San Francisco Gourmet

Afterglow

2007-05-19T10:51:00.000-07:00

Although I've been back from my gustatory tour of Paris for a few days now, I find myself still wrestling with the temptation to book a plane ticket to return immediately.   Even on my last visit as a student, I found the city completely captivating -- much more so, in fact, than any of the other incredible European destinations that I explored on that same trip.   But this time around -- having acquired in the interim a significantly greater appreciation for fine cuisine -- I found Paris to be even more enchanting.   Indeed, as I came to realize on the long flight home, only one other city has ever taken hold of me so quickly and effortlessly, and that was San Francisco.

Over the course of my much-too-short trip, I sampled a lot of degustation menus, took a lot of pictures, and scribbled a lot of notes.   As I now wade through the process of sorting this all out, I'm also trying to take a step back to see things from a broader perspective -- one that includes, for the sake of comparison, our own high-end restaurant scene here in the Bay Area.   For this reason, I thought it might be interesting to bookend my Paris trip with meals at some of the Bay Area's best restaurants.   Accordingly, shortly before I left, I visited The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton;   the day after I returned, I dined at Fleur de Lys.

One of the benefits of sampling so many great restaurants in such a short period is that it tends to simplify the process of comparing them.   After all, it's much easier to compare tonight's meal with last night's than it is to contrast two meals experienced several months apart.   On the other hand, a significant drawback to the approach I took in Paris is the sheer number of dishes that I had to try to keep in my mind.   Before I could let the nine courses served to me by one chef seep fully into my memory, I found myself poring over an entirely new nine-course menu.   Sitting here today, while several dishes stand out as being particularly memorable, others are swimming around in my head temporarily dissociated from the restaurants at which they were served.   So perhaps you can understand why I guarded my notes, pictures, and copies of menus as carefully as I did my passport as I wound my way through airports and taxis to get back home!

Overall, I found the entire week to be extraordinarily educational, revealing a lot about culinary innovation, the state of fine dining, Michelin ratings, and even the Bay Area's restaurant scene.   In the coming days (or more likely, weeks), I'm going to walk you through each of the seven excellent meals that I enjoyed in Paris, sharing photos and impressions along the way.   After that, I'll wrap things up by describing some of the conclusions that I reached -- and the new perspectives that I acquired -- as a result of my fantastic week in France.

A Taste of Paris

2007-05-10T16:14:00.001-07:00

As you may have guessed from the serious dearth of posts around here, the last few months have been completely crazy for me at work.   A massive patent case on which I had been working was slated for five back-to-back trials spanning from March through August, and the flurry of activity that's needed for such an enormous undertaking had our entire team completely consumed.   Then, suddenly and without warning, the parties reached a settlement that resolved the entire case -- changing my very existence overnight.   Whereas one day I felt like I was drowning in an endless sea of work, the next day I was happily concerned about whether I had enough work on my plate.   The summer vacation that I had written off as an impossibility was miraculously resurrected.   And when my close friend and coworker A decided to accelerate her sabbatical and travel through Europe now instead of waiting until later in the year, I found myself toying with the idea of a spur-of-the-moment trip to Paris to meet up with her.   And so it is that I now find myself sitting in a hotel in Rive Droite, midway through a glorious six days of fantastic food, wine, and fun.

Now, one of my fellow Bay Area food bloggers just returned from a great week in Paris last month, while another seems to be in Paris just about every other week.   But as hard as it is for me to believe, my last trip to Paris was nearly seventeen years ago, when a friend and I backpacked through Europe in the summer between finishing college and starting graduate school.   It was a time before I had experienced the wonders of San Francisco's incredible restaurant scene, before I had developed any kind of appreciation for fine dining, and -- most importantly -- before I had achieved the luxury of receiving a regular paycheck.   And believe me, when you're traveling as a student on $40 per day all inclusive, the Paris that you experience is one of baguettes and cheap fruit -- not degustation menus and wine pairings.

A lot has changed in the intervening years, most notably my admiration -- and even reverence -- for great cuisine and the talented chefs who create it.   But let's face it, for those of us who live in and love the Bay Area's restaurant scene, there's always someone standing by to rain on our parade by saying one of two things:   the premier restaurants in New York, on average, are better than San Francisco's best, and the top restaurants in Paris are even better still.   Is it really true that the upper-tier restaurants in Paris are that much better than the top restaurants in the Bay Area?   Does Paris really deserve to have ten restaurants rated by Michelin at three stars, compared to the Bay Area's paltry one?   If I were going to go to Paris, I simply had to find out.   Or, to be more honest, I should probably put it this way:   a trip to Paris -- specifically for the purpose of experiencing the offerings of the city's best establishments and chefs for myself -- was an absolute imperative.

Most normal people, of course, would book a flight and hotel and then give some thought to where they might want to eat.   I, on the other hand, approached it in precisely the reverse order.   After all, if I couldn't experience the great restaurants that I had read and heard so much about, wouldn't it be better to postpone my trip until I could?   (I'm hoping that at least a few of my fellow food bloggers, if nobody else, will understand my twisted logic here!)   I accordingly stayed up late one evening and called all of the Michelin three-star restaurants, a mere three weeks before my potential arrival date.   Not surprisingly, virtually all of the restaurants had limited availability, and getting the overall schedule to fit neatly into a six-day period was an exercise akin to the so-called "logic games" section of the LSAT that I had taken many years earlier (making me glad to know that it was useful for something).   In the end, I arrived at a schedule that truly excited me, a veritable tasting menu of Paris itself.   Here is my "seven-course" sampling of the city's finest:

Course 1:   L'Arpege
Course 2:   Le Meurice
Course 3:   Ledoyen
Course 4:   Guy Savoy
Course 5:   Pierre Gagnaire (lunch)
Course 6:   Plaza Athenee
Course 7:   Le Pre Catalan

All seven of the restaurants hold three stars in Michelin's 2007 guide for Paris, with Le Meurice and Le Pre Catalan having just been elevated to that ranking this year. Of the remaining three Paris establishments that enjoy three-star status (i.e., L'Astrance, Le Grand Vefour, and L'Ambroisie), I couldn't get into the first one and didn't try too hard with regard to latter two. After all, I would only be in Paris for six days, and I was reluctant to schedule too many days with both a lunch and a dinner (especially since I intended to order the degustation menu at dinner each night, which typically results in my skipping lunch both that day and the next day). Thus, I resolved that the final three would have to wait for my next trip, and I went ahead and booked my plane ticket and hotel.

Well, I just returned from dinner at Guy Savoy this evening, and the results so far have been extremely interesting and very eye-opening. I won't give away the results just yet, as I do want to evaluate all seven restaurants against one another before I reach any definitive conclusions. So, tune in again starting next week, as I describe each of my dining experiences!

Cooking Class with Ron Siegel

2007-02-21T07:44:00.000-08:00

I have written here many times about the high regard in which I hold Ron Siegel, Executive Chef at The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco.   His cuisine is always interesting and innovative, his food is consistently delicious, and his restaurant is one of my favorites in the Bay Area.   So, you can imagine how quickly I signed up when I learned that Siegel will be teaching a class at Tante Marie's Cooking School early next month.

The session is entitled "Finished Dishes With Sauces", and it's described on the Tante Marie website as "an advanced class on presentation and taste."   Unfortunately, there will be no recipes distributed to attendees.   The class will be held on Tuesday, March 6, 2007 from 2:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m., and the cost of admission is $65 per person.   If you're interested in attending, you can sign up on the website or by calling Tante Marie's (415.788.6699).   But don't delay;   as of this posting, there are only 6 spaces left in the class.

I've attended several cooking parties at Tante Marie's over the last 15 years, but I have yet to take a cooking class there.   Accordingly, I'll be very interested to see whether the format and content compare favorably to those of other classes offered elsewhere in town.   With a talented chef like Ron Siegel leading the discussion, though, it's hard to imagine this being anything but a worthwhile afternoon.

Five Things About Me

2007-02-20T08:59:00.000-08:00

My friend Joy recently tagged me with the latest meme to make the rounds in the food blogging community, the one in which we're asked to identify five things about ourselves that you probably don't know. Now, I've obviously been careful to keep many details about myself hidden from public view, but when a request like this comes from one of my favorite bloggers, well, I'm happy to participate. So, without further ado, here are five things that you likely do not know about me:

I designed the rear defog system for the 1993 Chevrolet Camaro and Pontiac Firebird. Before entering the hallowed halls of law school, I spent four long and arduous years earning a bachelor's degree in electrical engineering. During one of the three summer internships I did at General Motors, I was tasked with analyzing the existing design for the Camaro's rear defog system, evaluating it against comparable systems found on vehicles from other manufacturers, and redesigning it to hit competitive benchmarks. So, if you ever find yourself in a cold climate cursing at how long it's taking for the ice to clear from the rear window of your 1993 Camaro or Firebird, now you know who to blame.

Other than food, one of my greatest passions in life is music -- especially electric jazz/fusion. I don't mean by this that I simply enjoy going to an occasional concert. No, my interest is probably more on the order of a borderline obsession, to the point where I've been known to attend every single show of a four-night stint when certain jazz artists come to town. I even stayed in Philadelphia once for five days past the end of an exhausting month-long trial, just so I could catch a show that I missed when it came through San Francisco. It's actually a minor miracle that the members of the Pat Metheny Group, the Yellowjackets, Steps Ahead, and Vital Information, among others, haven't taken out restraining orders against me. Or maybe they have, and I just haven't been caught yet.

I have played the drums for 29 years, and I thought seriously at one point about pursuing a career in music. My three closest friends in high school were all drummers, and the four of us were completely immersed in our instrument -- taking private lessons for years on end, playing in every possible school band/orchestra, and putting together percussion ensembles to take to state-wide competitions. In the end, though, pragmatism won over, as it dawned on me that trying to play the drums professionally might not put food (or at least good food) on the table. I have nevertheless continued to play recreationally, and the very first purchase I made after buying a house four years ago was a seven-piece acoustic drumset to replace the electronic (read "quiet") set that I'd been playing while living in an apartment. And yes, my neighbors love me.

I love olive oil, but I hate olives. I can't explain it, and I've tried repeatedly to overcome my serious dislike of the fruit itself. Yet, time and again, my efforts have failed spectacularly. Because of this, any chef who can make a dish featuring olives that I actually enjoy has my deepest admiration and eternal loyalty. So far, only one individual has managed to pull this off: David Kinch, with his black olive madeleines.

One of the things that I'd love to do someday is to be an investor/co-owner in a restaurant. I know, I know -- it's a notoriously challenging industry, the returns on investment are not great, and the work involved is undoubtedly thankless. Still, the entire idea holds such allure for me, that I'm apparently willing to throw all caution to the wind for the right opportunity.

At this point, I'm not sure that there are any food bloggers who have not yet been tagged for this meme, so I'm not going to name anybody specifically. Instead, if you're a food blogger reading this and would like to participate, please consider yourself tagged!

Dining Notes: Circa

2007-02-17T14:35:00.000-08:00

When my sister asked me in early January where I'd like to go for a celebratory birthday dinner, I rattled off a short list of places that I'd been wanting to try for several months. High on that list was Circa, the Marina restaurant and lounge that's located in the spot that previously housed Cosmo's Corner Grill. Not only had the restaurant been generating positive reviews and word of mouth since it opened last year, but Executive Chef Erik Hopfinger has a reputation that precedes him: he was named one of the San Francisco Chronicle's "Rising Stars" in 2002, and he earned numerous accolades during his stints at Spoon and Butterfly. Yet, what really drew me into the restaurant on that cold Sunday evening was neither the buzz nor the chef; it was a dish. And if you read my description of the dinner party that I held in my home at the end of last year, you'll probably

Circa: At A Glance
Chef	Erik Hopfinger
Pastry Chef	Laura Mandracchia
Address	2001 Chestnut St. San Francisco, CA 94123
Phone	415.351.0175
Parking	Garage
Restaurant Website

understand why just as soon as I tell you its name: Lobster & White Truffle Mac-n-Cheese.

The layout at Circa is rather interesting, in that the space is dominated by an enormous square bar and lounge that are located immediately inside the front door. The comparatively small dining area is then located off to one side, almost as an afterthought or a begrudging concession to the people who might want to go to the restaurant to eat rather than simply to drink and be seen. Now, that may be a perfectly good strategy for capturing the business of young singles in the surrounding Marina, but it seems to send a subtle message that the service of outstanding cuisine is not necessarily Circa's primary focus or most important concern. And the dishes that we were served on our visit unfortunately reflected as much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's more...

To be fair, very few of the things that we ordered that evening were downright bad or inedible. But apart from the desserts, almost everything missed the mark in one or more important respects, leaving me seriously underwhelmed by the place. Here's a rundown:

Pan seared Hudson Valley foie gras, wild blueberry demi-glace, peanut butter sauce on toasted brioche: My first thought upon seeing this on the menu was that the pairing of foie gras with peanut butter is an odd choice. If you think about these two flavors for a moment, you'll probably agree with me that neither is likely to contrast well against the other. Indeed, the two actually seem to strike a similar tone, and even when either one of them is served on its own, it cries out for something -- such as fruit -- to pierce through its deep and rich flavor. Doesn't it stand to reason, then, that if a chef decides to combine foie gras and peanut butter, he or she had better make sure to amp up the sweet/fruit component to contrast with both? I thought so, but the amount of blueberry demi-glace on the plate here was so paltry, that it left the flavors of the foie gras and peanut butter in a muddled mess.

CIRCA sliders stuffed with black truffle and Brie cheese, served with Maui onion strings and house made ketchup: These miniature hamburgers were tasty enough, but they fell far short of the high expectations that had been set by their billing. Tell me you're giving me a burger "stuffed with black truffle and Brie," and I'm going to be waiting for something exquisite in which the flavors of black truffle and high quality Brie practically jump out of the bun. That never happened. The black truffles were barely discernible at all, and the Brie -- remarkably -- seemed like just another cheese. On the plus side, the accompanying onion strings were very tasty.

