Last week we ended a wonderful week of food and culture on one of America's most somber holidays, Patriot Day, September 11--perhaps appropriate, because the freedom to pursue the creative activities we had this week seems an essential goal of the present struggle.
We began the week browsing at the market, knowing we had a cardiac stress (treadmill) test looming just over the horizon, and therefore focused on fish. Impetuously, we purchased a couple of tilapia filets, not really knowing what to do with them; we've had them in restaurant dishes many times but haven't experimented much at home. Let's face it - displayed on ice at the market, it's not one of nature's greatest visual creations and, well, it's a flat, white fish. Visions of butter and lemon, and too much of them. We were thrilled, then, in browsing the extensive recipe collection at Epicurious, to find Lemon-Paprika Tilapia with Potato-Rutabaga Mash - and thrilled even further when we realized that we had every single ingredient in the fridge or pantry.
Coincidentally (we suppose), we had bought a couple of rutabagas just the day before with no specific purpose in mind, just the curiosity of trying a different root vegetable than our usual repertoire of potatoes and parsnips. Now, the perfect chance to test drive the 'rutes. The recipe is delicious and simple, benefiting from good paprika if you have it. The rutabagas add a sweet and even smoky undertone to the mash, and having a heavier starch is a nice counterpoint for a lighter fish. And this is a fast recipe that uses only basic techniques - great for a busy weeknight.
Our stress test went fine, although our doctor wouldn't be pleased about the next two nights' menus. Wednesday night found us at Draeger's Cooking School, located on the second floor of Draeger's expansive San Mateo location, for the souffle class. (While not on the current class schedule, this class is given several times a year.) The souffle entree, usually cheese, made periodic appearances in our mother's 1970s suburban kitchen, but it's not a dish we had previously mastered. As with many French classics, learning a few fundamental techniques gives you a "base" that can be adapted in endless combinations of flavor profile or keynotes. Our class, about about 16 participants, divided into 3 table groups and each turned out admirable versions of spinach, cheese, Grand Marnier, and chocolate souffles, under the friendly and skillful leadership of chef Abigail Bursak.
Honestly, they were ridiculously easy once we mastered foundation tasks like separating eggs, making a roux for the base and flavoring it or forming a custard, and beating whites to soft peak. Probably only timing is the reason that these light, fluffy marvels of kitchen chemistry don't appear on home menus very often, at least as a dessert--and people seem to love chocolate and Grand Marnier the most. Beating the whites, folding them into the base, loading ramekins and getting them into the oven takes about 20 minutes with experience, and baking only 10 minutes. Then they must be eaten immediately: Kings wait for souffles, but souffles don't wait for kings, and the comical collapse of a puffed-up souffle parodied so often in the comics really does happen, although it takes about a full 10 minutes outside the oven for a souffle to fall. The problem is that during the prep stage, you probably want to be eating your main course; the alternative is to shovel it down during the 10-minute baking time. Which some people may do regularly, or even enjoy, but we find it inconsistent with the elegance of a dessert souffle.
Thus we roared on into Thursday, slated to see the urbanized, updated production of Shakespeare's As You Like It at the San Jose Rep, part of artistic director Rick Lombardo's inaugural season. (Shows play through September 27.) But first, we elected to skip the usual stress of a rushed pre-theatre dinner by cooking our own pan-roasted steak with a crust of ground dried porcini mushrooms, a gratin of potato and--yes--rutabaga, and a fresh mixed tomato salad. We improvised all the recipes, and were delighted with the outcome. The sets, characters and staging in brief:
For the steak, we selected a nicely marbled boneless ribeye at Zanotto's, and decided that (at our age) it was large enough for two, so we bisected it. (You could also use a couple of filets mignon, which is what Epicure suggests for a porcini crust; our view is that the relative blandness of filet calls for a sauce and not a crust.) Trimmed of all visible fat to prevent curling, it was lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, then dredged on both sides in porcini powder, which we produced by running half a bag of dried porcinis through a well-cleaned coffee grinder. We pressed the powder firmly in place on the steak, then set it aside to come to room temperature. We set the oven to 425, then placed a cast iron pan--on which we planned to sear the steak--on the back burner, dry, and turned the burner to the "low simmer" setting. We find this trick ideal to preheat a searing pan before we need it. Set it and forget it.
