 |
||
       
|
A First-Timer's Visit to Chez PanisseBy Caroline Carter Anywhere I want!? Although Andrew and I thought about trying for a reservation at the French Laundry, one phone call revealed the bad news: closed for renovations. Not wanting to wait for them to reopen, we decided on the next best thing – a night at Chez Panisse, the birthplace of California cuisine, and the restaurant of my culinary hero, Alice Waters. I quickly called and procured the next available reservation – a 9pm seating a full month away. As the days crawled by, Andrew and I speculated on what we would be served. The nightly prix-fixe menu for the Chez Panisse dining room is not finalized until the Monday before, and everyone who eats on a particular night is served the same thing. Consequently, unless you magically procure a last minute cancellation, you must make reservations without knowing what you’ll be eating. When our night’s menu was posted on the Monday before our reservation, we were thrilled to see the following:
True to the philosophy of Alice Waters, we would be eating primarily fresh, locally-grown products at the peak of their season. I couldn’t wait. ************************************************************ We arrived for our reservation just minutes before 9pm. Walking into the restaurant was like walking into a temple to food – the warm, craftsman style dining room was decorated with bowls and crates of the produce that was featured in the night’s menu. We saw heaps of spring onions, a wide bowl brimming with fava beans, and a pile of curious wrinkled oranges, which turned out to be the Pixie tangerines that would be used for the night’s dessert. The mellow lighting throughout the dining room and low, box-beamed ceilings instantly made me feel comfortable. Although the 17-table dining room felt quiet and cozy, it was, in fact, wide open to the kitchen. Just through an archway we could see a brick, wood-burning oven, and beyond that, the line itself. Two female chefs serenely plated the first few courses, while a pastry chef presided over the desserts in the back. Andrew and I were both surprised at the lack of harsh noise that one often associates with a professional kitchen – the clang of sauté pans on the stove, the staccato chopping of knives on cutting boards, or the call of an expediter. Instead, the cooks moved quietly and purposefully, adding to the overall feeling of reverence for the food. Andrew and I spoke quietly about it as we waited for our first course, not wanting to break the spell of the dining room with loud voices. Our meal quickly began with a tart orange cocktail paired with a selection of briny Niçoise olives. The drink was surprisingly sour, almost puckering my cheeks to the point of discomfort. Andrew agreed that the cocktail was not something that he’d want to drink everyday, though he found the sour flavor much more agreeable than I did. After jealously watching the table to our right tackle the next course (having been seated just before us, they provided Andrew and I with tantalizing previews of the food to come), we finally received our own plates. Each dish consisted of a single toasted crostini piled high with grilled Little Neck clams, lobster, and Monterey Bay squid, alongside a pile of fresh, lightly-dressed baby greens. Although the delicate flavors of the fish refreshed our mouths, they lingered in a delightful finish, much like the flavor of a fine wine grows and changes after you’ve swallowed. We lingered over the last few bites, hating to finish the dish. As we waited for our next course, our server noticed our interest in the kitchen and invited us back to get a closer look. Feeling like we’d been invited backstage to a rock concert, Andrew and I breathlessly walked down to the end of the long narrow kitchen, trying not to get in the way of the staff. On our left were the walk-ins, pantry, dish-washing area and bulletin boards with schedules and notes. On our right was the main kitchen line with the wood-burning oven and line. A lucky couple was having dinner at the chef’s table between the main line and the pastry area, and we ogled the neat bowls of uncooked green and white asparagus tips that were to be used for the main course. Once we returned to our seats, our next course was waiting for us. Six fluffy pillows of gnocchi sat in a light broth with florescent green fava beans, and tender shreds of mint. A light dusting of pecorino cheese settled over the whole dish, akin to snowfall over a landscape. Wow. I had never had gnocchi that melted in my mouth quite like this – gnocchi I’ve previously known generally kerplunked into the pit of my stomach. These disintegrated in my mouth, melting deliciously. The fava beans offered delightful counterpoints in flavor – their rich, creamy texture reminded me of a cooked bean until they surprised me with a little bite of acid during the finish. They blended well with the cool mint that was shredded over the plate, and the rich pecorino cheese which held it all together. We’re not sure what they used for the light, broth-based sauce, but we felt obliged to sop up every last bit of it with the buttery French bread on the table. While waiting for our next course, Andrew and I puzzled over which wine to pair with the mushroom-spinach-and-sausage-stuffed quail. Normally limited to the value-oriented options on the wine list, my company’s generous offer to pay left us feeling overwhelmed with choices – a delightful problem! Although we knew a pinot noir would stand up well to the stuffed game hen without overpowering it, we weren’t sure which label would provide the earthy, funky flavors that would match best with mushrooms. After asking our server for advice, he turned to one of the men seated at the table next to us and asked him for advice. The man next to us was Kermit Lynch, a locally-famous wine importer who furnishes Chez Panisse with all of its French wines. Although we trusted our server to know best, a Google search later revealed that many wine connoisseurs consider him to have the most impeccable taste in the import industry. We told him what we were looking for, and he pointed us towards a bottle of Nuits-Saint-Georges, Les Vaucrains 1ere Cru, Domaine Robert Chevillon. At last our main course arrived. The quail was rich, earthy and delicious, perfectly matched to the burgundy that Kermit had selected. The mushroom sausage stuffing gave this dish a visceral, meaty quality that made me happy to be a carnivore – there’s something about tearing through the body of an entire bird and sucking on the bones to remind you of your primitive roots. The risotto paired well, with batons of white and green asparagus geometrically arranged on top. During the course, our new friend Kermit passed over a glass of a 1975 Cabernet that he was pouring at his table. He said that it had the earthy, funky nose that Andrew and I had talked about, so he just had to share it with us (Andrew delightedly pointed out that this wine was two years older than I was). It had the rich, developed flavor of an aged wine, without the tannic bite that comes in younger vintages. Andrew and I had great fun comparing it with the newer burgundy that Kermit had recommended and that we were also greatly enjoying. Not usually ones for dessert, Andrew and I were feeling close to full towards the end of our meal and weren’t sure we could handle the last course. All the same, we were blown away by our dessert – a small ball of tangerine sherbet next to a hazelnut crepe with half-moons of Pixie tangerine and topped with a light syrup. Every bite was like an ode to the purest, most flavorful essence of the tangerine. I felt like my taste buds were on psychedelic mushrooms, and that I was tasting tangerines in a way that was not possible in normal life. Considering the dessert afterwards, Andrew and I decided we could easily name one of our children Tangerine – you may laugh, but we’re very serious! We tarried at the table, first over the amuse-bouche dessert (chocolate-covered almonds with a candied tangerine-rind), and then over a pot of green tea. Ultimately we were the last guests in the dining room, and had a chance to chat at length with our server who shared the last drops of our burgundy with us. He told us more about Kermit, and his import company based in Berkeley on San Pablo Road (510 524-1524), and about his experience working at Chez Panisse for the past ten years. Upon our asking about the piles of fruits and vegetables throughout the dining room and kitchen, he selected a half-dozen spring onions for us to take home – a small memento from a memorable evening at Chez Panisse. Food: **** |
Chez Panisse Food: **** All rankings out of a total of 4 stars.
|
| |
||
| Copyright © 2004 Caroline Carter |
||