Though my dinner date was running behind, I gladly perched myself atop a bar stool and ordered a glass of chardonnay. I found it a great opportunity to peruse the bistro, take in the ambiance and overall grant a thorough inspection. I first noted the layers of news publications and other reading material at the rear of the bar seating area. Check: Well staged bistro setting. Looking into the dining room from my stool, the décor was relaxed with but enough white table cloth pretention to merit a forged French accent in my own head.
While sipping spirits and chatting it up with the bar maid, I couldn’t help but a continued swipe at a plant that was overhang and dangling just beyond my left brow. I looked fast, as though to rebuke it and to my delight it was the most naturally out-of-place thing I’d rested eyes on. Potted in an oversized bronze vase was the most enchanting bouquet of greenery and fresh white raspberry flora. Fruit were literally dangling within reach of becoming garnish for my glass of wine. Perhaps a slight detail for some and others just might not give a damn. However this subtle nuance somehow gave consent for me to rest easy in that the meal ahead would be worth both traffic and secreted parking. I was certain it would categorically soothe the disappointment from the previous night’s Dine LA experience.
Saying that I was right would be an understatement and a white napkin smack to the face to the chefs behind the scene. Simply put, the meal was orgasmic! I t was everything a dining experience should be. Every component on the plate came together like the perfect symphony. Or perhaps even the Georgia Mass Choir, for at one point, I thought my dinner companion was about to break into a full speaking in tongues, running through the congregation, fall out shout (and this was merely the response to the after dinner salted caramel truffle, compliments of the chef)!
To describe the meal would mean another 5 to 6 paragraphs of lengthy detailed verbiage, words ending in ous, ing, ful and y (as in scrumptious, delicious, exciting, tantalizing, delightful, flawlessly and perfectly). It might read like a cue card left on the editing floor after a taping of Unique Eats (or any other food show where there’s narrative involved.
Well, I’ll spare you the read (umm, from this point forth,…) and just yell out you demanding you to GO! Bouchon Bistro is a place that I’d definitely return to again (and again and again and again and again….). I’d take along friends, foodies and family alike. I’d go for lunch, dinner and breakfast if it were offered. I’d order everything from the menu at least once. And by golly, I’d pay whatever the asking price ($44 dollars was a steal for this dining experience).
And though I won’t go into great detail of what each morsel felt like against my palate, I will share with you our feast of choice. I will also tell you the EV-ER-EEEE-THING was certain perfection!
First Course:
Salade Maraichere | Mixed greens with red wine vinaigrette, warm goat cheese crouton & herbs de Provence
Rillettes au Poulet | Rillets of Shellton Farms Chicken, preserved Meyer lemons and pecans with pickled grapes, frisee salad and fine herbs
Second Course:
Poitrine de Porc | Crispy pork belly with butternut squash & forest mushroom risotto
Tuie Grenobloise | Pan roasted Idaho trout, cauliflower, capers, lemon confit, brioche croutons & buerre noisette
Third Course:
Crème Caramel | Caramel custard
Pot de Crème | passion fruit custard with coconut glaze & vanilla shortbread cookies
After dinner chocolates and such | Compliments of the chef, a plate of specials were delivered to the table. It consisted of sugared macadamia nuts, chocolate almonds, fruit chews, sugar cookies and chocolate caramel truffles. Everything was amazing but the truffles took me under! Everything…..
Now, get on the phone or go to open table and make a reservation. Go EAT!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
DINE LA: Drago Centro
I had the Butternut Squash Agnolotti (a petite appetizer with classic yet simple flavors. The squash was delightful, however, as it was perfectly brunoised, when paired with anything else, it got lost), Duck Breast (cooked perfectly and had great components on the plate, the cherry gastrique likely being the best. However again, when paired with the duck, the tang dissolved into the rears of my palate. Points that it did, however, stand up nicely against the cavatelli and Swiss chard) & the Toasted Bread Pudding (running theme... good components but paired and something goes wrong. Not terribly wrong like pearls and 2 carrot diamonds….on my grill, wrong. But wrong like, Kim Jenkins’ wedding ring next to Kim Kardashian’s wedding ring, wrong. Sorry K.J. Your chip gets lost.
Back to the food. The salted cream was a great idea in theory yet was no match juxtaposed to the sweetness of the caramel and the bread pudding. I tried each element separately, together and in every feasible combination. Some worked better than others but…..well you get the idea. And the bread pudding itself: cute but very….well, ummm...LA?). Everything was pretty good but nothing was great. The service, comparable: fine but not exceptional. Just left and you couldn't pay me to tell you that young lady's name. Sorry dear waitress with the soft spoken voice and interesting frock.
