Waitman

[if I'd known jandres374 was in the house, I would have waved.  Looking forward to his take on the meal we shared]

Dinner at Pineapple and Pearls last Friday was refreshing. It was restorative.  It was the return of Spring after grim winter and Monsoon rains, with buds popping, bits of chlorophyll exploding and– given the Japanese accents echoing around the meal –  cherry blossoms bobbing gently in the breeze. 

Perhaps the only disappointing course was the entrée, mole smoked beef ribs which sort of sat there failing to excite regardless of how much timid mole I spooned over it.  Otherwise, it was a verdant, many-coursed feast that nodded to France and Latin America in addition to The East, striking subtle and delicious notes for two and a half hours.

Most of the card tricks were played early on: the gilded maraschino cherry in the bourbon lemonade, the fennel and absinthe bonbon, the potato ice cream paired with Ossetra caviar: quick hits that intrigued but didn’t quite dazzle. 

Then they brought out a Rubik’s Cube of ice sitting in mound of rock salt, sporting a golf ball-sized dimple filled with soba noodles, peas and sea urchin.   That dazzled, with the peas and sea urchin dancing an invigorating Springtime ballet that Stravinsky and Diaghilev might have cooked up.

The arguable highlight was the next course, a spring garlic egg drop soup prepared tableside (bar side, in our case), with one of the cooks dumping an eggshell’s worth of whipped egg into copper fondue-ish pot before ladling the soup into the obligatory artisan earthenware bowls set before us.  “Egg drop soup” almost seemed a misnomer, despite the egg being dropped into the soup, as that conjures for me something hearty, wintery and warming, whereas this leaned brightly in the direction of delicate and perfumed.  Whatever, we lapped it up to the last drop.

From there to the short rib we meandered through France (an almost sweet fluke “Veronique” – steamed and topped with paper-thin slices of grape) and Asia.  Porcinis shaved over a grain porridge looked beige but tasted delightfully off color as the bits of dried scallops minced into the (dry) "porridge" brought a bit of fish funk to the experience. And the white asparagus was vaguely tempura-ish, rolled in crumbs and deep-fried, topped with bonito flakes for further funky fish.

After the entrée we wolfed down an inspired pecorino cake – imagine pepperoni-sized Italian cheesecakes -- and basil gelato, and a perhaps inspired but not especially inspiring coffee Kikigori (Japanese shaved ice). 

Interestingly, after one of the lightest, greenest meals I’ve ever eaten, they brought things home with some hard core, OG shit: a chocolate soufflé with buckwheat and honeycomb ice cream, which was every bit as deliciously decadent as it sounds.  And then, in lieu of mignardise, we got Chartreuse, Campari, Grappa and Nardini donuts.

The dessert underscored an interesting conundrum, perhaps for further exploration on another day: as delicious and thought-provoking (not quite “challenging” but more than “interesting”) as a meal like this is, is there something in the human soul that needs fat and protein to be fully satisfied?

Despite eating probably a third of my companion’s meal I arguably came away more intrigued and impressed than sated, though that may have more to do with my size (large-ish) and current training regime (intense-ish) than anything else.  And they do offer seconds on the short rib, which I declined, so I feel a bit of a churl even bringing it up.  But there it is.

The wine pairing was interesting, I will leave it to others to do a price/value analysis.  We began with a blanc de blanc Champagne and then moved to a village Chablis at which I initially raised an eyebrow. It was priced and $26/glass on the wine list, which seemed a bit dear for village plonk and village plonk seemed a bit plain for a meal of this caliber but -- perhaps because of its age, it was a 2003 -- it was so rich that it felt like a cross between a Chablis and a Meursault and went quite well with the first courses following the champagne-accompanied card tricks. From there we moved to a stimulating, strawberry-scented rose and finally to something Spanish (Rioja?) which matched the rib and cheese well.   

One advantage of sitting at the bar is that if you finish your glass too early – each variety accompanies a series of dishes – they immediately pour another splash. Or two.  (On my next trip, maybe I’ll test the system by really knocking the stuff back, just to see how accommodating they are.  A couple of extra glasses of that Chablis would have been fun.)

Another advantage of sitting at the bar is the chance to chat up the staff. I don’t recall the names, but the gentleman was the bar manager for both Rose’s and P&P, affable and a font of information.  The main lady (another lady spent most of her time facing the door and greeting new arrivals) was quite friendly and quick with a pour, and gave us the inside scoop on how dishes are created (hint: the cook who serves your course may be the one who came up with it).  Everyone seemed delighted to be there and delightful to dine with.

Any early kinks seem to have been worked out: service was more or less flawless. The room matches the food, light and the modern and the atmosphere approaches elegance without even waving at formality.

I assume this place is going to get (and deserves) four stars from the Daily of Record, so I would go now, especially as we approach prime fresh produce months. The kitchen seems to have a way with fresh, local stuff and about the only thing that might make it better (OK, maybe a butter sauce around the ninth course and better bread) would be a better variety of stuff, which will be rolling in from the farms for the next few months.  The bartender told us that farmers regularly knock on Chef Silverman’s office door to offer up some special fungus or legume.  It will be well worth the price of admission (if you’re feeling pinched, btw, sit at the bar, drink water and save $100) to find out what they have and how he cooks it.

