Taken to the cleaners

Leslie and I just came back from a quick jaunt up to Napa and back with a few friends. It was absolutely gorgeous, about 15 degrees warmer than chilly San Diego, surprisingly. We had a marvelous couple of days, with great traveling companions that we are very comfortable with.

Any long time reader of the Blue Heron Blast would probably surmise that we were hunting good food and wine this week, an elusive quarry and pursuit that motivates much of our time. You would not be wrong.

We left on our northern quest a few minutes after six in the morning, in a rented Navigator. All of our possessions had been distilled into the smallest suitcases imaginable. Which would have been fine if we had not brought so much food for the trip. Bags of baguettes and crackers, cheeses and truffle butter, soppressata and salami from Venissimo, we were loaded for bear. I hate to imagine how much weight I have gained in a mere three days, something probably exacerbated by the prednisone I have been taking lately.

Leslie had brought a nice selection of music along and we segued nicely from Beeethoven to early Rolling Stones. We actually rolled into Napa at about 2:45 in the afternoon. Time passes quicker in a car with good conversation.

We had our reservations for the French Laundry on Wednesday night and discussed our collective desire to arrive there hungry and fairly sober. We stopped at our only winery of the trip, a scoot over to Chandon, Renée having a slight sulfite allergy as I do, and champagne tending not to hurt one too much.

The champagne was alright, nothing extraordinary. The Pinot Noir reserve wasn't bad. We had to pay about $20.00 for the tasting, which tells you how long it has been since I have been to Napa, since I don't recall ever paying for booze before. The server was a bit irritating and over forward and I ensconced myself on a high table far away from him in order to keep everything in the happy zone.

After our tasting we checked into our hotel, the Bardessono, an absolutely fantastic new boutique hotel with every amenity and state of the art furnishings. Totally green, Leed platinum certified. The rooms, which were upgraded for us, had steam rooms, hi- tech whirlpools, outdoor showers, private decks, electric shutters and just could not have been nicer. The foyer was decorated with long trails of tillandsia or air plants. The architecture was a nice cross between bauhaus and zen. The toilets not only talked to you, but they spritzed, shampooed and gave your most private real estate a lovely coiffure.

When we left, the affable General Manager Jim Treadway came out and thanked us. A first class guy and a first class hotel.

We were thinking about the culinary adventure that awaited us the next day and thought that we should eat simple and relaxed the first night. We settled on an old reliable outside of Napa, Bistro Don Giovanni. Situated in a vineyard, always loud, always packed, the last time I was there I had fantastic sand dabs, which were now unfortunately off the menu.

I had one of those ubiquitous walnut, pear, blue cheese salads, which was good but a bit heavy on the dressing. I ordered short rib risotto fritters for the table that were terrific. For my entree I had strongly spiced lamb meatballs that tasted a bit greek or mediterranean. Lots of oregano and bursting with flavor. All of us enjoyed our dinners, which tended to northern italian. A smaller, scaled down menu than I remember, but one that still delivered. R. had a nice short rib on risotto. Leslie had a duck confit salad and a potato, celery root, artichoke soup.

We returned to our hotel and retired for the night. Slept the sleep of the dead, Ren said that she got 7 hours in for the first time in memory. I got up about 6:30 and headed over to Bouchon Bakery for out of this world almond croissants and coffee. Then a trip back to the hotel lobby where I got to indulge in a full reading of the Financial Times, New York Times, Wall Street Journal and San Francisco Chronicle.

We piled into the car for a scenic trip around Rutherford and towards Lake Berryessa and eventually made it to another foodie heaven, Dean and Deluca. We were all so transfixed with the great selection of everything, from wine to exotic salts and condiments. Murderer's row of prosciutto. Spent a small fortune.

Renée's son and his girlfriend drove up and had lunch with us at our hotel. We had the large table in the dining room to ourselves. D. and I had swordfish sandwiches on Brioche. All very tasty fare. After lunch Renée decided to stick around and hang out with her baby Chris and Justine. 

Leslie, R and D and I drove up to Calistoga and received mudbath's at the little Golden Haven Resort. It was our friends' first slide into the molten goo and they loved it. Leslie said that I fell asleep on the table and started snoring as did D. After the mud you shower off and get in the mineral water hot tub. Then you shower again and make sure that you have freed all of your orifices from unwanted sediment. Then you get blanket wrapped in a dark candlelit room with a cool towel on your forehead and proceed to zoom off into space. Great way to banish all the sniggling aches and pains and the stress of real life.

