I had not dined at Avenues in the years since Graham Elliott Bowles decamped for Graham Elliott, and as I will leave Chicago for a year, the time had arrived (or even long passed). I was a fan of GEB’s zany cuisine, and I worried that the magic could not be sustained. But I was wrong. In fact, if anything, Chef Curtis Duffy cuisine is uber-magical if not quite as charmingly goofy.
I selected the eight-course garden (vegetable) chef’s menu served at the kitchen bar: switching out a tofu dish and a chocolate dessert, neither of which sit well with me. My short ribs were the only meat of the evening, but surely a splendid protein.
Time prevents a full recitation, but my dishes were:
1) Heirloom tomatoes with golden watermelon, elixir, and garden herbs
2) Sweet corn with charred husk, finger limes, and coriander blooms
3) Grains, seeds and nuts: Amaranth veil, puffed sunflower seeds
4) Acquerello risotto, black figs, chanterelle, and oxalis
5) Beef short ribs with lime, pinenuts, and cilantro flowers
6) Chilled passion fruit with tapioca, rose, and lemon balm
7) Spring cucumber, olio verde jam, Buddha’s hand, and African blue basil
8 ) Strawberry ice with Thai black pepper, mascarpone, and opal basil blossoms
Over the years I have become less enamored by those deconstructed dishes in which chefs place an array of disorganized (if prettily arranged) “things” on the plate, and let diners “have at it.” They often seem lacking in a conception of combination. They can be lovely but thoughtless. Chef Duffy is notably thoughtful, high praise indeed. The dish most characteristic of the strains of modern cuisine was most notably true of the first appetizer that was an appealing array of heirloom cherry tomatoes, watermelon, and herbs, although not a dish in which the ingredients truly locked together. Dishes can be deconstructed, but can they be reconstructed again? Still, there was no dish that I did not enjoy (I didn’t care for my cocktail, a Thai Kick Boxer, which was a soupy mess of basil, coconut water, and not much alcohol).
I particularly admired the sweet corn dish, a mix of fascinating flavors and textures – an upside down icy bowl. I was particularly impressed with the range of temperatures that were embedded in that single dish with the multiple textures of corn and the appealing lime and coriander. It was surely not the most beautiful dish of the evening, but the best conceptualized and most memorable.
The mix of grains, seeds, and nuts – a tribute to sunflower seeds and amaranth - was also an astonishingly delightful dish with its lovely mixture of textures and tastes (including, as I recall, raisins). It was served at the right time, in the right place, and was still fully unexpected in its joy and its terroir.
The third dish that I especially loved was the spring cucumber dessert which was herbal and sweet in equal measures. This was perhaps the most beautiful dish of the evening (although the strawberry and the risotto came close). The cucumber plate succeeded in every way that I could imagine a dessert to work. It was a triumph. Desserts often are anticlimaxes. This magnificent sweet was a star.
It was because of this trio that the dinner itself was a triumph. The dinner had no missteps (aside from the cocktail). Service was graceful and congenial (although sitting on high stools at the bar made service a bit difficult for a few height-challenged staff. Even though we sat at the kitchen bar, the food was not served by the cooks from the front (a la Minibar or Momofuku Ko), but from behind, a slightly awkward arrangement. I assume that the rationale was that the chefs were cooking for the entire restaurant and not simply for the eight of us at the bar.
Of all of the high-end restaurants in Chicago, setting aside Alinea (for Achatz’s genius) and Schwa (for Carlson’s commitment), there is no local restaurant that is comparable to Avenues for providing truly remarkable food. For travelers who select their hotel based upon cuisine, the only choice is the Peninsula. I loved Avenues under Bowles, thinking that it could not be improved. I waited too long to discover that I was wrong.
Avenues The Peninsula Hotel 108 E. Superior Street Chicago 312-337-2888
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Sandwich Heaven – Jer’s Kitchen – Franklin, North Carolina
For a period of some twenty years – from the early 1970s until the early 1990s – one of America’s great restaurants was located on an isolated backroad in the mountains of western North Carolina. The Frog & Owl was beautifully situated beside a little stream by a watermill along what was, when it opened, a gravel road. The Chef Jerri Broyles (now Jerri Fifer) turned out food that could turn heads in Berkeley or Manhattan. Along with Alice Waters and Anne Rosenzweig, she was in the triumvirate of great female chefs of the 1970s (today there are so many women in toques that the category “female chef” seems a dusty relic). Perhaps being situated on a dusty road made her celebrity less glossy, but those who dined at the Frog and Owl realized that here was a restaurant that deserved a place on any “ten best list,” and perhaps not at the bottom. Her cooking was pure, it was clean, it was precise, but it was subtle as well. Her use of fruit was ahead of her time; her use of local ingredients was not as showy as Ms. Waters, but her farms were closer to her table and not run by Ph.D. wannabees. Each year I made a pilgrimage to the F&O, watching as Chef Fifer became more accomplished.
