Napa/SF: Day 4’s End
t says: So, for dinner on our first day in SF – how to choose? how to choose! We knew we were going to be tired from our trip, so I wanted a place within walking distance from our hotel near Union Square. That said, I wasn’t exactly going to go for something I could get anywhere (lookin’ at you, McDonald’s). So I took a poll. No, not on adsz, rather, on a fairly active kitchen cutlery forum (nerdy, I know) which is full of food-centric people, including chefs and ex-chefs. So when I asked where in SF I should eat, one of the recommendations was to go to a restaurant called “Sons and Daughters”. It was brand new (well, it’d been open for a few months) and it was recommended that they have great food and a hard-working, humble chef. So I booked the reservation and off we went!
9/2010, Friday Dinner, Party of 2. Now, I was told that reservations would be difficult to come by on a Friday night. Undeterred, I got one. We showed up for our 8pm reservation … and it was empty. We were the only ones there. It was a small place with a very dark atmosphere and we were alone. It would have been a great place for a somewhat romantic date, given the intimate setting, however, romance is replaced with spookiness if you’re the only ones there. I had a flashback to L2. It was weird. We figured, “well, maybe they just do dinner late in SF”, crossed our fingers, and stepped up to the host/waiter.
We were given the option to sit anywhere we wanted, so we selected a table that was by itself – no chance of sitting next to unfamiliar people. We were seated and given menus. We were told that they offer a multicourse tasting menu for under $50 – that actually sounded like a deal! BUT – we just weren’t starving enough. Nanking had filled us up. So we ordered two main dishes and an appetizer. Enter the problem … some three weeks later, as I write this to you now, we realized that we have completely forgotten two of those three! Actually, we forgot even more than that! Let’s go through what we remember …
So, our waiter was very … absent-minded. But not goofy-absent-minded, just kind of blank. He was there physically, yes, but whenever he spoke to us, he stared off into space. It’s hard to get excited by the food if the server doesn’t engage you. Then, after we ordered, he seemed a bit disappointed! It was like he felt that we weren’t going to get “the full experience” because we didn’t do the tasting- either that or we couldn’t afford the full experience – I’m not sure. He actually started to walk away before I could place our drink order! That, too, was weird. It was as if he assumed that we also weren’t getting drinks because we cheaped out on dinner. But we did – so ha! g ordered a glass of sparkling rose, and me, a still rose (I wanted something cold – it was hot outside, but I didn’t want white). We placed our order, and off he went.
The first thing that came back was an amuse bouche. Apparently, it didn’t blow us away because I can’t remember what was in it! I do recall some sort of little gelatin balls that tasted of cucumber. I remember it being refreshing, but not super-surprising knock-my-socks-off.
Next, we were given some of their beet soup, “on the house”. I guess we ordered too little and they didn’t want to see us go hungry. That was nice of them. But we remember the beet soup. It was funny because as we looked at the menu earlier, we decided it was too hot for soup. And here we had it … Also funny was that g had been just confessing that she just hasn’t had enough beet to decide if she’d be “in” to them. Well, she definitely got enough beet here. The soup was profoundly beet-y and very rich. Her verdict: “Well, I only ate a little of it – as much as I could mix with the creme fraiche – I’m just not that into beet.” She hit the nail on the head, I think, as the soup was almost overwhelming with the flavor of beet – it needed some zing or some playfulness or something (even some sort of herby bread!). It just wasn’t the kind of thing you really want a whole bowl of. For the night that we went (i.e. a warm one), I suspect it would have been better if it was a little shot glass (or maybe a double-shot glass), but certainly not an entire bowl, and maybe chilled would have been interesting.
