Catalan Cookery
Part One: Jamonisimo, Abac, El Celler de Can Roca

Any account of restaurant life in Barcelona and its environs must begin with El Bulli. So I confess that during my six days in Catalonia I did not eat at El Bulli. Perhaps it is just as well because El Bulli has become at least as much of a shrine as a restaurant. (I cannot comment on the shape of Chef Adraia’s cuisine or the validity of the religion for which he is the godhead). However, attempting to acquire a reservation eleven months prior to the date of our visit proved unsuccessful and no amount of waiting, pleading, or networking gained a table. This stands in contrast to the platonic El Celler de Can Roca (a Michelin three star restaurant), which still had open tables during the lunch that I dined in Girona. Could El Bulli be eleven months more fantastic than Can Roca? I can’t judge, but must speculate that at least some of those months may be attributable to our celebrity culture.

Still, my week in Barcelona was not without glories: Jamonisimo (*), Abac (***), El Celler de Can Roca (****), Cinc Sentits (****), Comerç 24 (**), Botafumeiro (*), Alkimia (****), and Drolma (**). There were some disappointments (Comerç 24 most dramatically), but there was not a bad meal. How many cities might one say that of? Paris? New Orleans once upon a time? New York, if one is careful?

Arriving in Barcelona in late morning, I set my sights on what I imagined would be a light lunch: a smidgen of Spanish ham: Iberian jamon. Near my hotel was a modernist and elegent jamoniserie (my term), Jamonisimo. Primarily a purveyor of dry cured ham, Jamonisimo has a few tables in back where they serve their wares. Perhaps it was due to our uncertain communication, but when I ordered Iberian ham in three textures (the parts of the leg from which they derived was shared for my edification), the plate was larger than I imagined (and could have easily satisfied several ravenous beach volleyball squads). But what an introduction to Catalonia! With dinner served at 9:00, pigging out at lunch was not a tragedy. The slices and chunks had subtly different tastes, density, and moisture, and the experience was distinctively different from an American country ham: richer and less salty. As I chomped, I couldn’t avoid thinking of Bill Buford’s Dante-quoting butcher, wondering whether such a butcher stood behind Jamonisimo.



Dinner brought me to Abac where an al fresco dinner was filled with pleasure, even if I could not claim that the meal was transcendent. Still outdoor dining in a splendid little garden on a warm late summer Catalan night provided hours to be treasured, and a worthy comparison for other dinners. I remember particularly one of the opening snacks: crispy veal, tasting for all the world like a meaty potato crisp.

Equally appealing was an appetizer that consisted of a lovely textured soup, part foam, part mousse, part liquid. An emerald vichyssoise, combined with scallions, leeks, and asparagus. This was a libation that coolly contrasted with the still summer evening. Perfectly made, perfectly enjoyable. However much work went into its construction, its elegant simplicity was a diner’s joy.



I also enjoyed the sashimi quality tuna, raw on the inside, with a cherry gelee and sangria sauce. The tang of the fruit complimented the fish well. While not a unique presentation or set of flavors, it was successful. Similar was the pigeon with cardamom and onion, served with a well-composed salad. The cardamom might have been pushed up a notch, as the flavor was muted, but the game was luscious.





Of the desserts, I particularly enjoyed the sculptural passion fruit with cream sauce and spun sugar. As is typical for Abac the flavor combinations are not astonishing, but the dishes reveal real sophistication for the mid-range of diners. I was not stunned, but it was a fine way to share a first evening in B-lona.



In contrast, platonic is the word for my visit to El Celler de Can Roca, a sleek and airy restaurant on the outskirts of Girona set in a peaceful modernist garden setting. One of the effects of having El Bulli down the road is that there is no need to compete in startling excess. Can Roca offers poetry to E.B.’s cracked science. But through it all the effects of a cuisine agape are evident. El Celler de Can Roca reveals a distinctive style, a style that owes much to sous vide techniques, capturing a density and purity of taste. However, sous vide does not scream at a diner. Not told that one’s meat was cooked sous vide, the marks of the process are hard to pinpoint, other than that the dish seems remarkable tender and flavorful, exquisite in taste and texture, but without blaring headlines.