And then a thunderbolt. Because of family issues (coupled with a persnickety septic tank – as important as a stove), Chef Fifer chose to shut her rural Chartres, and move to Franklin, the county seat of Macon County, where she opened the less ambitious Frog & Owl Bistro. She eventually sold her share in the Bistro, and the restaurant, which had become a shadow of itself, is now shuttered. Every so often there were Fifer-sightings. She cooked at a small bistro in Highlands, North Carolina for awhile, but she also nursed an aging mother, as well as raised her son.
Last year I heard that she had opened a sandwich/salad stand – Jer’s Kitchen (her logo incorporates a frog) in a large antique mall in Franklin (just north of the Georgia town of Dillard on Highway 23), run with her confederate Nancy. Now a sandwich stand is not a four star restaurant and who knows how long antique malls will survive in the age of eBay? The “restaurant” is basically a dozen tables in an open area in the mall. However, despite its location (it is open approximately 11-2, Monday-Saturday), it deserves your attention. It is very, very good. (Chef Fifer also sells boxed suppers and does private catering and teaches the occasional class at the John Campbell Folk School). While the menu might seem fairly standard – although never too standard – the food is made with great care. I was particularly impressed by the toasted torta bread. Whether one wants Pimento Cheese (from Wisconsin white cheddar) or made-from-scratch hummus, homemade basil mustard, or two freshly made soups, they are here. One shouldn’t oversell the achievement, but as sandwiches go, they are first rate.
I ordered Chef Fifer’s “Black Mountain” – a lamb burger served on homemade torta with herb aioli, lettuce and tomato. It was totally satisfying. I believe that the technical term among food journalists is “nummy.” A juicy, well-cooked, straight-forward sandwich with enough interest for a gourmetish lunch.
Sandwiches are served with a side order, but I ordered three: Citrus Coleslaw, Fruit and Nut Orzo (not photo), and Corn Bread Salad (?!). Both of the first two were creative twists on standards: the citrus coleslaw was particularly good, and the orzo was a high-end pasta salad with almonds and cranberries (Chef Fifer still relies on the power of fruit). The corn bread salad, a recipe from the chef’s mother (an homage) is an acquired taste: mashed up cornbread with something like a cole slaw dressing. It is fair to say that one will not find a similar dish in Berkeley.
I am delighted to find Chef Fifer behind the stove, seemingly happy to be there. With her son to be launched in two years, she is thinking about the next step in her culinary journey and ours. For twenty years she was an American chef with vision and élan. Today with top-notch restaurants appearing in Chilhowie, Virginia, Frederick, Maryland, Peoria Heights, Illinois, and Findlay, Ohio, could the rebirth of Franklin, North Carolina be next? But even now, Jer’s Kitchen is worth a whistle stop.
The Peach, the Orange, and the Quiet – Town House – Chilhowie, Virginia
Once upon a time in America to desire gourmet dining meant one destination: not New York City, but midtown Manhattan. Slowly the appetite for culture spread from Gotham’s gut, and cities such as San Francisco, Los Angeles, Miami, and Chicago opened their own bathhouses of gastronomy. Diffusion marches on, and in 2010 we find destination dining in small-town America, Main Street meals. After dining fabulously well in JuneRestaurant in Peoria Heights, I ached to extend my range. (Restaurants in the same category are Revolver in Findlay, Ohio and Volt in Frederick, Maryland, although Yountville, California, home of the French Laundry, is a town as small as others, but a tourist destination, not a designation for Peoria). During a month in Highlands, North Carolina, I planned a three hour trek to Chilhowie, Virginia to sample the fanciful cuisine at Town House. Prior to 2007, Town House had been a small-town grill, but that year John Shields (sous-chef at Alinea) and his partner – now his wife – Karen Urie (Shields) (pastry chef at Tru) moseyed down to Southwestern Virginia (his home neighborhood, I believe) to reimage Town House.
