Baby steps

Citrus & squid salad @ Flour + Water

It could take a small lifetime to really know a city.  It took me my lifetime up to this point to feel like I really knew New York and even so my expertise was concentrated in and around the East Village.  But in recent years I had been feeling that I really knew the NYC restaurant scene.  And just when I reached the point in life when I felt comfortable calling myself a real New Yorker we go and uproot our lives and move to San Francisco!

Smoked trout w/ beets, huckleberries & toasted seeds @ Central Kitchen

Here I find myself, a little over one week in to our West Coast life, and I'm a bit overwhelmed.  Overwhelmed by the newness, by the unknown, by the odd weather, by creating a new home for us but mostly I'm overwhelmed by all the restaurants I'm yet to try.  I feel so behind the curve.  It helps that the content of our home (including all our kitchen supplies) are still on their trans-America road trip and we've had out-of-town house-guests which has forced us to eat out almost every meal. In the last few days we've been able to sample some of the amazing gems in our neighborhood - Flour + Water, Lot 7, Universal Cafe, Foreign Cinema, Hog & Rocks, Namu Gaji, Mission Chinese, Blowfish Sushi and Central Kitchen to name a few.  And for good measure we threw in a cone at Bi-Rite Creamery (holy cow, that was possibly the best ice cream of my life) and Humphry Slocombe to round out the week.  I feel like my head (and stomach) is spinning.

Sushi @ Blowfish SF

I plan to revisit and hopefully write about many of these but for now I'm just trying to take it all in.  I'm trying to learn my new neighborhood and gradually expand the radius of places I can say I "know".  I'm hopping on my new bike (which I named Harrison),  exploring my new surroundings and giving myself a little time to just live.  And once the dust settles and our stuff arrives from New York I'll take more than a baby step towards knowing our new life.  I'll take a leap right into the thick of this new place.  And one day, in the not so distance future, San Francisco won't feel so strange and new...it'll just feel like home.

Adventure awaits

Sometimes fate steps in to shake up your life.  In my case I've recently been tempting fate by becoming enamored with West Coast living.  And as she tends to do, fate is delivering.  Because as of tomorrow morning I am a San Franciscan.  And aside from leaving my beloved NYC, my family, my friends and the home I hold so dearly, I am ready for this West Coast adventure. I am ready to take a leap outside my comfort zone; to take a chance on a new locale, a career change and embrace the exploring spirit.  I'm ready to take husby's hand, close my eyes...and jump.  And most of all I'm ready to see what I find out about myself when I shake things up.  What will happen when I leave the city and community I've lived in almost my entire life?  What will I create when I am out of work for the first time since I was 15?  How will I face each morning when I am completely autonomous over my days; I can choose to create and seize my own opportunities over and over.  And who knows, I could miss the frenetic pace I know in NY and be overcome by homesickness.  But even if that happens I know this adventure will be a positive one in the story of my life.  Because what is life without a little nerve racking, unplanned, eye-closed jumping.

....New York will always be in my blood and in my heart.  But I think my mind and soul are ready for California.

Jersey Grown

I am from New Jersey.  Gasp. 

I grew up in the sleepy, safe, bucolic Central Jersey town of Hillsborough and despite the state's reality TV reputation, I had an extremely lovely childhood.  But my wonderful adolescent years notwithstanding when I go home to visit the 'rents nowadays I find the restaurant options to be few and (literally) far between.  Until recently when we discovered One 53 in the neighboring town of Rocky Hill.  Nestled down a sleepy country-town road this spot attracts both the Princeton Sophisticates and the Rural Glitterati who not only favor farm-to-table but actually live next-door to the food purveyors themselves.  The restaurant is a welcome oasis in the country with suburban prices but city level cuisine.


We began the evening with a shockingly reasonable (for a Super Tuscan) 2008 Brancaia Super Tuscan which was not only an incredible value but it was rich, full and easy to drink.  An order of the blister roasted red Shishito Peppers with complex Romesco sauce (red pepper, onion, garlic, EVOO, white vinegar and almond puree) was spicy and flavorful with a fantastic kick.  The grilled Romain Caesar Salad is consistently excellent -- grilling the greens creates a subtle smokey flavor that compliments the acidic anchovy vinaigrette.