At a restaurant of the quality of Can Roca, anything less than the tasting menu would be a sin: and I rarely sin at table. My tasting notes are, rather redundantly, filled with the word “amazing.” Chef Joan Roca is in confident control (along with his brothers, Josep, the Sommelier, and Jordi, the Pastisser).

Still the less dramatic “snacks” make the rest of the meal look astonishing in comparison. Weakest was baby carrots with orange, stick and sweet, but not clever. Better was a nicely prepared lavender crisp and the lovely bitter cherries with campari and anchovies.

But it was the second opening course that persuaded. This was among the most experimental presentations of the luncheon. Actually it consisted of a trio of courses: ‘Sferificacion’ of Cockles with Guava Juice and Campari (Sferificacion is an El Bulli-derived technique of controlling the gelification of a liquid to provide desired shapes), a skin of cucumber soup with popcorn made of garlic soup, and a luxuriant and very Spanish pigeon bombon with Bristol Cream sherry. The last, appearing to be a cross between a truffle and a mallomar, is an exquisite game pie in a single bite. It heralds autumn. The cucumber soup is perfect in its edgy elegance, rich with herbal flavor. I loved the cockles, particularly because of the bitter and cocky campari-reprise. Although there didn’t seem to be a strong connection among these three starters, eating them in sequence was delight.



Oysters with with Agusti Torello cava, apple compote, ginger, pineapple, lemon confit, and spices was modernist salt-spray fruit salad, coordinated to emphasize the briny taste of the mollusk. Here was complex deliciousness that was both clean and oceanic.



Melon with cured ham was a trompe l’oeil triumph: an extrusion of melon with fine Iberian ham. Conceptually this was cute, but the heart of the plate was the superb cured ham. One could almost taste the acorns on which the pig once feasted. No lipstick on this porker, but it was still a pig.



This was followed by a magnificently imagined taste festival. Not experimental, it represented modern cuisine’s desire to explore the boundaries of taste: Cherry soup with shrimp and a scoop of ginger ice cream mixed tart and rich, warm and cold, with every element skillfully prepared. This was an astonishing dish. From now on I will serve my shrimp cocktail with jam.



Green olive parmentier with foamy tuna sauce was another experiment in taste: an egg-like lump, playing on the imaginings of olive and potato: a tuna salad from the far future. Perhaps the taste did not compare with the cherry soup, but it combined tastes and textures with élan.



The following pair of dishes – amontillado-steamed king prawn and smoked summer-truffle soufflé – depended on splendid ingredients, impeccably cooked. Neither had sharp strokes of contrasting tastes, but their subtleties were delicious. The truffle soufflé was so sensuous that it deserved to be eaten in bed.





Sole with sea fennel and charcoal-grilled leeks bowed to classic cuisine (sous-vide classic, of course). Many modern chefs seem at sea with sauce, but not Chef Roca. Silken, foamy sauce with fish cooked by God’s hand, its elegance can not go unremarked. This plate reminds us why so many diners loved – and love – classic cuisine, even as lightened with low cooking and roux-free saucing.



Kid belly fillet with goat’s milk parmentier consisted of a rectangle of goat belly (today’s “in” body part) with perfectly crispy skin. This presentation was far more modern that the sole with just enough potato pudding and goat sauce to provide for an interactive experience. Another sumptuous dish.



Goose liver terrine with apricot compote is Chef Roca’s tribute to the foie gras wars. Foie, but not gras, it had a gaminess that foie gras can never equal, evoking the wild in ways that depend on the pungency of goose liver. This was a powerful plate. As foie gras is meat jam, Chef Roca’s foie is a treat from the hunt.



Dinner concluded with a pair of desserts. First was a decorative dish labeled “A fragrance adapted: Extreme by Bulgari (Bergamot cream, lime sorbet, tonka bean, vanilla and patchouli).” The idea seemed precious, but the dish was a decorator’s dream. Not my favorite of the afternoon, it was a pretty mix of textures, tastes, and aromas. Not knowing Extreme fragrance, I cannot tell whether it matches, but I surely would prefer Extreme on warm skin than cold glass.



Cherries with vanilla and amaretto, draped with a clear sugar wrap, completed the cherry trilogy. I love cherries, and found this ending to be filled with smiles.



Were it not for its colleague down the road, El Celler de Can Roca would be goal of any gourmet’s pilgrimage. Bravo.

