It’s incredible that a food-oriented culture which values so heavily elaborate sauces and delicate soufflés, can completely disregard the methods by which to properly prepare an espresso.  Even simple ones.  I was once thrown out of Café Amazone for suggesting that the doddering owner/barista use the tamp to compress the ground.  He instead insisted on using the tamp as a measuring device, compressing the coffee into a spoon, and pouring the loose beans into the portafilter.  Even La Caféothèque de Paris and Verlet, which both have fancy La Marzocco equipment and all Arabica beans disappoint.  The city is like a parallel universe.

A lot of blame often gets put to the use of Robusta beans versus the more aromatic Arabica.  France is able to import these beans from former African colonies at much less cost than overseas Arabica varieties.  But frankly, I’m tired of this as an excuse.  Even mediocre beans can taste reasonable when prepared correctly.  With espresso, 85% of the flavor comes from the process and technique, not the ingredients.

I cannot count the number of “baristi” I’ve witnessed forget to tamp, under fill the portafilter, or even start the extraction and walk away to take someone else’s order.  The result is pure culinary neglect.  Parisians in general either don’t care or don’t know, as the undemanding clientele is more concerned with the trendy style-aspect of sipping espresso with a cigarette than the flavor.  Paris needs a coffee revolution.

In this java wasteland, however, there is hope.  Gocce di Caffè in the 2è is the sole consistently perfect espresso I have had in the city.  Antonio Costanza, barista/owner from Milan, opened shop in the center of Passage des Panoramas, the oldest covered passage in the city.  The covered passage resembles a miniature version of Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, with a humble espresso counter and its handful of seats decorating the center.  Barista Costanza is the sole person pressing the espresso, so quality remains high and visitors are never at the expense of inexperienced trainees.  As a former barista from the main café at Harrod’s London, Costanza speaks excellent English as well as French and Italian.

The beans from Gocce di Caffè come from Milan’s Caffè Guiducci, a family-run shop in existance for over 50-years.  The beans are an Arabica-Robusta blend, 80% Arabica and 20% Robusta.  Given that 100% Arabica blends are the current trend in US coffee houses, I raised my brows upon hearing of the 20% inclusion of what I was taught were inferior beans.  Barista Costanza explained that robusta beans are included to add structure to the flavor.  That without their inclusion, the flavor would be too sweet, oily, and one-sided.  After doing some research, I was surprised to learn that the majority of Italian espresso bars intentionally include a small pinch of Robusta beans.  Robusta beans have essentially become a scapegoat for poor technique.

Espresso at Gocce di Caffè most often tastes of dark chocolate, hazelnut, and at times has a hint of smokey almond.  The texture is consistently thick with moderate crema.  Barista Costanza’s milk-foaming skills are nonpareil.  At times he adds a sprinkle of cocoa powder to enhance the contrast to his art, which with a teaspoon of brown sugar adds rich notes of caramel and milk chocolate.  (Authenticity police can simply ask for no cocoa-powder.)  Barista Costanzo’s espresso is delicious and can compete against Stumptown, Ninth Street, or Joe the Art of Coffee any day.

All visitors to Paris looking for outstanding coffee must visit.  However be warned: if people-watching or fashion-spotting is the intended goal, this is not the place.  For that any of Paris’ thousand cafés will do.  This is a place for the coffee-obsessed who are tired of espresso with notes of ashtray.  And go quickly; so far, it’s dominated solely by locals and Italian tourists seeking sanctuary.  And while there, consider suggesting to Barista Costanza that he open a few more locations in the city; there’s a huge need.

One stereotype, however, was so spot-on it was comical: I cannot count the number of Parisians I’ve seen racing around the city with groceries on one arm and a bitten baguette under the other.  The French love their bread.  And they should!  With the arguable exception of Tokyo, Paris has the finest bread in the world.  Fine boulangeries are to France as Starbucks is to America.  They’re everywhere.

Think about it:  a baguette is the perfect accompaniment for any course.  It goes with confiture and butter for breakfast, with a “jambon fromage” sandwich for lunch, in a small bowl to the side of a glass of red wine with dinner, or with a cheese board as a snack.