When they took away the bowl, g looked into the open kitchen and said that she saw the chef ask about why there was so much left [on g’s plate – I did quite a number on mine]. The server explained that we said we thought it was good, but just weren’t famished. Apparently the chef had a momentary look of distress/panic/sadness. But then he put his game face on and got ready for round 2. When g told me this, I felt a little bad about the soup incident – we really didn’t mean to send the wrong signal – but I totally dug that he had noticed … of course … we were the only table there, so it’d be hard not to …
Round 2 was the appetizer we ordered. I can’t remember what it was. g can’t either. Darn. It wasn’t bad, whatever it was. We more remember that by this time, we had not yet received our wine, which was peculiar. It became funny when g told me that she had watched while the wines were poured and set aside, but they just had not yet come to the table. When we told our waiter, he looked disappointed in something – I’m not sure what – and he said he’d be right back. But he didn’t come right back. By this point there were a couple more tables filled, so maybe he didn’t want to just swipe the drinks that were ours and deliver them? I don’t know. Our drinks did appear, eventually, right as we received one of our entrees – the mystery one. g’s recollection was that it was some sort of meat – lamb tenderloin perhaps? Once again, good, but not good enough to remember details.
We then received the squab. The squab, we remember. There were actually two pieces – a breast and a leg. I know the leg was prepared confit, but I’m not sure about the breast. The squab was excellent. Now, I won’t lie and claim to be an expert on the preparation of pigeon, however, I can say that the meat was tender, the skin was crisp, and the jus was excellent. Yes, there were probably accompaniments, but squab, itself, was clearly the star of the dish and I liked it quite a lot. I don’t know if g was turned off or not by the foot of the squab that was visible on the plate. We actually heard the table next to us say something like, “yea, it looks like a wizard’s wand” when they got their squab … people say the darndest things …
We did order dessert as well. But, unlike the kinds of things I normally would order for dessert, we ordered something that g wanted for dessert. We went for the cheese plate. Once again, the cheese is not going to be something we actually remember, but I would not be surprised if it was the testun al Barolo sheep’s cheese that’s still on the menu (it actually sounds familiar). It was accompanied by nuts and some sort of fruit. It was absolutely fantastic. This combination was the most profound mix of flavors we had all night (it’s a shame that they probably can’t take too much credit, themselves, on making the cheese). It was even better than the cheese course at Ad Hoc.
As we paid our bill and got up to leave, I noticed that the place was packed. Really, there was not a seat left! It was amazing to see how the place filled up from being completely deserted when we arrived and being a loud, buzz-filled restaurant when we left (it was Melograno-on-a-busy-night loud). Good for them!
On our way out, I held the door for g, and we were approached by our waiter. He said, and I quote, “Yea, you better tell you friends to make reservations soon … our Bauer review comes out tomorrow.” I responded, “Ok – will do!”. We had no idea what he was talking about but figured that Bauer was some sort of food critic. Interestingly, he assumed not only that we were local but also that we had friends. How presumptuous of him! We went home that night and looked up Bauer to confirm he was indeed a food critic. We predicted that this place would get pretty good marks for food – maybe 3 out of 4 stars, max, if for nothing else than creativity (the menu had requisite fancy items like foie and squab and sweetbreads), but if our waiter was waiting on Bauer, they’d be screwed – he just didn’t have the polish to pull off the “awesome local shnazzy restaurant”. In the end, it turned out that our waiter lied, though – the Bauer review didn’t come out the next day (we checked) – it came out the day after. And you know what – he had similar feelings that we did: Good food, young/spotty service.
Conclusions: I’d go back to Sons and Daughters and give it another whirl – but this time, I’ll go hungry. Also, g and I apparently get an F for blogging because we couldn’t remember more than half of what we ate. Oops! What’s interesting is that although I kept every receipt from our trip – this is the only one missing! How weird! Better luck next time …
Parc: A Splendid Salad
t says: I’m not a huge pro-Parc type of person. I think it has excellent location and a buzz-ful atmosphere, which is fun. The food is … ok – but that’s not my big hangup with Parc. It’s just that sometimes I feel weird going there because I just don’t know how to dress. On one hand, it is clear that some clientele feel that this place is worthy of a nicer shirt (maybe a collared shirt or a button-down shirt without a tie), but I have a problem with that, because to me, Parc is not quite that up-scale – I just don’t think it’s “fine dining”. Maybe it’s because I’m local and see it all the time – I don’t know. Maybe I’m the patron that no waiter wants to get because I look all cheap-o. Whatever.