END OF PART ONE, CATALONIAN CUISINE

Jamonisimo
Provença 85 (Eixample)
Barcelona
93-439-0847
www.jamonisimo.com

Abac
Avenue del Tibidabo 1-7 (Tibidabo)
Barcelona
93-319-6600
www.abacbarcelona.com

El Celler de Can Roca
Can Sunyer 48
Girona, Spain
972-22-21-57
www.cellercanroca.com/inici.php?secc=presentacion&lang=uk

Hot Quito Nights - Zazu

Anyone who has spent time in the sweaty kitchens of haute cuisine haunts knows that Ecuadorians are South America’s gift to North American diners. So many kitchens workers in New York, Chicago, and elsewhere hail from this small land, the size of Nevada, but without the sand and glitz. In a recent visit to Ecuador I searched out Ecuadorian haute cuisine. I can report that I discovered such an establishment, an astonishing one, although a restaurant whose innovative chef, Alexander Lau, hails from Peru, Ecuador’s prickly neighbor to the south.





After a misguided first night culinary adventure in Quito, I came upon Zazu, and not willing to leave my good fortune to the vagaries of Ecuadorian cuisine, I returned the next night, the first time as a grazer that I have eaten back-to-back meals in any restaurant. (This post recounts the first meal: photos from the following night are on my flickr.com account).

Ecuador decided some time back not only to peg its currency to the U.S. dollar, but actually to use American currency. Americans need not change money. This decision no doubt seemed wise in the age of a strong dollar, but today Ecuador is a value for American tourists, no more so than at Zazu, where a full seven-to-nine course tasting menu costs an astonishing $35.00. Most of the wines poured (Chilean, Argentinean, Spanish, and an untasted Ecuadorian wine) are priced at about $30.00.

We were particularly fortunate in selecting Zazu on a lazy, summer Monday night. For much of the evening the stylish, contemporary restaurant was nearly empty, and we received considerable attention from the waitstaff and the chef, including an invitation to explore the kitchen. The tasting menu consisted of nine courses, each stylish and most spicy. I don’t believe that I have ever had a tasting menu flavored with so much heat. (The tasting menu the following night – a busier, peppier evening - had some wonderful dishes - including a sea bass in coconut sauce, langoustine in piquant sauce, and shrimp in a honey-chili sauce - but was less thematically coordinated, and as an evening repast slightly less satisfying).

Dinner began with a simple amuse, Pangora (Pacific) stone crab set on a small round of avocado with bits of lettuce and tomato on a quiet Zen-like platter. Unlike much of the rest of the meal, the taste was cool and sweet without a hint of spice. The dish was impressively restrained and the ingredients were sublime, but the taste revealed little of what was in store.



The second dish was inspiration: raw sole with a parmesan sauce: a cheesy sushi with chili peppers. I admit that the vision of the dish may not be what one expects on a restaurant plate, at least when one is able to keep one’s food down. But this is a dish that can be eaten up, down or sideways. Raw fish, cheese sauce, and chili: this dish is doomed to failure, except for the fact that it is so glorious in its surprises; so lasting in its memories. I fell in love with Chef Lau. At its best his cuisine has the power to reimagine cuisine. Never have I witnessed a top chef pack so much heat. Not weeping heat, but a mix of classic and hot.



Third we were treated to sashimi tuna, with sesame oil, sesame seeds, and more chilies. Pure fish, pure heat, pure fun.



Fourth course was a perfectly tender Calamari, stuffed with shrimp, drizzled with a Ponzu sauce and more hot peppers. While such a string of chilied dishes might seem redundant, they never did. Each had its own flavor profile and its own set of culinary references.



The fifth plate was a seafood composition: shrimp, grouper, octopus, and calamari with tree tomatoes (a common Ecuadorian vegetable), garlic, and some more peppers. While the grouper was slightly overcooked for my taste, the dish followed the piscatorial theme of the dinner. The dish was well-designed and enjoyable – and exotic with the fruity tomatoes - if not quite so imaginative as several preceding dishes.



Sixth course was prawn tempura served with a spicy mango salad. This dish, elegant, composed, spicy, represented the heart of Chef Lau’s cuisine. He draws upon Asian and Latin ingredients and flavors but with a classic sensibility. While the dish was not as dramatic as his sole sashimi with parmesan sauce, it was astonishing in its creative simplicity.