So I spent my time in Paris keeping a small journal for noting particularly interesting experiences on the carb front.  While the quality of most boulangeries is excellent, there are some which have baguettes that stand out in particular.  Of the nine places below, four were so exceptional that I was really pressed to find anything to complain about.  They’re listed first. The other boulangeries are excellent as well, but only visit them if time permits after having tried the first few.  Enjoy!

Thierry Renard, 113 bis Boulevard de l’Hôpital, 4e

Renard’s baguettes are, in one word: beautiful.  The pre-baking flour placed on the surface spreads around the tear-shaped crevasses making the baguette look like it’s wrapped in a snow-colored cage of rustic powder.  Not only is this effect visually appealing, it also means the texture and flavor change depending on which part of the baguette is eaten first.  The sides of this baguette are the softest part, with a texture like a toasted marshmallow: a thin crisp at first giving way to a springy center.  The top is the most crispy part, particularly the dark brown ridges surrounding the tear-shaped fissures.  This baguette is plump looking and, were it not for the different textures on the surface, it would appear rather cylindrical — it is nearly as tall as it is wide.  When I ripped a piece off and bit in, a small puff of white flour floated like magic.  My tongue picked up on the dry texture of the powder first: a very rustic flavor.  The baguette leaves behind small crumbs and lots of powder.  The exceptionally moinst interior has clearly visible glutens with some bubbles being very large and others quite small.  The flavor has the tiniest hint of toasted bread, so little that with some bites it was undetectable.  The dough has a neutral, lightly salted flavor: neither tasting sour, nor of whole wheat.

This is the best baguette I’ve had in Paris, as well as the most interesting.  Each bite tasted unique because of the infinitly different combinations of flour and crisp, making the baguette practically its own diverse meal.  It’s also stunning: the first baguette I’ve seen that is both white and gold with a snow-colored cage of flour wrapping around the light brown baguette.  The flavor was neutral enough that it could be eaten with anything, though I enjoyed it best with salted butter.  Renard is truly a master baker.

Laurent Duchêne, 2, Rue Wurtz, 13e

Very plain in appearance, the light brown baguettes from Laurent Duchêne have no frills.  There is no flour dusting whatsoever and there are no fancy shaped stencil-like cutouts, as seen at Thierry Renard.  The baguette is pure in appearance with several crispy ridges stiching the top of the bread.  The ridges were very dry and crispy, even hard, providing a strong structural support.  The edges were also sharp and pointy.  But despite a dry crust, the inside was paradoxically as moist as possible.  Tearing off pieces produced a loud crackling sound quickly giving way to the soft interior.  The inside was fully of randomly sized bubbles, some quite large, forming a honeycomb of soft bread.  Even though the crust was dry and crispy, it wasn’t terribly thick, and so there was excellent balance between the slightly salty interior and the thin and toasty exterior.  The flavor was neutral, as a baguette should taste, slightly leaning towards salty.

This baguette was outstanding.  The pieces of the shell were so sharp you could probably use them as small weapons.  Breaking off my first piece likely woke my neighbors.  Being a person who does not crave the just-before-burnt flavor of bread, I still loved this baguette because the crust, while toasted, was thin and non-offensive.  It was a beautiful balance.  The flavor could sway towards sweet or savory; but, is best enjoyed by itself since its taste is so pure.  It was a bit of a trip to get here, and was worth every minute.

Au Levain du Marais, 28, Blvd Beaumarchais, 11e

Au Levain du Marais’ baguettes are light brown with canvass-colored parts creeping through the tears where the bread expanded in the oven.  Flour can be found on the edges and ends, parts of the bread where the oven rise was minimal.  This bread is not springy; but rather, has a texture similar to swedish memory foam, each squeeze would take a few seconds to come back.  What’s interesting about this bread’s shape is that the ends are significantly taller than the middle, like a Boeing 747.  I’m not sure what causes this; but it was it was evident on all the baguettes.  The outside was very crispy, in fact a tear off caused continual cracking for several seconds after the tear was finished, like rice krispies.  This left a large mess; a good thing for a baguette, I think.