Town House is not rural, nestled in comforting woods with neighborly owls and bears. It is found on a small town main street. Its environs are not impressive in themselves (no need for valet parking). The design of the restaurant, modern and sleek, would suit Park Slope Brooklyn. The restaurant seems plunked down: a gastronomic room that happens to be in Chilhowie, not particularly indigenous (although some ingredients are local).
Town House offers four menus: a short a la carte menu (one salad, three entrees, and a dessert); a four course prix fixe (two choices for each course); and a ten course tasting menu ($110). We selected the latter, and added two intriguing courses from the prix fixe, a blessing as these were among the best courses. We also had a mini-version of Charlie Berg’s excellent wine pairings (not staying in Chilhowie, value seemed the better part of valor). Although I do not cover wines, they were well-chosen and a creative match (only the Foggy Ridge Cider was from Virginia).
I divide Chef Shields’ dishes into two: an ecstatic elegant minimalist style and the now-common modern cuisine, with busy plates covered with carefully shaped and processed ingredients. Chef Shields does busy food very well, but in a style that is often seen (this is also the style of Pastry Chef (Karen) Shields. What I will remember from here until hospice are the whispering dishes (Chilled Vegetable “Minestrone”; the Orange from Valencia; A Minimal Preparation with Peach; Scrambled Egg Mousse; and, from column B, Corn and Crispy Pig Tail. It was not that the other dishes were bad; they weren’t; they were impressive and represented the style well, but a few lacked focus (the desserts had this quality). At times the whole was less memorable than the sum of the parts. Town House cuisine pays respectful attention to texture (including, at times, temperature), but to my surprise, with a few notable exceptions the dishes were not visually stunning. The kitchen’s palate runs from white to tan to beige to brown and back again. It is not only the moderate lighting that makes Town House a challenge for photographers.
Soon there appeared a savory cookie of cocoa and black olive – a post-modern Oreo with Meyer lemon compote and parmesan cream. While I was impressed with the citrus cream filling, I found the cookie to be dry with a slightly oily mouthfeel. I should have revived my own oreo memories: removing the cookie and licking the cream.
It is dangerous to serve the best dish of the evening as the opening act. But at Town House this is surely the case. Chef Shields’ “Chilled Vegetable ‘Minestrone’” is an astonishing dish. It is a canonical creation, perhaps in the class of Keller’s Oysters and Pearls, or Michael Carlson’s Quail Egg Ravioli. Yet, Shields’ minestrone cannot truly be compared with this pair. Both are lush while Shields is restrained: Agnes Martin in a bowl. Like every goodly, godly stock the liquid is complex while appearing simple. This “soup” consists of 11 different (root) vegetables, rolled as small cylinders. We are served radish, beet, carrot, leek, and a chorus of others. Each has its color, creating a stunningly beautiful dish in a minimalist vein. Tasting each pipe, I realized that each had been cooked in its own herbal bath. The diner who ignores the vegetable consommé misses a high point of vegetable cuisine. It is a perfectly imagined dish, a virtuoso display of genius.
The second course seemed a scoop of orange sherbet sitting lonely on a plate: “The Orange from Valencia.” Here was orange puree, flash frozen. A tennis ball crammed with a savory mixture of shellfish – mussels, shrimp, and other oceanic nummies. Perhaps it was the surprise of a seafood bombe, but this was another wondrous dish. The contrasting temperatures and textures, combined with the cunning acidity of the orange puree, permitted a dish that provided a dramatic contrast with the minestrone, avoiding being overshadowed.
The third dish – Soup of Cherries with “almond bread” (frozen almond milk), slow oven-roasted tomatoes, cucumber water, ginger, and sardines – was the most challenging dish of the evening, perhaps of the year. Some 35 years ago I was served a dish at Larry Forgione’s An American Place on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. At that moment of culinary promiscuity, American chefs were attempting to develop a lusty American cuisine, using an array of traditions in a style that would become institutionalized as fusion cuisine. Forgione, then something of a celebrity chef, sent out a multi-layer tortilla torte with barbeque beef, corn, tomatoes, and salsa, and others ingredient I have striven to forget. The dish was a mess, a clashing composition of tastes and textures (my wife was served a stunningly velvet sole with sorrel beurre blanc). In contrast, my dish nearly inedible for all the right reasons. If art need not be pretty (think Richard Serra, brutalist architecture, and challenges to decorative art), must food taste good? Must all dishes be “comfort food”? I have discussed Forgione’s dish more than any other that I have eaten. Shields attempts something similar with his combination of cherry, tomato, sardine, and frozen almond ice. The ingredients bounce and slam around the plate: it is a hip-hop hors d’oeuvre: in your face before being in your mouth. There are some dishes (the minestrone) that I wish that I could eat every day, and there are some dishes that are once in a lifetime experiences. Sardines are not good bedfellows, but they have rough style. Sour, tart, oily, sweet, acidity, smooth: this dish was like no other most nights. Memories are made of such strains.