Our seventh course was aged beef tenderloin with green peppercorns served with a dill and caraway sauce and green salad. On this plate the pungency did not come from heat but from the other side of the pepper world. The beef was nicely undercooked and enriched by the depth of the source.



The finally entrée course was an ossobuco, served on risotto with asparagus tempura. As with the opening course, an enveloping mildness characterized this plate. While ossobuco can be heavy in the wrong hands, this small plate was surprisingly airy and well-portioned.



A lovely, light taxol (passion fruit) sorbet followed with a small fan of spun sugar as garnish.



Desserts, while successful, are less stunning (and were also slightly disappointing our second night when I was presented with a sampler of desserts, none of which was a knock-out). I enjoyed a vanilla panna cotta, served with a salad of raspberries, strawberries, and mint. I wished for a more tropical or peppery ending or one with greater surprise, but the dessert was sweet and light. My wife received a chocolate panna cotta with berries, served on a cinnamon crumble. Nice indeed, but without revealing the pastry chef’s magic art.





Not each dish is equally stunning, but dinner at Zazu was a revelation: a wise, generous and zippy Latin cuisine with Asian and European influences. Chef Lau is an important chef in Ecuador and in the global culinary world. With a wave of tourists soon descending on Quito for the 150th anniversary of The Origin of Species, hopefully Chef Lau and Zazu will receive their due. This most fit restaurant deserves to survive and prosper.

Zazu
Mariano Aguilera 331 y La Pradera
Quito, Ecuador
(02)254-3559
http://www.zazuquito.com

Waters on the Beach – Restaurant Robert Sudbrack – Rio de Janeiro

Despite the claims of Aussies, cuisine (like so much else, it is alleged) is a treasure of the Northern Hemisphere. Wishing to disprove this snippy claim, on a recent visit to the beaches of Rio de Janeiro (a conference on climate), I searched out the restaurant that can lay claim to being the most serious dining spot in Brazil (or at least in Rio). This is Restaurant Roberta Sudbrack, a smart boîte, located in a stylish neighborhood near Rio’s Jardim Botânico.



If I expected a nouvelle Cariocan cuisine, it was not to be. Roberta Sudbrack is Chez Panisse’s southern cousin: simple preparations, high quality ingredients, a comfortably elegant but unadorned space, unpretentious service: Berkeley by Bahia. Brazilian cuisine is particularly known for their caloric Saturday lunch feast, the feijoada – black beans, white rice, pork tails and ears, tongue, boiled beef, Spanish sausage – but this was Thursday night and the meal was stripped to its gourmet essentials. In our conversation Chef Sudbrack described herself as self-trained; a cookbook reader – influenced, she claims, by Joel Robuchon, although I saw less of his influence than that of Chef Waters. Chef Sudbrack, if perhaps lacking the requisite apprenticeships, is not without experience. Before opening her eponymous restaurant three years ago, she was chef for Brazil’s former sociologist/president Fernando Cardozo. Perhaps her restrained style derives from having to serve cheeky and picky world leaders. What would you serve Fidel and W?

I have long admired Chez Panisse, although I have never fallen passionately in love with the style. It is too dispassionate, too spare, too Quaker-meeting. Insufficiently samba. Sudbrack is a trip from the tropics, not to them. But this is Roberta Sudbrack’s vision. But given its mantra: local high-quality, organic provisions, simply prepared, it succeeds in its own terms with panache. The menu changes daily, depending upon market availability, a strategy that gives the produce priority over inspiration: imposing, canonical dishes take time to come marinate in the chef’s imagination: not the hours between sunrise and supper.

While the service was generally congenial, after a few photographs of the (three) amuses, our server/restaurant manager requested that I not photograph the food under I cleared it with the chef, due to arrive in a few minutes, and how proved most obliging. As a result, I lack images of two of the middle courses. At a place such as Sudbdrack, the dishes do not scream “look at me!” They are more taste-worthy than eye candy.

Our first amuse was perfectly composed tomato jewels on toast: a mild, clean, clear dish: bruschetta on circles of Holland rusk. This amuse doesn’t waken one’s mouth as much as cleanse it. It was carefully and cautiously prepared, if lacking in drama.



