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Chez Panisse
Posted By aaron
Name three great chefs. The first three that come to mind. Depending on what constitutes your idea of culinary greatness, a fairly standardized list of names might be running through your head right now: Ducasse, Adrià, Robuchon, Bocuse, Alajmo, Keller, Blumenthal, Gagnaire, et al. (Hey, I’ll play along too… Kinch). Easy enough, right?
Now name three truly influential chefs. Not quite so trivial, is it? Influence is a powerful idea; revolution, a loaded word. But neither of these notions is an exaggeration, really, when applied to the work of Alice Waters. Founding Chez Panisse back in 1971, I doubt she or anyone at the time had any idea what was underway. The beginning of this restaurant represented the beginnings of the very idea of “California Cuisine.” It was, in short, an American Food Revolution. Odds are that Waters has even influenced some piece, however small, of how you eat today. This sounds crazy, I know. But I can show you how. Your favorite local restaurants? I’d bet that a good number of the chefs just might have been her disciples at one point before moving on to open places of their own. That public school lunch reform program you are so happy to see your local school district championing? You might have a little program called The Edible Schoolyard to thank. That all-organic farmers’ market you go to every week now? That book you just read condemning the follies of agribusiness? That local Slow Food chapter your city just founded? The fact that your menu told you the name of the farm from which the heirloom tomatoes you ate at that fancy-pants restaurant last night came? I’m telling you, her influence is just about everywhere.
Though it is not, some disappointedly complain, at the restaurant itself. At least, not physically. Downstairs, the chef’s duties these days are split between Jean-Pierre Moullé and David Tanis, each working half of the year and spending the other half in France. Going in for dinner and asking “Is Alice in tonight?” will earn you nothing more than the satisfaction of providing the staff with a good laugh. It should also be noted that the downstairs restaurant and the upstairs café are not one and the same. They are two completely different restaurants, in fact, that just happen to operate under the same roof. Downstairs: fixed menu, fixed price, dinner only. Upstairs: a la carte, lunch and dinner. The choice is yours, and frankly, you can eat quite well in either one. In this write-up, though, I’ll focus on the downstairs restaurant. You can see my thoughts on the café here.
My most recent visit was just a couple of weeks ago. In the days leading up to the Thursday night reservation, my excitement was already growing. I’d seen the menu posted online the previous Sunday, and it sounded incredible. King salmon, heirloom tomatoes, chanterelle mushrooms, figs, sweet corn — these are not items that easily escape my notice. This particular night’s offering was strongly evocative of the season, a Chez Panisse trademark. My parents and I were in for a good meal, it seemed.
Arriving at the restaurant for our 6:30 reservation (there are two seatings nightly), we were shown to our corner table near the beautiful open kitchen. A small dish of delicious Lucques olives was set before us after we had placed our drink orders and looked once again at the night’s menu. Not long after that, two types of Acme Bread were brought out — fresh, crusty and pleasantly chewy.
The first course came out: Slow roasted king salmon with green beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, and fennel. This was utterly tasty, a pure expression of fresh, crisp vegetables. The green beans had the perfect snap. The cucumbers, a refreshing crunch. The tomatoes deliciously straddled the line between sweetness and acidity. The fennel added that licorice-y top note to it all. All that, and I haven’t even mentioned the buttery salmon, so tender it fell apart at the slightest provocation with the side of one’s fork, much less the tines. Nor have I mentioned the wonderful champagne vinaigrette (a vinaigrette may be a simple things to master, but it’s among the most elusive to actually be well-executed in a restaurant), or the chopped bits of hard-cooked egg, adding even another layer of richness to the dish. What can I say? Things had most certainly started off on the right foot.
Next, we moved on to the Chanterelle mushroom soup. The soup had a lovely consistency. Smooth enough that you know it had seen a few trips through the chinois, but still slightly rustic at heart. It was finished with chopped bits of sautéed chanterelle mushroom and a drizzle of fruity olive oil. A dish, undoubtedly, of few ingredients. Yet the care chosen in sourcing them really came through. This kind of flavor clarity is not something that comes easily. These weren’t just any mushrooms.
The main course that evening was Spit-roasted loin of Laughing Stock Farm pork with fig chutney, sweet corn, and fried onion rings. At first you might read the menu and think to yourself, “‘Spit-roasted’? Hah!”. But then you sneak a glance toward the open kitchen and see the meat guy at work. At the spit. (Did I mention the kitchen is beautiful? “Rustic” seems cliché until you realize that is exactly the word this space embodies.) The pork loin was rich, flavorful, and incredibly juicy. The fig chutney provided just the right sweet counterpoint to the meat and its tasty jus. The sweet corn was buttery, with a subtle spice in the background from being sautéed with little bits of hot peppers. The onion rings were crispy and very tasty. A nicely balanced dish overall, definitely.
