Tartare
Weeks and weeks ago, I went to Tartare with my friend Jon. He got sick three bites into the meal, and ended up going home. This meant I was there, with the option of either leaving when he did or reducing the size of our orders and continuing to Eat. Because I'm me, and because he told me I ought to, I chose the latter course
Note that there really was far far far too much food here. I probably didn't need dessert. Since I was alone, though, I thought an awful lot about each bite.
What exactly did I eat, you may wonder?
The ahi tartare was fascinating. At some level, the goal seemed to be to bring several disparate and divergent flavors together. It worked, for the most part, though both this and the ostrich at times veered dangerously close to "hodge-podge". What seemed to be the intention was for the sweetness of the pears and the coolness of the mint to pull the spice from the habanero and the richness of the sesame back towards the center, allowing the much more subtle flavor of the ahi to come through. What ended up happening, though, was that the sesame overwhelmed the mint and pear, and the habanero threatened to butcher the flavor of the ahi....except that there was, thankfully, a quail egg, unmentioned in the menu, sitting atop the cylinder of tartare. The rich fat of the quail egg yolk, unlike the pears and mint, did a wonderful job of calming the habanero flavor enough that together, the blend was quite pleasureable.
The ostrich tartare, meanwhile, went in an entirely different direction. I would be remiss in describing this dish without explaining that it was served in half of an ostrich egg--cut in half the long way, tilted 30 degrees from vertical, and filled half full with the tartare. All the presentations here were truly wonderful. The roquefort vinaigrette was marvelous, but did occasionally overwhelm the other flavors--roquefort will do that, after all. Ah, but I hear you enquire, "What's raw ostrich like!?" I thought it was simultaneously rich and mild, if that's possible. It's definitely a red meat, but much much milder than beef. Buried in the vinaigrette were diced golden beets and diced red bell peppers. Those two flavors did much to help smooth the overwhelming blue cheese flavor of the roquefort; the earthy sweetness of the beets and the shiny crsipness of the peppers helped bring out the richness of the ostrich. I felt like this was a dish that didn't come near its full potential--but don't get me wrong, it was marvelous as it was--but a little (or a lot, really) less roquefort might have given the ostrich a chance to shine. I suppose the question really is was the aim of the dish to showcase the raw ostrich? If so, it wasn't successful. If the goal was to showcase the entire dish, it was much nearer success, though it did overemphasize the roquefort.
The steak....the steak was out. stand. ing. Marvelous meat. Marevelously cooked (rare). Marvelous sauce made mostly of vinegar. The vinegar brought the flavor of the beef out, helping develop the almost bitter taste that comes from really good aged beef with a complementary sourness. The duck fat french fries, while delicious, were a bit of a disappointment. I'd hoped for more duck fat flavor, but they were just outstandingly good french fries. This course is what sent me from "wow, this is innovative but I probably don't need to eat this much" into "wow, I just ate an enormous amount of raw or barely cooked (mmm, rare steak) meat."
As I said, I probably didn't need dessert. To be honest, if something so fascinating hadn't been on the menu, I would have just passed on dessert, gone with some oversweetened decaf coffee, and headed home. I thought to myself "Who the hell makes baked alaska anymore" when I saw it....and then realized that I'd never actually had it.
For those unfamiliar, baked alaska is, traditionally, a round of pound cake, upon which a scoop of ice cream is placed. This is then chilled together, covered in meringue (whipped sugared egg whites), and then "baked" in a blazingly hot oven--for long enough that the meringue cooks and and browns, but briefly enough that so that the ice cream remains frozen. Made this way, it's a mindbogglingly high degree of difficulty dish, and is therefore the punch line of many a joke.
This baked alaska was made with gingerbread--a very thick peice of gingerbread, I might add, upon which was a scoop of cream cheese ice cream. No, I am not joking. Imagine the gloriousness of cream cheese ice cream. Go ahead, I'll wait. Really.
There. That, atop gingerbread? Covered in meringue that was then melted (blowtorches make this dish much much easier) and caramelized? Incomprehensibly delicious. Put on a plate with it some french butter pears that have been sauteed with candied chestnuts in butter to make a sauce that's served alongside the baked alaska? Incomparable.
One of the things that can make a great meal incomparable is playing off of long-dormant memories and ideas. The chef at the French Laundry is a master of this, teasing the idea of macaroni and cheese off to places unfamiliar to most of us, but still holding onto the thread that began the fabric. The alaska did that. Gingerbread is one of those special flavors that have strong childhood ties for most of us. Add the meringue, which dances close to the flavor of the glaze used to ice a gingerbread man, and the connection's even more clear. The cream cheese ice cream, though, along with the other ingredients, deepened and enlivened the flavors--the tang in the ice cream set off the gingerbread's spice in a wonderfully complementary dance, bringing the two into a wonderful medly of flavor. Meanwhile, the french butter pears and candied chestnuts did more evoking of holiday-memories...and were simply marvelous against the main Alaska. As I thought at the time, "This may be a perfectly constructed dessert."
Overall, a highly recommended place to eat.