The following amuse was another spare on-toast presentation: Okra caviar on toast. Not a bit of Rio, but subtle without okra slickness. The idea was clever, but the taste, although pleasing, trailed behind the idea.





Our “official” amuse was a half-moon of foie gras with small pieces of pineapple and tarragon. What made this dish tingle were added salt crystals. Chef Sudbrack created a plate of smiling texture, even more than inspiring tastes. Although perhaps the pineapple was a nod to our venue, it owed more to a classic cuisine of ingredients. I loved Chef Sudbrack’s preparation, even if I cannot pretend that it was a stunning gustatory innovation.

The first appetizer was a deep-fried langoustine roll with new vegetables. Buttery crustaceans stuffed the crackly cigars. Lush, if reminiscent of high-end Chinese cuisine. These golden cylinders were surrounded by miniature carrots, broccoli, asparagus, green beans, and beets: the bounty of the well-tended garden.

Salt again featured in the next dish: Farm soft-boiled egg with shavings of asparagus surrounded by squares of buttered and salted bread. No dish could be more emblematic of the locavore movement: an egg, some bread, a bit of butter, and timely vegetables: all fresh and new. One will not confuse this cuisine with the fireworks of Tom Keller, Gordon Ramsey, Alain Ducasse, or Grant Achatz, but it was fine and true, reminiscent of New York’s Prune or Chicago’s North Pond. Keep it simple, keep it pure, and they will come.

The main entrée was roasted duck leg, cooked over low temperature, with a lovely and evocative (if not notably Brazilian) cauliflower couscous. This dish could hardly be simpler, yet it was lovely in its delicacy. I could smell the baby cauliflower wafting from the plate as chaste as cuisine can be.



Dessert proved a rich, dense, and naughty chocolate tartlette with an ice cream, memorable for its fluffy egg white texture. Another beloved and straight-forward dish, none the worse for letting flavors speak for themselves.



By the close of the evening we no longer expected cataclysms, just the delight of organic, local materials prepared with respect. Perhaps one would not travel half way around the planet, trailing carbon credits, to try cuisine that is available close to home (which is, after all, the point). Still, this truth does not weaken the calm call of Restaurant Roberta Sudbrack for wise Cariocans.

Restaurant Roberta Sudbrack
Rua Lineau de Paula Machado 916
Jardim Botânico
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
55.21.3874.0139
http://www.robertasudbrack.com.br

[url=http://www.vealcheeks.blogspot.com]Vealcheeks[/url]

Joia to the World – Joia – Milan

Although the betting line on Italy asserts that one cannot get a bad meal, my month-long visit proved – some nights – to disprove that culinary bromide. But forget those forgettable nights. This memory is a glorious – and surprising – meal, a lunch actually, in Milan (my most treasured meals were invariably lunches; dinners matter less).

I was nearly at the end of my stay without a truly astonishing meal. It was almost chance that I stumbled upon Joia, the lovely restaurant of Chef Pietro Leeman, a Swiss chef, trained by Freddy Girardet in Crissier at his Restaurant de l'Hôtel de Ville, according to some the world’s best restaurant in the 1980s (my meal, under Chef Girardet’s successor Philippe Rochat, was certainly world class). Chef Leeman has been cooking in Milan since 1989, and while one can see some echoes of Crissier, there are also dashes of Michel Bras, Hester Blumenthal, and Alice Waters in his cuisine: unfussy, playful, and seasonal, a half-step from vegetarian (with a few fish choices). Chef Leeman defines his style as “Alta Cucina Naturelle,” but this does not quite do him justice, ignoring his desire to subvert the relationship between the diner and chef, more characteristic of cuisine agape, a cuisine of amazement. In our postprandial conversation, Chef Leeman was quick to differentiate himself from molecular cuisine in his refraining from using the more experimental cooking techniques (he added foam to one memorable dish, but perhaps, foam is the new butter). His dishes aim for poetry more than science, as evidenced in the brio with which each dish is named: “A Stone Rolls,” “Virtue,” “Moving With Deliberation,” and “Blub”). Diners may find these zenish labels charming or pretentious, as they will. Several dishes are interactive, and perhaps a little too jesting in spirit. Chef Leeman does more than cook, he thinks and feels.