We drove back to Yountville and stopped and walked through the French Laundry gardens, looking at the prospective vegetables that might be gracing our plates later that evening. We finally went back to the hotel and chilled, with a lot of nervous conversation on my part regarding the evening ahead. This was going to be big. 

***

 At approximately 6:10 we started walking towards the French Laundry. The trellis of the old stone building was covered with old vegetation and I noticed immaculately raked side yards. The building was originally built by a Scotsman at the turn of the century and housed a saloon. A law was subsequently passed that you could not serve alcohol within 1000 feet of the house of a veteran and in the twenties it became a french steam laundry. Thomas Keller bought the restaurant in 1994. It was named best restaurant in the world in 2003 and 2004. It has won multitudes of awards, a third Michelin Star and it's chefs have gone on to great things around the country. As you probably know.

We were quickly seated at 6:30 at a good table. One of my fellow diners remarked that it was nice to not be squeezed in to a too small table. Everybody in the restaurant seemed very well dressed, my companions no exception. There were a lot of asian people in the restaurant. An asian gent at the next table tried to take his sport coat off and was quickly and gently remonstrated.

I have somehow misplaced my copy of the menu and will have to recount the meal from memory.  But let me say that it was one of the most incredible eating experiences of my life. Not the best, not the most pleasurable, but definitely the most complex. In fact, I am still processing my adventure, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Because this one had me on the ropes, maybe unmasked as a charlatan and definitely begging for mercy at one point.

Our server/liaison Brian briefed us on the meal and the two nine course menus, one meat oriented and one mainly vegetables with some meat. He asked us about any known food allergies and Leslie and I begged off on the caviar and oyster first course, Sabayon of Pearl Tapioca with Malpeque Oysters and Ossetra, having developed some sort of weird reactions to the mollusks in the last several years. We then ordered, all going left side menu except for Renée who went the vegetable route. D ordered a 2007 Hirsch Pinot Noir, which was delicious and practically the first alcohol of the day.

The menu was a bit florid. I noticed an item on the vegetable side titled Jidori hen egg and couldn't suppress the urge to ask Brian if the Jidori roosters were in the habit of laying eggs as well. My query was met with a cool but professional smile.

Our meal started with gougéres, little puff pastries of gruyere that literally melted in our mouths. I could have powered twenty or thirty of these little guys without a problem. This course gave way to the famous salmon tartare cones that are probably one of the restaurant's signature dishes. The amusebouche of all amusebouches. Absolutely delicious. The comfort food portion of the meal was now officially over and we hadn't even eaten our first true course. 

Leslie and I started with ossetra caviar over some sort of saki infused ice for our substitution. I really liked it, she thought that it was too simple for her taste. The danger you run into when substituting, I suppose.

The next offering was a moulard duck pate de fois gras au torchon on an elaborate base of flavors including pickled asian pear relish, celery, parsnip purée and vanilla scented sauternes reduction. It was very good and very rich and they brought out warm brioche to slather it onto.

It was at this point that I started checking out our fellow diners. At the next table was an elegant silver haired gentleman who I could swear was a famous writer or newsman. The rest of our room was mainly chinese. 

Anyone who has traveled in the last several years can attest that the chinese and russians seem to be the only folks left with any money. We had a foursome of chinese in front of us that were fascinating. Total barbarians. We watched in amazement as the man stabbed the brioche and attempted to put the whole thing in his mouth. He was also sucking his pate off the end of his dinner knife. It was like sharing a meal with Attila the hun or Ghengis Khan. No longer do I want to hear anything about my lack of table manners.

We were then treated to the butter poached lobster on the beet paint with a little potato chip hat like the dancing hippos in Fantasia. Perfect dish. Truly gorgeous artistically on the rich beet purple ground.

The next course was I think the cobia, an atlantic fish, on red pepper paint. R had the bouillabaisse. This was the moment in the meal where things started getting a little bit weird. There were so many disparate food tastes going off that my mouth was exploding like a firecracker, a pattern that continued throughout the rest of the meal. The fish itself was prepared wonderfully, and colorfully I might add, but it ventured into decidedly new turf with all the discordant flavors. Something they were trying to do.