The meat of the meal included a perfectly cooked pink to the edges medium-rare burger complete with shoe string fries and homemade "first field Jersey ketchup" (and we know how I feel about homemade ketchup).  The Seared Day Boat Scallops with local Kerr's Kornstand corn and edimame succotash was sweet and light yet satisfyingly filling.

The meal was capped off by another of Kerr's Kornstand delicacies - a grilled peach accompanied by decadent scoops of vanilla ice cream, dusted with caramel sauce and thin ribbons of fresh basil.  And as we sat there in the cozy room, a hub-bub of conversation and warm food filling the air inside while the dark, still, star-filled sky consumed the air outside, I sat back and breathed in my home town.  And as I sipped my wine, I was happy to know that I'll always have my own Jersey-grown retreat in my childhood's backyard. 

One 53
153 Washington Street
Rocky Hill, NJ 08553

The Bar Has Been Raised.

Last night we enjoyed our first three-star Kaiseki (multi-course meal) and going forward all other meals will have to work a little harder to live up to it.  A three Michelin star meal is defined by "exceptional cuisine and worth a special journey" and no where in the world is there more Michelin three-stars than Japan.  The bar has already been raised by proximity but Kikunoi in Kyoto is leading the pack.  Comparable only to our experiences at Brooklyn Fare or Eleven Madison the meal consisting of 11 courses served in artfully crafted ceramics and contact lens thin crystal via our two deferential geisha-like hosts who brought fine dining to a whole new level.

Kikunoi (we believe) means chrysanthemum and the flower made an appearance throughout the evening.  Etched on the bottom of glassware and petals floating in tastes of refreshing sake.  The menu doesn't change seasonally, it changes monthly and that fact alone has already sparked plans for a repeat visit.  During parts of the meal I actually felt myself hover off the tatami mat and watch as I ingested flavors and textured that made my synapses fire at rapid speed.  The lack of music and bright lighting was startling at first but once the food began I realized we couldn't have dined with such pedantic distractions.

The meal began with basic, fine ingredients taken to the next level and combined in dream like formation.  Walnut tofu, shaved grapes with a dashi en gelee, wasabi and shiso flower buds.  Each sweet and smooth bite rolled around our mouths and reminded us we are alive.  Next was sashimi of two types of spectacular tunas accompanied by soy-marinated egg yolks.  The sauce by itself was incredible but when complimenting its intended master a new height of taste was reached.  After several more traditional courses the meal fast forwarded to the future with an odd looking white mound of muscat grapes and persimmon dressed with a tofu, mascarpone and roquefort cheese sauce sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and black pepper.  I never though that a strong flavor like roquefort could be forced into a submissive role but in this dish it was so sweet and light; it's purpose had changed from central flavor into perfect complimentary character.  The meal continued with aromatic sticky rice mixed with heated chestnuts and grilled hamo (an eel-like fish currently in season).  Over and over we oohed and awed the flavors and presentations.  Finally a sweet delight of figs and giant grapes in a sweet gelee along with teas to compliment the conclusion and help our bodies relax and recover.

And as we sat in our room, pretending we were emperors and basking in the rarified air reserved for paradigm shifting experiences I noticed a quote by elBulli's Ferran Adria on a book nearby:

It seems fitting that Kyoto should be the home of a cuisine, which, like the city itself, is born of an intimate communion between the work of a man and the gifts of nature. This is what makes Yoshihiro Murata a truly unique chef.

Amen!

Kikunoi
459 shimokawara-cho, Yasakatoriimae-sagaru, Shimokawara-dori, Higashiyama-ku, Kyoto-shi, Kyoto

Dreams of Japan

I must be part Japanese.  Everything in this country strikes me the right way.

Arriving in Tokyo four days ago after the most pleasant and elegant flight I have ever traveled, complete with linen tablecloths, tasting menu and effervescent wines we glided through Narita Airport and easily picked up railway tickets.  And then we were off.  Hurling at high speeds through the Japanese countryside towards the shining megalopolis that is Tokyo.  The second our train spit out of the station my mind was abuzz.  I was afraid to blink for fear I'd miss a sight as we sped by.  The neatly lined crops, the countryside architecture, the flashes of people.  In what seemed like the fasted hour and a half imaginable (is it possibly time moves quicker here?) we arrived at Shinjuku station, the busiest in the world.  Not a moment of looking at a map with a befuddled gaze did a woman approach us and kindly explain that "she had been to NYC four times and people were so helpful, could she escort us to our destination?"  I put aside my European-travel knee jerk reaction that she was trying to con us and allowed the kindest woman in sweet-broken English to guide us in the right direction and get us squared away with our white-gloved taxi driver.