In any case, g and I were hungry and had not a single food item in the house (I think we just came back from SF). We resolved that we would simply walk outside and keep walking until something intrigued us. Well, we apparently don’t take many turns at all when we walk, so a straight shot led us right to Parc. I was hesitant. g was hopeful. We went for it.
September 2010, 8pm, Party of 2. I don’t remember the exact date/time/etc … but I do remember that we sat next to a couple that had some bizarre conversation topics (it was their first date) – everything from “What is birthright?” to “So, is every minister of Russia a bad person?”. Hi-lar-i-ous. These were almost as good as one time when we were at Melograno when an adjacent couple (it was their first date, too) were talking about how he had dated her friend for quite some time, prompting her to ask, point blank, “So, what ended it?” … which was then followed by an extensive dating history of all the people they dated on JDate and how they didn’t work. Dude – these two were not messing around – there was some serious dating going on (i.e. “playing for keeps” as I like to say).
The food? g had the warm shrimp salad. She loved it. It is her new favorite salad. The four shrimp were sizable, and the greens were tossed in this creamy lightly-tinged-with-truffle-oil buerre blanc. She totally pwned it (that is not a typo – look it up). We’ve gone back once since then and she just had to get it again rather than try something new … that means it’s reached wild boar bolognese at Melograno status … that’s a pretty high standard to reach!
Me? I had the burger and pomme puree. Why mashed potatoes? It’s because it was featured on “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” – the dude from Dinner Impossible (the super-jacked guy – Robert Irvine) said that Parc’s mashed potatoes were the best he has ever had. I had them. They were good. They were super-smooth and creamy. But I have to confess … they really didn’t come across as mashed potatoes – they came across as some sort of potato creme. It kind of reminded me of when I was little and we used to go to my grandma’s house for Thanksgiving, and she’d serve instant mashed potatoes, and I’d be in charge of mixing them until they were smooth as silk (I hated lumps of dehydrated potato powder – gross!). Of course, we don’t use instant ‘tatoes anymore, but those were fond memories …
The burger? It was ok. Cooked fine with great bread and nice veggies. But to be honest, the meat tasted like ground beef – surprise! I don’t know – I guess I expect beef to sing beefiness, not just say “i’m beef”. But I’m not exactly sure how that can be done – so it’s not like I could even attempt a suggestion. I still say that the Supper Burger reigns supreme – but there are still tons of burgers I have yet to try (Rouge, 500 degrees, Grace Tavern, Smokin’ Betty’s, Butcher & Singer), so don’t let that endorsement mean anything … yet.
Conclusion: Parc is a big restaurant with lots of space (seriously, the indoor seating just keeps going and going!), dressed up people going on first dates, and a fantastic warm shrimp salad.
Napa/SF Recap: Day 4
t says: So … our last day in Napa … I remember it was kind of sad! But, on the bright side, it was like we had a whole second trip in front of us! So, we packed up Mustang Sally (for our last voyage), dropped by Bouchon Bakery for some breakfast, and set out to do one last thing in Yountville … For some reason, we just couldn’t figure out precisely where The French Laundry was. We drove by the address numerous times but just couldn’t find it! We kept seeing dressed up people walking in the area but we couldn’t figure out which door they were entering. Well, this morning, we found it!
It turns out that the sign was really low to the ground – so low that Mustang Sally’s doors got in the way (we were low-riding … yea … we’re gangsta). Mission accomplished! Some day, Mr. Keller. Some day …
Next, we set our GPS for Sausalito. Why Sausalito? Well, if you remember from Day 1, I had sinned against g … You see, I promised g when we first arrived that I’d take her to Sausalito via the Golden Gate Bridge. But, when we put in Napa as our destination, it took us over the Bay Bridge and a boring highway that, to be honest, reminded me of route 55. g was not amused. Her mom hyped up Sausalito as the best place in the world [to live]. And, what I didn’t know, was that g was really in to Full House and wanted to go over the Golden Gate Bridge just like at the end of the opening sequence. (g says: not just go over – go over in a convertible. With the top down. Singing the Full House theme song in my head.) Result: I was going to get us to Sausalito and the Golden Gate Bridge if it killed us (or Mustang Sally … we got the extra insurance).