The weight was fairly light on the inside; this was not a dense baguette.  The air bubbles were very think and for the most part seemed uniformly distributed with the exception of a few large air pockets towards the center.  The inside was soft, having a slightly grayish color, perhaps indicative of the type(s) of flour used.  The flavor was pure and clean: the water’s flavor could not be tasted.  It did taste, however, slightly whole grain which when, combined with the color, makes me suspect that a mixture of whole grain was used in the flour mixture.  This baguette is not sweet, has a hint of salt, and would pair well with with both sweet and savory.  It was delicious in all respects.

Aux Castelblangeois, 168 rue Saint Honoré, 1e

This baguette looked more like a giant pretzel than a baguette, with shades of dark brown giving way to slits of gold.  The crust was very crispy; but since it was relatively thin, its flavor was not dominating.  Little to no flour was sifted on the surface before baking making the flavor taste of pure bread.  This was fairly messy to break resulting in hundreds of small crumbs littering my plate.  When squeezed the baguette demonstrated a delayed rebound indicating the freshness of the interior.  The inside was exceptionally moist with small bubbles and nets of gluten stretching across the interior.  The flavor tasted ever so slightly of cornmeal, even though this was not an ingredient.

I really like these baguettes for both their texture and simplicity.  The lack of sifted flour on the surface makes their use very versatile for both sweet and savory.  The dark brown color really makes these baguettes distinct.  It’s paradoxical how they can be baked so thoroughly yet have not the faintest flavor of toasted bread.  The interior is not light and fluffy, rather substantive and supportive, a quality I prefer in my baguettes when eaten with butter.  These exhibit an excellent balance of crust and interior with neither part tasting more strongly than the other.

Stohrer, 51, Rue Montorgueil, 2e

Stohrer’s baguettes are thin and cylindrical, minimally puffing towards the middle.  These baguettes are so thin that two can fit in a single baguette bag.  They’re plain in appearance with very little visible flour on the surface.  There is a central fissure running through the entire center of the croissant.  The texture is crispy and springy, perhaps from the small, uniformly distributed creating a bounce on the inside.  The inside was dense and moist, though it smelled slightly of yeast.  Breaking off a piece produced a mess of small flakes of toast.  The flavor was of toasted bread, dominated by the crust.

Some claim Stohrer invented the baba au rhum.  Being as famous as this place was, I was curious to see how non-sweet baked goods tasted.  While possibly the best baker in the immediate area, I wasn’t blown away by the flavor.  But the texture was particularly interesting.  Since the baguettes did have such a small diameter, half of each bite was crust: too much for me, but perhaps perfect for others.  The smell of yeast also threw me off a little.

Boulanger Julien, 85 rue Saint Dominique, 7e

The plump baguettes from boulanger Julien had a nice appearance of both rustic and modern — sifted with flour to make them visually interesting yet loaded with fissures bound tightly by the glutens revealing that this is indeed a pastry hundreds of years old.  The outside was very light with colors ranging from cream to light tan.  The baguette was soft to the squeeze and slightly mailable.  Pieces broke off very cleanly with minimal to no flakes left on my table; the breakage was also silent.  The inside was filled with uniformly distributed air pockets of small to medium size with notable density.  The flavor was nutty, similar to chestnut, with a distinct vegetal taste on the finish yet neither salty nor sweet.  The sifted flour dusting the surface was fairly thick, making each bite taste first of flour, then of the baguette itself.

This baguette had a lot of potential. My biggest complaint was the texture which was a little soft.  I think my first one was slightly undercooked as the inside remained very chewy and the outside shell lacking crisp.  The second was a bit more crispy.  The most interesting part was the vegetal flavor that would have paired really nicely with salted beurre de bordier.  When I broke off my first piece the smell was strongly of chestnut and potato.  Really interesting.