We arrive at the Park Hyatt Hotel and were whisked through the tranquil entryway to the 41st floor lobby.  The elevator door opens and you're struck by the almost 365 degree view of Tokyo.  The city which is as sprawling as LA but as built up as midtown Manhattan is awe-inspiring to say the least.  In fact it took me 3 days to even notice the first class artworks and mammoth collection of books floating in backlit wood cases throughout the hotel.  I suppose with a view like this it's even easy to overlook a Valerio Adami.

I could go on and on and on and on about Tokyo.  The alleys and buildings like jewelry boxes holding culinary and cultural surprises around every bend.  The fashion!  I'm convinced that everyone here has no regard for comfortable walking shoes or budgets and collectively decided that their city should bring the runways to life 24 hours a day.  The shrines and flora & fauna older than Jesus and more intricate than almost anything I've come across in my travels to this point.  And the food.  Oh the food.  I challenge a traveller in Japan to have a bad meal.  Whether it costs $3 or $500.  It will be incredible.

That brings us to Jiro.  After months our beloved concierge was able to procure for us two coveted seats at Jiro's counter.  Once the reservation was confirmed we quickly re-examined "Jiro Dreams of Sushi," the documentary about his humble establishment and the small staff churning out the finest sushi in the world in under 30 minutes flat.  I don't want to think about the cost of the meal amortized by minute.  But as we approached the stairwell to the Ginza train station and anxiously descended towards what was bound to be an incredible sensory experience, I noticed out of the corner of my eye an international celebrity and his wife doing a similarly anxious dance half a block away.  I commented that perhaps we'd be dining with them and then removed the thought from my mind; I had more pressing things on which to focus.  But not moments later we were seated at the 10 person counter awaiting the jewel like bites of sushi and in walks said celebrity.  And would you believe it, the first thing out of his wife's mouth after making eye contact with me (ME!) is "hey, we had breakfast at the hotel together yesterday."  After that we were best friends.  Sharing mouth-full smiles and stories about the food.  After the meal we discussed travel (hint: they're Australian) and our work (he's here filming a prequel).  But that's really besides the point because the true star of the evening was the whirlwind sushi dinner we had practically flew round the globe to taste, and the smiling sushi master who served it to us.  It was a 20-piece meal and just like a good tasting menu had a crescendo-ing pace.  Beginning with lighter flavored yet full-bodied pieces such as striped jack and gizzard shad, some chewy but overall bursting with subtle essence.  Moving on to what I consider the meat of the meal with some of the finest tunas, rich and butter-like.  And finishing the experience with bites of excessive flavor beats unlike ones I've ever tasted.  There was the Sea Urchin, Scallop, Salmon Roe, Sea Eel and Sweet Egg.  Whoa.  If I could repeat those 5 pieces over and over into infinity I think I would reach Nirvana.  I'm not going to lie, the pace of the meal was too fast for my liking but you never felt pushed.  Rushed yes but not pushed.  I got the impression we could have loitered at that counter speaking broken-Japanese and tasting bites of the ocean for as long as we'd like but we'd run out of money before we'd be asked to leave.

The meal ended with bows and a giddy photo shoot with Jiro.  I think our celebrity-dining companion appreciated that he wasn't the one being asked for pictures.  And then it was over.  As quickly as it came, it ended.  But much like everything I've been exposed to in Japan thus far, it's beautiful and meaningful and exactly the way it's supposed to be.

The Artistry of Corton

It's been almost two weeks since we dined at Corton and I think it's taken me this long to fully process the meal we ate.  Or should I say it's taken me this long to digest the considered, complex and overwhelmingly beautiful fare we experienced.  