Actually, getting to Sausalito was easy as pie. Mustang Sally’s sense of direction (i.e. GPS) was spot-on. And it was beautiful. Not bad for the second-most-expensive county in the US …
We dined at this peculiar little fried-food place that was run by Asians. The receipt claims it was called Fish and Chips. Guess what I ordered? Fish and chips. (g got the mini-burgers). Apparently, in Sausalito, you are allowed to serve food without having a restroom for customers to use … How odd. Maybe it was just them being mean. On the other hand, the fish-and-chips was actually quite good! And it wasn’t just hunger talking, because I had a Bouchon muffin as backup, in case it sucked. g’s burgers were unremarkable burgers … just miniaturized. As you can see, neither of us remembers what the place was called, but it’s not like we’d actually go back to that same place in the future – there are lots of little cafes and pizzerias in the area, but we were short on time – Mustang Sally needed to be back by 12:30!!
So, we came, we saw Sausalito, and now we had one more lion/dragon/ogre to slay (a liodragogre!) … the Golden Gate Bridge. So, I present to you now … the world’s first ever slain liodragogre …
Mission 2 accomplished!
We returned the car and set out to get to downtown SF from the airport. It would have been easy to get a cab, but we wanted to keep it real … so we took the BART. This was our first reality check that San Francisco, although it’s sometimes painted as a city in which it rains gumdrops, is a city … like every other city … and like every other city, they sometimes do stupid things … like put fabric-upholstered cushions on mass transportation systems … Who does that? First off – it’s gross. On a NY subway, where they use nothing but hard surfaces, I still know the subway is gross, but at least I feel like I am making as little contact as humanly possible. But in SF, when you sit down, you feel the cushions mold to your body, essentially giving you a warm hug of sweat and microbes. True, soft seats are on chartered buses, airplanes, Amtrak, etc. But I have never run into a seat as gross-feeling as the ones we sat in that very day. Second … they look ugly.
Ok, so we got to Union Square, hiked a few blocks north, a few blocks west, and voila! we arrived at our destination: Hotel Beresford. I really didn’t have any issues with the general appearance of the hotel or our room. Things seemed in order and reasonably clean (e.g. I wasn’t afraid to lay on their sheets or shower in the bathroom). But, later on, when I was using the internet in the lobby, someone came in looking for availability, and his girlfriend took one step in and immediately said “Oh no – we are NOT staying here – it’s like a creepy hotel from a horror movie.” I’m not exactly sure what horror movie she’s talking about … It wasn’t a run-down, seedy motel, it wasn’t an abandoned, palacial mansion, it wasn’t even dark! I stand by our choice (not that I’d do it again). There were some issues, however …
1) No A/C … which is ok except during a SF heatwave … which was occurring while we were there … but it’s nothing compared to a Philly heat wave, so a fan is good enough to compensate …
2) … except that our fan jumped off of the dresser we put it on (we were watching tv, we heard a crash, and the fan was on the floor – no idea how it happened) – but it was replaced with a gigantic box fan, so that’s ok …
3) The lack of hair dryers in the rooms – but we got one from the lobby.
g interjects: Oh, really? That’s it? Allow me to complete the list:
4) The bathroom smelled like sewage on random occasions.
5) The shower was GROSS. I had a serious problem with that one. Showers (especially small stall showers) should be spotless in every hotel every time. Period.
6) They must have bought their dressers from a yard sale because all of the drawers were broken. If you opened them more than 2 inches, they fell out of the dresser and ontop of you. This was difficult for me because I actually unpack at hotels and use the drawers.
