Can You Beet That?

A beet hater learning to love those ruby red roots?

I've heard that story before.

A Night to Remember: Dinner at the French Laundry

Sometimes, things just work out.

One of those times happened to Karen and me recently. Taking advantage of the Thanksgiving weekend, we decided to head up with Napa Valley for a few days. Since we don't usually stay up in Wine Country more than a single night, we thought that it would be fun to see if we could land a coveted reservation at the French Laundry (6640 Washington Street, Yountville; 707-944-2380). Owned by world-renown chef Thomas Keller, this 62 seat restaurant is recognized as one of the premier dining establishments in the world. Landing a table during the dinner hours in this tony Yountville restaurant is extremely difficult. In fact, there are web pages dedicated to doling out advice on how to get such a reservation.

So, a couple of days before Thanksgiving, I picked up the phone and called the reservation line at the French Laundry. When the receptionist answered, I told her that we going to come up with Napa for a long weekend and was wondering if we could get ourselves on the waiting list for each of those nights, with the hope that someone might cancel on a two-top during one of those evenings. Boy, was I surprised when I heard that there actually was a table for two available on Saturday night! I took advantage of this good fortune and immediately booked that open table. We were going to the French Laundry!


Arriving 15 minutes early for our 9pm reservation, we waited in the foyer of the rustic brick building, perusing the Bouchon and French Laundry cookbooks on the coffee table. After a few minutes, the host called our names and led us through the dining room to our seats. We sat down at the table, taking in the environment as we looked around the room. On the table in front of us was a neatly pleated napkin, on which was clipped a French Laundry clothespin.


Our dinner commenced with a couple of amuse bouche dishes. The first dish was warm Gruyère gougères, small savory pastries filled with cheese:


The second amuse bouche were a pair of ice-cream cone shaped salmon cornets with filled with crème fraîche. The cone was crunchy and its texture contrasted nicely with the minced salmon and silky crème fraîche.


At the French Laundry, you have the choice of two menus: the chef's tasting menu and the "tasting of vegetables" menu. (As I understand, there is also an unpublished 20 course tasting menu, but that needs to be ordered in advance.) Since it was the first visit to the French Laundry for both of us, we decided to order the chef's tasting menu.

The first course of the nine course tasting menu was the classic Keller dish "Oysters and Pearls", a sabayon of pearl tapioca with Beau Soleil oysters and white sturgeon caviar. The dish was wonderful. The texture of the tapioca contrasted nicely with that of the sabayon, and the oysters and caviar provided a perfect amount of briny flavor. We enjoyed this fabulous course with a flute of Pierre Gimonnet, a classic pairing of champagne and caviar.


For the next course, we had a choice. We could have had the hearts of palm salad, but we opted for the Moulard duck "foie gras au torchon" with stewed Oregon huckleberries, Tokyo turnips, spiced bread crumbs, and Garden Mâche, which was available with an additional $30 charge. If you follow our food adventures in this blog, you'll know that both Karen and I are huge fans of foie gras. Without a doubt, this was the single best foie gras dish that we've ever eaten. It was absolutely phenomenal. The foie gras was served with three different types of salt: a grey salt from the Brittany region of France, a Japanese sea salt, and a "Jurassic" salt from Montana, each with a different flavor and coarseness. Served with a side of toasted brioche from the Bouchon bakery just a couple of blocks down Washington Street, the dish was a meal in itself.


One very nice touch: in the middle of this decadent course, one of the servers came by to refresh our accompanying brioche with a hot slice of freshly toasted bread. The wine director steered us to a 2006 Yves Cuilleron Blanc "Roussilliere", which paired fabulously with the foie gras.

Next came the first of the fish courses. For this course, we had a choice of two different dishes, so Karen and I ordered one of each. I order the "Tartare" of Kona Kahala with cauliflower fleurettes, toasted Marcona almonds, Satsuma mandarins, and mizuna greens. I have to say that I was a bit underwhelmed by this course, especially after the two previous dishes, both of which were simply stunning. I was expecting some bold flavors, but this dish was a bit flat in my opinion.