Frédéric Comyn, 27 rue Friant, 14e

Located at the last stop of the 4 subway line at Porte d’Orléans, Frédéric Comyn is officially at the outskirts of the city.  I heard about Frédéric Comyn from Chez Pim‘s post on the best croissant in paris.  It’s easy to walk by this pâtesserie; there are no signs and the well-lit display counter and cash register makes it look a bit like au bon pain.  Well, at least I missed it the first time.  When I asked for a baguette ancienne the woman told me there were no more left.  Then her friend came to the rescue, “I think some just came out of the oven.”  That was all I needed to hear.

Frédéric Comyn’s baguettes are nearly perfect cylindars: in most parts, they’re as tall as they are wide.  There is a single fissure that traverses the top revealing a lighter colored interior.  The top golden-colored surface has moon-like craters with patches of dark brown; the bottom is white with flour.  The texture is a lot like a plain New York bagel: a thin and tight shell that doesn’t crisp very much when squeezed.  There is some rebound; but if squeezed too firmly, the shape will stick.  Inside is a little sticky which might explain why there was little rebound when squeezed.  When I tore off a piece I was able to twist the baguette without it breaking until I pulled hard enough that a piece tore off: this was not a crispy baguette.  The flavor was light with little to no toasted flavor.  There was no sourness or whole grain flavor in the dough, the flavor was as basic and simple as possible.

I like a thin crispy crust on my baguettes and so I found these a little too crust-less; though these could very well be the perfect baguettes for those who dislike the flavor of toast.  The interior actually seemed a touch undercooked as it was slightly sticky to the touch.  Though chewy, the density of this bread worked nicely with salt and the best butter in the world; then again with that butter, anything is delicious.

Le Quartier du Pain, 74 rue Saint-Charles, 15e

Hiding a few blocks behind the Eiffel Tower lies the best bread in the 15th, found at Le Quartier du Pain.  This small corner shop bakes fresh bread throughout the day, so it’s no longer necessary to wake up at the crack of dawn to eat something hot.  The first thing that struck me about Le Quartier du Pain’s baguettes were the tear-shaped crevasses lining the surface.  Each symmetric crevass has a crispy ridge along its sides which, when torn apart, produces a crackle similar to wood burning at a campfire.  These baguettes are very crispy.  In fact, when I was squeezing the baguette on my 30 minute trip back home, I realized there was essentially no spring or rebound to its texture.  The crispy crust makes squeezing this bread a risk: too hard and you’ll shatter it right then and there.  Inside is a light grey-brown with randomly distributed bubbles of small to medium size.  The crust is very significant here, and its flavor of toasted bread dominates each bite.  This is not a baguette for the Japanese those who do not like crust.  The flavor and smell is slightly sour, and the inside borderline chewy.  It is wet and moist, perhaps because this crust locks in the moisture so well.

I really enjoyed this baguette with butter and salt.  I’m not sure if I would use it with cheese or cured meats due to its significant crust; but with simple garnishes it’s predominately toasty flavor is delicious.  The skill of the bakery comes across very clearly in this bread’s incredible uniform crust and texture — it is both crispy and soft, without being dry or heavy.  I can only imagine what this would taste like hot.

Philipe Gosselin, 125 Rue Saint-Honoré, 1e

The baguettes here were rated the best in the city in a 1996 survey by Le Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris, which Gosselin still proudly displays on each of its product bags.  A lot has changed since then.  These baguettes anciennes are easily distinguished by their gold to dark yellow exterior, with visible traces of flower on the surface.  The underside is a darker color, a rich brown, and is the most crisp part of the baguette.  The texture is springy, so much so that during my walk home I probably lost a few surface crumbs from the fun I had squeezing it.  After breaking, the baguette kept pretty clean with minimal crumbs and fracturing.  Since the bottom was significantly more dry than the top, breaking off a piece was a tear for the top half and a crisp for the bottom.  There was no crackle sound; the crust was not very dry.  The inside of this baguette has a nice distribution of randomly sized iridescent bubbles, indicating a high moisture content.  This baguette was fresh.  The texture of the interior was very similar to latex in both color and its slight transparency.  The first flavor that struck me was the cholorinated water used to make the baguette, clearly not filtered.  This baguette was fairly light on the tongue, not salty, and slighty sweet.  The surface flour left a powdery texture on both my hands and in my mouth after each bite.