7) The remote control for our tv was on its last leg. Buttons worked 1 out of 10 times they were pushed, on average. And the channel up and down buttons were completely kaput. This would not have been too much of a problem except that most of the channels consisted of that awful tv snow, and the channels that did work were far apart from each other numerically.
8) The free breakfast? Free for a reason. Really bad. I don’t think I need to go into detail.
End rant.
t says: whoa whoa whoa there! I believe that the bathroom smelled like raw sewage because our neighbor had a super-foul bowel movement and it worked its way through the ventilation. That’s my working hypothesis.
The shower wasn’t gross! The shower we had on Cape Cod was gross. I’d say that this was a step above dorm room showers!
The dressers sucked – I forgot about that. I don’t unpack completely at hotels – I live out of the suitcase, so this didn’t affect me.
I unfortunately cannot defend the tv or the free breakfast …
Ok … so we unpacked … one of us was a little happier than the other one of us. But we put the hotel behind us and got down to the first order of business: check out Chinatown. It was nearby and it was too late in the day to take a bus tour of the city. The thing is … we didn’t know precisely where in Chinatown we should go – we just saw the letters on a map, but that doesn’t mean that the entire area is a great place to visit. Well … we were unlucky … we ran into real Chinatown far before tourist Chinatown. What’s the diff? Real Chinatown has a lot of Asian people around (I daresay Chinese people, but I don’t know if they were all Chinese), including very slow walking old ladies and stoic, loogie-spitting old men. Kind of gross. But we eventually did get to tourist Chinatown, which was full of … white people. All those caucasians were walking around, taking pictures, and generally getting in the way. It was fun to see all of the stores peddling their trinkets and restaurants advertising their dim sum. It was in Chinatown that I found out my new favorite way to take pictures … I like taking pictures of people taking pictures!
We were hungry but were unsure which one of the restaurants to go to – there were so many! Then we turned the corner, and I recognized a name. cm and drb both recommended the place and we just happened to find it (seriously! I know that cm won’t believe me because I did so much planning for the trip). Here it is:
How was the food? Take a look for yourself:
I’ve heard that this place is not so authentic. But who cares – the food was as delicious as everyone said! The above picture used used to be pork dumplings in black bean sauce and some kind of other fried appetizery shrimp dumpling dish (we had dinner plans that night). It was great!
I’ll finish off Day 4 at my earliest convenience …
JG Domestic: Growing Pains
t says: Inspired by the results from our recent poll, we went to dinner at JG Domestic on its first “real” opening night (they had a soft opening the night before of ~ 50 people). On opening night, they capped the reservations at 100 people. g’s train arrived a little early, so I walked on over to 30th street station. I saw this weird light display/installation on the Schuylkill river between Chestnut and Market …
It was kind of cool. There was a crowd of people on the bank below (I was on the skywalk between Chestnut and Market) as well as someone speaking, periods of applause, and a decked-out photographer (tripod, big flash, etc). There was also some info about the installation on the skywalk, but I was far too eager to get to JG Domestic to even bother with reading …
Then, as I began to walk away, there was shouting. That was peculiar – I figured someone was heckling the speaker below. But no. There was a homeless man about 25 feet in front of me shouting “You’re unstable! You’re violent! Get away from me!” to another man that was only 10 feet in front of me. Funny thing was, the second man (he had a sling backpack, so I’m going to call him sling-man) didn’t really say/do anything. He didn’t even have the chic “derelict” look, either (Zoolander, anyone?), so he didn’t appear homeless. But what was weird was that as the shouting man tried to walk away, sling man continued to follow him! Eventually, I cautiously passed both guys as they had stopped walking and the homeless man went looking for something in his pockets. I sped-walked away to avoid either having a confrontation or witnessing a confrontation.