For my luncheon I ordered the five course spring tasting menu (all vegetarian). I began with an amuse: a shot glass filled with a soupy parfait: lime, puree of flageolet beans, and balsamic gelee. This was everything that an amuse could be: cool, awakening, filled with surprise, and a showcase for the chef’s talents to come. Although no one would describe Joia as an “Italian restaurant,” the use of the wondrous balsamic gelee serves to indicate that Chef Leeman can work marvels with Italian ingredients. The mix of lime, beans, and vinegar might seem preposterous, but the solidity of the beans served to bind the lime and the vinegar. A great start.



The first appetizer, “Contact and Consent,” was perhaps too precious in conception. I was presented with two small trays with three objects each: the left tray was designed for touching, while one ate the parallel ingredient on the right. On the left was a small glass filled with ice studded with flower petals, a sprig of rosemary, and a stone: Haiku Cuisine. Facing these were, in turn, snow pea and tomato soup, a zucchini flower stuffed with pea puree with a dab of mustard and dill, and asparagus on a fried chickpea square. I loved the sweet and simple soup with its swirls of red and green, and the well-made zucchini flower, alternatively pungent and smooth. I confess to feeling a bit foolish touching the stone, an exercise that had some of the excess of wearing earphones to hear the ocean at the Fat Duck. Tastes, not contraptions, are their own reward.



“First to the Left, then to the Right” was another interactive dish. The chef provides three small glasses: cream of zucchini, puree of Tropea onion (allegedly a Calabrian aphrodisiac, as if Italy itself were not Viagra), and a yogurt and horseradish curry. First the instructions, then the dish. Consume half of the cream soup, add the puree, finish half of this mixture, then add the curry, and finish. Gustatory miscreant that I am, I tasted each vessel before mixing and matching, but eventually fell into line. The outcome was quite satisfactory, although I could easily have had a bowl of the cream of zucchini or the zucchini/onion mix. The chef might have simply prepared three bowls as he wished, rather than demand his non-union clients collaborate, but it was a treat to see how his flavors spiral, reaching a crescendo.



What might a dish “In Praise of Tradition” mean at a vegetarian restaurant? The dish, meatless, was robust without attempting to recreate meat. Chef Leeman served bread dumplings, roasted chestnut, and carrots with snowpeas and Castelmagno cheese (a semi-hard, Piedmont cow’s cheese). The dish was impressive, capturing the stewed features of tradition, while still being airy and sprightly, and very much the chef’s creation. It appeared hearty – and was – while not dismissing the bearable lightness of a naturelle cuisine.



The final main course, “Beneath a Colorful Carpet,” included a lovely array of morels, asparagus, smoked ricotta, lightly spiced zucchini, and arugula pesto. This mixture was napped by a foam of saffron and (separately) raspberry. I was afraid that this would be a jarring excess (and I might have replaced the raspberry with mint – although the berries were well-modulated), but this dish was astonishing and so spring-like, one might have imagined one was in the woods, rather than in traffic-choked Milan. Unfurling vegetables so gloriously revealed the power of a meatless mind in the kitchen.



My dessert was known as “Ah.” Oh. And it was something of a gibe, referencing more classic presentations. The dish arrived under glass with smoldering incense, shades of Grant Achatz’s odorous cuisine, giving the plate a smoky aspect. Chef Leeman prepared Cream Catalan with cherries, bolstered by a scoop of lush pineapple ice cream and a cup of passion fruit juice, the plate dotted with saffron and cherry sauce, reprising the saffron/raspberry foam of the previous course. As in a symphonic production notes reappear in new forms. This was a compelling plating of cream and fruits, with the springy twist of late memories of an incense and intense evening. Here was fruit salad, reimagined.




What is the inverse of an amuse? A lagniappe, perhaps. A reprise of the fruit juice: pineapple with notes of raspberry and ginger. The small glass was sheathed with a soft wafer of banana and chocolate that obligingly slid into the drink. As Chef Leeman’s entrees pay tribute to vegetables, his desserts are paeans to fruit.



Joia is a splendid, startling, provoking restaurant. Its small, elegant, but somewhat humble, space separates it from a palace of haute cuisine. And the Chef’s desire to provoke may cause some second thoughts. But measured bite-by-bite, eating at Joia is an astonishing afternoon. This midday I selected the abbreviated menu, but next time I will ask for the Chef’s finest hours. I am sure that he will – comically, mystically, poetically - oblige.