Note that there really was far far far too much food here. I probably didn't need dessert. Since I was alone, though, I thought an awful lot about each bite.
What exactly did I eat, you may wonder?
- Ahi Tuna Tartare / Habanero-Infused Sesame Oil / Pears / Mint
- Ostrich Tartare / Roquefort Vinaigrette / Cracked Pink Peppercorns
- Creekstone Prime Angus Bone-In Strip Loin / Malt Vinegar / Duck Fat French Fries
- Gingerbread Baked Alaska / French Butter Pears / Candied Chestnuts
The ahi tartare was fascinating. At some level, the goal seemed to be to bring several disparate and divergent flavors together. It worked, for the most part, though both this and the ostrich at times veered dangerously close to "hodge-podge". What seemed to be the intention was for the sweetness of the pears and the coolness of the mint to pull the spice from the habanero and the richness of the sesame back towards the center, allowing the much more subtle flavor of the ahi to come through. What ended up happening, though, was that the sesame overwhelmed the mint and pear, and the habanero threatened to butcher the flavor of the ahi....except that there was, thankfully, a quail egg, unmentioned in the menu, sitting atop the cylinder of tartare. The rich fat of the quail egg yolk, unlike the pears and mint, did a wonderful job of calming the habanero flavor enough that together, the blend was quite pleasureable.
The ostrich tartare, meanwhile, went in an entirely different direction. I would be remiss in describing this dish without explaining that it was served in half of an ostrich egg--cut in half the long way, tilted 30 degrees from vertical, and filled half full with the tartare. All the presentations here were truly wonderful. The roquefort vinaigrette was marvelous, but did occasionally overwhelm the other flavors--roquefort will do that, after all. Ah, but I hear you enquire, "What's raw ostrich like!?" I thought it was simultaneously rich and mild, if that's possible. It's definitely a red meat, but much much milder than beef. Buried in the vinaigrette were diced golden beets and diced red bell peppers. Those two flavors did much to help smooth the overwhelming blue cheese flavor of the roquefort; the earthy sweetness of the beets and the shiny crsipness of the peppers helped bring out the richness of the ostrich. I felt like this was a dish that didn't come near its full potential--but don't get me wrong, it was marvelous as it was--but a little (or a lot, really) less roquefort might have given the ostrich a chance to shine. I suppose the question really is was the aim of the dish to showcase the raw ostrich? If so, it wasn't successful. If the goal was to showcase the entire dish, it was much nearer success, though it did overemphasize the roquefort.
The steak....the steak was out. stand. ing. Marvelous meat. Marevelously cooked (rare). Marvelous sauce made mostly of vinegar. The vinegar brought the flavor of the beef out, helping develop the almost bitter taste that comes from really good aged beef with a complementary sourness. The duck fat french fries, while delicious, were a bit of a disappointment. I'd hoped for more duck fat flavor, but they were just outstandingly good french fries. This course is what sent me from "wow, this is innovative but I probably don't need to eat this much" into "wow, I just ate an enormous amount of raw or barely cooked (mmm, rare steak) meat."
As I said, I probably didn't need dessert. To be honest, if something so fascinating hadn't been on the menu, I would have just passed on dessert, gone with some oversweetened decaf coffee, and headed home. I thought to myself "Who the hell makes baked alaska anymore" when I saw it....and then realized that I'd never actually had it.
For those unfamiliar, baked alaska is, traditionally, a round of pound cake, upon which a scoop of ice cream is placed. This is then chilled together, covered in meringue (whipped sugared egg whites), and then "baked" in a blazingly hot oven--for long enough that the meringue cooks and and browns, but briefly enough that so that the ice cream remains frozen. Made this way, it's a mindbogglingly high degree of difficulty dish, and is therefore the punch line of many a joke.
This baked alaska was made with gingerbread--a very thick peice of gingerbread, I might add, upon which was a scoop of cream cheese ice cream. No, I am not joking. Imagine the gloriousness of cream cheese ice cream. Go ahead, I'll wait. Really.
There. That, atop gingerbread? Covered in meringue that was then melted (blowtorches make this dish much much easier) and caramelized? Incomprehensibly delicious. Put on a plate with it some french butter pears that have been sauteed with candied chestnuts in butter to make a sauce that's served alongside the baked alaska? Incomparable.
One of the things that can make a great meal incomparable is playing off of long-dormant memories and ideas. The chef at the French Laundry is a master of this, teasing the idea of macaroni and cheese off to places unfamiliar to most of us, but still holding onto the thread that began the fabric. The alaska did that. Gingerbread is one of those special flavors that have strong childhood ties for most of us. Add the meringue, which dances close to the flavor of the glaze used to ice a gingerbread man, and the connection's even more clear. The cream cheese ice cream, though, along with the other ingredients, deepened and enlivened the flavors--the tang in the ice cream set off the gingerbread's spice in a wonderfully complementary dance, bringing the two into a wonderful medly of flavor. Meanwhile, the french butter pears and candied chestnuts did more evoking of holiday-memories...and were simply marvelous against the main Alaska. As I thought at the time, "This may be a perfectly constructed dessert."
Overall, a highly recommended place to eat.