Scrambled egg mousse, a paean to breakfast, was fourth, and was another success. Although Heston Blumenthal of The Fat Duck places his breakfast dish – bacon and egg ice cream – at the end (perhaps to remind us how long we have been at table), this mousse is still an appetizer, and a lovely, quiet one. The scrambled egg mousse is served over smoked steelhead roe, sorghum, sweet spices, preserved ramp, and rye bread. I thought that the dish must contain bacon – it does not – but it captures most of the flavors that constitute bacon: sweetness, smokiness, saltiness. The texture is silky as one cuts into the mousse, hiding (as in the orange) complex deliciousness below.
Peekytoe Crab in Brown Butter and Lime with “caramelized onions,” banana, curry, and cider vinegar was in the style of modern cuisine’s symphonic dishes. Here was perhaps the most typical modern dish of the night. Chef Shields works with three basic ingredients: crab, banana, and onions, and then shapes them in various forms, textures, tastes, using multiple cooking processes. It was a virtuoso combination, but my concern with this presentation is that one never gets the same bite twice: there is not enough time to think about taste and texture before other tastes and textures intrude. Like many of the dishes the colors on the plate were shades of off-white.
The sixth dish was, for me, the most troubling dish, although one that I am reassessing. It was the dish for which I registered a complaint to Chef Shields; perhaps I spoke too rapidly. I was served a “Risotto” of Squid. Whenever one finds quotation marks on a menu, anxiety is about. This dish appeared a petite risotto, but one absent rice. The rice was squid cut as rice (surely a labor-intensive task). My first reaction was not happy. I would have preferred risotto sans quote marks: real Arborio rice is heavenly starch. In terms of sheer enjoyment I have not changed my stance. Yet, a week later I still think about the dish. The squid was deliberately chewy (some might say rubbery), not the meaty grilled calamari of Greek cuisine. By leaving out the rice, the dish had a creamy, aquatic purity. It was still my least favorite dish, but I can appreciate the choice. Perhaps it had something of the let-us-do-it-because-we-can sensibility, but it had a textual punch.
Now I received the first “extra” course: Corn and Crispy Pig Tail with basil-infused buttermilk, toffee, popcorn, and cocoa nibs. Like the crab this was a dish that is very much in the register of modern cuisine: a focus on the possibilities of corn with a butt wag to Fergus Henderson’s snout-to-literally-tail cuisine. This presentation brought to mind a stalk of corn, and is stunning as this style gets. The textures – gelatinous, smooth, stringy, chewy, meaty, liquid – were showy. Here was something other than a mish-mash, but a set of ideas. Corn and Tail is dramatically different from the quieter dishes (Shields works with several distinctive cooking styles), but is a vivid composition.
The foie gras royale, confit and crisp chicken skin (covered with a patch of fresh berries – a batch of fresh perries?) was easily the most vibrant presentation of the evening (my photograph shamefully lacks justice). What is not to like about duck liver and blackberries? Nothing, of course. To say that it was nothing special seems to demean the dish, but only in contrast. It is a dish that makes diners happy in three-star cuisine.
And then naked came the peach (“A minimal preparation of peach roasted in beef fat and chanterelle mushroom bouillon”), a second extra dish. If the minestrone had been out of stock, the little peach would have stolen my heart. I would be raving about this roast slice of fruit. If peach were filet how would it taste? Shields is a consummate consommé master. This was almost as perfect a two-bite dish as could imagine, so beefy, so woodsy, so filled with the orchard. Astonishing!
The entrée was Lamb Cooked in Ash with Smoked Eggplant Cream Puree, Miso, Black Garlic, Bonito, and pulverized potato starch. Shields serve a meat dish that is textbook, so filled with paper-like ingredients it was. Much was thin, wrinkled, and crackly, the floor of an academic office. I was stunned in its play with textures and its reflection of ash. Perhaps its bustle was overshadowed by the peach, but I cannot deny my pleasure throughout.