We chalked it up to another Los Angeles restaurant recipe for success: Great location. Great city view. Great PR. And….. ok food. Winner!
All and all, we gave DRAGO CENTRO an average of 6 stars out of 10. But now's a great time to go and check it out for yourself.
Back to the food. The salted cream was a great idea in theory yet was no match juxtaposed to the sweetness of the caramel and the bread pudding. I tried each element separately, together and in every feasible combination. Some worked better than others but…..well you get the idea. And the bread pudding itself: cute but very….well, ummm...LA?). Everything was pretty good but nothing was great. The service, comparable: fine but not exceptional. Just left and you couldn't pay me to tell you that young lady's name. Sorry dear waitress with the soft spoken voice and interesting frock.
We chalked it up to another Los Angeles restaurant recipe for success: Great location. Great city view. Great PR. And….. ok food. Winner!
All and all, we gave DRAGO CENTRO an average of 6 stars out of 10. But now's a great time to go and check it out for yourself.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
People, places and smiling faces :(
Just left a "joyous" little place called Sugar Fish in downtown Los Angeles. Service was the absolute worst I've experienced in quite some time. So much so, (and it takes much to get me to this point, as I do believe that most establishments have redeeming qualities of some sort. However...) I walked out. Not on a tab or a bill. But before any food could be ordered, I left.
First. I entered, anticipating inspiration, as I had heard much about Sugar Fish. Oddly enough, in that I work in the area, myself and the concierge have often sent visitors here. #lesson_learned
I stood for several minutes as each host, waiter and/or waitress passed me by. Granted, it was a packed house. So I amused that they perhaps were overwhelmed by the Saturday evening crowd. Patrons filled each table and had lined the waiting seats positioned against the wall. All the same, when a couple straggled in and postioned themselves in front of me, I was more than astonished when not even a heart beat had passed before the same host that had made eye contact with me and busied himself, was there in lightening speed with list in hand.
I merely gave him a questioning glare before he corrected himself sheepishly.
Suffice it to say, after being seated, all went downhill...FAST. Service never improved and I ultimately bounced, never to return again. Perhaps the food is great, as I was hoping to experience first hand. However, the chance never came. I emtied out and went across the street to Bottega where the crowd was spilling from the door ways. However, as expected, I was attended to immidiately and both host and bartended never skipped a beat as they engaged everyone that came within 10 feet. Really, good customer service is priceless. Well, not exactly PRICELESS :)
First. I entered, anticipating inspiration, as I had heard much about Sugar Fish. Oddly enough, in that I work in the area, myself and the concierge have often sent visitors here. #lesson_learned
I stood for several minutes as each host, waiter and/or waitress passed me by. Granted, it was a packed house. So I amused that they perhaps were overwhelmed by the Saturday evening crowd. Patrons filled each table and had lined the waiting seats positioned against the wall. All the same, when a couple straggled in and postioned themselves in front of me, I was more than astonished when not even a heart beat had passed before the same host that had made eye contact with me and busied himself, was there in lightening speed with list in hand.
I merely gave him a questioning glare before he corrected himself sheepishly.
Suffice it to say, after being seated, all went downhill...FAST. Service never improved and I ultimately bounced, never to return again. Perhaps the food is great, as I was hoping to experience first hand. However, the chance never came. I emtied out and went across the street to Bottega where the crowd was spilling from the door ways. However, as expected, I was attended to immidiately and both host and bartended never skipped a beat as they engaged everyone that came within 10 feet. Really, good customer service is priceless. Well, not exactly PRICELESS :)
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Restaurant New Orleans
While I had never been to Restaurant New Orleans on Fulton Street, I had met the owner one night and was taken by how personable she was. She reminded me of a slice of home. To add to that, it didn’t seem that business was going so well on the block. They agreed with me that it would be a good idea to show support.
The first impression was not good! We had funky frowns on our faces from the time we crossed the threshold. It was a ghost town! Not a single patron. With no one in sight, we slowly moved toward a table of our choice to seat ourselves. When Cathy, the owner, finally emerged from the kitchen to greet us, she ultimately revealed that there was no menu. #blankstare
She asked us what type of food we liked. We wore classic “what kind of question is that” expressions on our faces. The three of us stuttered a slight. She saved face and offered a few suggestions. My two sisters and I politely yet apprehensively shook our heads in uncertain agreement. So Cathy says, “Well, why don’t I just whip something up for you ladies?” It was more of a statement than a question. What had we gotten ourselves into?