Dessert was Apple and quince galette with burnt honey ice cream. “Apple pie à la mode,” my Dad happily noted. And a great (French) rendition of that American classic, it was. The tart crust was somehow flaky and crumbly at the same time. The apple and quince slices were cut thick enough to give you something substantial to bite into, yet thin enough to be tender when baked. The caramel overtones of the burnt honey ice cream brought a very pleasant level of richness to the cold sweetness. Later a small dish of petits fours was brought out as well, providing the crowning touch. This was a nice end to what had been a very, very good meal.
And just to show that I don’t consider it merely a fortunate coincidence that I ended up reserving on an evening whose menu sounded particularly good and tasted even better, I’d like to talk about another meal I had there. At the end of August, my father and I enjoyed a menu that was fittingly more suggestive of summer than of autumn, yet no less delicious than the meal I described above.
Instead of the dish of olives, this meal started out with a plate of roasted almonds. Rubbed with a delicious blend of spices that I couldn’t quite discern one by one, these were incredibly addictive. Our plate was quickly emptied. Then came some of their delicious bread and butter, which we nibbled on for a few minutes. Our first course that night was Green bean, shell bean and cherry tomato salad with basil and goat cheese croûton. For years, I thought I would never eat a tomato in a restaurant that would come close to those I’d pluck straight from the vine at home in Texas. Still warm from the sun’s rays, I’d eat them unadorned, unabashedly letting the juice run down my face as I smiled with delight. There is nothing quite like that. Still, these particular tomatoes came close. Awfully close. There were several heirloom varieties, among which I remember Green Zebra and Black Prince. Collectively, they hit every point along the sweet-acidic flavor spectrum, creating a stunningly well-rounded tomato flavor. The shell beans, purple and white, were cooked just to the point of being creamy without being mushy. The green beans were bright and crisp. And the goat cheese croûton was creamy and nicely tangy. Dressed lightly with olive oil, this was really a wonderful salad.
The second course was Fideus pasta with roasted peppers, white shrimp, and aïoli. This is a traditional Spanish preparation in which the noodles are browned in oil before broth is added, creating an extra depth of flavor and allowing you to slowly add liquid until the noodles are cooked to the desired level of doneness. The result of this cooking method, familiar to anyone who has ever prepared risotto, is a lusciously creamy texture. This pasta was, for my tastes, taken to just the right level of doneness, with a slight al dente quality to give it some integrity. The shrimp were plump and juicy, neither over- nor under-cooked. The roasted peppers and the pleasant spicing throughout this dish made it a real pleasure to eat, and the garlicky aïoli just put it over the top. Very nice.
Our main course was Grilled James Ranch lamb rack, loin, and leg, with fried eggplant, olive sauce and garden lettuces. Having the different cuts of lamb was nice, allowing one to enjoy the different levels of leanness and richness. Every piece was cooked exactly to my liking, a juicy medium rare. The panko-breaded eggplant was tender and piping hot on the inside, wonderfully crisp on the outside. The olive (not an ingredient I’m particularly enamored of) sauce was pleasantly assertive without being overly so, an accompaniment strong enough to stand up to the meat. The garden lettuces, lightly dressed with a tart vinaigrette, provided a nice foil to the rich flavors of the meat and a nice way to cleanse the palate.
Last but definitely not least was the Summer berry sherbet coupe with champagne granité. What is a coupe, you might ask? Just take a look at the second paragraph here. Call me uncivilized, but it sounds to me like just another word for a sundae. And, in this case, it was delicious. The champagne granité was actually made with Moscato d’Asti, one of my favorite dessert wines, so I decided to order a glass to accompany the dessert. Regular strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, and beautiful tiny white wild strawberries (a.k.a. fraises des bois) were all a part of this dessert. The combination was sweet, tart, and incredibly refreshing. Just a lovely way to end the meal, along with the petits fours this time, consisting of lemony thumb-print cookies and pistachio chocolates.
After the meal we met chef David Tanis, who is a really nice guy. After chatting with him for a few minutes, he graciously offered us a tour of the kitchen. And what a strikingly beautiful kitchen it is. The first thing one notices upon entering are large presentation bowls showcasing the fresh ingredients that are being served up that evening (see the cherry tomato photo above). There is a markedly calm feel to this kitchen. No frantic motions. No yelling. It is an almost-confident calmness that begs the question, “What’s the hurry?” In a culture that often encourages us to whisk ourselves from one activity to the other, never taking the time to really stop and enjoy each one, this is an important question to ask ourselves. Sit down. Relax. Enjoy a meal at Chez Panisse. A meal that dazzles not with technical fireworks, but with simplicity. Nature’s voice is not muffled here; it is given center stage. Don’t come here expecting foams, flashy ingredients, or menus overwrought with quotation marks. But do come here expecting absolutely pristine ingredients, treated with care, so fresh they are nourishing to both body and soul. With that understanding in mind, you will quickly see that it is a special place.
Nov 3rd, 2007