Smoky roasted cream of tomato soup served with crustless grilled cheese bites: This was a disappointment. The soup was particularly acidic and had an odd sour taste, and I couldn't help but think about how Philippe Jeanty's tomato soup is orders of magnitude better. Now, you would think that preparing a satisfying grilled cheese would be a piece of cake, a slow easy pitch down the middle that any chef could hit out of the park. But the small sandwich bites served on the side of the soup here were terrible; the brioche was sliced way too thickly, and the cheese was barely melted.

Dungeness crab, Ahi tuna ceviche on torilla chips, avocado creme fraiche, sriracha chili sauce: This was one of the few brights spots of the meal. The ceviche was fresh and nicely seasoned, and the creme fraiche added a cool creaminess against which the spicy kick of the chili sauce played well. The tortilla chips, meanwhile, added a much-needed textural contrast. A very good dish.

Morroccan Spiced Roasted Austrailian Rack of Lamb "Lollichops," mint chimichurri and pomegranate molasses: Here was yet another selection that sounded wonderful on paper but fell flat in the execution. The lamb itself was cooked well past the requested medium rare, and the sauces on the plate never really came together into a cohesive whole.

Lobster & white truffle mac-n-cheese: The ingredients in this dish are so wonderful on their own, that it's almost impossible to imagine how the combination could be anything less than spectacular. Yet, Circa's kitchen pulled it off. I was hoping for pasta shells enrobed in a creamy sauce, permeated with a pronounced cheese flavor and punctuated with the distinctive flavors of lobster and white truffle. What we got instead was a serious letdown. The cheese sauce had a rather peculiar and somewhat unpleasant flavor, the white truffle was missing in action, and the lobster pieces were so miniscule and scarce that they may as well have been left out. So, a dish that held such promise -- a dish that had lured me into the restaurant in the first place -- was an abysmal failure.

Desserts from Pastry Chef Laura Mandracchia were more successful. An Almond & Banana Upside Down Cake was dense and comforting like bread pudding, its clean banana flavor complemented nicely by a delicious caramel sauce. The Circa Housemade Dessert Sampler was a clever tribute to several of the childhood favorites of my generation, with "premium" homemade versions of Ho-Ho's, Oreo Cookies, Cracker Jack's, Truffles, Rum Balls, and Vanilla Milk. All of the components here were good, but the real standout was the one thing that I, at least, never had as a child -- the vanilla milk. As I sipped from the small shot glass, the chilled milk exploding with the bright floral notes of fragrant vanilla bean, I kicked myself. Why in the world had I never thought of making this at home?! As I'll describe in a later post, this small spark of inspiration quickly grew into a self-indulgent passion in the ensuing weeks.

Overall, Hopfinger and his kitchen have their work cut out for them if they ever want to make Circa a destination restaurant. Dishes need to be more thoughtfully conceived, more tightly focused, and -- most importantly -- more precisely executed. But maybe that's not the goal. Maybe the only objective is to draw revelers into the bar for a night of drinking, and to serve them passable food when they get hungry. And maybe for that purpose, the food is good enough. Maybe.

Dining Notes: COCO500

2007-02-06T15:29:00.001-08:00

One of the few places in San Francisco that I've visited several times without ever mentioning here is COCO500, the Loretta Keller establishment that rose from the ashes of what was once Bizou.   My first dinner at the restaurant was in early 2006, right around the time that a consensus seemed to emerge in the food blogging community that COCO500 was the toast of the town.   And I shared in that assessment.   The food, in a word, was wonderful, from the spectacular flatbread with squash blossom and white truffle oil, to the delicious and flavorful halibut, to the scrumptious sweet summer corn.   I was hooked, and my initial meal at this South of Market hot spot was followed by a rapid fire succession of several more, all of which were thoroughly satisfying.

Now, unlike some, I have never been that enamored of the service.   I've generally found it to be competent and functional, but never particularly attentive and occasionally somewhat neglectful.   And I'm not alone in this assessment;   both Fatemeh and Catherine had initial visits to COCO500 in which the service was so subpar, that it apparently dampened their enthusiasm about going back.   Yet, each of them did eventually return, and to service that was much more impressive.

Well, I had dinner at COCO500 last night, and I can certainly say that the experience left an impression.   The food was, as always, well executed and very tasty, and the table service was perfectly fine.   The problem?   The host staff.   When Rhonda and I arrived for our 8:15 reservation, the hostess told us that "our" table was just finishing up and that we would be seated shortly.   No problem, we thought -- we'll just wait in the bar.   As we sat down, my eyes scanned across the dining room and happened to notice a vacant four-seat table, along with several other such tables at which parties of two were dining.   "That empty table is certainly being held for a party of four with a reservation," I said to Rhonda.

Ten minutes passed.   Fifteen.   Twenty.   Thirty.   And all throughout, three facts remained unchanged:   the vacant table remained unoccupied, the people seated at our table remained planted in their seats, and the hostess remained completely indifferent to our plight.   Not once was there an effort to assure us that we would be seated soon, not once was there an attempt to pacify us with a drink or appetizer on the house, and not once was there even a hint of an apology.   At the 35-minute mark, we finally lost our patience and approached the hostess.   Her response?   "Oh, did you not want to wait any longer for a two-seat table?"   Yeah, that's right -- we've been sitting here in the bar starving, waiting for a couple of oblivious diners to leave our table and staring at a vacant four-top for the last 35 minutes, all because we were actively hoping to be crammed into a small two-top instead of being given all of that uncomfortable space that comes standard with a larger table.   I was not amused.   And needless to say, the hostess offered no apology and no "thank you for waiting" as we were finally seated at the table that had been collecting dust all night.

A dinner reservation represents an agreement between restaurant and diner, a social contract that imposes certain obligations on both parties.   The diner is expected to show up on time, and the restaurant is expected to have a table available and ready.   Of course, the vagaries of daily life require that a certain grace period be afforded to both sides, and 15 minutes strikes me as a reasonable amount of time for this purpose.   But after that, the situation changes.   If a diner shows up more than 15 minutes late, the restaurant should be free to give away the table;   and if the restaurant cannot provide a table within 15 minutes after a reservation, then it should immediately take some form of corrective action.   Most establishments, understandably, do not want to nudge a lingering party out the door, for fear of coming across as rude.   Yet, at the same time, indulging the lingerers requires the restaurant to breach its agreement to seat the next party -- a gesture that is no less rude.   While this may seem like an intractable situation, there's a relatively easy solution:   provide the waiting party a complimentary beverage or appetizer to make the delay more tolerable, give them a free appetizer or dessert once they have been seated, or take something off of their ultimate dinner bill.   A small gesture like this, coupled with a sincere apology, goes an incredibly long way toward preserving goodwill.

What a restaurant should never do is what COCO500 did last night:   ignore the waiting guests for 30+ minutes, and then do absolutely nothing to make up for, acknowledge, or even apologize for the delay.   And just in case you were wondering -- I did watch the front door of the restaurant for the rest of the night to see whether some later party of four would be displaced by our having taken the big table, but no such party ever arrived.   In other words, the hostess apparently kept us waiting for 35 minutes for a hypothetical party of four that might walk in off the street without a reservation.   Not a smart move, and not one that earned the restaurant any points in my book.

There's no question that the food at COCO500 has been consistently good, to the point that several people I know have been persuaded to overlook bad service experiences and pay the place another visit.   But is that really what the restaurant wants to aim for?

Cooking Class with William Werner

2007-01-20T13:12:00.000-08:00

As you may recall, I attended a food and wine event at the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay last October at which an up-and-coming pastry chef thoroughly impressed me with his innovative and delicious desserts.   His name is William Werner, and I posted here at the time about the many wonderful creations that I was able to sample from this talented gentleman in just that one evening.   One of these even inspired a course that Rhonda and I served at a dinner party last month.   Well, I'm excited to report that Werner will be sharing the recipes and techniques behind some of his popular confections in a session he's teaching as part of the Ritz-Carlton's Winter School.

The class is entitled "A Passion for Desserts", and it will be presented on Friday, February 2, 2007 from 6:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m. at the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay.   Tickets cost $70 per person, and attendees will receive a tasting of each dessert that's presented along with a copy of the corresponding recipe.   You can register for the class here.   The hotel is also offering a few interesting packages.   For $150 per person, you can attend the class and then immediately thereafter enjoy a three-course dinner at Navio -- the hotel's flagship restaurant.   And for prices ranging from $549-$589, you and a companion can attend Werner's class and then spend the night in a coastal view room.

I have never attended a session of the Ritz-Carlton Winter School, so I'm not really in a position to tell you how worthwhile this experience will be.   What I can say, however, is that William Werner is one pastry chef to keep an eye on -- and that's exactly what I intend to do on February 2.

Menu for Hope III - The Results Are In

2007-01-16T10:27:00.001-08:00

Last month, food bloggers from around the world came together to sponsor a fundraising campaign to combat world hunger.   Each of us donated one or more prizes, and readers then purchased $10 raffle tickets for the prizes of their choice -- with 100% of the proceeds going to the United Nations World Food Programme.   My contribution to the effort?   A $350 gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants -- The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton.

To say that this year's Menu for Hope was an enormous and astonishing success would be a gross understatement.   Over 12 short days in the middle of the hectic holiday season, you -- our readers -- kindly took the time to reach deep into your pockets and to donate your hard-earned cash toward this important cause.   Together, we raised an amazing $60,925.12, a 258% increase over the amount that this event raised in 2005.   I want to take this opportunity to sincerely thank each and every one of you who contributed this year, with an extra special thanks to those who directed their raffle tickets toward my prize.   The generosity and giving spirit that all of you displayed was truly an inspiration.

After putting in an incredible amout of time, energy, and hard work, Pim and Derrick drew the raffle winners for each of the prizes a few days ago, using a clever program that Derrick wrote just for this purpose.   And in case you missed the announcement on Chez Pim yesterday, the winner of my $350 gift certificate to The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton is . . . Rory C. Berger!   Congratulations, Rory -- I'm sure that you'll have a wonderful evening enjoying the outstanding cuisine of Executive Chef Ron Siegel, served in one of my favorite dining rooms in the entire Bay Area.

Finally, I want to thank Pim for conceiving, organizing and administering this fantastic event, Sam for serving as the host, coordinator and promoter for the West Coast prizes, and Derrick for volunteering his time to write the program to select the winners.   Thanks also to those who served as regional hosts for prizes from other parts of the world -- Kalyn, Adam, David, Jasmine, Helen, and Alder.   None of this would have been possible without the tireless efforts of these remarkable individuals, and we all owe them a debt of gratitude.

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Conclusion

2007-01-13T14:50:00.000-08:00

This is the tenth and final installment in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

I've spent the past month describing our Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner in some detail, from the thinking that went into the menu to the composition of the eight courses that comprised the meal.   I'd now like to conclude this series of posts by acknowledging a number of people who made the event possible.

First up are the friends who attended this year's dinner.   I've always felt that the most pleasurable aspects of food are those that come from sharing it with others, and a big part of what motivates me to put together a meal like this is to express my appreciation for the wonderful people that Rhonda and I get to call our friends.   The eight individuals who came to my home last month, and the folks who came to the dinner in previous years, are among the most generous, kind, and thoughtful people that I've ever met, and Rhonda and I are truly fortunate to have them in our lives.   They are, in a real sense, the raison d'etre of the truffle dinner itself.

Next are the numerous food purveyors who provided the raw materials that we used in preparing the various courses.   At the risk of stating the obvious, the success of a finished dish is inextricably linked to the quality of its component ingredients, and that is precisely why I spend so much time and energy on trying to find the best sources.   Although all of the food items we used this year were excellent, several were exceptional -- so much so, in fact, that I would readily recommend them to others without hesitation.   Here are those products and the purveyors who produced or sold them:

Prather Ranch -- Organic Grass-Fed Beef
McEvoy Ranch -- Organic Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Acme Bread Company -- Pain de Mie
Straus Family Creamery -- Organic Butter, Organic Whipping Cream, Organic Whole Milk
Eatwell Farm -- Organic Lemon Verbena, Organic Rose Geranium
Clover Stornetta Farms -- Organic Cage-Free Brown Eggs
Bellwether Farms -- Creme Fraiche

Ferry Plaza Seafood -- Dungeness Crab
Far West Fungi -- Portobello Mushrooms, Tentazioni White Truffle Cream & White Truffle Butter
Pacific Natural Foods -- Organic Free Range Chicken Broth, Organic Vegetable Broth
Gioia -- Burrata

D'Artagnan -- Fresh White Truffles
Maine Lobster Direct -- Lobster Tails
San Marco -- Carnaroli Risotto
Sabatino Tartufi -- White Truffle Oil

Last but certainly not least, I have to thank Rhonda. Her numerous contributions were both invaluable and indispensable, from helping to plan the event and taste testing my experiments, to cooking the meal itself and striking an elegant tone for the evening with her wonderful table decor. Her warmth, grace, good humor and charm made her the consummate host, and she made the entire process -- from start to finish -- a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me as well. Simply put, the white truffle dinner could not happen but for Rhonda.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's more...

As we sat finishing our desserts at this year's dinner, my friend A talked about how she would be taking a sabbatical from work at the end of 2007 in order to travel through Europe. When I commented that she should make sure to get to Italy during the height of white truffle season, she replied that we should meet her there and hold the Fifth Annual White Truffle Dinner right in the heart of Alba. Check back later this year to see whether we managed to pull this off!

I'll close with a pictorial recap of the eight courses that we served this year. Click on any picture to be taken to the post describing the corresponding dish.

Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner
December 9, 2006
	Truffled Corn & Leek Veloute
	Burrata Cheese with Arugula in a White Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette
	Dungeness Crab Cake with White Truffle Crème Fraîche & Cucumber Foam
	Prather Ranch Beef Filet with Truffled Parsnip Puree
	White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter
	Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with White Truffle Cauliflower Gratin
	Duo of Sorbets: Pineapple Lemon Verbena & Raspberry Rose Geranium
	Pear Cake with Pain D’Epice Crème & Brown Butter Ice Cream

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 8

2007-01-05T01:37:00.001-08:00

This is the ninth in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The eighth course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Pear Cake with Pain D'Epice Crème & Brown Butter Ice Cream.   Whenever I order a tasting menu out at a restaurant, I'm always struck by what a difficult challenge the pastry chef faces.   Whereas the executive chef has six or more courses through which to impress diners (with each dish hopefully surpassing the one before), the pastry chef is lucky to have two.   Moreover, the pastry chef has to continue the upward trajectory set by the savory courses;   after all, there's nothing more disappointing than a spectacular meal that fizzles out into a pool of mediocre desserts.   Finally, it falls on the pastry chef to make sure that the final note on which the meal closes, the one diners will have most prominently in mind when leaving the restaurant, is an outstanding one.   All of these thoughts weigh heavily on my mind whenever I plan a menu, and I always come out of the process with an even deeper respect for what pastry chefs have to do on a regular basis.

The dessert course that we presented at this year's White Truffle Dinner was inspired by two of the best desserts that I tasted during the past year.   The first, and more recent, was from William Werner -- Pastry Chef for both the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay and its flagship restaurant Navio.   As I described here a few months ago, Werner nearly stole the show during the Four Star Grand Cru Wine Dinner held at the hotel last October, serving up one innovative and delicious confection after another.   Included among these was French Butter Pear Nage with Pain D'Epice Ice Cream and Creme Fraiche, comprised of individually delicious flavors that together achieved an almost magical result.   Yes, Werner truly left an indelible impression on me that evening, one that I knew would have to be reflected on this year's truffle menu.

The other influence for Course 8 came from Boris Portnoy, presently the Pastry Chef at Campton Place.   In an earlier stint at the now-shuttered Winterland, Portnoy served one of the most delicious desserts that I have ever had:   Caramelized Brioche.   A small piece of delicious brioche from Bay Bread was soaked in creme anglaise and baked, after which it was dusted with sugar and torched to create a caramelized surface.   Served on the side was the most incredible ice cream, one made from -- of all things -- brown butter.   Now, if you've been reading the earlier posts in this series, you know about my great affinity for brown butter and the fact that I've used it for four straight years now in conjunction with the risotto of Course 5.   But it had never occurred to me to try it in a dessert, and my first taste of Portnoy's creation in the opening months of 2006 simply astonished me.   I wasn't alone in this reaction;   there was extensive discussion on Chowhound about the dessert and how it might be replicated, until somebody from the restaurant finally appeared and posted the recipe for all to see.   Portnoy's clever use of brown butter was thus another concept that demanded some sort of acknowledgement on my menu.

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There's more...

Once I had identified the motivating factors, the flavors that I should incorporate into Course 8 became self-evident:   gingerbread, pear, and brown butter.   Coincidentally, the first two of these had been featured prominently in the dessert course from last year's White Truffle Dinner -- i.e., Gingerbread Cake with Poached Anjou Pear and Crème Anglaise.   Because I enjoy forcing myself to devise a new dessert for each truffle dinner, I was generally opposed to using a straight repeat of any of the components from last year's dish.   Yet, I was not against exploring variations on the flavor combination that I had employed there, nor was I averse to repeating the concept of a dessert anchored by a small cake.   But which of my three flavors should go into the cake?   And how would I get the other two into the dish?

I decided to take a step back and approach this from a different direction.   One easy component to use would be ice cream, and what better way to pay tribute to Portnoy than to include his brown butter ice cream exactly according to his recipe.   One flavor down, and two to go.   Gingerbread could not go into the cake if I wanted to avoid a repeat, so that left only one viable option:   pear cake.   My thought was to puree some Bartlett pears and then add them to a standard batter, perhaps even sauteeing the pears initially in butter and brown sugar to deepen the flavor of the finished cake.   I conducted some experiments and was satisfied with the outcome.   Once the pear cakes were in place, a gingerbread custard sauce struck me as a nice accompaniment.   I pulled out the cake recipe that I used last year, identified the precise ratios among the ingredients that give gingerbread its distinctive flavor, and then calculated the amount of these ingredients to use per unit volume of custard.   My first test batch tasted like gingerbread, but the molasses was overwhelming to the point of distraction.   In penciling out the numbers for the second batch, I found myself reluctant to reduce the amount of cinnamon, cloves and ginger from their already low levels.   But if I reduced only the molasses, would the overall flavor balance be thrown out of whack?   I took a leap of faith and tried it, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the sauce tasted exactly as I had hoped.

In talking to Rhonda the next day about my plans for the final course, we concluded that there was a texture missing.   Specifically, something crisp or crunchy would go a long way toward rounding out the dish, while also keeping our diners interested.   After considering brittles, pralines, toffees and wafers, I remembered something that I'd been wanting to explore for as long as I could recall:   caramelized sugar decorations.   For years, I had marveled at what professional pastry chefs could achieve with melted sugar, but I had never figured out exactly how it was done.   After digging around online, I set a pot of sugar and water over a high flame and was on my way.   When the temperature of the mixture edged over 300 degrees and its color had reached a deep amber, I plunged the pot into an ice bath for 10 seconds and then began drizzling the liquefied sugar onto Silpat using the tines of a fork.   I was actually surprised at how easy -- and fun -- this was, and how even the most haphazardly-deposited lines yielded something that looked like it had been designed by the most talented of artists.   I figured that I could put a small piece of this sugar creation on top of the brown butter ice cream in my dessert, giving the dish a decorative flair that would also provide the desired textural contrast.

All of the components of Course 8 could be made in advance of the dinner, and that's exactly what we did.   When the time came, we merely placed some gingerbread sauce on the bottom of each plate, positioned a pear cake on top, added a small scoop of brown butter ice cream, and finished with a piece of the caramelized sugar decoration.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 8 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Two-Tiered Chocolate Raspberry Cake (2003)
Almond Cake with Vanilla Mousse & Raspberry Coulis (2004)
Gingerbread Cake with Poached Anjou Pear & Crème Anglaise (2005)
Pear Cake with Pain D'Epice Crème and Brown Butter Ice Cream (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 7

2007-01-03T19:42:00.001-08:00

This is the eighth in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The seventh course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Duo of Sorbets: Pineapple Lemon Verbena & Raspberry Rose Geranium. The use of a sorbet as a palate cleanser is quite common in upper-tier restaurants, as is the concept of presenting at least two distinct dessert courses whenever a tasting menu is ordered.   Yet, neither one of these ideas occurred to me while I was planning our first White Truffle Dinner in 2003.   Perhaps it was because I was too consumed with trying to devise six savory courses and one solid dessert, or maybe it was due to my general anxiety about how we would be able to pull of a seven-course menu at home in the first place.   In either case, it wasn't until after that first dinner had passed that the need for a second dessert offering finally came into sharp focus.   It occurred to me that there were two choices:   I could serve two fully-realized dessert courses, preceded by an intermezzo comprised of an exceedingly simple sorbet (e.g., grapefruit or champagne);   alternatively, I could come up with something for the first course that could serve double duty as both palate cleanser and dessert.   I chose the latter option in the interest of keeping things simple, and I have followed that path ever since.

Sometime late last summer, I got it into my head that I wanted to experiment with lemon verbena.   I'm not really sure what triggered this;   I had never cooked with the herb before, nor had I recently tasted anything having its distinctive flavor.   Nevertheless, on my next trip to the Ferry Building Farmers' Market, I sought out the one purveyor that seems to have lemon verbena consistently available, Eatwell Farm.   As I paid for the bunch that I had picked out, I had no idea what I was going to do with it.   Maybe I would try a creme brulee, or perhaps a custard sauce to enjoy with pound cake or fresh fruit.   I ultimately settled on ice cream, and after finding some guidance online about how best to infuse the cream, I prepared a batch.   The result was excellent -- bright, lemony, and floral all at once, yet so distinctive that not a single colleague at work was able to identify the flavor upon tasting it the next day.   I later infused some water with lemon verbena and used it to make an angel food cake;   I combined some of the same water with powdered sugar and made a lemon verbena glaze.   The possibilities were endless, I realized, and I couldn't wait to explore other uses down the road.

During my numerous visits to the Eatwell Farm stall to purchase lemon verbena, I happened to notice another herb that was far less familiar to me:   rose geranium.   Its fragrance was intoxicating, reminiscent of roses yet somehow more complex at the same time.   I eventually gave in and purchased a bunch, again wondering how I would end up using it.   I never found out the answer.   The following weeks were so busy at work, that the geranium dried out before I had an opportunity to experiment with it.   I made a vow, though, to revisit this unfamiliar ingredient at a later date.

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There's more...

In planning the menu for this year's truffle dinner, I knew that the seventh course should be sorbet.   There's nothing like an ice cold, sweet, and boldly-flavored treat to awaken the taste buds after six savory courses.   Yet, my view is that if I'm going to expect sorbet to serve not only as palate cleanser but also as a dessert course in and of itself, then I have to provide something more than a single scoop of a simple and familiar flavor.   Two years ago, I served a duo of relatively uncommon sorbets that shared a theme;   I could do the same thing again this year, I thought, so long as I change the flavors and/or the theme.   But what flavors, and what theme?   The answer appeared in my mind just as quickly as the question had been formed:   the theme would be herbs, and the flavors would be the duo that I had "discovered" back in the summer -- lemon verbena and rose geranium.

My initial inclination to serve a simple lemon verbena sorbet and a plain rose geranium sorbet soon gave way to another notion, namely to pair each of the herbs with a complementary ingredient.   But what ingredients?   The first idea I had for lemon verbena was pineapple juice, which seemed like a promising candidate when I tried to imagine the two flavors together in my mind.   I ran an experiment by infusing some leftover pineapple juice with lemon verbena, and I was thrilled with the result.   With regard to rose geranium, I found myself at a comparative disadvantage since I had never tasted the herb directly.   I knew from its fragrance, however, that it would have a rose flavor, so I figured that combining it with a berry of some sort -- perhaps strawberries or blackberries -- might be a logical choice.   I jumped online to do some research and quickly found a recipe coupling rose geranium with raspberries, a perfectly good idea that I saw no reason not to embrace.

I prepared the sorbets several days in advance, anxious to get Course 7 out of the way and out of my mind.   On the night of the dinner, all Rhonda and I had to do was take the containers out of the freezer and place a small scoop of each sorbet in each of the serving dishes.   A small garnish of mint was the final touch.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 7 palate cleanser selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

N/A (2003)
Duo of Fall Sorbets: Asian Pear & Spiced Cider (2004)
Lemon Lavender Cappuccino (2005)
Duo of Sorbets: Pineapple Lemon Verbena & Raspberry Rose Geranium (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 6

2006-12-29T21:12:00.001-08:00

This is the seventh in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The sixth course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with White Truffle Cauliflower Gratin. Prior to my first meal at The French Laundry in 2000, I had come to believe that lobster meat, by its very nature, is always somewhat tough.   Like many people, I had spent my life eating lobster that had been cooked through boiling, a relatively violent method of preparation that tends to cause the meat to seize up.   Nevertheless, the incredible flavor of this delicacy was always more than enough to compensate for any textural peculiarities.   You can imagine my excitement, then, when Thomas Keller and his kitchen demonstrated that evening in 2000 that lobster meat does not have to have a rubbery consistency, that it can instead be tender, buttery and utterly sublime.   Although the menu itself announced that the meat had been poached in butter, the precise details would remain unknown to me until a few years later, when I finally acquired a copy of the The French Laundry Cookbook.   The secret, I would learn, is to gently cook the lobster in beurre monte -- butter melted in such a way that its component ingredients (fat, milk solids, and water) remain in an emulsified state.   As I started the planning for our first White Truffle Dinner in 2003, one of the few things I knew for sure was that butter-poached lobster would have to hold a position of prominence on the menu.   I described in an earlier post how much I also loved The French Laundry's white truffle risotto, but I wasn't thrilled with the idea of having that be the last course before dessert -- especially if the consequence was that something more substantial, like the lobster, would have to precede it.   On that basis alone, I concluded that butter-poached lobster would serve as the sixth and final savory course on the menu, a distinction that it has held right up to this day.

For the first three truffle dinners, I paired the lobster with a simple but satisfying accompaniment that I came up with several years ago, Truffled Sweet Corn & Shallots.   The recipe for this couldn't be simpler:   saute chopped shallots until translucent, add corn and saute for a few minutes more, and then season with kosher salt and white truffle oil.   I've always been fond of serving shellfish with corn, so the idea of coupling my simple side dish with Thomas Keller's lobster came naturally.   Because the combination was generally well received in those early years of our dinner, I probably would have been reluctant to drop it from this year's menu had it not been for one small factor:   the corn and leek soup that I planned to serve as Course 1.   Just as my desire to avoid repeating flavors had forced me to walk away from the creamed leeks that had previously been the mainstay of Course 4, so, too, would it demand that I abandon my corn and shallot dish.

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There's more...

The loss of the corn made me briefly consider the possibility of replacing the lobster as well.   When I came back to my senses, though, I began to wrestle in earnest with the question of what might step in to fill the void.   An idea for doing an adult version of macaroni and cheese fizzled out when a recipe that looked promising on paper didn't deliver as hoped, while certain other vegetable options just didn't seem to spark my interest.   Around the same time that I was mulling all of this over, I was also finalizing the menu for Thanksgiving dinner with my visiting parents.   I settled on a Cauliflower Gratin as one of our side vegetables, based upon a recipe that I had tried once before from, you guessed it, Thomas Keller (only this time from his Bouchon cookbook).   The core of the vegetable is cooked in herb-infused cream and then mixed with a pinch of curry powder, before being tossed with the florets and baked under a topping of panko and Comte cheese.   The finished dish has a relatively mild yet luxuriously delicious flavor -- perfect, I figured, for featuring white truffle cream or oil.   After confirming in my mind that lobster and cauliflower could complement each other well, the details of Course 6 were set.