Ristorante Joia di Pietro Leeman
Via Panfilo Castaldi, 18
Milan
02-20-49-244
http://www.joia.it

Vie is for Volume – Vie

There is a thin sounding board – a line in the decibel sand – between excitement and exasperation. Restaurants as organizations appeal to their market niche not just in cuisine and cost, but in clamor and clatter. And the politics of noise can be the undoing – or the doing – of sterling restaurants.

Last Saturday, frightened by the ongoing repairs on the Edens Expressway, feeling cut off from the Chicago dining hub, my wife and I headed west: to Western Springs and Vie, a restaurant that I had once visited on a calm – nearly empty – Tuesday night. Arriving Saturday night at 9:00 p.m. we were escorted into a jangling, buzzy dining space (Vie has a warren of small spaces, not well soundproofed). Despite polished service and Chef Paul Virant’s impressive and confident locavore, seasonal cuisine, what was most memorable about the first half of the meal was the roar of conversation: and this in a restaurant where the tables are not snugly packed and the diners are not screaming sweet nothings. While the core of a review should properly be what is on the plate, it was sound that was on the mind. If Vie hopes to compete with the Chicago luxe restaurants and not to be a glorious bar-and-grill, Chef Virant needs to call his decorator. He gets an earful from this diner.

Given that this review lacks a sound track, I turn to the Chef’s doing. At most restaurants the appetizers are the star: the meal goes downhill from the start. This is not true at Vie: our entrees stole the show. True, my wife ordered a salad (Local Lettuces, Marinated and Shaved Fresh Hearts of Palm, Garlic and Herb Vinaigrette, Parmigiano-Reggiano), and, true, she enjoyed it exceptionally. For me it was a nicely done play on a Caesar-type salad, impressive within the genre.



My appetizer was Wood-Grilled Gunthorp Farm Duck Breast, Cracklings, Arugula, Black Raspberry Aigre-Doux, and Tatsoi (a type of bok choi; Vie helpfully places a glossary on their menu). The combination was very nice indeed, although I found the duck undercooked (mostly a problem of texture). With duck cooked more to my liking, this would have been a superior dish, especially because of the remaining textures and the pungency of the flavors.



As a main course my carnivore partner selected Marinated and Wood-Grilled Painted Hills Strip Steak (provenance is vital at locavore haunts), Baked Wisconsin Cheddar Toast, Local Asparagus, and Creamed Spence Farm Ramps (no other farm will suffice!). As with my appetizer, the meaty center of the meal was enlivened by a set of pungent companions. The dish didn’t need Worcester to have zip and zing. The beef flavor and texture did not dominate but was nicely matched.



My entrée was splendid. Throughout this mid-May menu Chef Virant teased the diner with seasonal morels in various guises. And I finally gave in to morels, baked crepes, goats milk ricotta (I believe), green garlic vinaigrette, and local Bordeaux spinach. The dish was a triumph. The morels were perfectly tender (and well-cleaned) and the garlic and crepes matched them bite for bite. Chef Virant is as expert a vegetarian as is Chef Trotter (whose vegetarian menu often surpassed his open menu: even with foie gras!). This was the dish that I will treasure: Vie is for Virtuosity.



Desserts were both successful. Baba Au Rhum is difficult to destroy, but Vie’s version – Baba Au Whisky, Dooley’s Toffee Liqueur Ice Cream, Candied Walnuts, and Caramel Sauce – is very lush. Without the whisky, it might have been too sweet, but the alcohol keeps the sugar at bay. The warm Caramel Gooey Butter Cake, Almond Chocolate Chip Ice Cream, Almond Lace Cookie, and Almond Toffee Square was also sweetly striking. Although I am not a fan of “gooey” as a gourmet adjective, this cake was gooey. The toffee square was more chewy than I prefer. It was more taffy than toffee, but well-made.





Vie consistently turns out impressive cuisine. While not aiming for a pastoral environment, Chef Virant has made Vie into a destination, not only when the Illinois Department of Transportation directs traffic his way.

Vie
4471 Lawn Avenue
Western Spring, IL
708-246-2082
www.vierestaurant.com

[url=http://www.vealcheeks.blogspot.com]Vealcheeks[/url]