These baguettes have a beautifully symmetrical appearance on the outside, and the flour certainly makes them appear more rustic.  My biggest gripe with this baguette was that sometimes the taste of tap water is too strong.   Chlorinated water has no place in the flavor profiles of a baguette.

The imagery of escaping a hectic world to a calm coffee shop, nestling into an oversized chair, and sipping a drinkable work of art is the most inexpensive and cathartic 5-minute vacation money can buy.  The added euphoria from high concentrations of caffeine is just icing on the cake.

However, good luck finding a seat in New York.  Many of the newer coffee shops worth mentioning, like Abraço and Zibetto Expresso Bar, adopt the Italian stand-up counter-style concept of espresso whereby lingering is discouraged.  And for the great shops with seats, like Joe the Art of Coffee and Ninth Street Espresso, it’s either tough to find one or the boisterous atmosphere doesn’t warrant productivity.  This isn’t a bad thing, per se, but there are times where I’d like to have an intimate conversation, or conduct a meeting, and the above shops aren’t necessarily conducive to it.

Stumptown is different.  Adjacent to the Ace Hotel in midtown off Broadway, Stumptown shares its seating with the hotel lobby.  Yes there is still a counter for Italianophiles.  But with the impressively fast complimentary wireless internet and abundance of seating in a dimly lit room, the Stumptown/Ace Hotel lobby is quickly becoming an entrepreneurial hotspot.  As evidenced by the sea of glowing white apples, tight jeans, and headphones, the young atmosphere is opportune to both work and relaxation.

The coffee is excellent, too.  The shop roasts its beans daily just across the east river in Red Hook, Brooklyn.  The debonair baristi, dressed with rolled-up sleeves and fedoras, are well-trained with a low tolerance for imperfection.  During my first visit, the barista threw out my macchiato twice before finally approving the third (heck the first two looked perfect to me).

The house espresso blend is called Hair Bender and is served as a double ristretto, fourteen grams of espresso per twenty-five second shot.  The aroma is of semi-sweet chocolate with hints of toast and notes of roses.  All milk comes from Hudson Valley Farms which is sweet enough on its own, not calling for the addition of sugar in a macchiato or cappuccino.  All of the equipment is La Marzocco, accurate to within a tenth of a degree to extract as much natural oils from the beans as possible in twenty five seconds without burning.

The staff, so it seems, is genuinely kind too.  Aside from conversation starters asking how my day has been and where I’m from, I once made a fool of myself by dropping my iPhone into my cappuccino, and without asking, replacement cappuccino was made immediately.  I still felt pretty stupid, but they definitely didn’t have to do that.

And so Stumptown is now a member of my three favorite coffee places in the city, right alongside Joe the Art of Coffee and Ninth Street Espresso.  But the comfortable seating and radiant energy makes me go there much more regularly than anywhere else.  The environment is perfect for enjoying an espresso with a group of friends, or for sipping a cappuccino while coding with headphones.  It is one of the first spaces in New York that, upon entry, transports me to San Francisco.  And I highly recommend it.

To start, the restaurant only accepts reservations via their website.  Starting from 10am, spots fill up in a matter of seconds.  This got pretty frustrating after the first two weeks.  I wrote a small python script to automatically find the next available reservation and to book it.  Except it didn’t work.  In some cases the day opened with no available tables.  Other times availability lasted just an instant. In other words, people were clicking so quickly that even automated attempts were stressful and futile.  I gave up after a few weeks of trying, until one day, I saw the green check of availability.

To further complicate things, the lower east side restaurant is easy to miss: it looks like a shop with the security gates permanently locked.  The entrance is completely encased in a ragged metal mesh which blocks out most daylight, reminiscant of the eletromagnetic mesh cage in which Gene Hackman‘s extremely paranoid character worked in Enemy of the State.  It’s fenced up like a prison.  It’s very unwelcoming.