Preparing the beurre monte for poaching the lobster is always one of the most challenging tasks of our annual White Truffle Dinner.   The technique itself is simple:   bring 1 tablespoon of water to boil in a large pot, turn the heat down to medium, and then add butter -- a few tablespoons at a time -- while whisking continuously.   The problem arises in that (a) a lot of butter (i.e., 4-6 cups) has to be melted in this manner in order to poach 10-12 lobster tails, and (b) it takes a quite a bit of time to get 12 sticks of butter completely melted down.   It is theoretically possible, of course, to prepare the beurre monte in advance and then hold it until needed.   But the emulsion will stay intact only if the temperature of the liquified butter is kept within a certain range, and that's something that even my Viking range had difficulty accomplishing the one year that I tried to make the beurre monte before our guests had even arrived.   That evening, after having monitored the butter and adjusted the flame almost continuously throughout the preparation and service of the first five courses, I finally came to the moment of preparing to transfer the beurre monte to the pan containing the tails.   I'm sure you can guess what happened next.   That's right, the emulsion collapsed!   I have since reverted to preparing the beurre monte real time, but I am still hopeful that I will someday find a better solution.

The cauliflower recipe requires 15 minutes of baking immediately before service in order to heat the mixture through and to brown the cheese.   Rhonda and I accordingly put the individual gratin dishes into the preheated oven a few minutes before we started poaching the lobsters in the butter, so that the two would be done at approximately the same time.   We positioned a finished tail on the top of each gratin, placed the entire gratin dish onto a larger plate, and set off for the dining table.   As I sat down to join my guests, I breathed a sigh of relief;   as you will see, the final two courses would be comprised of components that had been completed entirely in advance, so all of the challenging aspects of the evening were, at long last, over.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 6 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with Truffled Sweet Corn & Shallots (2003)
Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with Truffled Sweet Corn & Shallots (2004)
Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with Truffled Sweet Corn & Shallots (2005)
Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with Truffled Cauliflower Gratin (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 5

2006-12-26T14:22:00.000-08:00

This is the sixth in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The fifth course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter.   This is a dish that I lifted, directly and shamelessly, from Thomas Keller of The French Laundry.   The first time that I tasted this at the restaurant was one of those rare moments in my dining history that could accurately be called revelatory.   I had enjoyed white truffles a few times before, but never in a dish that so perfectly demonstrated what a spectacular wonder they really are.   The surface of the plate was covered with a small mound of creamy risotto, which had been lent an air of luxury by copious amounts of butter, whipped cream, Parmigiano-Reggiano, and white truffle oil.   Our server then shaved fresh white truffles on top tableside, their intoxicating aroma seemingly deepened and transported away from the plates by the steam rising from the rice below.   A few spoons of browned butter completed the presentation, its nutty complexity melding brilliantly with the earthiness of the truffles while also amplifying the nuttiness of the cheese.   The vivid memory of that fantastic experience was in the forefront of my mind when I started planning the first White Truffle Dinner in 2003, and I simply knew that the dish would have to have a starring role on my menu.   To this day, the risotto remains my favorite way to enjoy a fresh white truffle, which probably explains why it's the only dish to have earned a spot on all four of our truffle menus.

The recipe for the risotto is set forth in The French Laundry Cookbook, although Keller curiously omitted the browned butter -- a component that elevates the dish to an entirely different plane.   The risotto is not, as a general matter, all that difficult to make;   it's a relatively standard preparation, followed by the somewhat unusual steps of quickly stirring in large amounts of butter and whipped cream immediately before service.   Yet, these latter steps can present a real challenge in the context of a multi-course dinner party for 10+ people, particularly when one is also (a) striving to get the right balance of white truffle oil and salt in the risotto, (b) preparing a large volume of browned butter, (c) cleaning and preparing the fresh truffles for shaving over each plate, and (d) trying to get the plates to the table while the risotto is still warm.   Indeed, Rhonda and I have found it virtually impossible for two people to execute all of the necessary steps with perfect synchronicity, and the result is often that the dish suffers in one way or another.   After three years' worth of struggling, we decided to try something different this time by skipping the step of stirring butter and whipped cream into the risotto.   Although the finished dish may not have been quite as opulent (or heavy), it was still delicious -- and the stress that it saved us was invaluable.   Indeed, we were easily able to complete all of the other steps -- i.e., finishing and seasoning the risotto, preparing the browned butter, and preparing/shaving the fresh truffles -- without incident, and the dish reached the table with all of its components at the right consistency and temperature.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time (or, in this case, has not evolved over time), here's a summary of the Course 5 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter (2003)
White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter (2004)
White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter (2005)
White Truffle Risotto with Fresh Truffle Shavings & Browned Butter (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 4

2006-12-21T15:49:00.000-08:00

This is the fifth in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The fourth course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Prather Ranch Beef Filet with Truffled Parsnip Puree.   The evolution of Course 4 over time has undoubtedly been more linear than that of any other course.   Whereas my selections for Course 3, for example, have meandered about almost aimlessly from one year to the next, every dish that has occupied the fourth spot on the menu has directly built upon its counterpart from the year before.   The course was initially little more than a vehicle for featuring an item that I just knew had to have a place on the menu:   Truffled Creamed Leeks.   Sauteed in olive oil before being cooked down with chicken broth and cream, this dish became an instant favorite from my very first bite.   I was unable to find a creative way to feature the leeks all by themselves, so I took to searching for something to bask in the spotlight while the leeks ostensibly played a supporting role.   A scallop one year, a shrimp the next.   But the leeks always stole the show, just as I assumed they would.   This year's selection, however, took a pronounced step away from my old favorite, while carrying on with the beef theme that I introduced last year.   And as explained below, I have to admit that the menu -- and I -- were both made the better for it.

As described in an earlier post, the decision to abandon the leeks was prompted by my desire to use a corn and leek soup as the opener.   I generally avoid featuring the same item twice in the menu, so having both a leek soup and creamed leeks struck me as undesirable.   I liked the results we achieved last year by using beef in Course 4, so I was heavily leaning toward retaining that ingredient.   But with what could I pair it, if not the leeks?   Potatoes were out of the question, as they tend to make the dish -- and hence the meal -- too heavy.   Within moments of starting to ponder all of this, a word suddenly appeared in my mind, as though placed there by some external force:   parsnips.

I will never know how or why the idea of parsnips came to me.   Prior to that date, I had no taste memory of the vegetable, I had never purchased or cooked with one, and I had no active recollection of being served one in a restaurant.   Indeed, I'm embarrassed to say that I would have been lucky to be able to pick a parsnip out of a root vegetable lineup, having grown so accustomed to skirting quickly by the lonely end of the produce aisle where they all reside.   Yet, here I was, impelled to investigate this unfamiliar ingredient for absolutely no discernible reason.   I began consulting cookbooks and online resources, anxious to find recipes, serving suggestions, and even the basics such as the best method to cook a parsnip.   My desire for a texture that would complement the beef led me to settle on a puree, and I found several authoritative sources indicating that all I needed to do is boil the peeled parsnips in water and then run them through a food processor.   Boil them in water?   That's it?   Shouldn't I at least consider using some chicken broth, or vegetable broth, to add a little flavor?   As I walked through the grocery store getting the ingredients for my various cooking experiments, I picked up some extra broth just in case.

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There's more...

After peeling and chopping a pound of parsnips, I realized that there was only one path toward rectifying my shameful lack of knowledge about the flavor of an unadulterated parsnip:   to cook this first batch in water, not broth.   As I slid the vegetable coins off my cutting board and into the boiling water, I grabbed one of the smaller pieces and popped it into my mouth.   It tasted -- not surprisingly, I thought -- like a carrot.   I gently boiled the parsnips for 25 minutes, checking periodically with a fork to see if they had become completely tender.   When they had, I removed them from the heat, strained them, and reserved the water -- just as I'd been instructed.   As the blades of my mini food processor whirred and the walls of the container fogged up from the steam, I was practically bursting with anticipation.   Would they taste essentially like pureed carrots?   Or would they be bland and lifeless, demanding the addition of broth the next time around?   I slowly lifted the lid, and as the steam cleared and the edge of my spoon hit the surface of the puree, I was incredulous at what I saw.

The parsnips had a silken consistency, like that of the creamiest, most buttery, and whipped mashed potatoes that I had ever seen.   As my mind tried to grasp how this was possible from a mixture containing nothing but parsnips and water, I lifted the spoon to my mouth.   The taste was incredible.   The cooking process had softened the jagged edges of the flavor a bit, giving it a smoother, rounder taste that no longer resembled anything like a carrot.   It was as though the transformation that had taken place on the physical side -- from hard, crunchy root to soft, fork-tender vegetable -- had occured in the flavor dimension as well.   The consistency of the puree was a bit stiff at this point, so I added some of the reserved water -- one tablespoon at a time -- until it had reached the proper state.   I seasoned with kosher salt and white truffle oil, and I found myself absolutely thrilled with the result.   So much so, in fact, that I immediately called Rhonda on the phone and lamented that I had just wasted 38 years on the planet without partaking in the wonders of the parsnip.   Who would have guessed that it would take the creamed leeks stepping out of the way to finally show me the light?

Reading The Omnivore's Dilemma during a vacation last summer forever changed the way I look at, and purchase, beef.   The horrific acts in which the industrial food system engages to produce the perversity known as "corn-fed beef" are disgusting, and you could not pay me enough to serve such meat to my guests.   Fortunately, there are purveyors out there that are trying to do the right thing.   Prather Ranch -- located in Northern California -- is one such outfit, taking great care to raise its grass-fed cattle using organic feed, mountain spring water, and ecologically sound practices.   In fact, read the full account of the lengths to which Prather goes to ensure a quality product and see if you're not impressed.   Prather has also satisfied the strict standards to be Certified Humane, a distinction not currently held by Northern California's other popular meat producers, Niman Ranch and Marin Sun Farms.   And because I had purchased filets from Prather for a dinner party that I held last year, I knew firsthand about the quality of their service and their products.   All in all, I could think of no better beef purveyor to support -- and to feature on my menu -- than Prather Ranch.   And what a great decision it turned out to be, as the filets that we cooked for our truffle dinner were so meltingly tender as to be virtually indistinguishable from the American "Kobe" beef that I served last year.

Strictly speaking, the beef dish -- with its heavier and bolder flavors -- should be served as the final savory course, immediately before the palate cleanser and dessert.   But I decided to buck convention and keep it in Course 4 for a couple of reasons.   First, it's my view that the menu should build to a crescendo in Course 6, and I was not quite prepared to have my beef dish serve as the "star attraction" -- particularly in a dinner focused on white truffles.   And second, the dish had organically evolved in the fourth spot on the menu, so I was somewhat predisposed to simply leaving it there.   Perhaps I will change my mind in future years, but only time will tell.   The night of our White Truffle Dinner, I placed three seasoned filets in a pan and seared the first side.   After roughly four minutes, I flipped the steaks over and put the pan into a 450 degree oven to finish.   Rhonda and I put a small amount of parsnip puree in the center of each plate, followed by a single slice of the beef and a garnish of parsley.   A few moments later, the dish was on its way to the table.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 4 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Truffle-Dusted Sea Scallop with Creamed Leeks (2003)
Truffle-Dusted Prawn with Creamed Leeks (2004)
American "Kobe" Beef with Truffled Creamed Leeks (2005)
Prather Ranch Beef Filet with Truffled Parsnip Puree (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 3

2006-12-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

This is the fourth in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The third course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Dungeness Crab Cake with White Truffle Creme Fraiche & Cucumber Foam. The original idea behind Course 3 was to have a small seafood selection to transition out of the soup and salad courses and to continue to build toward the apex of the menu in Courses 5 & 6.   Although that basic purpose has remained intact through all four renditions of the truffle menu, the precise composition of the third course has changed over time.   Indeed, my guests might be tempted to conclude that Course 3 is the most "experimental" portion of the menu, as it's the one spot where I feel the least degree of commitment to a preconceived ingredient or concept.   Still, a review of what we have served to date reveals some recurring themes.   Crab is one of them;   white truffle creme fraiche is another.   And although I'm sure that I will move on to explore other ingredients at some point, this apparently was not the year.   Instead, I decided to see whether another flavor that pairs well with crab -- cucumber -- could be integrated successfully with creme fraiche and white truffle.

One of the things that I value most about planning and presenting these annual dinners is the opportunity to learn something new, whether it relates to an unexplored cooking technique, an unfamiliar ingredient, or a new flavor combination.   Thus, when it came to my curiosity about the cucumber, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was use the vegetable in its natural state.   After all, where's the challenge in simply slicing or dicing a cucumber and throwing it together with crab and creme fraiche?   No, I wanted to try something that I had never done before.   My first thought was to use a gelee.   Ron Siegel, Executive Chef at The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton, uses a variety of gelees to great effect in concert with different types of sashimi;   Roland Passot at La Folie serves a delicious apple gelee with crab, and a Meyer lemon gelee with lobster.   Why not create a crab salad using the white truffle creme fraiche, and then place the mixture into a cylindrical mold above a thin disk of cucumber gelee?

I did not start experimenting with this until one week before the dinner, and among the immediate challenges I faced were how much liquid I needed in order to obtain a gelee of the proper thickness and how much gelatin I had to use to achieve the proper consistency.   I consulted my copy of The Professional Chef on the latter question and estimated the amount of gelatin required for a set that is just firm enough to hold its shape.   I ran three cucumbers through my juicer (noting for future reference that the result was roughly 2 cups of juice), and then proceeded to confront the next quandary -- i.e., how to dissolve the gelatin into the juice.   Everybody knows that you typically need to warm up a liquid in order to melt the gelatin, but would cucumber juice be able to stand the heat?   Even if I put it over a low flame, would it separate?   And how, if at all, would the flavor be impacted?   I put a small amount of the juice in a sauce pan to give it a try, and what I found certainly caught me by surprise.   The heat did not seem to change the appearance of the liquid, but it did dramatically alter its flavor.   What once tasted like the purest essence of cucumber had now mysteriously picked up unpleasant overtones of asparagus -- for reasons that I'm sure only Harold McGee would be able to explain.   I concluded that I would have to dissolve the gelatin into a small amount of heated water, and then blend that water (once cooled a bit) with the juice.   The cucumber flavor would admittedly be a bit more diluted this way, but I simply saw no other choice.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's more...