The two desserts, created by Karen Urie Shields, formerly of Chicago’s Trotter’s and Tru, are much in the modern style (her bread is simply delicious). First was Parsnip Candy with Aerated Coconut, Yeast Sponge, Banana, Maca Crumbs (maca is, apparently, an herbaceous root plant from Peru: a slap in the face of locavores?), and Lemongrass. Most impressive was the wonderful set of textures in this dish, another symphony in off-white. However, after a week it is hard to recall the tastes involved.
The second dessert was Blueberries and Lychee with Peony Sorbet (wonderful), goat yogurt, coriander berries (very distinctive), and crispy milk skin (the Shields could open a culinary paper mill). I love lychee and so I was pleased with the dessert, but it revealed the limits of modern cuisine, perhaps it was too impressive in its fireworks. If one preparation is astonishing, sometimes having five or six on the plate makes amazement routine.
My unasked-for advice for a brilliant ending is to create a dessert-equivalent of the minestrone. Choose eleven fruits, shape them beautifully, serve with a light, off-sweet consommé, and remind us again just how simple food can be complex. Or, if not, a nugget of veal served as a nectarine.
It took three hours to arrive at Town House and three hours to dine and three hours to return home. Three hours of expectation, three hours of reminiscences, and three hours of pure joy.
The restaurant has an associated guest house for those wishing a full wine tasting.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Stars - Courtright’s Restaurant – Willow Springs, IL
The fundamental problem that Courtright’s faces can be summarized in two words: Phil Vettel. Courtright’s is a beautifully situated restaurant with an extremely lovely scenic background, located in Chicago’s southwest suburb, Willow Springs, a community not know for the quality of its culinary adventures.
Phil Vettel, in contrast, is the long-time restaurant critic of the Chicago Tribune. He has been at his tables since 1989, which should be punishment enough. He is not a bad critic, just a generous one. Phil Vettel is a man as promiscuous with his stars, as Tiger Woods is with his starlets. Indeed, if he would only lay off the caffeine while typing, taking most reviews down a notch or two, he is generally close to the mark.
On June 10, 2010, Vettel stunned culinary Chicagoland by awarding Courtright’s four stars, his highest rating. While Vettel has been generous with three stars, he has maintained some discipline with the quadra-fecta. Only six other restaurants in Chicago have received this notice in the past decade: Alinea, Everest, Spiaggia, L20, Avenues, and Les Nomades. A case can be made for all six (although I have some doubts about Les Nomades and L20). Courtright’s is in pretty exalted company. Among the restaurants that did not make the cut were Trotters, Tru, Blackbird, and Topolobampo.
Dishes at Courtright’s are described as dazzling and extraordinary. Such bubbly euphoria calls for some skepticism and for a visit. And so my wife and I made the hour-long drive to Willow Springs on a recent Friday, awaiting their special tasting menu. Courtright’s Friday tasting menu is an homage – although a somewhat wan one – to Iron Chef. Chef Jerome Bacle, formerly with Le Bec Fin – a favored restaurant of mine in Philadelphia – selects an ingredient and them constructs a three-course menu around it (with a few extras) for a mere $35 (the regular three course menu is $55, and there is a five-course tasting menu for $75). On the night we dined, the ingredient du jour was melon, but it has been apricot and jicama and kiwi.
Perhaps you can imagine the problem with this strategy. The special menu is a cross between a loss leader and the chef’s aesthetic vision. Which is it? At this price point, the dishes seemed far from luxe, and being served only once, the problems of the dish were never worked through. While the meal was not without its pleasures, the meal that I was served was not four-star quality, the interior décor is not stunning, and the service, as even Vettel admits, was more sincere than flawless.
So, what’s up? The answer, apparently, is deer (Vettel’s writerly theme du jour). Not venison, but Thumper. Vettel is taken by Courtright’s setting, seduced by the woods. I agree that the garden is splendid. But those of us who live within hailing distance of the forest preserves have our eight p.m. deer, and I believe with a critic’s eye that my wife’ cookery can give Chef Bacle a run for his money. Let me invite Phil to dinner, where not only can he watch our twilight deer, but as soon as Chicago’s gun ban is lifted, he can shoot it as well. Bambi on the barbie.