Not more than two steps away, g called. She asked, “Where are you?” I was about to explain, but was afraid that I was still within earshot of the crazed homeless man. So I said, “I’m on my way – I’ll tell you later.” It’s a good thing I didn’t describe anything in that very instant, because I was passed by the homeless man who was walking very quickly (and still followed by sling man!). They crossed Market and started walking … towards the train station. I opted to not cross the street and simply walk parallel to them. Sling man eventually confronted homeless man, who continued to shout at him. I’m not sure what sling man said, but after that, he ceased following the homeless man, who kept walking … to 30th street station … where he found a seat … 25 yards away from where g was standing. I motioned to g to come to me. She didn’t quite get the signal. I motioned again. Nothing. Ugh – when will they perfect telepathy machines? So, I walked to her, told her to follow me, and guided us briskly past the homeless guy towards the crowd of people waiting for cabs (safety in numbers!). I eventually explained to g what was up. Crisis averted. As adrenaline levels returned to normal, we were overcome with hunger. It was Garces Time!
Now, the thing about JG Domestic that is mind-boggling … how are you supposed to walk to it? There really is no good way to cross that street behind 30th Street Station that the Cira Center is on. It’s also quite dark, the cars are fast, and it’s windy. Ok, not just “oh, it’s some wind” – we were in a frickin’ tornado of dirt and garbage. Mmmm, yummy. After waiting patiently for the light to turn red so we could cross, we ran across the street (but not in a straight line because the wind was actually pushing g down the street) and made it into the safety of the Cira Center. As expected, it’s pretty big in there! I surveyed the layout of the area as g took a moment to tame the static cling in her hair. JG Domestic is kind of like a pop-up restaurant in the lobby of a very large building – a very interesting setup. Because there’s no ceiling and limited wall-space, JG Domestic has little control over the ambience of the venue – not like Tinto, which can be dark and sexy, or Distrito which is loud and party-y. Yes, there were some wood elements and some planters, but let’s get real … you’re on the ground floor of the Cira Center. I’m sure g will have some rebuttals to these comments …
We were a bit early, so we asked if we could have a seat at the bar. The hostess was pleasant and said that they would let us know as soon as our table was available. As I led the way to the bar, I immediately realized that the place is kind of … tight. The walkways between tables can fit precisely 1.75 people … meaning that if there is someone in the walkway, there’s no real way to avoid them – especially if they are walking towards you holding plates of food. There were two traffic jams in the walk just to get to the bar, but we arrived safe and sound (I’m an excellent driver).
As we sat, I looked at the menu while g took in the surroundings. She was non-communicative during this time period, as she was trying her very hardest to peer into the kitchen; if Jose was here, she was going to see him. Not three minutes later, she saw him and directed my attention. He looks exactly like he does on tv. He reminds me of one of our Korean friends … which is weird … I don’t think Jose is Korean …
Next, we got down to business with the wine list. g changed it up and eschewed a glass of sauvignon blanc for a pinot gris. I went for rose because I wanted to be refreshed while at the same time matching any of the lighter fare I was going to encounter (plus, I like to believe that summer’s still here). But I made a mistake when I ordered. I ordered “a glass of the rose”. She came back with a glass of sparkling rose. I can’t handle bubbles. I apologized profusely for the mishap while ordering and asked for a glass of the still rose, not sparkling. At first she kind of looked at me funny, but after a few seconds I think it clicked that a still rose was on the wine list as well and that I had not specified sparkling/still. Oops. But she was very nice to me and replaced the glass of wine. Well, on one hand, now I know I won’t make that mistake again, and I’m sure in the future, she’ll be sure to ask customers about their bubble preference. Crisis averted.
We wanted to start off with a snack just to get things going. g spotted a popcorn snack spiked with horseradish and cheese. We went for it. But, about 8 minutes later, a well-dressed woman came over and started talking to us in a very up-beat manner. g thought it was someone that knew her. I thought it was someone who was going to tell us that our table wasn’t going to be ready for another half-hour. Neither of us were right. It turned out that they just couldn’t get the popcorn to pop. Perhaps the microwave was broken? In any case, she recommended the maple bacon pecans. Bacon? Yes please. How did I miss that in the first place?