Meanwhile we had set a pot of water to a simmer with salt and into this we slid thin slices of peeled rutabaga, followed 3 minutes later by an equal quantity of sliced white (or Yukon gold) potato, which will cook faster than the rutabaga. We let this simmer for 4 minutes and then removed the slides to a collander. We buttered a shallow glass dish and arranged one layer (OK, one with a few orphans on top) of potatoes in it, added cream to barely cover, a bit of salt and pepper, and a handful of freshly box-grated Gruyere cheese. This went into the oven for 15 minutes until the top formed a bubbling, golden, browned crust.
During that baking time, we had time both to prep the salad and grill the steak. The salad was pure summer simplicity. First we made a simple Sauvignon Blanc viniagrette in the bowl with extra-virgin olive oil, the SB vinegar, a chopped shallot, salt, pepper, and a dash of Dijon mustard to bind it. Whisked in the bowl, this had a beautiful color and a heady, sweet-savory fragrance. Then we tossed in halved grape tomatoes, halved cherry tomatoes, and seeded rough-chopped vine-ripe tomatoes, which was what we had on hand. You could use any kind. We added peeled sliced English cucumber, the slices cut in half to form half-moons, and a handful of Italian parsley leaves, not chopped - call it our Jamie Oliver dash of fresh herbiage. We tossed all this together, spilled portions onto plates, and topped each with a wedge of Gorgonzola. Mediterranean purists might add raw or caramelized red onion for a third note; with shallot in the dressing, we elected to skip it.
For the steak we simply brought the pan onto high heat, melted butter and a little olive oil, waited for the butter foam to boil off and then seared the steaks for about 6 minutes per side, watching for burning. Then the whole pan went into the oven for a couple of minutes while we arranged the table, set out the salads, and plated the gratin. Out came the steaks, onto the plates to rest slightly while we cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Five minutes later we were dining in luxury and the whole meal had taken less than 45 minutes from prep to table.
And Shakespeare? He might praise the innovation of Lombardo, but find it somewhat confusing. To be sure, this is an attractive, even cool production, especially in the second act when the forest scenes benefit from consistent and classy costuming and propwork. The first act might be called pretentious--characters at court with iPods? The wrestling scene staged to mimic, or satire, the WWF and covered on quasi-live big-screen video? It's daring, but the ultra-modernism of the first act doesn't seem to transition well to the forest. Still, the principal cast is extremely strong and sharp, and rise above the distractions we perceived in the first-act mechanics to deliver a memorably entertaining show. Anna Bullard gives a masterful performance in the challenging role of Rosalind. James Carpenter is inspiring as Jaques, and his delivery of the "All the world's a stage/Seven stages of man" monologue sets a standard to which others should aspire. Blake Ellis as Orlando is appropriately rakish, and Steve Irish as Touchstone is hilarious. (Cast biographies are here.)
We needed a good laugh after a long week like that, and we can't wait for the next one that's as rich in food in culture.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Wine Spectator (Table)
A pristine bottle of 1982 Chateau Pavie Bordeaux rested in a silver cradle just inches from my anxious fingers. John Slamon, sommelier at Fifth Floor Restaurant in San Francisco, faced the daunting challenge of wresting the cork--undisturbed since Ronald Reagan was President, the Cold War loomed still in Eastern Europe, and Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" was high on the charts--from the green grip of glass. He eased a Teflon corkscrew slowly in, set the grip in place, and pulled slowly, checking for cracks, taking a full five minutes to move the cork millimeter by millimeter out of position. Finally it edged free; he gingerly wiped the neck to remove any stray crumbs, then poured the dark-ruby wine into a decanter. Five hundred dollars worth of black spice fruit gleamed under glass within arm's reach.
We were seated at table 17, a remarkable location worth requesting at the time of your booking for its proximity to the wine preparation station of a restaurant that has one of San Francisco's greatest wine lists and a star in the Guide Michelin. Here, as we stepped through an utterly relaxing evening marked by perfection in service from Scott Stuart's team in the front of the house, you can observe the on-duty sommelier, the house manager, and others set out wines just selected from the cellar, and have a front-row seat as these wines are poured for inspection by the staff, decanted, and readied for service.
