Doing it Up at Burritt Room and Tavern

I managed to catch the tail end of Dine About Town, squeezing in a visit to Charlie Palmer's newish Burritt Room & Tavern just a stone's throw from Union Square. Where many SF restaurants seem half-hearted about their participation in the two-week period where a set lunch and/or dinner menu are offered at a fixed price, Burritt Room & Tavern does it up right. JL and I happily browsed the selections for each of the three dinner courses, and this is what I chose:

Sweet corn chowder screaming of summer with a tiny crown of roasted fingerling potatoes, crispy bacon, sweet sorrel leaves, plus a drizzle of truffle honey.

Marinated strip steak grilled to a gorgeous medium rare accompanied by a mound of creamy potato puree, tangy piquillo pepper coulis, shallot confit, bone marrow butter and sauteed spinach. I practically licked the plate clean; it was that good.

Wild strawberry soup surrounding a soft cube of Greek yogurt panna cotta, sprinkled with a bit of hazelnut brittle and a tiny drizzle of honey balsamic glaze.

Burritt Room & Tavern is a keeper.

Farm to Table at Jole

Thank you, AB, for suggesting Calistoga gem Jole—celebrating my birthday with a parade of (mostly) delicious dishes showcasing California's best made it an especially memorable meal.

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.

A lovely cheese plate for dessert, and we rolled out of Jole pleased as punch, replete and ready to jump into the geyser-heated mineral pool back at Indian Springs.

Gorgeous Food at Soto

I've gotta say that 2 Michelin-starred Soto was probably the highlight of my food forays during my last visit to NY. And that's saying a lot considering the line-up included such heavy-hitters as Marea, dell'anima and The Dutch. Chalk it up to a confluence of food beautifully arranged and wonderfully composed, a relaxed and easy atmosphere with uber friendly service, and of course JP's fine company.


One of the standouts of the night: Soto's humble, homemade soy dish comprising the creamiest black sesame and white sesame tofu, served with wasabi, soy sauce, and topped with soy foam. Ever so good.


Another Soto fave: the chawan mushi—the airiest of egg custard soups made with chicken broth, thin slices of shitake mushroom, ginkgo biloba nut and a whole shrimp.


Grilled unagi cooked to the exact done-ness—to a medium-rare. Oftentimes, even at the best sushi restaurants, I find the unagi can be overcooked and/or fishy. Not so at Soto.


Thin slivers of fluke with scallions, ginger shoots, shiso leaf, sitting in a pool of ponzu sauce. Refreshing and harmonious this was.


Black trout carpaccio drizzled with a hint of truffle oil, capped with caviar and chives, served with a crispy, bright watercress salad. I loved how every dish had so much going on and yet made perfect sense on the palate.


Fatty tuna-like-buttah tartare with creamy avocado sitting in ponzu sauce, more caviar, chives and a chiffonade of seaweed. When I ordered this "house special," I kinda thought this was something I'd seen—and eaten—so many times before. I mean, tuna tartare and avocado, right? But holy cow. Soto's version was like no other. It blew me away.


The silkiest slab of braised black cod sitting in the lightest soy broth, served with shimeji mushrooms, radish and mountain potato. This is absolutely my favorite type of fish, and Soto handled the sable with so much loving care. I could certainly have had another order—except for the fact that we'd inhaled quite a a bit of food already (not all dishes pictured).


Steamed chunks of lobster layered with a luscious uni mousse, lightly drizzled with truffle oil, topped with a crispy piece of smoked uni (wowza), tiny scoop of caviar and scallions. The rings of crispy lotus root and cucumbers served as the perfect, crisp-fresh foil to the decadently rich seafood main.

Commonwealth's Chef's Tasting

Commonwealth, "a progressive American restaurant in San Francisco's Mission district," does a fine job with its chef's tasting menu. Lonely Planet pal AB and I met there a few weeks ago per her glowing recommendation. The line-up was not only pleasing to the eye, but to the palate as well—for the most part anyway.