Karen went with the line-caught Atlantic striped bass with glazed sunchokes, wilted Arrowleaf spinach, San Marzano tomato compote, and niçoise olives. This dish was pretty good, much better than my choice of fish. For this course and the next, we enjoyed a glass of Spencer Roloson viognier, which again was a great pairing suggested by the wine director.


Our second fish course was the fantastic sweet butter poached Maine lobster tail with caramelized cippolini onions, sugar snap peas, Yukon Gold "Pommes Maxims", and "Mousseline Bearnaise". This dish was as good as it looks. The lobster was perfectly cooked and buttery, especially with the luxurious Bearnaise sauce. The potato crisp was crisp and savory, but a bit difficult with eat with a fork and knife.


After the two fish courses came the meat courses. The first meat that came out of the kitchen was the all-day braised Kurobuta pork belly with grilled hearts of romaine lettuce, celeriac purée, and Périgold truffle glaze. The pork belly was succulent and fall-apart tender. The purée was a nice complement to the rich pork, but the romaine lettuce seemed a bit out of place on this plate. To go with this course and the following one, we had a glass of 2005 Brewer Clifton pinot noir. The wine was again quite good, a testament to the fine skills of our sommelier.


Our second meat course was a herb roasted saddle of Elysian Fields Farm lamb with globe artichokes, Nantes carrots, golden chanterelle mushrooms, and sweet garlic "jus". We could have opted for a course of Wagyu beef in place of the lamb, but the $100 supplemental charge seemed a bit steep to me. The lamb was amazing tender and quite flavorful. I enjoyed this dish very much, but I think that Karen was a little less impressed.


After finishing the lamb course, both of us were getting pretty full. We had finished all of the main courses, so we were now heading into the desserts. Our first dessert course was a cheese plate: "Petit Sapin" with Royal Blenhein apricots, red beet relish, and arugula leaves. I was not expecting a soft cheese for this course, but I liked it. I think that Karen enjoyed this dish as well, even with the beet relish.


Next came a palate cleaning feijoa sorbet with Maui pineapple relish and angel cake. The sorbet was very refreshing and the angel cake was very light. Given the heaviness of the previous courses, this was a welcome dish to enjoy at this point in our meal.


The last of the nine courses on the menu gave us two options for dessert. As it is our habit, we picked one of each course. I chose the "Charlotte aux Poires et aux Dates" with Bartlett pear sorbet, "Japonais", candied hazelnuts, and pear coulis. Like the previous sorbet dish, I like this dish quite a lot. At this point in the meal, I was definitely okay with enjoying some lighter dessert fare, and this dessert was lighter than it appeared.


Karen picked the "S'Mores" with cashew nut "Parfait", caramel "Délice", and "Sauce a la Guimauve brûlée". As with the corresponding dessert during our last dinner at Manresa, I wasn't a huge fan of the S'more, but that's probably more of a reflection of my personal preference than anything bad about this dessert.


With the last of the nine courses, we were finished with our dinner. Oh wait. We still had the mignardises.

After clearing away the dessert plates, the waiter brought me a Meyer lemon pot au crème and set a Tahitian vanilla crème brûlée before Karen.




After those two desserts were cleared away, we were completely stuffed. But there was more yet to come. Next came a little bowl of chocolate caramel macadamia nuts and some olive financier cookies (not pictured).


Next, we were presented with a huge platter of chocolates. On the suggestion of our waiter, we picked one of each type of chocolate for a total of six. It was six chocolates more than I should have eaten - now we were completely stuffed.


At this point, our waiter asked me for my camera so that he could take a photo of the two of us to commemorate the occasion. Here's a photo of two very sated diners:


Last, but not least, about a quarter past midnight, came our final mignardises course: a gold box filled with pâtes de fruit and other petit fours. I managed to try each of them, somehow finding a tiny bit of open space in my stomach.


Of course, such opulance does not come without a price, and a hefty one at that. Here's the damage:


Ouch.

As a final treat, our waiter presented us with some shortbread cookies to take home, courtesy of their pastry chef.


The service that we received that evening was impeccable. It was perhaps the cleanest and best executed service that I've ever experienced at a restaurant. The pacing of our meal was superb and we were never lacking for attention. Throughout our dinner, the waitstaff cleared our empty plates as soon as we finished our food and kept our water glasses full with complementary bottles of Hildon still water.


