The tuna crudo—with its fragrantly addictive orange bergamot dressing—proved to be the highlight of our visit to Jole.
Though the gnocchi with broccoli rabe had great flavor, its texture left a little to be desired. "I want pillowy. It's more like memory foam," said JP of the somewhat dense and durable potato pasta. Indeed, he was spot-on with his description.
The halibut was cooked to a perfect medium rare and sat atop a wondrously umami-esque mushroom jus, accompanied by a creamy pea risotto.
Ah, the seared foie gras. Time is a-ticking in California—it's soon to be outlawed, so we took the opportunity to order this hefty portion sitting atop caramelized onions and served with panko-crusted piquillo peppers. My half was divine: perfectly seared and almost melting like a hot stick of butter. But the very core of JP's portion was hard as a rock—turning his stomach to the fatty, rich hunk of liver.
Fortunately, the uber tender lamb chops accompanied by a crispy pile of smashed potatoes and grassy-bitter spears of asparagus redeemed Jole in JP's eyes.