I've wanted to dine at Corton ever since I saw A Matter of Taste, the documentary that follows the wandering, madcap wunderkind Chef Paul Liebrandt on his journey to craft a curated culinary sanctuary.  The film follows Liebrandt for over ten years.  Ten years!  And it begins with him at a semi-humble point as the chef at a lackluster and stifling tavern, follows him deep, down into trying times while he was between jobs until it ultimately delivers you to his present triumph at Michelin-starred Corton.  The film really brings you on his journey and leaves you speechless, inspired and ultimately redeemed by his earned successes.  I highly recommend the film.  I less emphatically but still strongly recommend an evening at Corton -- and not because it doesn't live up to the hype but because the cost and the preciousness of the evening should be reserved for a time in one's life when the experience is really earned.  This is not your average Saturday evening celebratory dinner.

Walk into Corton and the first thing you notice is the static hum of silence.  Followed by the stark whiteness and bright lights.  You're not sitting in a restaurant with reveling diners.  You're perched atop a delicate pew in the church of culinary precision.  Every detail in the place from the staff's subdued demeanor, to the shoulder height windows peering into the pristine kitchen, to the neutral color surroundings is crafted so the food is the focus.  Akin to being in the presence of the Mona Lisa, when the room surrounding her seems to dissolve into your periphery, the setting seems to fade as the food is placed at arms length.  


It's hard for me to recap individual courses or bites.  Their complexities do not lend themselves to recounting.  I do recall the seven masterpieces, each plate painted as wildly as a Miró canvas yet designed as deliberately as a Gaudí building.  The courses were punctuated and accented by mid-course bites of minute edible sculptures.  It was as if we were ingesting works of art - full of flavor and complexity and equally pleasing to devour with our eyes.    

Having finally dined at Corton and given myself ample time to process the experience I can say that Paul Liebrandt's work does belong in the pantheon of the painting and architecture greats.  Because just like those visionaries, his path to Corton is one of a storied odyssey and the result is pure artistry. 

Corton
239 West Broadway

Happy blog-iversary!

Yay!  One whole year as a blogger!  One whole year putting my musings into the ether for anyone who's interested.  Over the year we've experienced a lot of amazing meals, tasted some incredible bites, came close to greatness several times and damn near broke the bank doing it. And for what? The love of the culinary art form, for the passion amidst the mundane in our lives and for the meaning that comes with taking great pleasure in dining.  I'm thankful to those who've joined on the journey, to some of my generous benefactors and to friends who've had to endure countless re-tellings of the uni bite at 15 East or the aerated foie gras at WD~50 and of course the time the NYTimes photographed fabulous old me (even though they didn't use the shot).

Now that we hit this milestone hubby and I are traveling to my culinary motherland. This September, we're finally off to Japan (business class no less, ooh)!!! And not a moment too soon - I may have tasted all the Japanese food in Manhattan. Or at least all the sushi spots below 14th Street.

This upcoming trip and all the incredible meals before it have been celebrations.  And this blog has been a way for me to share them.  Because if there's one thing I've learned in this process thus far, it's that life is worth celebrating. So I'll continue to travel these culinary adventures and share them here - and I'll continue to order the wine pairing and an extra dessert too - for the sake of the blog, of course!

Happy blog-iversary!

Anything but generic at Acme

Ever since El Bulli closed and Noma took its position as the number 1 restaurant in the world, New Yorkers have been clamoring for a seat at one of the New Nordic Noma-like establishments that have recently opened in NY. And I was no exception. So when we finally got ourselves a 6:45 table at the forager hotspot, Acme, I jumped. After all, when one of the founding members of a discipline opens an outpost in your neighborhood, you get on line.

Walking up to Acme, which inhabits the former southern restaurant of the same name and facade, I realized that I didn't quite know what to expect.  As a young foodie I repeatedly and unsuccessfully tried to get a coveted seat at El Bulli for years but Noma has remained a bit of an enigma to me.  And while I did try to reach out to a friend from my semester abroad who currently is a line cook at Noma, my interests remained at arms length from the Copenhagen establishment.  New Nordic or forager cuisine is in contrast to the Modern gastronomy of El Bulli, WD~50 and others because it is a return to basics.  Instead of using newfangled scientific breakthroughs to turn an ingredient into a dry-iced, liquified. reconstituted, aerated version of its former self New Nordic cuisine is a return to simple, local and often raw foods.

And even with this knowledge I still wasn't sure what Chef Mads Refslund's creations would be.  But I soon learned that this obsession with local, seasonal ingredients foraged from the landscape around us would make for elegantly simple preparations of amazingly fresh food.  By returning to traditional techniques like drying, smoking, pickling and curing and applying them to ingredients so fresh that eating them raw is a pleasure in and of itself, Chef Refslund is reminding us that there is beauty in what's found around us.