Two hours after putting the cucumber-water mixture into the refrigerator to set, I pulled out the tray.   Although the gelatin seemed to have the consistency I wanted in terms of how it would interplay with the crab when tasted, it was not quite firm enough to stand up to any manipulation.   Feeling rather dejected, I sat in my kitchen and thought about whether I had any hope of figuring out the optimal ratio of gelatin to liquid in the days that remained before the dinner.   It was time to start considering alternatives.

Foams have now become de rigueur in upscale restaurant dishes, almost to the point of cliche.   Yet, I've had very little experience with them at home, and I suspected that most of my guests had rarely seen them outside of restaurants either.   Why not give it a try, I thought.   I read several explanations about how dissolving gelatin into a liquid before sealing it in an iSi Gourmet Whip gives the foam more body when dispensed, so I set off to determine the correct amount of gelatin to use.   Because cleaning my juicer is a pain, I decided to run the first several experiments -- relating only to consistency -- on pineapple juice out of a carton.   The first foam I tried on Sunday was too soft, but the second one on Monday evening was just right.   I then returned to working with actual cucumber juice, as I still had to figure out the proper level of seasoning.   I learned from Harold McGee's book that the presence of salt in a liquid weakens the effect of gelatin, so I had to experiment with ratcheting up the gelatin concentration after I knew how much salt I wanted to add to the juice.   This went on for a few days, as I set aside time before or after work to prepare another experimental run or to check the results from the last one.   By the time I had finally achieved an acceptable result on Wednesday, I had gone through half a gallon of pineapple juice, two boxes of Knox gelatin envelopes, 18 nitrous oxide chargers for my Gourmet Whip, and the juice from 15 cucumbers.

I figured that a cucumber foam would make little sense with a crab salad, so I switched gears and resorted to a modified version of a crab cake that I had served at the first White Truffle Dinner three years ago.   Instead of Maryland Blue Crab we used Dungeness, and in place of half of the regular breadcrumbs we used panko.   On the night of the dinner, Rhonda pan fried the crab cakes to golden brown perfection while I put the creme fraiche into a piping bag.   We placed a crab cake in the center of each plate, drizzled some white truffle creme fraiche on top, and then finished with a small dollop of cucumber foam and a cucumber slice for garnish.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 3 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Maryland Crab Cake with Truffled Mashed Potatoes (2003)
Salmon Tartare with Truffled Creme Fraiche (2004)
Chilled Crab with Truffled Creme Fraiche and Avocado (2005)
Dungeness Crab Cake with White Truffle Creme Fraiche and Cucumber Foam (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 2

2006-12-19T14:58:00.000-08:00

This is the third in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The second course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Burrata Cheese with Arugula in a White Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette. The notion of including a salad on the menu has always held appeal for me, in part because it provides an easy vehicle -- i.e., the dressing -- through which to highlight the flavor of white truffle.   In this context, I've never been particularly fond of mixed greens, preferring instead the steady backdrop of a single type of green against which the flavor of the dressing can be fully perceived.   I'm also a proponent of pairing the salad with another component of some sort, be it bread, cheese, or even something more substantial.   In my view, this type of diversion can help keep the diner interested, while also heightening the impact of both the salad and the accompaniment.   This year, I decided to pair the salad with one of my favorite food "discoveries" of the past year -- burrata cheese.

My tastes in cheese generally tend to run to the more dramatic, whether it's a pungent brie, a tangy feta, or a nutty parmigiano reggiano.   It's not that I dislike milder cheeses such as fresh mozzarella;   I just never fully understood how some people could grow so rhapsodic when talking about them.   All of that changed earlier this year, though, during a dinner that I enjoyed at Ame.   My friend A had ordered the Burrata Cheese with Organic Greens as a starter, and she kindly offered me a bite.   The cheese was unlike any I had ever tasted -- rich, sumptuous, and utterly creamy, with a distinctive flavor that left me wanting to return my appetizer to the kitchen forthwith.   It wasn't until several months later that I found out the source for Ame's burrata:   a Southern California company called Gioia, which distributes its product to the restaurant -- and to the general public -- through Cowgirl Creamery.   Rhonda and I now periodically treat ourselves to a container of burrata, but it's so phenomenal that we've taken to giving portions away to our friends out of fear that we might otherwise eat our way through the entire 1 pound tub!

I've always liked the taste of arugula, but for some unknown reason, I'd never really thought about including it on one of my menus.   The idea of doing so finally came to me in the most unusual manner, when I saw a book review on a fellow food blogger's site.   The book is called "The United States of Arugula", and the title alone was enough to make me ponder why I had overlooked this prevalent green for so long.   But while tales like this illustrate that inspiration can come from the most unexpected of places, it's equally true that patently obvious ideas are sometimes the very things that are the most difficult to see.   For example, despite my burgeoning affinity for burrata, the thought of including it on this year's truffle menu had completely and inexplicably eluded me.   Instead, I was all set to present my guests with a Truffled White Bean Crostini -- a creation that I had tested the weekend before the dinner using cellini beans from Rancho Gordo.   But as I walked through the Ferry Building a mere four days before the dinner, the idea of using burrata suddenly hit me like a bolt of lightning.   Why not simply include a small amount of the delicacy on each plate, add a little bit of freshly ground black pepper on top, and then finish with a drizzle of white truffle oil?   Toast points, along with the arugula, could complete the course.   The idea immediately struck a chord with me;   after all, what could be better than incorporating into the menu -- and sharing with our closest friends -- one of my greatest food passions of the past year?   The Truffled White Bean Crostini were shelved, and the second course was set.

Finally, to give you a sense of how the menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 2 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Parmesan & Truffle Budini with Mache in a Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette (2003)
Parmesan & Truffle Budini with Mache in a Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette (2004)
Manchego & Truffle Panna Cotta with Mache in a Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette (2005)
Burrata Cheese with Arugula in a Truffle Champaigne Vinaigrette (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Course 1

2006-12-16T15:09:00.000-08:00

This is the second in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

The first course for this year's White Truffle Dinner was Truffled Corn & Leek Veloute.   I can think of no better way to launch into a multi-course tasting menu than with a luxurious cream soup, which probably explains why all four of our truffle dinners have started in precisely that way.   This year's selection consists of corn, leeks and shallots sauteed in butter and then cooked with vermouth and chicken stock.   The mixture is pureed and strained, and then enriched with heavy cream and a small amount of truffle butter (or truffle oil) stirred in immediately before service.   The finished soup delivers the distinct flavors of white truffle, corn and leek, against a velvety smooth backdrop provided by the cream.

If the veloute sounds familiar to you, it should;   we served it -- sans truffle flavor -- as part of the "Four Star Tour" dinner that we presented last year.   The soup was well received by my guests there, and it has also been one of my personal favorites for as long as I can remember.   Still, I hesitated before committing to it for this year's white truffle menu.   Why?   Well, all three of our prior truffle dinners have incorporated two of my most reliable vegetable accompaniments:   Truffled Sweet Corn and Shallots and Truffled Creamed Leeks.   The former has always been paired with lobster, while the latter has variously appeared with Kobe beef, truffle-dusted sea scallop, or truffle-dusted prawn.   Because I try to minimize the repetition of flavors across the menu, the inclusion of a corn and leek soup would effectively require me to scrap both of these time-tested favorites.   Did I really want to come up with two new vegetable components for use in the later courses?   I ultimately answered that question in the affirmative, and neither the Truffled Sweet Corn and Shallots nor the Truffled Creamed Leeks made it onto this year's menu.

Finally, to give you an idea of how my white truffle menu has evolved over time, here's a summary of the Course 1 selections that we have served since the inaugural White Truffle Dinner in 2003:

Potato & Leek Soup with Truffle Butter (2003)
Truffled Cauliflower Soup (2004)
Truffled Cauliflower Soup (2005)
Truffled Corn & Leek Veloute (2006)

White Truffle Dinner 2006: Introduction

2006-12-15T11:29:00.000-08:00

This is the first in a series of posts directed to the Fourth Annual White Truffle Dinner that Rhonda and I recently held at my home.   For more on the dinner, please see these posts:   Introduction | Course 1 | Course 2 | Course 3 | Course 4 | Course 5 | Course 6 | Course 7 | Course 8 | Conclusion

Last Saturday, Rhonda and I welcomed eight of our closest friends to my house for our fourth annual White Truffle Dinner.   It was a stormy night, requiring our guests to negotiate traffic snarls, power outages, and bursts of torrential rain just to make it to my front door.   But one by one they arrived, until the last of them rang the doorbell at just a few minutes before 7:00 p.m.   In this first installment of a multi-post series, I'll describe some of the activities that had filled the weeks, days and hours leading up to that moment.   Then, in subsequent posts, I'll take you through each of the eight courses that we presented as part of this dinner.

I typically start to think about the White Truffle Dinner sometime around mid- to late September, when summer vacations have ended and fall has definitively arrived.   For the first several weeks, the dinner is little more than a distraction in the back of my mind -- a subtle and infrequent reminder of a new item on my to do list.   By late October, however, the task has become a bit more concrete, and I'm thinking about dishes from the prior year's menu that I would like to replace and new ideas that I'm interested in exploring.   November brings experimentation with new ingredients, combinations, and recipes, as well as finalization of the menu over the Thanksgiving break.   The last few weeks before the party are then consumed with sourcing ingredients, taking care of other logistics, and getting mentally prepared.   And all throughout, I rely upon Rhonda as both a taste tester and a sounding board.

This year's preparation followed the same basic progression as always, but my timing was seriously off;   a rough period at work put me 2-3 weeks behind schedule from the outset, and I never did manage to catch up.   Thus, my experimental phase did not even begin until the weekend before Thanksgiving, when I tried preparing three components of the dessert that I had in mind.   While two of these seemed to turn out relatively well, the third -- a sauce -- clearly needed a few more iterations before I could be comfortable that it would work.   Unfortunately, I would end up having to wait another two weeks before I could resume my tinkering with that sauce.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's more...

My Thanksgiving break was a flurry of activity, with very little of it directed toward planning the White Truffle Dinner.   My parents were in town for the holiday, so between hosting them, planning and cooking our Thanksgiving dinner, and tending to a few nagging issues that bubbled up at work, I had absolutely no free time.   I did continue to churn a few ideas around in my head, though, and I also managed to map out the series of tests that I would need to run during the one weekend that remained before the party itself.   The spread for Course 2, the vegetable components for Courses 3, 4 & 6, the entirety of Course 7, and the sauce for Course 8 -- not a single one of these had been proven viable, and all were accordingly up in the air.   There was, however, one inspirational spark that came out of our Thanksgiving dinner:   the vegetable side dish that we had prepared struck me as a great fit for Course 6, thus eliminating one point of uncertainty!

The weekend before the White Truffle Dinner was completely insane.   I woke up at the crack of dawn that Saturday, got dressed, and headed out to the Ferry Building Farmers' Market to get a variety of ingredients.   After stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a few additional items, I came home and unpacked.   And then I cooked.   I peeled, chopped, boiled, pureed, soaked, measured, seasoned, infused, strained, juiced, gelled, processed, whisked, tempered and, of course, tasted.   There, in the solitude of my kitchen that day, I experienced triumphs, tragedies, trials and tribulations.   And after working into the wee hours of the morning and sleeping for a few hours, I woke up to do it all again.   I took extensive notes throughout that weekend -- writing down weights, volumes, measurements, and yields, and penciling out calculations and conversions in the margins.

By the time Monday morning arrived, I was exhausted.   But I had somehow succeeded in finalizing almost all of the previously open menu items, with each having been tested and tweaked to my satisfaction.   Yet, there was one important exception, an item that would end up being the subject of several mid-week experiments to be run after long days at work:   the vegetable component for Course 3.   But more on that in a later post.   The other major task facing me at this point was to place my order for certain key ingredients.   For three years running, I have ordered our lobster tails from Maine Lobster Direct.   I have always been pleased with the service provided by this company, and the quality of the lobster has consistently been first rate.   I called them up, asked them to replicate my order from last year, and was off the phone just a few minutes later.

Next up was the star ingredient -- fresh white truffles.   For the first two years of our party, I had turned to a Philadelphia-based company called Urbani Truffles -- billed as the leading importer of fresh truffles in the United States.   Last year, however, Urbani's U.S. operation inexplicably vanished;   they stopped answering their phones, and they seemingly abandoned their website.   I accordingly had no choice but to find another purveyor, and I selected D'Artagnan.   The truffle that D'Artagnan sent me last year, in addition to being enormous, was of great quality, so I had no qualms about ordering from them again.   When I called them last Monday, the sales agent indicated that their last shipment of fresh truffles had come in three days earlier -- meaning

that any truffle I ordered would be at least 8 days old by the time we served it.   After hearing me express some concerns about this, the agent assured me that it shouldn't be a problem and that he would personally check the quality of the truffles the next morning.   On Tuesday, however, he called me back to say that the truffles had started to deteriorate, and that he would not recommend that I order these for my dinner.   I thanked him for his honesty and integrity, and noted that he had just guaranteed that D'Artagnan will have my business next year.

It was now Tuesday afternoon, and I had no idea who would be providing the truffles that we intended to serve just four days later.   Draeger's in San Mateo often carries them at this time of year, so I decided to stop by on my way home from work in order to investigate.   Although they did have a few white truffles available, the quality looked marginal and I had no way of determining when they had been pulled out of the ground.   I resolved to keep looking.   I recalled seeing a few truffles at Far West Fungi in the Ferry Building a few weeks earlier, so I gave them a call.   I was told that they would be getting a fresh shipment in on Wednesday morning, perfect timing for our purposes.   But they were charging over $210 per ounce -- nearly $70 per ounce more than the rate I had been finding elsewhere.   I am generally a fan of Far West Fungi and believe in supporting local purveyors, but forking over an unnecessary $350 to them was a bit more than I could stomach.   After doing some online research on Wednesday, I placed an order early Thursday morning with Earthy Delights.   The service provided by this Michigan company was very good, but the truffles themselves ended up being of mixed quality;   some were excellent, but others were just average.   I was also disappointed to see that they had stored the truffles in rice -- a practice that, while mystifyingly popular, tends to dry the truffles out.

