Tastefully Overcaramelized

Abe says

The eponymous thought of this post occurred to us somewhere around the sweet corn kernels in the calotte de bœuf grillée, or maybe as early as the Yukon Gold “croutons” in Ann’s sashimi, I don’t really know. They say you get nine courses in the French Laundry’s tasting menus, but honestly you lose track by the third or fourth, or perhaps that was the third or fourth time one of the gracious waitstaff fills your wine glass. Somewhere around that time, in a room full of older, better-heeled diners, and next to the private dining room heavy on the flash photography, we couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that we were having way, way more fun than anyone else that evening.

Dinner at The French Laundry came two months to the calendar date following the third straight morning of endlessly pressing redial on three phones between us, and followed a beautiful hour and a half drive up through sunset in Napa Valley from our hotel in San Mateo. The meal was indeed one of the stated purposes of the trip, along with visiting everyone awesome in the state and also dining at Chez Panisse (writeup to follow). It’s true that we’ve been somewhat remiss here as some of you have noticed, between family events and travel, but at least we had some delicious food along the way.

I have to say, the food was flawlessly executed and the service bordered on telepathic. Supplementing the menu was an amuse bouche of a barely bite-sized gougère (cheese puff) filled with sauce Mornay (a béchamel-based cheese sauce) as well as the signature canapé: a whimsical scoop of salmon tartare atop a tuile cone filled with red onion crème fraîche. The mignardises, similarly bite-sized pastries and confections, came in a three-tiered tray with four per level. Two bread selections came from the nearby Bouchon Bakery and were paired with two truly delicious butters. We washed it all down with Champagne, delightful California sauvignon blanc and pinot noir (the former being a private French Laundry bottling), a positively enlightening dessert sauvignon blanc, and sparkling water produced in-house. At the end we were sent home with neat little packages of shortbread cookies.

The décor was thankfully understated, though a few liberties were taken. European laundry care icons appeared on lampshades, and the receipt appeared as a laundry ticket. The napkin fold is held with a wooden clothespin which guests are invited to take home. Many plates also featured a white-on-white houndstooth, which I’m rather partial to.

Many of my favorite moments with food are those just after the first bite of something not just delicious and satisfying but instead truly wonderful, that make me stop and sit back and really think “wow”. Like the lychee mochi at the end of the first omakase I had at Nishino in Seattle, they are rare and just one in my mind makes an excellent restaurant out of a very good one. Ann’s lavender honey-glazed pork belly was the best thing I have ever tasted, ever. The amuse bouche was simple and straightforward but completely wonderful. The blueberry sorbet was one of those amazing and probably complex preparations that you taste and it takes you back to a simple, familiar food in a previous time and place, whether or not you’ve ever actually been there.

The caviar was generous, the oysters lush. The flavors in the compressed melon salad were an impressive combination. The olive oil sorbet was outstanding and the single Bing cherry was discreetly pitted from the bottom. Precision cuts abounded, from the glistening lens-shaped slice of melon in the salad to the “Parisienne” spheres of turnip with the sashimi. The attention applied to each plate was striking.

In spite of this the service was probably more impressive to us the uninitiated. Beyond attentively filled glasses, silverware for each course, and a folded napkin upon return, one waitress periodically wiped down the condensation from our water carafe. Just after a waiter shaved bottarga di muggine, a cured fish roe, over our “Caesar salad”, another appeared with a silver platter for the Microplane and roe, the roe having its own plate and folded napkin. Five servers would silently, occasionally, swoop up the stairs into the private dining room with a plate in each hand. Upon quietly asking one waiter about the restroom another swept the door open to show the way, and if either of us got up another waiter would come by, fill the other’s glass, and make small talk. All of the waitstaff seemed engaged in a complex yet elegant dance around us, orchestrated such that it was rare anyone stopped to wait for another and our needs were met without the need to ask. Of course, one waiter also took the opportunity to good naturedly correct my gross misidentification of the hazelnuts in the cheese course, though I could’ve sworn he was too far away to hear.

Ann says

Well. Well. After that rave review I am almost tempted to find points of criticism. I did in fact have a couple, like that I do not believe that most of their food was organic, which we all know is important to me…and of course I prefer everything to be local. But I truly cannot complain. It was an incredible evening. The food was wonderful. The service was incredible. But what I have to say I enjoyed more than any of that was the experience shared with Abe. He was so excited, and has been, about this restaurant ever since I met him. To me, he was the most delicious part of the whole thing. Neither pretentious or out of place there, he was a delight to be with, and I honestly can’t remember much from the meal other than that. Images of beautiful plates and memories of rich, intense flavors play in my memory faintly, but my total joy with Abe is all I care to recall.

I can assure you, however, that I will have more to say about Chez Panisse. Hoho!

Abe says

As we were walking out the door, copy of the menu in hand, a man (the maître d’) we’d not seen before and certainly not spoken to waved to us and said, “Say hello to Seattle for us!”

Hello, Seattle, from The French Laundry.

Filed under: Restaurants by Abe on August 19, 2008. Tagged with: the french laundry, thomas keller.