We began the evening with Sweet Shrimp and raw Bison atop butter lettuce and salty green almonds.  The dish was salty but not overwhelmingly so, and the raw shrimp and bison coupled with the fresh crisp lettuce was delightfully light and fresh. The Farmer's Egg came as a frothy mix of cauliflower and aged Parmesan; each heavenly spoonful was airy and hearty at the same time.  The slices of decadently delicious Country Toast covered in sweet caramelized onions, brie and honey were here one minute and gone the next.

With such delicious food, arranged under the simply alluring categories such as Raw, Cooked, Soil and Sea/Land, I can see why diners are desperate to get a seat (and return for seconds).  We ended the meal with the lace like chocolate crisps which protruded from ganache all accompanied by coffee ice cream.  And like the rest of the meal, I had no idea what to expect from dessert but it delivered a perfect ending to a meal that was anything but ordinary.

Acme
9 Great Jones Street
NYC

Thrilling times at Yopparai

Last night one of the most thrilling things happened to me, and it wasn't just the delectable Sea Eel and fluffed egg casserole with Burdock root.  Last night while dining at the three month old Yopparai Sake Bar & Restaurant a photographer from the New York Times was there capturing the sights, sounds and people(!) indulging at this soon to be hot spot.  And the fact that the dinning room is about as wide as a king size bed means that the photog got really close to the action (and me!).   

Up a flight of stairs into a LES apartment lies Yopparai.  In the former Sushi UO space this hidden Izayaka is serving drinks and hearty snacks.  Literally translated yopparai means drunkard and with a bar that runs the length of the entire room it's plain to see where the focus lies.  The cozy setting and friendly staff encourage patrons to settle in and enjoy delicious food paired with lots and lots of sake.  And after a few hours of drinking and dining we were jovially chatting up the owner and chef; they were so hospitable that upon hearing about our upcoming trip to Japan the chef quickly gave me the business card (in Japanese with hand written English translation) for his father's restaurant in Tokyo.

Often at Izayakas I feel that each dish is like its own little gift and that every plate demands attention to its own unique details.  The Uni Sashimi came four pieces to an order and was accompanied by a jewelry box filled with fresh nori (seaweed) allowing each bite to be delicately crafted at your seat.  The mixed Japanese mushrooms with (fermented) sake lees, miso, and butter were tangy and refined.  The grilled clams came with their own pyrotechnical accompaniment; I wasn't sure if we'd eat them or just get lost staring at the mini flame. 

The extensive menu lends itself to repeat visits and I'd recommend you hurry up and get there...because once the Times publishes whatever photographs were being taken, it may be even harder to get a seat at this thrilling bar & restaurant.


Yopparai
151 Rivington St. btw Suffolk & Clinton

Post script:  I see the Times and I weren't the only bigwigs at Yopparai last night!

Smooth as Silk

I haven't had many facials in my life. And up until the most recent one I wouldn't say I exactly enjoyed them either.  I remember my first facial felt like something out of a spooky Stepford wife science experiment complete with warm gases, florescent lights and poking.  The next felt like I had been snuck under Iron Curtain Russia where my esthetician gained some sick pleasure from keeping me guessing and alert.  But recently I was treated to the finest, most relaxing facial at Silk Day Spa.

Silk is the subterranean and exclusive spa hidden around the corner on 13th & 6th Avenue. After a decent massage I was drowsily led deeper into their underground utopia and into a cozy and warm facial room. There I met my soft-handed and low-voiced facialist, Soyoung. We began the 60 minute session and I expected a semi-rude awakening but au contraire. As soon as I laid back I was ensconced in warm blankets and my face felt bathed in silk. No harsh pinches, no extended periods of waiting for some cream to take effect or for my skin to reach some optimal temperature. Start to finish Soyoung treated my skin like a rare Michelangelo sculpture being gingerly restored to its original glory.

I suppose it would be worth noting that the services at Silk are not cheap. The facials range from $130-$250 a session. But I say ditch the seasonal facial you're getting and opt for a better one less often. I know that's what I'll be doing at Silk.

Silk Day Spa

47 West 13th Street