I always take the Friday before the party off in order to cook, so Thursday was my last day in the office.   After finishing my work that day, I stayed a bit longer to finalize a few of the documents that we would need for the party.   First up were the menus that would be placed on the table before our guests arrived, then came the placecards.   Finally, I turned my attention to the most important document of all:   the one containing the recipes.   Back when I was planning the first White Truffle Dinner in 2003, it occurred to me that the only way to execute a complicated, multi-course menu without missing something along the way was to have every step -- and the relative timing thereof -- plotted out well in advance.   The result was a 17-page "guide" of sorts, a step-by-step plan of attack for getting all seven of the courses to the table in the form and sequence that I intended.   This proved so invaluable during that first dinner, that I've been using it ever since.

The document itself is divided into eight sections, each with a large heading containing a course number.   Immediately below that is a list of the ingredients for the corresponding dish, properly scaled to reflect the number of servings that we are preparing.   The cooking directions come next, and they are subdivided into three distinct parts:   those steps that should be completed in advance (i.e., the day before, or the morning of, the dinner), those that should be done the afternoon before guests arrive, and those that must be completed in real time during the dinner itself.   Each section then ends with a description of how the course should be plated.   I usually print several copies of the document and distribute them across various counters in the kitchen, so that Rhonda and I have ready access to the information no matter where our running around may take us.

I had been hoping to go the grocery store on Thursday evening, but the hours simply slipped away from me.   Accordingly, I woke up early Friday morning, prepared a list, and headed out to get the panoply of ingredients that we would be needing.   I returned home around 11:00 a.m. and immediately started to cook.   Rhonda, meanwhile, was out running a number of errands, most notably shopping for items to include as part of the table decor -- which I had entrusted, as I always do, to her capable hands.   I worked methodically through two components for Course 8, the entirety of Course 1, and a portion of Course 3.   Rhonda joined me in the kitchen in the early evening, and she tackled portions of Courses 2 and 6.   We continued to cook until nearly 3:00 a.m., when we collapsed due to sheer exhaustion.   We were up by 8:30 the next morning, off to the Ferry Building for some fresh ingredients that we had deliberately waited to buy.   I was back in the kitchen by 11:00 a.m., addressing parts of Courses 3, 4, 6, and 8.   Rhonda worked on getting the table set up, after which she took on certain aspects of Courses 3 and 5.   Our efforts continued uninterrupted until around 5:15 p.m., when I finally paused to take a quick shower and get ready.   Shortly after 6:00 p.m., our first guest rang the doorbell.

I have scattered throughout this post pictures of the table decor that Rhonda put together for the evening.   While Rhonda has always had a flair for aesthetically pleasing style and design, she really outdid herself this year -- creating a spectacular arrangement characterized by clean lines, elegance and refinement.   I'm still not entirely sure how she did it;   then again, that's probably why I leave these matters to her eminently good taste!   Our guests were as impressed as I was, and the table was the topic of conversation as I finished the final preparations for Course 1.

Menu for Hope III

2006-12-11T17:50:00.000-08:00

It's easy for those of us who have the luxury to write, read, debate or opine about the finer points of great cuisine to lose sight of one utterly tragic fact:   over 800 million people on the planet do not have enough food to eat.   Well, we in the food blogging community want to do something to address this critically important issue, and we're looking to you, our readers, for help.

Today marks the launch of the third annual Menu for Hope, a fundraising campaign in which we collectively convert our passion for food into a driving force to help those who are less fortunate.   Here's how it works.   Participating bloggers from around the world have donated food-related prizes, each of which will be separately raffled off in early January.   Between now and December 22, every $10 that you contribute to the cause will entitle you to one virtual raffle ticket, to be added to the drawing for whichever prize you specify.   So, what happens if you see a prize that you simply cannot bear to lose?   Then try stuffing the ballot box by contributing $50 and applying all five of your virtual tickets to the raffle for that one item.   What if you can't pick just one prize from the many great options?   Then contribute $70 and apply one virtual ticket to each of seven different prizes.   There's no limit to how much, or how many times, you can contribute, and 100% of the proceeds that we raise will go directly to the United Nations World Food Programme.

Before I provide the details on how to contribute, let me tell you a bit about the prize that I'll be donating.   Given that this site tends to focus quite heavily on Bay Area restaurants, it seemed only fitting that my prize should be related to a restaurant as well.   But which one?   As my mind cycled through the scores of great establishments that we have here in the Bay Area, one in particular jumped out -- a place so outstanding, that it has consistently remained at the top of my list of favorites for the past few years:   The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton.   Executive Chef Ron Siegel offers some of the most exciting, innovative, and satisfying cuisine in the entire region, served in a plush and elegant dining room by what I believe to be the best waitstaff in the city.   Now, you can certainly go to The Dining Room and have a great meal by ordering three courses a la carte, and I would never actively discourage anybody from doing so.   But there's no better way to experience the full breadth of Siegel's talents than to order one of his many tasting menus.   Whether you opt for the six-, eight- or nine-course menu, you are sure to be treated to a veritable parade of one brilliant dish after another.   Don't believe me?   Take a look at my review from last year.   In fact, here's an even better idea:   why don't you and a guest go to the restaurant and see for yourselves, on me?   That's right, my prize is a $350 gift certificate for The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton.   Interested?   Then write down and remember this Prize Code:

UW36
And most importantly, contribute early and often!   Now, here are the instructions on what you need to do:

Go to the donation page.

Make a donation in the amount of your choosing. Each $10 you donate will give you one raffle ticket to be applied toward the prize of your choice. Please specify which prize or prizes you would like in the "Personal Messages" section of the donation form, making sure to use the associated prize code(s) in your note. If you donate more than $10, please be sure to indicate how many tickets you want allocated to each of your selected prizes. For example, for a donation of $50, you might include a note such as "2 tickets for UW01 and 3 for UW02." And once again, the San Francisco Gourmet Prize Code is UW36.

If your company matches your charity donation, please remember to check the box and fill in the information so that we can claim the corporate match.

Please also be sure to check the box to allow us to see your email address, so that we can contact you in case you win. Your email address will not be shared with anyone.

Results of the raffle will be announced on January 15, 2007 on Chez Pim.

If you want to see a summary of all of the prizes that are available from bloggers around the world, please visit this page. If you want to see what West Coast bloggers in particular have offered up, please go to this site. And if you'd like to monitor the donations as they roll in -- and keep an eye on how many others are applying their raffle tickets against the prize that you want -- please go here. Thanks, and good luck!

White Truffle Dinner

2006-12-07T02:49:00.000-08:00

Sometime in the Summer of 2003, in a fit of what can only be described as insanity, I convinced myself to embark upon an almost absurd culinary undertaking:   the preparation and presentation of a multi-course tasting menu featuring the flavor of white truffles in every savory dish.   Looking back on it now, I can honestly say that I have no idea what possessed me to even entertain the idea.   Sure, I had previously hosted my fair share of ordinary dinner parties for small groups of friends, preparing an appetizer-entree-dessert combination by carefully following favored recipes.   And yes, I had generally partaken in multi-course tasting menus out in top-tier restaurants.   But presenting a tasting menu at home?   Never.   Designing a menu full of courses, let alone one featuring the flavor of white truffle in every dish?   Nope.   And cooking for 12 people at once, instead of a more reasonable number like 6?   Certainly not.

Nevertheless, I pressed on.   And after months of planning, weeks of sourcing ingredients, days of experimenting, and more than 30 hours of cooking, I somehow pulled it off.   It wasn't necessarily pretty;   the meal went much later into the evening than I had hoped, there were uneven delays between the seven courses, and the real-time completion of certain dishes raised complications that I had not foreseen.   Still, there were no major catastrophes, everything made it to the table more or less as I had intended, and I came out of the process having learned an extraordinary amount.   Best of all, I also managed to get my hands on some fresh white truffles from Alba, enough to shave over one of the dishes on my menu.   All in all, I have never been so completely wiped out from sheer exhaustion.   Yet, paradoxically, the experience also left me thoroughly exhilarated.

I suppose it's no surprise, then, that the White Truffle Dinner has since become an annual tradition.   In 2004, I moved to an eight-course format, adding a pre-dessert palate cleanser where none existed the year before.   I also decided to rotate out four of the original seven dishes in favor of new ones, just to keep things interesting and to force myself to experiment with some new concepts.   I continued that practice of turning over half of the prior menu in 2005, and I'll do the same again for this year's dinner -- which is scheduled to take place this coming Saturday.   With each passing year, some of the stress associated with the pre-party planning seems to dissipate, and Rhonda and I have probably become a bit more efficient in certain aspects of the execution.   Still, the intensity of experimenting for new menu ideas and cooking nonstop for the two days leading up to the dinner remains just as exhausting -- and exhilarating -- as ever!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There's more...

The guest list for my White Truffle Dinner over the years has been in a constant state of flux. Space constraints at my dining table preclude Rhonda and me from inviting all of our good friends over at once, and doing the dinner twice during the limited white truffle season is simply impractical. We have accordingly ended up holding two different parties in past years, one featuring white truffles and another focused on a different theme. The second dinner party last year, for example, centered around dishes inspired by the Bay Area's four-star chefs. This time around, however, we regrettably have the bandwidth to host only one dinner party, so Rhonda and I had to make some difficult choices on the guest list.

After last year's White Truffle Dinner, I intended to post a brief description of the meal here along with some pictures. Unfortunately, a number of unexpected developments at work in January conspired to prevent me from actually doing so. As a prelude to this year's dinner, I thought that I would finally complete the post that I intended to put up so long ago. So, here is a quick summary of what I served last year:

Truffled Cauliflower Soup

I've noted here before how much I enjoy cream soups, so it was almost a foregone conclusion that there would be one on my menu. I particularly appreciate soups in the context of multi-course menus, as they can be finished well in advance of the meal and reheated right before service. Cauliflower is a vegetable that I have always felt is underappreciated, so providing a platform to showcase its delicate flavor struck me as a great idea. I finished this soup with a small amount of white truffle butter, and just enough kosher salt to make all of the flavors jump out of the bowl.

Chilled Crab with Truffled Crème Fraiche and Avocado

The inspiration for this dish originated in one of the courses from my "Four-Star" dinner, namely Chilled Crab with Mango, Red Onion & Creme Fraiche. I figured that mango would not harmonize well with the flavor of white truffle, but I had to experiment a bit before I realized that even the red onions threatened to be too overpowering. Finding myself left with only crab and creme fraiche, I started to think about other ingredients that might work well in this dish. Avocado came quickly to mind, and a few experiments later I found myself pleased with the result.

Manchego & Truffle Panna Cotta with Mâche in a Truffle Champagne Vinaigrette

This course had its origins in two very different dishes from two very different restaurants: Parmesan Budini at Tra Vigne, and Cauliflower Panna Cotta at The French Laundry. I was so impressed with the former when I had it several years ago, that I resolved to figure out how to make it for my first White Truffle Dinner in 2003. The French Laundry's Cauliflower Panna Cotta, meanwhile, had long been one of my personal favorites, and I included it on the vegetarian version of my white truffle menu in 2004. For last year's dinner, I brought the two concepts together and replaced the Parmesan with a cheese with which I had recently become enamored -- Manchego.

American "Kobe" Beef Filet with Truffled Creamed Leeks

Another food-related interest that I was continuing to explore last year related to American "Kobe" beef. This product had been showing up with increasing frequency on the menus of upper-tier restaurants, and I had cooked with it myself a few times before. I had stayed away from including red meat on earlier white truffle menus for fear of the truffle flavor getting overwhelmed, but Ron Siegel at The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton had presented a spectacular veal with white truffle that gave me the confidence to give it a try. The creamed leeks had been on both of my prior menus and had been well received, so it seemed like a natural choice for accompanying the beef.

White Truffle Risotto with Browned Butter and Fresh Truffle Shavings

Only two dishes found their way onto all three of my menus from 2003 through 2005, and this Thomas Keller risotto was one of them. The recipe for the rice itself is fairly standard, although it's enhanced considerably by luxurious finishing touches such as unconscionable amounts of butter, Parmesan cheese, whipped cream, and white truffle oil. But add in fresh white truffle shavings and some deliciously nutty browned butter, and the dish is transported into another realm. This risotto epitomizes the genius of Thomas Keller, and it remains one of my absolute favorite dishes to eat.

Butter-Poached Maine Lobster with Truffled Sweet Corn & Shallots

This is another course that remained unchanged over the first three incarnations of the White Truffle Dinner. Although I've always loved lobster, it wasn't until I had my first lobster dish at The French Laundry that I realized its full potential. Keller gently poaches the meat in beurre monte, butter melted carefully such that its component ingredients remain in an emulsified state. The result is tender, flavorful, and buttery, without any of the rubbery attributes that develop when lobster is cooked violently. After a few test runs back in 2003, I concluded that butter-poached lobster simply had to have a place on my menu. The sweet corn and shallots combination, on the other hand, was an exceedingly simple side dish that I had devised long ago. And because the pairing of lobster and corn has always held great appeal for me, this course practically came together on its own.

Lemon Lavender Cappuccino

I happened upon the idea for this palate cleanser during my preparations for the "Four-Star" dinner, for which I ultimately put together an Orange Lavender Cappuccino inspired by a brilliant concoction I'd been served at Campton Place. The basic idea was quite simple: a flavorful liquid is partially frozen until it reaches a slushy consistency, and it's then placed in a cappuccino cup and capped with a flavored foam. As I was experimenting with the combination of orange and lavender, I remembered a recipe that I had once tried for a delicious lavender lemonade. When the time came to select a palate cleanser for the White Truffle Dinner, the choice was obvious.