While the view out of the picture window is surely becoming, the view from within is rather ordinary. Vettel describes it as spotless, which is something less than inspiring, but is reasonably accurate. The service, as noted, is good-spirited. The staff seemed uncertain about when to remove our plates, I was served bread when my wife was away from the table and the server never returned until we requested, and the waitress stepped on my shoes once or twice. Vettel admits he can’t call it flawless (apparently wine was spilled on his tablecloth), but that should be a hint when the comparison is with the service pros.
Then there was the food. If the special menu is the height of perfection (Bacle’s “creative best”) it is a good-size prairie hillock. While I enjoyed the meal for the most part, I was never stunned. The photos reveal a chef who needs a greater attention to plating or a more modest critic. Of the dishes the most assured was the amuse: a combination of balsamic vinegar, fried leeks, edamame, and corn. It was a most pleasant summery mix.
The appetizer was a Watermelon, Crab, and Avocado Salad with Mango Dressing. The dollop of avocado was a happy mixture of mashed and pureed green. It was matched on the other side of the dish with a mix of crab and watermelon. This was a good watermelon, but not a watermelon at its amazing peak; good crab, but not great crab. The smear of mango didn’t add to the plate’s curb appeal.
Our main course was Grilled Shrimp with Wrapped Prosciutto, Honeydew and Ricotta, Roasted Pineapple, Basmati Rice, and Coconut Basil Sauce. I endorse the coconut basil sauce and the shrimp were fine, but the ricotta cut the tang of the honeydew. It was an unfortunate match that perhaps would have been altered on a second night. The presentation on the plate was far less interesting than the rocks and flowers. The touches that one expects in haute dining are missing at this sturdy local spot.
Dessert was quite tasty with the mix of cantaloupe and port wine in a summer pudding. Again the chef is somewhat done in by his plating. No amount of dots and spots can make up for a brown glob at the center of the plate, however enjoyable that glob might be.
It is surely true that had it not been for the Tribune’s review I would not have trekked to Willow Springs. But had I been inveighed to visit through other means, I would not have been attempting to justify the stars.
Ultimately Courtright’s is a fine suburban restaurant with a most comforting view. It deserves patronage, and Chef Bacle is to be commended for working within the constraints of stressed customer budgets. With any restaurant, expectations are key, and it does no good to imagine that this can match the suburban trio of Tallgrass, Vie, and Carlos. So, Chef Bacle, you deserve praise, but remember that your enthusiastic friends can be as dangerous as those who turn their backs.
Courtright’s Restaurant 8989 Archer Avenue Willow Springs, IL 60480 708-839-8000 http://www.courtrights.com
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Pushing Asia – Bo Innovation – Hong Kong
Molecular Cuisine has become a global brand, a reality that has led some to suggest that its time has passed: the sun has set on foam, night has made deconstruction invisible. As an avid diner, my suspicion is that some of the bubbly enthusiasm has waned, but this is not necessarily a bad thing for the cuisine. We are at the point where experiments are not done for their own sake, but because they actually taste good – they create memories on the palate.
In my attempt to collect stamps from all of the global molecular post offices, I knew that I would have to visit Bo Innovation on my trip to Hong Kong, presided over by “Demon Chef” Alvin Leung. In the 2009 Michelin Guide to Hong Kong, Bo Innovation received two stars, but in the 2010 guide was demoted to one (perhaps revealing the danger of palling around with Anthony Bourdain on “No Reservations” and god knows where else! How many bad boy chefs can one world take?).
But one star or two, Bo Innovation is a happening place, and eating at the kitchen “bar,” chatting with the cooks and servers, it reminded me of an Asian version of Washington’s Minibar. I give a lot of credit to AJ, the maitre d’, Mark, one of the servers, and Leah who was staging, for making my evening so congenial.
Bo Innovation’s ploy is a relatively simple one – clever and generally successful. Chef Leung marries the techniques the molecular cuisine (cuisine agape) with a mixture of Asian and western flavors, but with an emphasis on luxe ingredients: the restaurant describes themselves as creating “x-treme Chinese cuisine.” Diners are required to order the tasting menu, which on the night I visited was approximately nineteen courses (depending, of course, on how one counts such things).