The service was laid-back yet distant.  It seemed like the staff was playing out a more formal service than perhaps they were accustomed to.  The interior was silent and scary.  It was as if they secretly hated everyone there; but couldn’t decide just how much right away.  The chefs, or at least the one working in front of me, were like David Chang robots.  When I asked about the strict no-photo policy, I was hammered with a verbatim recitation of David Chang’s interview with Anthony Bourdain–complete with identical pauses and sighs.  His trained response was “it’s just food … [pause to build suspense] … man.”

In spite of David Chang’s intense disdain, I wrote down notes about what I was eating.  The maitre’d sneered at me throughout the meal.  I felt like I was doing something wrong for wanting to remember my meal accurately.  I didn’t even think about asking for a printed menu after seeing the intense dislike directed towards a guy a few seats down from me asking questions.

However, despite the serious service problems, and overwhelming feelings of coldness and discomfort, the 19-course tasting was overall delicious, filled with bursts of genius.

Crayfish arancino: a baked rice ball coated with breadcrumbs and filled with chunks of crayfish.  This was served warm, like an Italian gougère.  It could have used a pinch more salt.  I was so worried this would burn my mouth, but it was just the right temperature.

Pomme soufflé, crème fraîche, hackleback caviar: a miniature cylindrical tube of pomme soufflé filled with crème fraîche and topped with caviar.  The caviar acted as the salting element, combining earth and sea, making this a very balanced bite.

Greenmarket radish, salted butter: a mid-sized mild radish without much burn.  The butter was on the sweeter side.  In general I prefer saltier, stronger tasting butters like Beurre de Bordier served at l’Arpège or Manresa, so I wasn’t crazy about this one.

Island Creek oyster, hackleback caviar, lime, chive: this was served sashimi-style on a cube of packed ice in a wooden stand. Just like at Masa or Urasawa.  The lime was generously applied, cutting through much of the brine.  Overall this tasted exceptionally fresh and clean.

Kanpachi, lemon jam, white soy sauce, daikon sprout: the freshness of the amberjack was apparent immediately by the crunchy texture with a subtle sweetness.  The lemon jam was used very sparingly adding just a hint of acidity and brightness to the fish.

Long Island fluke, tobanjyan, picked scallion, chive blossom, suba stem, two-year-aged soy sauce: at first this dish sounded overly complicated; but the combinations of sweet, salty, and spicy all came together really well with the fresh fish, providing a generous range of textures.  The slightly fermeted chili sauce on here added a level of complexity.

Diver scallop, meyer lemon juice & zest, freeze-dried soy sauce, shiso, watermelon radish: a chunky diver scallop salted by coarse flakes of dehydrated soy sauce.  The meyer lemon brightened the entire dish, particularly the crunchy slices of water-laden radish cubes.  This provided an overall fantastic aroma and flavor making it my hands-down favorite dish of the afternoon.  This was the last dish served on the block of compressed ice.

Uni, yuba, puffed black rice, horseradish, suba stems:  the yuba had a smooth tannic quality that complimented the sweet creaminess of the sea urchin.  Small puffs of black rice added textural contrast while a hint of horseradish lifted the sweetness.

Soft-shell crab hand roll, sugar snap peas, XO sauce, kewpie mayonnaise, dried shrimp: a very crunchy crab shell that crunched with each bite.  It was pretty spicy.  What killed this dish for me was that the hand roll was left sitting on the counter a little too long making the nori soggy.  Seaweed surrounding a hand roll has a shelf-life of about 15 seconds.  After that the dry seaweed crunch yields to wet sogginess.

Warm sliced octopus, mustard-cured cabbage, sea beans, lime, espelette aioli, buckwheat croquette: the octopus was sliced so thin that it melted on the buckwheat croquette.  It developed a fatty texture not unlike lardo.