The members of the waitstaff were obviously well-practiced, delivering top-notch service throughout the evening with spot-on precision. It seemed like each of their movement were deliberate, well-thought out, and completely choreographed. Our main server was quite friendly, but it was not the personalized-type service that we've enjoyed at other restaurants, such as Frasca and Chapeau, though I don't think that either of us would have expected that type of atmosphere at a restaurant like the French Laundry.

All in all, we had a fabulous meal. It was definitely one of the best meals that I've ever enjoyed at a restaurant. Everything was there: spectacular food and flawless service in a luxurious setting. But, on the other hand, neither Karen or I thought that the food was far superior to that of Manresa, where we've enjoyed a couple of fabulous dinners at a much lower price point. In fact, we both thought that the food was, in fact, quite comparable. While the service at the French Laundry was superior to Manresa, I'm not convinced that it justifies the difference in price. So, did we enjoy our dinner? Absolutely - it was a fabulous dinner, perhaps a once in a lifetime opportunity to dine at one of the best restaurants in the world. Would we go back? Maybe (and really just maybe), though it wouldn't be any time soon, especially with Manresa just a short drive away.

Beetcause of You

In response to the email that Karen sent out last week, her dad penned the following story:

     A certain elderly person eventually passed from this life and found himself at the so-called Pearly Gates. There he was confronted by St. Peter, who asked him to account for himself.
     “Well, I guess I’ve led a reasonably decent life,” the balding, salt-and-pepper- haired late departed said. “I’ve been a faithful husband, a good provider, a tolerant and loving father, a—”
     “Say again,” St. Peter interrupted abruptly. “A what father?”
     “What do you mean?”
     “Your documentation” (and he paged through his celestial laptop) “indicates that you were an abusive father.”
     “I may have yelled at the kids more than I should. Spanked, perhaps, on occasion….” His voice trailed off in embarrassment.
     “No!” St. P. thundered. “Abusive in the worst of ways.”
     The late but clearly not lamented old guy wondered what St. P. knew that he could not recall. Had he buried some horrible behavior deep in his brain, actions that were now to be recovered memories?
     “You...made…them…eat…BEETS!”
     The recently departed remembered that, always had. “But it was decades ago.”
     “Yes, but for them: The horror, the horror.”
     “Why are you channeling Joseph Conrad.”
     “Sorry,” St. Peter said. “But you have some explaining to do. Why, why did you force them to eat beets? Make them stay at the dinner table for hours until your patient, loving and ever-sacrificing wife and their mother finally persuaded you to relent? The experience has scarred them all for life. If you hadn’t done that they could have been somebody. They could have been contenders.”
     “Why are you channeling Marlon Brando?”
     “Sorry. He knocked at the door here a few years ago. No dice.”
     “You know how sometimes you do irrational things?”
     “Are you referring to me?” St. Peter said with a scowl.
     “Well, not you perhaps, but most people.”
     “OK, I’ll give you that.”
     “That’s my defense.”
     “That’s not much of a defense.”
     “Let me ask you something,” the not-so-dear departed said, “are there any foods you don’t like?”
     “Well, in my condition I don’t eat.”
     “Before. Before you got this job.”
     “Mollusks. I hate mollusks. Especially oysters. Slimy, disgusting things.”
     “Let me tell you about those children who hate beets. They looove oysters. One time in Boston we came upon a cart selling oysters near Fanueil Hall and they couldn’t get enough of them, grabbing at them and sliding them down their throats like there was no tomorrow. And if I recall correctly, that was before the beet incident. And their loving mother, who despises oysters, just smiled tolerantly.”
     “Good woman that.”
     “Yeah, but my point is, they’d eat oysters, which should turn them off, but not beets. You can buy Gerber beets as baby food.”
     “Trust me, even Gerber doesn’t sell processed beets.”
     “How do you know that.”
     “I know,” St. Peter said, pointing to his laptop. “Celestial Wifi, super-duper-broadband. “So give me the real explanation.”
     “Well, heritage.”
     “Huh?”
     “Our people—not yours: you split—come from the shtetls of Eastern Europe and the ghettos of Western Europe. We had almost nothing to eat, and when we did it was often beets. Beets to make borscht. Beets to color and flavor horseradish on the special nights like seders when we ate brisket. Pickled beets. Yumm. So they needed to eat beets to be aware of their background, their origins.”
     St. P. paused briefly. “That’s a lot of B.S.” he said.
     The recently departed bowed his head. “I thought I’d give it a try.”
     “I don’t think you’re qualified to get in here,” St. Peter said. “By the way, do you know how you died?”
     “Heart attack.”
     “Do you know what brought it on?”
     “An email from my daughter.”
     “Bad news?”
     “She said she had, after all these years, eaten beets. And they aren’t so bad.”
     “Why would that give you a heart attack?”
     “It was yellow beets.”
     “Yellow beets? Yecch. Who ever heard of such a thing? Clearly the product of vile genetic drift.”
     “Don’t they sound just awful? I’d never, ever eat them, not in a million years.”
     “As I said, you can’t get in here, given your horrible record.”
     “So am I going to hell?”
     “Worse,” St. Peter said decisively. “I’m sending you back. Given your delicate condition you must completely change your diet. You will be a vegetarian. And a staple of your diet will be yellow beets.”
     A look of horror suffused the face of the newly now-non-departed. “Anything but that,” he pleaded. “Hell is other vegetables.”
     “As you are channeling Sartre,” St. P.’s voice echoed as he vanished in the misty clouds, “you will learn that there is truly No Exit from this fate of yellow beets, no matter how much Nausea you experience.”

