, but it appeared as a continuous parade of small plates.

First were shotglass servings of different soups, a puree of roasted red pepper and another of pumpkin.

One plate contained hefty beef bones cracked open to serve the marrow. It was like meaty butter, spread on fat slices of grilled sourdough bread and accompanied by half a head of roasted garlic, which I thought nearly overwhelmed the rest.

The most visually spectacular dish was the smoked tempura egg. I had to quiz our server about this; he explained that the egg was soft-boiled, smoked, shelled, wrapped in nori for texture, and fried in tempura batter.

B said the result looked like a chicken, with tempura tentacles forming a neck and wings. From where I sat, it resembled a sea urchin, floating in a sea of scallion broth and a few cooked vegetables. It was smoky and crispy, by turns making me think of American breakfast and Japanese lunch.

We also tasted a summer bean salad topped with nutty-tasting sprouted beans; a dish of melt-in-your-mouth potato gnocchi, served with arugula and sweet corn sauce; and some grilled sardines served with padron peppers and maitake mushrooms.

One entree was perfectly roasted salmon on a bed of brioche-and-bacon dressing. A foam of white vinegar on top offered more texture than flavor.

Since we weren't ordering a la carte, we were pleased to find that the tasting menu included "wondrous pig." How could I pass up a dish with that billing? There was leg and loin, roast and belly, some bacon and a "trotter croquette,"

I was surprised to see a highchair come out at a trendy place like this, on a Saturday night. The party next to us included two young children, who appeared to enjoy their pizza from the wood-burning oven. I wanted to ask for a taste of their French fries, which were cooked in duck fat and served with a browned-butter bearnaise sauce. "I like this butter sauce better than ketchup. May I have some more, please?" one of the kids piped up.

The dessert in the foreground was labelled "the return:" logs of fudgy chocolate, a sprinkle of cocoa nibs, a swirl of deep caramel sauce, a few dates cooked in wine, and a wonderful Thai lemongrass sorbet that had B and I spoon-dueling for the last bites. The crispy paper-thin cracker perched on top was very salty, which contrasted nicely with the rich chocolate.

We also enjoyed the moist apple cake floating in an airy sabayon made from Anchor Steam beer instead of wine. It included a scoop of apple sorbet that was like a condensation of the most intense cider you've ever tasted. Chopped apple in the sabayon had been cooked in root beer; the result was rather like a candied apple.

I wanted to question the creator of this dessert, either chef Falkner or pastry chef Luis Villavelazquez. Did he think: Hmm, what if I made a sabayon with beer? What could I serve that with? Or did it begin with the combination of apples and Anchor Steam? Either way, it was a swell party.

Seen in the city

If you have a motorcycle, do you even need espresso?
MotoJava, 9th Street @ Bryant, San Francisco





















Stick to reusable shopping bags, or become a fashion victim like this poor soul. (It's a little more effective when you see it in motion, but there is a pair of legs underneath the bags.)
University Avenue, Palo Alto, Ca.

















Happy hour with a view.
Locals (those of a certain age, at least) call this the "jukebox Marriott," which is just what it looks like from the street.
The View, 39th floor, San Francisco Marriott, 55 Fourth Street





















It's just another Westfield Shoppingtowne, but I like the curvy escalators.
Westfield San Francisco Centre, 865 Market Street