Puffed egg, Benton’s bacon dashi, kombu soaked in soy sauce, bagel stuffed with bacon-chive cream cheese:  this was awful, the least enjoyable dish of the afternoon.  It was kind of like a soft wet omelette dumped in a bowl of dashi.  The fluffy egg began to disintegrate in the broth almost instantly, like the remnants of a breakfast buffet trolly.

Pea soup, housemade soft tofu, morels, bacon salt, radish sprouts: a very soft tofu sitting inside a thin broth of peas.  Like the soggy puffed egg above, this was a mix of textures that I didn’t find appealing.  The flavor of the pea soup was also bland.

Turbot poached in cherry blossom broth, hackleback caviar, hearts of palm, cucumber, lemongrass oil, swiss chard: a firm nugget of overcooked turbot served in strips that had been rolled before poaching.  The fish was a bit under-salted despite the addition of hackleback caviar.

Cannelloni of rabbit leg & liver, rabbit bacon, fennel frond puree, minced fennel, pork cheek sauce: I liked how the licorice flavor from the fennel brought out the sweetness of the rabbit leg.  However the pasta became spongy very quickly, perhaps from a second cooking in the fennel frond puree.

Shaved foie gras, lychee, pine nut brittle, riesling gelee: this was a brilliant dish, turning the foie gras into a creamy accompaniment that lasted as long as each bite on the plate.  The frozen foie gras melted in my mouth like snow.  The saltiness of the shaved liver with sweetness of the lychee swirled together in balance.  This is a recipe I will certainly be trying at home, although the idea of shaving frozen foie gras gives me chills.

Long Island duck stuffed under the skin with vadouvan-spiced duck sausage, grilled rice & baby leeks, cassis & vadouvan sauce: this was excellent.  The duck was uniformly soft and juicy crowned with a thin crispy layer of fat.  The meat itself was somehow lean but not dry at all.

Manchester cheese from Consider Bardwell Farm, compressed pineapple, pistachio praliné, ground pistachio: the sweetness of the pineapple overwhelmed the delicate flavor of the cheese making the entire dish too sweet.  I did like the crunch from the chunks of candied pistachio, but the cheese was almost an afterthought.

Parsnip ice cream, grapefruit, hazelnut nougat, fudge: the frozen nougat had an elastic texture that was both chewy and crunchy at once.  It tasted like the grapefruit had been soaked in sugar water as it had no bitterness.  Overall, a nice dessert.

Arnold Palmer sorbet, ice tea gelée, lemon cake crumble: A tart sorbet sitting atop a crunchy lemon cake.  The ice tea gelée had a surprisingly crunchy texture as well.

My take-home gift was a small jar of pickled carrots and radish that made a surprisingly nice snack later that night.

Of all the Momofuku restaurants this is certainly the most refined, rife with bold and innovative flavors.  A little tweaking of the menu could lift some of the roller coaster lows making the tasting even stronger. Based on food alone, this is probably the most interesting restaurant in the city right now.  It sort of hurts to say that since the service and atmosphere is just terrible; but it’s the truth.

So while I probably won’t return, that doesn’t mean that Ko doesn’t warrant a first-time visit.  Just leave your camera at home, and bring a lot of patience.

Frankly it wasn’t until more recently that I began to appreciate the tremendous skill involved with extracting espresso.  I began pulling espresso daily using my Rancilio Sylvia modified with an Auber Instruments PID kit to help maintain proper brewing temperature.  I started pulling some incredible shots, intermixed with some not-so-great ones.  The hardest part, I quickly learned, was consistency.  There are so many variables (like temperature, pressure, temping pressure, grind size, ambient humidity, and bean age) that turned this into a real science.  What makes Ninth Street so impressive is its consistency: rarely have I had a poorly extracted espresso.  Their baristi too, are obsessed.

Ninth Street Espresso deserves the credit of introducing New York City to a new wave of coffee brewers.  Ones that took an eye to quality and taste, rather than quantity and dollars.  Having opened nearly ten years ago in 2001 by Ken Nye, Ninth Street has brewed the coffee of every major American roaster: Stumptown, Counter Culture, and currently Intelligentsia, which roasts their own Alphabet City blend.  And as such the attitude of the baristi is one of understated confidence: not pretentious; but they sure know what they are doing.