The pecans came out quickly and they were delicious. They really are the perfect bar food. Salty. Sweet. Finger-pinch-able. Then, 10 minutes later, right when I was about to say, “damn, these are way better than popcorn” … a bowl of popcorn appeared. The server apologized and said, “they figured it out!”. Woohoo. Popcorn and nuts. The popcorn was also delicious – perhaps not as good as the pecans, but that’s not fair given the pork advantage. Nevertheless, it was some mighty fine popcorn, with nice heat and soothing cheese. I think they could have turned up the volume a little more on the horseradish, and sprinkled some cheese throughout the popcorn, but really, it was pretty good as it was. Woohoo for that that microwave starting working again. Crisis averted.
Our table was ready. Well, kind of. Seats at the communal table were ready. Now, g and I don’t mind communal tables. We’ve sat very close to unknown people on multiple occasions, and are very good at blocking them out as well as eavesdropping (just in case they say something interesting). But this communal table had a few issues. The first was that it was very wide. g and I would have had to shout at each other to hold a conversation. Actually, only I’d have to shout, because g can’t hear too good. g, on the other hand, would refuse to shout, and just sit in silence. But that wasn’t the dealbreaker (we’d just text to each other if we had to). The dealbreaker was the presence of a small tree that was the centerpiece of the table. Well, the tree, itself, wasn’t the problem, rather, the fact that the tree had to be potted in a pot that sat underneath the table. It was a very large pot. It was so large, that g actually could not pull her chair up to the table unless she moved it over so far that she was physically touching the person next to her. That, my friends, is a dealbreaker. You can look, but you can’t touch … g asked if we could be seated elsewhere. In the meantime, I ate some nuts, wondering if it would be rude to introduce myself to the couple seated next to us (I like mindgames, too).
After a good two minutes of awkwardness, we were relocated to a bistro table. Hooray! Crisis averted. Thank goodness they didn’t pack out the place (they limited themselves to 100 covers). I suspect they are going to have to revisit the layout of their communal table – there’s just no way you can squeeze six diners between two trees on the table. I realize that by now most readers will have no idea what I’m talking about with trees and the communal table, but just go and see for yourself!
Now, let me talk about these bistro tables. We sat at a two-top. As soon as I sat down, my knees hit a horizontal bar that spans/supports the legs of the bistro table. This was peculiar. I’m a small person with small knees. How is it that I can’t actually pull my chair up to the bistro table? After looking at how the four/six-tops were constructed, I realized that this is because the two-tops were constructed incorrectly. It turns out that you need to rotate the four legs 90 degrees so that the side you put your knees into would not encounter a horizontal bar. Once again, if you have no idea what I’m talking about – go and see for yourself. So, I developed an interesting slouching/leaning/spread eagle posture for the rest of the evening … crisis averted. g, on the other hand, had no problems. I’m not sure how/why. She must have mutant legs.
Ok, on to the food. Having filled up on nuts and popcorn, g and I weren’t super-famished. We ordered two dinners and a cranberry bean soup. That sounded intriguing! Cranberries and beans! It was, after all, the weekend of the Cranberry Festival in South Jersey, so how cool would it be if they were using local cranberries!?! Oops. It turns out that it wasn’t cranberry, rather, cranberry beans. Boy did we feel stupid when our server took our order. In any case, I’m determined to make a soup in the future with cranberries and beans. And it’ll rock.. I’ll let g fill you in on how good the soup was, later.
I ordered the whole animal. This dish featured five different cuts of lamb prepared in different manners on a single plate. It sounded awesome and was the dish that most caught my eye when I saw the menu first go up online some time ago. Then, our server started rattling off the cuts of meat: “Lamb shoulder, lamb belly, lamb-something-else -“. I stopped paying attention after lamb belly. I had never had it before – it was going to be mine. Now I was super-psyched. I began contemplating what wine I would switch to … But then … 12 minutes later … my happiness was crushed … The waitress came back and told me they were out of lamb. The following internal soliloquy deserves a new paragraph – here we go:
“W … T … F. The lamb is one of the most unique things on the menu – probably even the star next to the chef’s tasting. You’re not even operating at full throttle (only 100 covers for the night). Furthermore, it’s only the second night you’ve been open (soft opening the night before with 50 covers), and it’s a Friday (meaning you’re going to be open Sat and Sun as well), and you’re out of lamb by 9pm tonight? Once again. W … T … F. And if the lamb quantity was in such short supply, why didn’t the servers know about it ahead of time so they could “86 the lamb” immediately. Crushing my hopes as I try to order is one thing, but to tell me of lamb belly, to let me order it, to let me imagine it, and then to take it away … it had killed me a little inside. Make up an excuse. Perhaps a chef in the back managed to accidentally drop all of the lamb on the floor, so they couldn’t serve it? Maybe he sneezed on it! But don’t let me think that I’ve been duped! Oh the humanity!”