Expressing interest in the process, we were thrilled with Stuart's affable attention and the remarkable knowledge of the wine list showed by him, Slamon, and others on staff. Some might consider the table's location distracting given the continuous activity at peak hours, but we were delighted when Stuart offered to us, from several bottles destined for other tables, the 1/2-ounce taste he typically pours to check for "corking" or other problems. Accompanied by Stuart's commentary on location, flavor profile, and biographical profiles of the producers, we found the table location sublime that genuinely enhanced Fifth Floor's remarkable cuisine. The bottles and information marched forth randomly: 2003 Peter Michael "Les pavots" Bordeaux blend; Freeman chardonnay; and many others, in a fascinating review of what other guests ordered, and the sommeliers' views on each.
On our plates: we began with Chef Jennie Lorenzo's signature crab cappucino, a riff on crab bisque that is more intensely flavorful and not as creamy as traditional bisque, topped with a truffle foam that provides a perfect earthy counterpoint to the crab. We followed with quail stuffed with a savory sausage filling, served with asparagus and pea succotash and garnished with an herb puree Madeira sauce that was so wonderful we resolved to attempt duplication at home. A good dark brown roasted poultry stock, fortified with just enough Madeira or late harvest wine, brewed with fresh herbs (we're thinking a pinch of fresh oregano and lemon thyme--and we may even dash in a 1/4 teaspoon of ground cumin, just because we're obsessed with it), ought to do it. We can nearly taste the roasting, caramelizing vegetables as we write; we told our server, Matthew, that Fifth Floor ought to bottle and sell that jus.
We finished our meal with coffee and doughnuts. Of course, at Fifth Floor, you don't get diner fare when you order this. Our just-fried mini doughnuts were creamy on the inside, crisp and sweet on the outside, competing with New Orleans beignets from Cafe du Monde in toasty richness. Coffee was a perfect warm, dark roast served in a French press.
We normally restrict our writing in this forum to South Bay locations, but we'll go anywhere when the opportunity to check off another Michelin-starred restaurant presents itself. And with all the action, information, and splendid bottles visible next to table 17, we're certain to return soon.
We were seated at table 17, a remarkable location worth requesting at the time of your booking for its proximity to the wine preparation station of a restaurant that has one of San Francisco's greatest wine lists and a star in the Guide Michelin. Here, as we stepped through an utterly relaxing evening marked by perfection in service from Scott Stuart's team in the front of the house, you can observe the on-duty sommelier, the house manager, and others set out wines just selected from the cellar, and have a front-row seat as these wines are poured for inspection by the staff, decanted, and readied for service.
Expressing interest in the process, we were thrilled with Stuart's affable attention and the remarkable knowledge of the wine list showed by him, Slamon, and others on staff. Some might consider the table's location distracting given the continuous activity at peak hours, but we were delighted when Stuart offered to us, from several bottles destined for other tables, the 1/2-ounce taste he typically pours to check for "corking" or other problems. Accompanied by Stuart's commentary on location, flavor profile, and biographical profiles of the producers, we found the table location sublime that genuinely enhanced Fifth Floor's remarkable cuisine. The bottles and information marched forth randomly: 2003 Peter Michael "Les pavots" Bordeaux blend; Freeman chardonnay; and many others, in a fascinating review of what other guests ordered, and the sommeliers' views on each.
On our plates: we began with Chef Jennie Lorenzo's signature crab cappucino, a riff on crab bisque that is more intensely flavorful and not as creamy as traditional bisque, topped with a truffle foam that provides a perfect earthy counterpoint to the crab. We followed with quail stuffed with a savory sausage filling, served with asparagus and pea succotash and garnished with an herb puree Madeira sauce that was so wonderful we resolved to attempt duplication at home. A good dark brown roasted poultry stock, fortified with just enough Madeira or late harvest wine, brewed with fresh herbs (we're thinking a pinch of fresh oregano and lemon thyme--and we may even dash in a 1/4 teaspoon of ground cumin, just because we're obsessed with it), ought to do it. We can nearly taste the roasting, caramelizing vegetables as we write; we told our server, Matthew, that Fifth Floor ought to bottle and sell that jus.
We finished our meal with coffee and doughnuts. Of course, at Fifth Floor, you don't get diner fare when you order this. Our just-fried mini doughnuts were creamy on the inside, crisp and sweet on the outside, competing with New Orleans beignets from Cafe du Monde in toasty richness. Coffee was a perfect warm, dark roast served in a French press.
We normally restrict our writing in this forum to South Bay locations, but we'll go anywhere when the opportunity to check off another Michelin-starred restaurant presents itself. And with all the action, information, and splendid bottles visible next to table 17, we're certain to return soon.
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