Dr. Strangeroot or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Beets

As I implied in a previous post, Karen is not someone you would call the biggest fan of beets. Her virulent dislike of this root vegetable stems from an incident in her youth when she and her brothers were involved in a dinner-time Mexican standoff with her parents over a plate of beets.

Ah, but how times change! Today, I received the following email:

From: Karen
To: Karen's family
Subject: My horrible yet true confession

I have a confession to make. Last Friday, I went to the Old Oakland Farmers' Market and (of my own free will and volition) bought a bunch of yellow beets. I am not entirely sure what came over me. Years of refusal to eat the vile root vegetable suddenly melted away. Perhaps it was a recent yellow beet recipe I saw that looked delicious. For the first time, I began to think of beets as an edible possibility worth seeking out and buying. It didn't hurt that not only did I not gag, but even enjoyed the small bit of beets I had at a recent dinner at Manresa. One of the dishes on the tasting menu was smoked sturgeon over red thumb potatoes and beets.

Earlier this week, after coming to terms with the beets I had brought home, I actually made them. I roasted them with some salt, pepper, olive oil, and rosemary. Once cooked and cooled, I threw a splash of basalmic vinegar on top. The initial bites brought back brief memories of that beet taste I so despised in the past. I mean, the beets were OK but they still tasted like beets. I think I didn't let them cool enough before eating. Yet as the flavors melded and I ate some more the following day, I realized they weren't too bad. In fact, they tasted like a sweeter version of roast potatoes (with tons more nutrients).

After decades of recovery, I think I am finally able to deal with my beet issues. I still recall (with horror) the awful beet experience of our childhood. But I think beets and I may just be able to co-exist.

Will I cook and eat beets again? - Probably
Will I do so on a regular basis? - Probably not

Love,
Karen

Her brother Jon replied almost immediately to this email with the following comeback:

You are going against everything the beet revolution stood for. We did not have a sit-in at the dinner table 20 years ago for you to betray the cause. You should be ashamed of yourself.

I was just talking about this occurrence with one of my colleagues two days ago. He talked about his absolute dislike for asparagus (which I really like) and that got me going about my hatred (possibly unfounded) of beets.

To think, my twin, not long before our shared birthday, has given up the fight. Maybe it is that crazy weather in San Fran that's done it to you. "You've changed Dutch, you've changed..."

Your disillusioned twin,
Jon

For some reason, I'm seeing visions of Slim Pickens on top of a giant yellow beet, riding it like some bronco-busting cowboy, whooping and hollering as he falls into oblivion.