As is so often true, not every course was fully satisfying. (The fact that French Laundry, Alinea, and a few others do makes their three stars all the more impressive). However, the ratio of hits to misses was agreeably high. While at times it seemed as if each dish was centered around a single Chinese ingredient, rather than being fully Asian, the incorporation of mou-tai, dried shrimp, lotus, or yak cheese added a sense of Orientalism to a menu that was structurally not so different from Minibar. One wonders if molecular cuisine can ever be truly Chinese, given different styles of cooking and presentation – and theories of food – or whether experimental cuisine will inevitably Western with Chinese touches. Bo Innovation does not fully answer the question. But if Bo Innovation is not stratospheric in its creativity, there was enough vision to allow the meal to be worth recalling with delight.
Chef’s table menu: January 23, 2010
1) Mou-tai Sour combined with fluffy egg whites – a pleasant amuse and palate cleanser. Although Chef Leung incoporatored Mou-tai (the Chinese liquor made from sorghum molasses, giving the drink a light molasses taste), it was basically a standard molecular treatment.
2) Escargot with compressed watermelon, Sichuan vinaigrette with crispy garlic, fried greens – beautifully composed, but again the style is Western with Chinese ingredients.
3) Caviar with smoked quail egg and crispy taro – Kaluga caviar from China – reminiscent of Thomas Keller’s Pearls and Oysters – a beautiful dish
4) Hamachi with black sesame, crispy rose essence ginger – beet juice for ginger, amazing Japanese inspired – for my taste this was the most accomplished dish of the evening.
5) Sea Urchin, ink noodles, chili oil, and “har mi” (Sun-dried shrimp) – very distinctive taste, brave flavors, although perhaps too strong in terms of what came before and after.
6) Black truffle sandwich, “chian dan chee” – crispy spam and egg sandwich with truffles – one of the best sandwiches I have had with a distinct truffle aroma. Chef Leung is in this menu quite partial to truffles.
7) Iberico 36 (months cured ham) with morels and porcini, Korean vermicelli, and onion foam – one of the best dishes of the night, a one-bite wonder that effectively combined flavors.
8) Molecular “xiao long bao” – a “dumpling” in a bladder – pork stock with a line of pickled ginger on top, but how Chinese was it really. A cute and pleasant dish, but limited in its appeal. The idea overwhelmed the taste.
9) Yak and Mac – with black truffle bits – ok, but not so different than mac’n’cheese – Yak cheese, not as good as the yak butter tea that I had from a Yunnan food stall a few days before. But another cute idea.
10) Frog Leg “beggar style” – frog thigh stuffed with lotus and shiitake – on small diced vegetables (again, despite the fact that it was based on a traditional Chinese dish, one wonders how Chinese it was? It seemed like a Western appropriation of Chinese cuisine.) Still, the flavors were impressive.
11) Scallop with sesame, kaffir lime, grape aspic, quite beautiful and contemporary in conception
12) Foie Gras with black truffle and turkey congee, looked the same as the yak and mac – a joie d'esprit – a savory donut underneath (no photo – see the photo for Yak and Mac)
13) Halibut with shiitake soil, “yun nam” ham powder, extra virgin olive oil, reminiscent of the “soil” dishes of Wylie Dufresne at WD-50 (no photo)
14) Sweetbreads – oyster sauce (somewhat think but bright) lettuce tempura, artichoke puree – excellent dish; impressively prepared, but it is the oyster sauce than made it Asian.
15) Chalon duck with longon, red rice and preserved kumquat – too gingery to my taste, and one of the least successful dishes of the night.
At this point I was served several desserts, which in general were not as inspirational as the savory courses:
16) Almond with sandalwood smoke – a nosegay that is reminiscent of some experiments at Alinea – “Chinese temple”, nice almond ice cream but not revelatory.
17) Shui Jing Fang – poached caramelized banana and dark chocolate ganache (but served without chocolate since I am caffeine sensitive) mint, rice wine liquor – very nice, and probably better with the ganache.
18) Chinese petit fours: kaffir lime macaron, red date marshmallow, salty fudge (no photo)
19) Jasmine kiss – jasmine flowers with liquid nitrogen – another fragrant moment with a tip of the toque to Grant Achatz at Alinea.
I left being fully satisfied by the evening. Bo Innovation provides four-star cuisine, but in its glory raises the question of how Asian molecular cuisine can truly be. Is molecular cuisine always and ever to reflect Western culinary imperialism?
Bo Innovation Shop 13, 2/f, J Residence 60 Johnston Road (lift on 18 Ship Street) Wan Chai, Hong Kong 852-2850-8371 http://www.boinnovation.com