Gingerbread Cake with Poached Anjou Pear and Crème Anglaise

Dessert is the one course that I have always changed from one year's menu to the next, typically to reflect something that has caught my interest. Few things say the holidays quite like gingerbread does, so I was curious last year to see whether I could find some flavors to pair with a small gingerbread cake. I have long been a big fan of pears, and I had been playing around with poaching them in a variety of different liquids. I ultimately settled on Anjou pears poached in Bonny Doon Vin de Glacière and vanilla bean, which yielded an absolutely delicious result. And the final component here, a rich crème anglaise sauce that showcased a plump fragrant vanilla bean, complemented the cake nicely.

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I first started thinking about this year's White Truffle Dinner a few months ago, and I began -- as I always do -- by looking at the prior year's menu. After identifying certain courses that should be rotated out and others that perhaps ought to make a repeat appearance, I set off on a process of research and experimentation that ended just this morning. The menu is now finally set, and it has a few minor twists, a few more significant ones, and a few old favorites. It also reflects some of the food that I've enjoyed, the interests that I've developed, and the inspirations that I've drawn over the course of the past year. I won't reveal the details of the menu just yet, but I'll provide a full rundown at a later date. For now, I'll close with a few more pictures from last year's dinner.

Dining Notes: The Slanted Door

2006-11-30T14:25:00.000-08:00

Ever since the The Slanted Door moved into its current location in the San Francisco Ferry Building, I seem to dine at the restaurant much less frequently. Reservations are virtually impossible to get without significant advance planning, service is sometimes less than fully attentive, and the host staff frequently gives off the impression that they're doing diners a personal favor. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge Chef-Owner Charles Phan the enormous success that he has achieved, and it's been fascinating to watch the restaurant evolve from its humble beginnings on Valencia Street to the juggernaut that it is today. But any notion I have of dining at the restaurant is immediately accompanied by thoughts of the sheer hassle of it all, and that is usually enough to dissuade me from actually doing so.

The Slanted Door: At A Glance
Chef	Charles Phan
Pastry Chef	Mutsumi Takehara
Address	1 Ferry Building San Francisco, CA 94111
Phone	415.861.8032
Parking	Adjacent Lot
Restaurant Website

Yet, there's one time each year when I work up the motivation to "brave the elements," and that's when my parents come to town each Thanksgiving.   The first time I took them to The Slanted Door was back when it was still in the Mission, and they have been hooked ever since.   Indeed, it now goes without saying that this is the one restaurant sure to be on their "must-visit" list whenever they make the trek from Michigan to San Francisco.   This year was no different, and so it was that we found ourselves at The Slanted Door for an early lunch last Saturday.

Notwithstanding whatever other critiques I may have about the current incarnation of the restaurant, the one thing that has always been beyond reproach is the quality of the food.   The ingredients are consistently fresh, the preparations well-executed, and the flavor combinations excellent.   Yet, even against this backdrop, the meal that we had on Saturday just blew me away.   Put simply, every dish we ordered seemed to be a cut above the usual, whether it was an old familiar standard or an entree that we were trying for the first time.

We began with the Slanted Door Spring Rolls and the Crispy Vegetarian Imperial Rolls, both of which were tasty and satisfying.   But it was the entrees that made the greatest impression.   The Shaking Beef and the Chicken Claypot, dishes that I have ordered on every visit I have ever made to the restaurant, were even more delicious than I remembered.   The former consists of tender cubes of filet mignon sparked alive with a peppery lime juice, while the latter offers an incredible caramel sauce that can hardly be described in words.   We also enjoyed the Cellophane Noodles with Dungeness Crab, the simplicity of which conceals its remarkable flavor, along with an order of a "new" entree for us -- the Lemongrass Chicken.   Sauteed with onions, jalapenos and chili paste, this spectacular chicken was quickly declared by several at the table to be their new favorite.   Rounding out our lunch were Spicy Japanese Eggplant, nicely cooked with coconut milk and green onions, and Stir-Fried Alaskan Black Cod -- with delicate fish that, though mildly flavored when compared to the other dishes, was very tasty nonetheless.

As the plates were being cleared, I found myself marveling at what we had just experienced.   When I wondered out loud whether I had merely imagined an uptick since our last visit, both my sister and Rhonda confirmed that they shared in that assessment.   Even the aspects that I have found to be wanting on other occasions were not an issue;   the host staff were pleasant and welcoming, the service was generally attentive, and the noise level in the restaurant was actually pleasant (although this was likely due to the restaurant being only half full, since we were dining relatively early).   So, has the restaurant actually stepped things up?   I'm not sure, but for the first time in a long time, I suspect that I'll be returning well before my parents come back to town.

"Inside the Kitchen" At The Ritz: A Rising Star Emerges

2006-11-07T00:56:00.000-08:00

Most of the people who attended the Four Star Grand Cru Wine Dinner at the "Inside the Kitchen" event last weekend were prepared to be impressed. After all, the headliners -- Ron Siegel, David Kinch, Hubert Keller and Roland Passot -- are all four-star chefs, and their restaurants are the creme de la creme in the Bay Area and beyond. Against this backdrop, however, something unexpected happened: a young pastry chef, perhaps accustomed to toiling away out of the spotlight as he builds his career, stunned the crowd with his innovative, delicious, and utterly satisfying desserts. This seemed to be the culinary equivalent of the walk-on actor who almost steals the show, a forceful exclamation point demanding that we sit up and take notice. So, who was this mysterious talent? His name is William Werner, and he's the Pastry Chef for both the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay and its flagship restaurant Navio.

Now, I have never studied the confectionary arts, nor am I an expert in the field as are some of my favorite bloggers. What I can tell you, however, is that I can't remember the last time I was so excited by the flavor combinations that a pastry chef incorporated into his or her desserts, and so impressed by the creativity that he or she displayed in doing so. Indeed, nothing that Werner served that night was ordinary, and everything tasted fantastic. If Werner keeps this up, I guarantee you that he will end up leaving a lasting mark on the art of making desserts.

The first dessert for the Four Star Dinner was French Butter Pear Nage with Pain D'Epice Ice Cream and Creme Fraiche.   With the richness of butter, the distinctive taste of pear, and a smooth ice cream having the perfect amount of gingerbread flavor, how could this not be spectacular?   I also liked the fact that Werner was mindful of texture, combining ice cream, foam, nage and a crispy sugar wafer to wonderful effect.   The presentation for this dessert was beautifully done, the thin wafer perched on top of the ice cream and a frothy foam and creamy sauce lying on the surface of the plate below.   The second dessert was equally satisfying, a Smoked Chocolate Plaque with Vanilla, Coconut and Aged Rum Pearls.   A small brick of dense chocolate sat offset atop a rectangle of moist cake, a quenelle of vanilla bean-specked cream and a smoky chocolate wafer off to one side.   At two locations on the plate, Werner placed a tiny mound of translucent tapioca pearls -- a clever visual reference back to the caviar in the Ron Siegel dish that kicked off the meal a few hours earlier.   Here again, the flavors were wonderful.   The deep chocolate was punctuated by unexpected bursts of salt, while its decadent richness was cut by the bright and airy cream on the side.   The tapioca pearls provided another surprise, delivering a potent punch of rum -- and yet another texture -- to the overall mix.  Simply put, both of Werner's dessert dishes were spectacular.

At this point in the meal, the kitchen usually sends out a parade of mignardise -- tiny tartlets, financiers, macarons, and marshmallows.   Yet, even here, Werner's innovative streak shined through.   We were treated to crunchy chocolate cones with a small scoop of coffee ice cream, mango cream bonbons, chocolate caramel cookie rings spiked with hot chili pepper, and small chocolate cylinders with a eucalyptus-infused filling.   As you can see, there was none of the tired fare that even the best restaurants trot out after the "real" desserts, and every last item had been the subject of great care and attention.

I mentioned in my last post that I hope to revisit Navio soon, given that Chef de Cuisine Aaron Zimmer contributed an outstanding cheese course to the Four Star Dinner menu and has also has been generating some buzz.   But even putting those factors aside, the opportunity to experience William Werner's magnificent creations once more is reason enough for me make the trek down to Half Moon Bay.

Note: For purposes of full disclosure, I attended certain events during the "Inside the Kitchen" weekend on a media pass that gave me free access. With regard to the dinner referenced above, however, I paid full price for my ticket using my own funds. Please see the end of this post for additional details.

"Inside the Kitchen" At The Ritz: A Closer Look At The Four Star Dinner

2006-11-05T22:47:00.000-08:00

As you know, I spent the entirety of last weekend in Half Moon Bay attending the second annual "Inside the Kitchen" at the Ritz-Carlton. The result was an enormous mountain of work waiting for me at the office upon my return Monday morning, which took me until late yesterday to finally clear off of my desk. Now that that's out of the way, however, let me turn back to more important matters -- like sharing some additional observations about last weekend's event.

As I mentioned in my last post, the Four Star Grand Cru Wine Dinner held on Saturday evening was a fantastic event. Headlining the night were the four four-star chefs -- i.e., Ron Siegel, David Kinch, Hubert Keller and Roland Passot -- each of whom contributed one dish to the six-course meal that we were served. The cheese course, meanwhile, was provided by Navio Chef de Cuisine Aaron Zimmer, and the desserts were prepared by William Werner, the Pastry Chef for the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay. I asked Hubert Keller how the collaboration was done, and he indicated that Xavier Salomon -- Executive Chef for the Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay -- coordinated and orchestrated everything. He was the one who contacted the four chefs, asked them each to submit a few ideas for their respective courses, and then conferred with all of them to arrive at an overall menu that made sense.

Here is the menu that we were served:

Tuna Sashimi, Golden Osetra Caviar, Geoduck Lemon Terrine
Chef Ron Siegel, The Dining Room at The Ritz-Carlton, San Francisco
2000 Trimbach "Cuvee Frederic-Emile" Riesling, Alsace, France
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Monterey Bay Abalone in its own Bouillon, Foie Gras
Chef David Kinch, Manresa, Los Gatos
2004 Domaine Christian Moreau "Les Clos," Chablis, France
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Butter Poached Lobster wtih a Fricassee of Fall Vegetables
in a Mini Pumpkin with Sea Urchin Broth
Chef Roland Passot, La Folie, San Francisco
2003 Jacques Gagnard-Delagrange Batard Montrachet, Burgundy, France
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Roasted Colorado Lamb Loin and Braised Lamb Cheek Cannellonis
Chef Hubert Keller, Fleur de Lys, San Francisco
2002 Chateau Haut Brion, Graves, France
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Bleu D'Auvergne with Endive, Dried Pears and Spiced Walnuts
Chef Aaron Zimmer, Navio at The Ritz-Carlton, Half Moon Bay
1994 Chateau D'Yquem Sauternes, Bordeaux, France
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French Butter Pear Nage
Pain d'Epice Ice Cream, Creme Fraiche

Smoked Chocolate Plaque
Vanilla, Coconut and Aged Rum Pearls

Petit Fours
Chef William Werner, The Ritz-Carlton, Half Moon Bay
1977 Dow's Port

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There's more...

First up was Ron Siegel's Tuna Sashimi, with Golden Osetra Caviar and Geoduck Lemon Terrine.   I must confess that I was initially disappointed when I learned that Siegel would be providing the first course, only because I've had such wonderful dishes from him at The Dining Room and was hoping to see a more prominent role for his cuisine on this menu.   Then again, I thought, Siegel is the youngest of the four featured chefs, and the later courses would certainly be left in good hands.   The tuna sashimi itself was excellent, the citrus and briny notes from the terrine serving to accentuate the flavorful fish.   The Osetra caviar provided an elegant finish, and the portion was just perfect to whet our appetites.   As I finished the dish, it occurred to me that this was classic Siegel -- precisely the type of satisfying opener that I expect whenever I sit down to a meal at The Dining Room.

David Kinch provided the next course, Monterey Bay Abalone with Foie Gras served in a Bouillon.   Over the years, I've come to regard Kinch's culinary approach as being best described as "restless."   By that I mean that while some chefs (like Passot and Keller) have plied their trade by predominantly exploring within French cuisine, and others (like Siegel) have traveled far down the road of infusing California-French concepts with Japanese influences, Kinch seems to be perpetually in search of interesting ideas -- no matter where in the world they may come from.   Thus, an evening at Manresa might offer up a classically French dish, a course with Catalan roots, and a creation with Asian undertones -- all in a single tasting menu.   Kinch's contribution to the Four Star Dinner menu was perfectly in line with this philosophy, and this time he took us on a gustatory journey to Thailand.   A slice of foie gras sat in a small bowl next to piece of abalone of roughly the same size, and both were almost fully submerged in a deep broth flavored with Kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass.   The foie and abalone paired remarkably well with one another, the flavor and texture of each serving to amplify the flavor and texture of the other.   But it was the delicious bouillon that really took this dish to another level, showcasing Kinch's talent for bringing the unexpected to the table with real panache.

As we were waiting for the third course, Roland Passot's Butter Poached Lobster and Fricasee of Fall Vegetables in a Mini Pumpkin with Sea Urchin Broth, I excused myself from the table for a moment and stepped out into the hallway outside the dining area.   There, I discovered the elaborate staging area that the chefs had set up, with Roland Passot standing at the end of the line saucing and inspecting each plate before a server whisked it away to the dining room.   Immediately behind Passot, David Kinch put the finishing touches on the next batch of sauce, periodically handing Passot a full pot whenever the one his hand had been emptied.   Further up the line stood Ron Siegel, inconspicuously positioned among a sea of lesser-known chefs and performing the seemingly mundane task of adding a few component ingredients to each plate before sliding it on down the line.   Although I could have easily stood there for hours watching the scene without growing tired, I decided that I had better return to the table to rejoin my friends.