So, your favorite band goes off the road and you listen to other stuff while they rehab and sue their manager and pursue solo projects and make ill-fated forays into acting and sleep with their nannies or whatever rock stars do when they're not on the road.  And then one day they're back in town and you're standing there in the club sweating and half drunk and the warm-up tape has been cut and the last roadie is still wrapping cord behind the keyboard and the spots come on"¦and you wonder if they've lost their touch during their time off the road and it's an oldies show that's still fun but somehow less important than before.  Or, if after all that time to think and rest and experiment and fuck up and learn, is the rock and roll back and better than ever?

I think the  rock and roll is back.  And I think it's better than ever. It was a short set, and we are, to some extent, "on the list."  But I and my (less gourmande-ish, or perhaps less star-struck ) companion truly enjoyed dinner last night in a way that we've enjoyed few (if any) meals this year (including Michelin stars in Berline and the 2014 Beard "Best New Restaurant").  In fact, as disloyal as it feels to say, we might have enjoyed last night's meal more than some of our (full fare, not just barstool) journeys through Citizen.

I would requote a friend who said during dinner at Citizen "people talk about food hitting the right note, here we should talk about chords."  Like your favorite rock and roll band members, the ingredients, while worthy and distinctive on their own, come together to form something extraordinary.  One high-end dining trend that I've tired of is wretched excess in terms of fat and cream and starch and salt "“ a Cheesecake Factory approach.  And God knows, when you order Maine Lobster on French Toast you could very well be setting yourself up for some morning-after self-loathing.  But the persimmons (looks at menu "“ "so that's what those things were"), cukes and sesame mousse (which lent more tang than richness, oddly) pulled it back in the nick of time, adding complexity and rendering the dish rich but not obscene; interesting, instead of just decadent. The clam ceviche was took a different approach"“ a crunchy little rhythm section of flavors (yuzu, shiitake tempura, garlic fried rice"¦) that begs one to use the word "refreshing."

If there's another high-end dining trend that  I've tired of it's ridiculous austerity, as though sauces were evil and braises suspect, and all plates must appear as though their components were disassembled for transport.  That is not the case here. The entrees were simply awesome power chords of flavor with-stock based sauces adding depth without smothering nuance, and sides "“ I guess they're not really sides, you kind of want to get a little bit of everything on every forkful"”contributing texture and detail.  You can't really screw up pork and cabbage but shoat loin and Hungarian sauerkraut are a classic lifted to new heights  -- like when Hendrix did "All Along the Watchtower."  And again, with the duck with cabbage and apples and stuff "“ the flavors kind of exploded in your mouth.  My companion did aver that there should have been more peanuts, but she orders Kung Pao and eats around the chicken.  The entrees were somehow both very French and very soulful.

At this point Michael Chesser, last majordomo of CityZen, current veteran of Volt and Minibar, FOH boss-in-waiting of Metier, showed up.  It was great to see a familiar and talented face "“ Michael served me my first meal at Citizen "“ and I was glad to hear that Eric had brought him in. I was maybe less glad to see the mixed grill he had in his hand, as I was relatively full.  But we powered through the perfectly cooked lamb sausage, chops and shoulder with a sort of Provence-y salsa (think cold ratatouille with olives) on the side --  a recreation of the Ziebolds' Christmas dinner.

The Valrhona custard cake (with praline ice cream on the side) was -- as described by our (delightful, skilled) server -- truly decadent and did that thing of pairing salty and sweet so it's easier to eat way more than you need to.

The bar is light, open, and vaguely reminiscent of an Ethan Allen furniture showroom, has very pretty Martini glasses and is tended by very friendly and very concerned "“ every time we looked at our drinks funny he dashed over to make sure that everything was OK "“ gentleman.

The main dining room is very stripped down.  Wood floors, white painted brick, clusters of cylindrical lamps hanging low from the ceiling.  It is way more austere than the food.

Portions are modest "“in line with the prices "“ but by no means small plates.  Each menu column ("Craft," "History," "Ingredients," "Indulgence") is structured as one might structure a tasting menu.  Reading down you'll spot a couple of appetizer-type dishes, a couple of entrée-ish things and a dessert.   A big guy like me might eat three savory courses (though two would suffice many nights) and have room for something sweet.  A less hearty diner might opt for two and share the Valhrona.  You wouldn't have to try too hard to bring in a pretty goddamn swell three-course dinner for under $60, which strikes me as a bargain. (I won't name the restaurant, but in looking over the menu of a well-regarded new-ish, "moderately" priced place, of which my girlfriend's somewhat less-nuanced opinion is "that place sucked," I see that it runs even a little more expensive that Kinship.)

You could drop a lot of money on wine "“ the $90 half-bottle of Beaucastel '09 was pretty good, though, if not nearly at the list's top end. I think some of the bottles for Metier are in.   Or you could get $31 bottle of premier cru Chablis.  Or even tasty glasses of Cali Pinot Noir or upscale Beaujolais, for a price that seemed reasonable at the time, though I can't really remember, because of all the wine.

Maybe, for my first time in, the thing that pleased me most about the place was just seeing Eric and Celia with a restaurant of their own.  There's kind of a feeling that it's a big win for the good guys -- that in an age of ego and PR, two people who earned this opportunity simply through hard work and talent really have a chance to show the world what they can do. They're doing it in a restaurant defined not by flashy design or media buzz (although there is certainly some of that) but by what's on the plate and the people who get it to you.  And, from what I can see, they're doing something pretty wonderful. 

When it was over I was tempted to hold my lighter above the table and call for an encore.

PS: As things are progressing smoothly Eric has freed up a couple more tables on Open Table, which may not be taken yet, and the full menu is available at the bar.