I returned to the menu in shock and disbelief.
I wasn’t in the mood for salmon or prawns. I had seen the lamb spareribs going to other diners, but they were exceedingly small. g had ordered the steak, so that was out. Boar or chicken … boar or chicken … Having just enjoyed the bacon pecans, I decided to put them to the test. I ordered chicken. Chicken. Could they make chicken that would make me forget about lamb? How about lamb belly? Furthermore, in the realm of “chicken”, there is fierce competition in my book, as Meritage’s Korean Fried Chicken is so delicious. JG would have to bring the thunder. Seriously.
The general manager returned to our table and apologized profusely for not having any lamb. On one hand, this made me feel better, but on the other, I didn’t want her to be under the impression that chicken was an acceptable substitute for lamb. I told her that it was something I was really looking forward to and that I guess I’d just have to come back another time. I hope she received the message: “I came here for the lamb”.
What was funny is that as she was talking to us, a server came by with the soup. She looked at him and was like, “where are their spoons?” He looked befuddled. “I was going to get the-” “No, get them their spoons now. Two spoons, in case they want to share.” Then she gave him a look. I’ve seen this look before. It’s the look g gives me when she’s pissed. Yikes. He retreated to go and get some more spoons. She apologized to us again, and we were totally ok with everything. And she left. The guy came back with a second spoon … it was dirty … Yea, I wasn’t going to say a damn thing. I didn’t want him to get in trouble, and I really didn’t have a problem sharing g’s spoon. It was fine. It’ll be our little secret.
So how was the chicken? Pretty good. Surprisingly, it wasn’t presented on-the-bone – there were two [small] pieces of boneless chicken. The first piece was “amazingly” tender – I almost questioned its done-ness, but it was cooked through. The second was more “great” tender. The corn flakes were crisp, and the white yam and chicken liver gravy added a nice sensation of creaminess and butteriness. All-in-all, pretty good. Very nearly worth $16 (more of a quantity issue than a quality issue).
For dessert, we enjoyed a huckleberry parfait. It had a creme fraiche parfait which was kind of like a slab of creamy, less-sweet cheesecake. Topped with huckleberry reduction and the berries, themselves. It was luxurious and very filling, so even though the chicken dish was a little on the small side, this definitely made me reach fullness. I longed for a few of the pecans because that would have been a great addition to the dessert (berries and creme fraiche gets a bit monotonous after a while), but I’ll know for next time …
Will there be a next time? Sure. We’ll go again. The service had a few hiccups (the general manager totally bitched out one of the servers who attempted to give us soup without spoons – but she didn’t curse – but it was clear that she was unhappy with his performance).
JG Domestic in < 2 Weeks! AND WE’RE GOING!
t says: Jose Garces’s new venture in the Cira Center (that big glass thing with lights near 30th street station) JG Domestic is opening on 10/15. g and I have scored reservations to dine there that very night! The question is … should we actually go? On one hand, it’s opening night – maybe Jose will be there! On the other hand … it’s opening night … so there’s a risk that they haven’t worked out all of the kinks with service and food. Maybe they’ll need to suffer some growing pains first? What do you think?
EDIT: So – the result of the poll: 6 say go, 1 say go if not busy doing something else. No one says hold off ’til later. So that’s that – we’re going! I wonder if g will use her chef-dar and see Jose?
after dinner sneeze 