Passot's menu at La Folie always seems to include some form of butter-poached lobster, frequently served with a medley of vegetables alongside.   Thus, when I first read what Passot would be making for the Four Star Dinner, it made perfect sense.   When the plate was set down before me, I couldn't help but be impressed.   A miniature pumpkin was stuffed with carrots, onions and asparagus, creating a crown of sorts that rose above its surface to hold two succulent pieces of lobster.   An array of root vegetables sat on the plate next to the pumpkin, and every ingredient glistened from the buttery sea urchin sauce that Passot had spooned on top just moments earlier.   This dish was wonderful, the delicate taste of the tender lobster enhanced markedly by the decadent butter sauce in which it had been enrobed.   Another nice touch here was that the pumpkin had been cooked through, allowing us to savor its distinctive flavor in combination with the lobster -- a decidedly inspired pairing.   Finally, the nicely prepared vegetables in this course added some welcome balance.

The meat course for the evening, Roasted Colorado Lamb Loin with Braised Lamb Cheek Cannelonis, would be provided by Hubert Keller.   Having witnessed the impressive plating process for the lobster, I could not resist the temptation to pay another visit to the staging area.   Although I expected to see Keller firmly planted at the end of the line as Passot previously had been, he was instead constantly on the move.   First he was at the end of the line inspecting plates, then he was off to one side finishing a sauce, then he was on the other side of the table observing chefs on the line as they added components to the plate.   In short, Keller was an organized and efficient flurry of activity -- everywhere at once, making sure that the finished dish was assembled precisely to his exacting standards.   Passot and Kinch stood next to one another near the end of the line, Kinch patiently arranging on each plate a string of tiny carrot spheres and Passot spooning on top of them a rich brown sauce.   Siegel stood on the other side of the line, tirelessly stirring a pot of the same sauce and periodically switching the whisk from one hand to the other.

I made it back to my table just seconds before the arrival of the lamb dish, and it was certainly a sight to behold.   A juicy, pink-centered lamb loin sat in the middle of the plate, Kinch's ellipses of carrots positioned below it.   Off to one side sat a perfectly-cooked canneloni in a creamy sauce;   on the other side was a small ceramic box filled with lightly-dressed greens.   The rich brown sauce Passot had added to the plate was accompanied by a drizzle of vanilla oil that, at least at one point, Keller himself was adding to each plate.   This dish was absolutely spectacular.   The lamb was prepared beautifully, and its outstanding flavor was sent into the stratosphere by the rich, deep brown sauce and the fragrant, floral vanilla oil.   One bite of this and I was transported back to one of my favorite meals at Fleur de Lys, when Keller served up another brilliant meat dish using vanilla -- a beef filet with a Vanilla Pinot Noir reduction.   The canneloni on the side was outstanding as well, its soft shell yielding a creamy and utterly delicious interior.   Even the greens were nicely done.   I have to say that although all of the courses from the four-star chefs that night were truly excellent, Keller's dish gets my vote for being the first among equals.

I think it's safe to say that at this point in the meal, many people in the room – myself included – began to lower their expectations just a bit.   After all, we had just been treated to cuisine from four of the Bay Area's most successful and highly esteemed chefs, and the final two dishes would be supplied by chefs who have not yet reached the same level of prominence.   A cheese course from Navio Chef de Cuisine Aaron Zimmer was up first, a Bleu D'Auvergne with Endive, Dried Pears and Spiced Walnuts.   When I took my first bite of this, I was rendered speechless;   the components of the plate harmonized perfectly – the bitterness of the endive, the sweetness of the pear, and the pungency of the cheese all coalescing into a complex and brilliant taste sensation.   I had recently been hearing positive buzz about Zimmer, but this one dish – a cheese course, no less – instantly catapulted Navio to the top of my "must-try" list.   As for the dessert course, I'm going to save that for a separate post – so please see here.

Siegel, Kinch, Keller and Passot have climbed their way to the top of some of the country's top restaurants, earning plenty of accolades and critical acclaim along the way.   At an event like this, any one of them accordingly might have decided to limit his involvement to preparing and serving his own course, leaving the other three chefs to fend for themselves with respect to their own dishes.   After all, there were plenty of line chefs available to help out.   Yet, when it came time to plate the dishes, all four chefs were on the line – often performing the most common of tasks, but doing so with the most uncommon of attention.   Words cannot convey how focused David Kinch was as he arranged the five carrot spheres in a slight arc across each plate for Keller's lamb course, or how meticulous Siegel was as he placed the ingredients on the plate for Passot's lobster course.

Now, this was not merely a show done for public consumption;   indeed, the overwhelming majority of diners were at their tables engrossed in conversation, completely unaware that this was happening out in the hallway.   No, the reason the chefs threw themselves fully into the task at hand is simply because they care.   They care about the food itself, they care about the dish being sent out with their name behind it, and they care about what the diner thinks, feels and experiences upon receiving the dish.   And notably, they care about these things not only with regard to their own dishes, but with regard to each other's dishes as well.   Nobody in the dining room would have known if the carrot spheres on the plate were not in a perfect arc, but Kinch and Keller would have known, and that was reason enough for Kinch to devote the extra effort to get it just right.

It is that internal drive for perfection, that willingness and desire to care, that I believe results in such exquisite cuisine.   In fact, I would even go so far as to suggest that it's impossible to cook at four-star levels without it.   For one night, I had the opportunity to see for myself the passion, precision, and perfection that moves these brilliant chefs to prepare and serve such spectacular food.   For that, I will always be grateful.

I will close this post with some additional photos taken from the event.   Please visit Cooking With Amy for more photos from the evening, and Chez Pim for great shots from the kitchen itself.

The Four Star Chefs: Roland Passot, Hubert Keller, Ron Siegel, & David Kinch

"Inside the Kitchen" At The Ritz: Four Star Grand Cru Wine Dinner

2006-10-29T15:42:00.000-08:00

Last night was the marquee event at the "Inside the Kitchen" weekend, a Grand Cru Wine Dinner featuring a menu designed and prepared by four of the Bay Area's four-star chefs:   Ron Siegel from The Dining Room at the Ritz-Carlton, David Kinch from Manresa, Hubert Keller from Fleur de Lys, and Roland Passot from La Folie.   In my last several posts, I suggested that this dinner held the promise, at least, to be the event of the season.   I can now say with certainty that this was the event of the year, a spectacular evening with outstanding food, great company, and an opportunity to interact directly with some of our most talented chefs.   I cannot possibly do justice to the evening by trying to describe it in the limited time I have before heading out to attend today's activities, but I will try to give you at least a small flavor through a few pictures and quick summaries.   I will then post more fully about the dinner in a later post.

Shortly after our cooking class with Frederic Robert ended, Amy and I were given an opportunity to go "behind the scenes" to witness the preparations already underway for the evening's elaborate affair.   As we were about to head into the inner sanctum of the hotel's kitchens, we heard some conversation emanating from the room that would later serve as our dining area.   Our guide peaked into the room and then summoned us to follow her.   There before us stood the entire wait staff for the evening, the four four-star chefs, the entire cast of supporting chefs, and Xavier Salomon -- Executive Chef for the resort and the mastermind who served to orchestrate and coordinate the culinary aspects of the evening.   We watched Chef Salomon describe the courses to the servers, explain to them which four-star chef was behind each, and provide other details regarding food and wine service for the night.   I have to confess that I found the scene to be rather awe-inspiring, these four chefs who have individually provided me with some of the best dining experiences of my life standing there together talking about the menu on which they had collaborated.

A few hours later, the pre-dinner reception began in a narrow hallway just outside the dining room.   There, three hors d'oeuvres stations served up tasty appetizers as a jazz trio played in the background.   Remarkably, all of the four-star chefs came out and mingled in the crowd, chatting casually with a comfort that seemed remarkable in light of the six-course meal that they would be preparing and serving to 72 guests just a few minutes later.   As the doors to the large ballroom opened from time to time, we were able to catch a glimpse of the extra cooking area that had been set up inside, as well as the long tables on which the cheese and mignardise plates would later be assembled.

Once the meal itself began, the area in which the reception was held was converted into a staging area -- with a long table manned on either side by significant number of chefs, each taking a prepared ingredient or two from the center of the table and adding it to the plate before passing it down the line.   All four of the featured chefs were on this line, stirring pots, adding garnishes as needed, and saucing plates.   This was, again, a remarkable sight -- not only for the precision that was brought to bear on the completion of each plate, but also because it afforded a rare opportunity to watch the four star chefs in action.   (I would later ask Ron Siegel how long it had been since he last stood over a pot stirring a sauce on the line, and his response was that it had been a very long time!)

After six wonderful courses (more on that later), the meal came to a close.   Each of the chefs then came through the dining room and stopped at each table, giving us yet another opportunity to chat with them about the wonderful meal.   All in all, this was a spectacular evening -- worth every penny of the price of admission!

Note: For purposes of full disclosure, I attended certain events during the "Inside the Kitchen" weekend on a media pass that gave me free access.   With regard to the dinner referenced above, however, I paid full price for my ticket using my own funds.   Please see the end of this post for additional details.

"Inside the Kitchen" At The Ritz: Cooking & Wine Classes

2006-10-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I'm at The Ritz-Carlton Half Moon Bay this weekend to attend the second annual food and wine event known as "Inside the Kitchen." On a sunny and absolutely gorgeous morning here in the Bay Area, I loaded up my car and took the leisurely drive down Highway 1 -- anxious to get started on the ambitious schedule of cooking and wine classes for which I had signed up. I would be attending three back-to-back sessions spanning from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., followed by a one hour break and then another class from 3:00 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. A full load, to be sure, but when the topics are haute French cuisine, wine tasting and pairing, and pastry techniques and the instructors are renowned chefs and master sommeliers, I certainly would not mind!

This is my first time at the "Inside the Kitchen" weekend, so I'll begin by sharing some general impressions. For anybody who appreciates good food, follows the local dining scene, and/or enjoys cooking, the atmosphere here is bordering on electric. After sitting down in the hotel lobby for a moment to organize my papers, I looked up and saw Laurent Manrique from Aqua -- clad in t-shirt and shorts -- standing in front of me and casually chatting to some long-lost acquaintance. A bit later, I looked across a room and saw Fleur de Lys' Hubert Keller ambling about, followed by Rubicon Estate's Larry Stone. As I entered the conference room wing that the resort has converted into classrooms, various chefs in their crisp whites scurrying about me, I was reminded of just how much I appreciate the well-developed food culture that we enjoy here in the Bay Area. I also found myself wondering why no other event like this existed in the Bay Area before the Ritz started it last year, and thinking about how having an event like this makes all the sense in the world.

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There's more...

When I walked into the first class of the day, Haute French Cuisine with Damien Dulas of Restaurant Guy Savoy, I was impressed with the setup.   An ordinary conference room that likely hosts dry corporate meetings the rest of the year had been outfitted with a full panoply of portable Viking kitchen appliances.   An oven and microwave combination was housed in a large unit on wheels, a conventional refrigerator was positioned behind the instructor, and a six-burner range -- with a work table beside it -- sat front and center in the room.   A camera had been mounted on the ceiling directly above the range, and a large plasma television screen broadcast the proceedings to the audience in the room.   The class with Chef Dulas had about 25 attendees, with a gender imbalance -- 22 women and only 3 men -- that struck me as surprising.   Chef Dulas prepared two dishes in front of us:   Colors of Caviar (an appetizer consisting of caviar, sherry vinaigrette, cream, bean puree, and sabayon) and Crispy Sea Bass with Delicate Spices (a filet of flaky fish with a spice-filled crust).   As Chef Dulas' demonstration for each dish ended, the wait staff filed into the room with a generously portioned sample for each of us to enjoy.   Both dishes were tasty, and Chef Dulas' instruction provided some interesting and useful ideas and techniques.

Next up was Wine 101 With The Masters, a session devoted to wine tasting and the exploration of how certain wines do, or do not, work with certain foods and flavors.   Three tables were set up around the perimeter of a large room, each staffed by two Master Sommeliers.   Larry Stone and Brian Cronin were at one table discussing the pairing of wine with food, Richard Betts and William Sherer stood at a second table highlighting the difference between new world and old world reds, and Robert Bath and Luis de Santos manned the third table and guided us through a number of white wines.   This was one of the most informative sessions of the day, so packed with great information that I found myself wishing I had another hand to take detailed notes as I was tasting.

The third class I attended was Mixing It Up With Bruno Davaillon, taught by the Executive Chef of Alain Ducasse's Las Vegas restaurant Mix.   I unfortunately joined this class late because I lingered a bit too long at the Wine 101 session that preceded it, but I did get to watch Chef Davaillon prepare a fantastic Baked Cod with Grenobloise Sauce in a conference room that showcased the Pacific Ocean over his shoulder.   Samples were once again provided, and the flavors in the dish were absolutely wonderful.   The dish prepared and served before I arrived was a Spicy Crab Salad, Cucumber, Mango & Green Papaya -- which, from the recipe at least, sounds quite good.

I wrapped up the afternoon fittingly with dessert, attending Pastry with Frederic Robert.   Chef Robert, the Executive Pastry Chef at the Wynn Las Vegas Resort, demonstrated the preparation of three desserts:   Fried Chocolate Bombolones, Roasted Pineapple with Pineapple Sorbet and Green Apple, and Citrus Ravioli with Fresh Passionfruit and Lemongrass Juice.   The Roasted Pineapple was my favorite by far, but the other two were also tasty -- and the instruction once again provided some useful techniques and tips.   A particularly nice touch here was that Chef Robert handed out copies of the pertinent recipes from his cookbook.

I have more to say about the classes, but that will have to wait for a later post.   Right now, I'm running late for what promises to be the highlight of the weekend -- a six-course Grand Cru Wine Dinner prepared by four of the Bay Area's best chefs:   Ron Siegel, David Kinch, Hubert Keller, and Roland Passot.   Stay tuned for more posts from "Inside the Kitchen" throughout the weekend, and be sure to check out the play by play commentary of my good friend, outstanding food blogger, and fellow "Inside the Kitchen" attendee Amy from Cooking With Amy!

Note: For purposes of full disclosure, I attended the various classes referenced above on a media pass that gave me free access.   Please see the end of this post for additional details.