Of course I felt foolish guilt in that Restaurant New Orleans was my bright idea. So once she disappeared behind that kitchen doors, I recommended leaving the place without word. We struggled with the idea, of course. “You go first!” “No, you.” Our plans were foiled when Cathy came out with a pitcher of ice water. Father in Heaven, that pitcher had seen better days! I promise, it looked as though Cathy herself had beat it about the kitchen floor, pissed that business had soured and this vacant restaurant was what life had become.
Ever have that friend or family member’s house that you were forced upon and always offered something to eat or drink? As a kid, I would tighten my lips away from the glass and pretend to drink. This was akin. Surely, we were about to get on up and out of Restaurant New Orleans! There was no way we were drinking from that thing.
Speaking in hushed tones, we could not decide which of us would make the first move toward freedom. We felt awful. We were the only diners there that afternoon. And there seemed no sign of anyone else coming in, seeking culinary refuge from the outs of Fulton Street.
Caught again! Cathy comes out with a basket of corn bread muffins and proceeds to run her mouth like that one aunt that you avoided at all family functions. Sigh!
But behold, it’s the same Aunt, that once listened to, you realize how entertaining and engaging she is. Besides, we were only put off because our escape plans were thwarted. Cathy was a joy. She was the same warm slice of home that I had met that chance night out. She was why we were there in the first place. But still!!! The menu (or lack thereof)… The echoes of our own whispers against the restaurant walls…. The pitcher…. The cups…. The Corn Bread Muffins!
The Corn Bread Muffins?!!!
Great food will change the mind of any fool. Food has that grand capacity to bridge cultures, nurture souls and speak words of love that never has to pass ones lips. It is apology, condolence and welcome home. Food tells story of heritage and of struggle. It is a creativity, science and exploration. Food, I believe, is a piece of heaven.
I’m certain of this because one bite down on that corn bread muffin and our funky frowns simultaneously turned upside down. We slowly relaxed against the backs of our seats and eased into conversation with Cathy when she returned wearing sweat on her brow. Before long, she disappeared yet again, into the kitchen. When she came again, a mélange of food followed. She and a boy she had secreted in the kitchen came baring the fruits of their labor: Fried corn, barbeque salmon, shrimp etouffee, pilaf, squash… There was more and everything was plentiful. Still, my sisters and I debated on who would get the last serving of everything!
The food was absolutely amazing and we felt like southern royalty. Not only did Cathy personalize a meal just for us, she navigated the front of the house and with stealth and perfection. I was impressed then but now, as a new Chef and business owner, I justly appreciate the talent that is. While it was clear that Cathy was not expecting us, or anyone else for that matter, she treated us like we too were a slice of home and that we belonged there on that day.
But back to the food:
The Salmon was cooked to perfection! I had been to a number of the more popular spots in the area. Places where I’m certain the doors were bending at the seams with Brooklynites lunching. Most, in my humble opinion, wouldn’t have the slightest knowledge of finessing a salmon as Cathy had. It was cooked tender and moist yet no sign of rare pinkness was there to be found. The barbeque sauce hugged the surface and completed the fish. The shrimp etouffee still holds the title of the best I’ve ever had! When it was finished, we greedily sopped the sauce with cornbread muffins. The fried corn had just the right amount of char and a light caramelization. The sautéed squash with onions was comparable to my Mom’s. We were blown away! To date, and with all of the indulgent food debauchery that my sisters and I gravitate to, that meal was easily the best that we have ever shared together. It was all encompassing: A Chef that genuinely cared about the food; one who spontaneously fashioned a menu specific to taste and that had an impressive understanding of the art of engaging patrons. Add to that, it was a meal shared that, for once, neither of us was responsible to produce, yet sat contentedly while partaking and delighting in each other’s and Cathy’s company.
Lesson learned: Though cliché, never judge a book by its cover. Since that year, we’ve sought restaurants familiar to what Brooklyn offered that day. From city to sisters Retreat city, we’ve indulged in some exquisite eats. Yet no experience has come close to that of Cathy and Restaurant New Orleans.
Unfortunately, Restaurant New Orleans has closed its doors on Fulton Street. I only hope that Cathy is somewhere else in this world in another kitchen, manning another dining room and inspiring!