I have had friends run screaming from the French Laundry. I had some say they left hungry, which I just can't believe. I have friends that absolutely love the place. I really don't know where I stand, honestly. This is definitely not comfort food, it is the most challenging fare I have ever eaten. I think that I have only eaten at a similar restaurant one time in my life. The food is so complex, the litmus test and demarcation line so far above "tastes good" that at times I felt like I was in a fifteen round prize fight, doing little rope a dopes in the corner, fighting for air. Sensory bombard the palette, the culinary equivalent of a major acid trip.

Fish gave way to kurobata pork belly, freaking divine, just the right amount of underlying fat. Pork was followed by beef, a succulent and perfectly cooked tenderloin strip and a small square of braised brisket, whose demiglaze was a bit too rich for me but something everybody else loved. Somehow another pinot got ordered, an El Molino of the same vintage.

I frankly don't know what the hell else I ate, since I started fading into the wainscoting. My friends said that I looked real quiet and weird for about three courses. They said that they have never seen me more at a loss for words. I was in lala land. Pretty close to shnockered. The service was a bit slow and I had to stifle a yawn several times as did my dinner mates. The server came by and I think I pleaded for him to make it stop but he kept saying "just one more course" and I acquiesced  and just kept eating so as not to embarrass my wife and sully my family honor.

Little food memories rise out of my altered state and present themselves now on the day after; a baby radish with top leaf that was practically translucent and with no bite, grapefruit seeds in the sorbet exploding in my mouth like a roman candle. It was frankly turning into a bit of an ordeal. Wonderful and terrible at the same time. Because we had been hit with everything short of the kitchen sink. Who in their right mind would have porkbelly, fish, lobster, beef, steak and moulard all in one meal? Not to mention all the bread I had stupidly slammed down, along with the two kinds of butter.  

I am taken by the artistry of Keller's plates and the subtle and sophisticated flavors in his food. But everything is pushed so far. I found myself fantasizing for just one simple course in the middle of this titanic effort. Something that was just well cooked and spoke for itself without reaching for the epicurean apogee. I have noticed some restaurants lately that try to push the food beyond good and make it difficult to eat, not necessarily this one. But I certainly felt challenged. Perhaps my clumsy palette has been affected by too many double cheeseburgers?

I wondered how many of the rich patrons were there for the food and how many who merely wanted to check the French Laundry off their birding list? Our hosts told me about once being seated at 9:30 and not getting out until 1:30 in the morning. I would definitely crack. Don't ever go and get seated after 7, whatever you do.

Back to the feast: I seem to recall a chocolate ganache dessert with a sour cherry that was trickier than it was delicious, then perfect tiny doughnuts, a sorbet and more snappy little chocolates. D had some beautiful pistachio ice affair. Coffee was served to those that requested it. The night was capped with delicious little cups of chocolate fondant, which helped us come back to earth. Shortbread cookies to go. We got a quick tour of the kitchen after the meal. Some very serious cooks. Very impressive, to say the least.

We had equipped ourselves well and survived the expedition. Made Fallbrook proud. I think that there were about twelve courses. I appreciate the invitation and kindness of my hosts. I don't know that I will ever be back. I have planted my flag on this mountain of gourmandise but like Hillary have "been there, done that" and may not need to do it again. Four or five courses would be fine but this gustatory exercise in pure excess sent my nervous system into full tilt. Sproing! The restaurant was everything they said it was and more. Herculean. I just may not have the huevos anymore to tackle such an epic meal.

I wonder about places like the French Laundry. Purportedly Thomas Keller runs a small empire with his various restaurants, Per Se, Ad Hoc, Bouchon, etc. that employs about a thousand people. It must be hard to love what you are doing when you are involved in serving that many plates, employing that many people and have become a culinary institution. Bet he wishes he was slinging hash in an anonymous diner some days.

***

I wish that I could say that we, being overstuffed, fasted on the way home. The reality is that we continued to gorge ourselves silly on a variety of foodstuffs that I am too embarrassed to recount. Ended up at my favorite armenian chicken place, Zankou Chicken in Pasadena for protein, pickled turnips, hummus and garlic paste. Then back to Fallbrook just after dark.

It was an amazing three days. There is more of me standing than there was last week, I estimate about 6 lbs. more. Guiltriddenly hauled my ass into the gym this morning. Many thanks to my friends, wife and fellow diners. A whirlwind but an absolute ton of fun. Quite a trip.