It started with an amuse bouche of the crunchy granola persuasion, comprising thin slivers of raw maitake mushroom drizzled with honey, laying atop a sprinkle of pine nuts. Presented to us on rough-hewn slate slabs, the au naturel opener was less to AB's liking than mine—we both agreed it had a true forage feel to it, like we were taking a trek in the woods.


The foie gras bon bons served with half-rounds of quince, tonka bean and Szechuan peppercorn were a step up from the mushrooms, though I'd have preferred the foie gras less chilled and sans chocolate. The strong, bittersweet flavor of dark chocolate seems better off saved for the end of the meal vs. introduced in the beginning.


Commonwealth's standout dish was the crispety-crunchety deep-fried Jerusalem artichokes, sharp and yet sweet onions cooked in hay, tiny soft-boiled quail egg, sprinkling of chickweed and radicchio leaves, resting on a beautiful bed of quinoa.


I'm not going to say no to a good scallop, and these were seared oh so well. Though scallops seem to be on every hot SF restaurant menu, this dish was made unique in its accompaniments: vadouvan (aka Indian spice blend), pumpkin puree, black rice, nasturtium (both the flowers and leaves), and a nettle emulsion.


I appreciated that my moist and tender quail came out as tiny medallions—much easier to pop in my mouth than to work on a little carcass of a bird with fork and knife. It came with crispy curls of parsnip, bitter chicories, fig leaf, vanilla and a beurre rouge (or red butter sauce).


And the finale: chocolate played a part, and rightly so. This peanut butter semifreddo with chocolate ganache outer shell and sprinkling of frozen popcorn was essentially a fancy PB&Choco candy bar. Thumbs up, we say.

Benu Bedazzles

I had a meal of epic proportions at uber fine-dining restaurant Benu ("I see rich people," I texted my pal AB as I waited for her to arrive), which took over Hawthorne Lane's spot in SoMa in just the past year. It was AB in fact who clued me in to Benu's worth—she had just finished writing up a piece on the incredibly gifted sommelier Yoon Ha. So, since I owed her a meal in return for the one she'd sported me at Coi ... here we were.

And what a mind-blowing meal we had, accompanied by some of the most inspired and creative wine (and sake). I told AB, "Let's become regulars." That's saying a lot, considering the pricetag on this place. But heck, Yoon Ha knows his sh*t and so does Chef Corey Lee (whose spent time in some of the most illustrious kitchens including The French Laundry). Koreans rock. Yes they do. Woooo.


Benu's cherry blossom granita with yogurt, cucumber and pistachio crumble ... a refreshing balance of tangy and tart with a bit of crunch and salt thrown in.


Abalone grenobloise with cauliflower, parsley and capers ... dusted and fried in panko, the shellfish was light and tender in consistency, and mild in flavor. The accompaniments brought the pop to the dish.


Creamy, sinful and oh-so-good foie gras steamed in sake, with the tiniest brunoise of peach, accompanied by kohlrabi, perked up by the bite of perilla sprigs, with a side of buttery brioche toast.


From the oak-acorn strozzapreti, Iberico ham, Himalayan truffle ... a lovely earthy, savory pasta.


This risotto was the dish that almost brought AB to tears—of joy, that is ... as I'm Korean (and we just don't do that kind of thing in public ... tiger moms don't condone such displays of emotion after all), I did not follow suit. However, that's not to say I didn't feel exactly as she did. The creaminess of the rice, flavored with corn and black truffle and given a generous helping of the most luscious sea urchin, which melted like butter on our tongues, brought us to our proverbial knees. We scraped the plate clean.


Duck with crisp-tender baby bok choy and jicama cubes. A really nice combo with a perfect sear on the medium-rare bird.


Andante Dairy cheese, compliments of another Korean ... oh so pretty and precious, really lovely stuff.


Almond brioche, apricot, buttercream, osmanthus ... A gorgeous-looking plate and equally gorgeous in flavor. The fragrant osmanthus flower is native to China and often used to infuse teas.


After copious amounts of wine and food, we were served a selection of scrummy truffles to go with our tea and coffee.

Phew. I gotta say, I'm beyond impressed. Benu really brought it. In spades.