The first impression was not good! We had funky frowns on our faces from the time we crossed the threshold. It was a ghost town! Not a single patron. With no one in sight, we slowly moved toward a table of our choice to seat ourselves. When Cathy, the owner, finally emerged from the kitchen to greet us, she ultimately revealed that there was no menu. #blankstare
She asked us what type of food we liked. We wore classic “what kind of question is that” expressions on our faces. The three of us stuttered a slight. She saved face and offered a few suggestions. My two sisters and I politely yet apprehensively shook our heads in uncertain agreement. So Cathy says, “Well, why don’t I just whip something up for you ladies?” It was more of a statement than a question. What had we gotten ourselves into?
Of course I felt foolish guilt in that Restaurant New Orleans was my bright idea. So once she disappeared behind that kitchen doors, I recommended leaving the place without word. We struggled with the idea, of course. “You go first!” “No, you.” Our plans were foiled when Cathy came out with a pitcher of ice water. Father in Heaven, that pitcher had seen better days! I promise, it looked as though Cathy herself had beat it about the kitchen floor, pissed that business had soured and this vacant restaurant was what life had become.
Ever have that friend or family member’s house that you were forced upon and always offered something to eat or drink? As a kid, I would tighten my lips away from the glass and pretend to drink. This was akin. Surely, we were about to get on up and out of Restaurant New Orleans! There was no way we were drinking from that thing.
Speaking in hushed tones, we could not decide which of us would make the first move toward freedom. We felt awful. We were the only diners there that afternoon. And there seemed no sign of anyone else coming in, seeking culinary refuge from the outs of Fulton Street.
Caught again! Cathy comes out with a basket of corn bread muffins and proceeds to run her mouth like that one aunt that you avoided at all family functions. Sigh!
But behold, it’s the same Aunt, that once listened to, you realize how entertaining and engaging she is. Besides, we were only put off because our escape plans were thwarted. Cathy was a joy. She was the same warm slice of home that I had met that chance night out. She was why we were there in the first place. But still!!! The menu (or lack thereof)… The echoes of our own whispers against the restaurant walls…. The pitcher…. The cups…. The Corn Bread Muffins!
The Corn Bread Muffins?!!!
Great food will change the mind of any fool. Food has that grand capacity to bridge cultures, nurture souls and speak words of love that never has to pass ones lips. It is apology, condolence and welcome home. Food tells story of heritage and of struggle. It is a creativity, science and exploration. Food, I believe, is a piece of heaven.
I’m certain of this because one bite down on that corn bread muffin and our funky frowns simultaneously turned upside down. We slowly relaxed against the backs of our seats and eased into conversation with Cathy when she returned wearing sweat on her brow. Before long, she disappeared yet again, into the kitchen. When she came again, a mélange of food followed. She and a boy she had secreted in the kitchen came baring the fruits of their labor: Fried corn, barbeque salmon, shrimp etouffee, pilaf, squash… There was more and everything was plentiful. Still, my sisters and I debated on who would get the last serving of everything!
The food was absolutely amazing and we felt like southern royalty. Not only did Cathy personalize a meal just for us, she navigated the front of the house and with stealth and perfection. I was impressed then but now, as a new Chef and business owner, I justly appreciate the talent that is. While it was clear that Cathy was not expecting us, or anyone else for that matter, she treated us like we too were a slice of home and that we belonged there on that day.
But back to the food:
The Salmon was cooked to perfection! I had been to a number of the more popular spots in the area. Places where I’m certain the doors were bending at the seams with Brooklynites lunching. Most, in my humble opinion, wouldn’t have the slightest knowledge of finessing a salmon as Cathy had. It was cooked tender and moist yet no sign of rare pinkness was there to be found. The barbeque sauce hugged the surface and completed the fish. The shrimp etouffee still holds the title of the best I’ve ever had! When it was finished, we greedily sopped the sauce with cornbread muffins. The fried corn had just the right amount of char and a light caramelization. The sautéed squash with onions was comparable to my Mom’s. We were blown away! To date, and with all of the indulgent food debauchery that my sisters and I gravitate to, that meal was easily the best that we have ever shared together. It was all encompassing: A Chef that genuinely cared about the food; one who spontaneously fashioned a menu specific to taste and that had an impressive understanding of the art of engaging patrons. Add to that, it was a meal shared that, for once, neither of us was responsible to produce, yet sat contentedly while partaking and delighting in each other’s and Cathy’s company.
Lesson learned: Though cliché, never judge a book by its cover. Since that year, we’ve sought restaurants familiar to what Brooklyn offered that day. From city to sisters Retreat city, we’ve indulged in some exquisite eats. Yet no experience has come close to that of Cathy and Restaurant New Orleans.
Unfortunately, Restaurant New Orleans has closed its doors on Fulton Street. I only hope that Cathy is somewhere else in this world in another kitchen, manning another dining room and inspiring!
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