My favorite way to drink espresso is a triple macchiato.  It’s what I make at home every morning.  A 21-gram puck tamped with around thirty pounds of pressure, extracted for just over 25-seconds and “stained” with a dollop of whole milk.  The ability to create art (a “rosetta”) while pouring the milk indicates the perfect texture and temperature of the silky smooth micro-foam: too thin and and the milk will just blend, too thick and it will sit on top of the espresso with large bubbles.  While I do enjoy this drink by itself, a pinch of Sugar in the Raw brings out the caramel and chocolate flavors even more.

When I’m in the mood to linger for a longer conversation, I order a triple cappuccino.  It uses the same twenty-one gram shot of espresso, only significantly more milk.  The wider cup and added milk gives the barista more flexibility to make artwork on the top, usually in the form of a heart or olive leaf.  The sweet whole milk needs no additional sugar.

All of Ninth Street’s espresso drinks use triple shots.  But don’t get scared, this is not the same as a triple espresso.  It’s actually a triple ristretto (Italian for “restricted”), meaning three times the beans but for the same extraction time yielding the same quantity of a single shot.  (A traditional double espresso has double the quantity, and a triple espresso, triple the quantity.)  So here, the result is a more luxurious shot (extra wasted beans) with more natural oils.  The caffeine content is something in-between a single and double espresso.  By contrast, Joe the Art of Coffee does something similar but with double-ristrettos (14g) instead of triples (21g).

So make a morning out of it.  Being located in Alphabet City means the original Ninth Street is not so easy to get to.  But this can be a good thing: there is always ample seating and a laid back atmosphere filtering out all but the most dedicated coffee cognoscenti.  Don’t be afraid to strike up a conversation with the baristi.  Even if they appear a bit quiet or even austere at first, they enjoy educating customers about their coffee and technique.  It’s a learning experience that won’t be forgotten.  And what better way to learn something new, than with a rich chocolatey macchiato?

On the other side of the East River lies a small village known as Williamsburg, rife with flannel shirts, thick-rimmed glasses, beards, attitudes, and now, pretty good pizza.

Being located in Williamsburg affords Motorino a fair amount of space for a restaurant — even outdoor courtyard space.  The wood-burning pizza oven in the back is cleverly incased by thick glass to lock in the heat, keeping the dining room cool even in the summertime.  The simple yet cosy interior keeps the focus on the pies.  I was impressed with how my sun-drenched window table turned into a romantic corner alcove as night fell.

The menu reads pretty simply, with two types of Pizza Margherita one with D.O.C. Buffalo Mozzarella and the other of a lesser quality of mozzarella for a few dollars less.  Most of the appetizers are decent and feature seasonal ingredients.  I particularly liked my beet salad with acidic red onions and creamy ricotta.  But let’s face it, I wasn’t here for the salads.

Pizza Margherita D.O.C. – An 18-inch flat pie decorated with creamy mozzarella, tomato sauce, and basil leaves.  This pie was very crispy all around, a fork and knife were not necessary.  The cheese and sauce magically bound to the crispy crust: even when I held a slice vertically, nothing slid off.  It did seem a bit like the pizza was forcefully catered to my expectations: a little extra cornmeal underneath to make the pie more rustic with, at times, excessive charring to make the crust more real.  However, I did buy into Motorino’s authenticity game and enjoyed the pizza.  Maybe the crust was a bit too crunchy and lacked elasticity at times; but that’s a personal preference, I suppose.

Pizza Marinara – One look at this pie says it all.  It’s a violent display of charred explosions and molten tomato sauce, tempered with a drizzle of olive oil and slices of fresh garlic.  It’s outstanding.  Just gently painted with fresh tomatoes, the Pizza Marinara is both light and savory with a hint of sweetness coming through from the tomatoes.  A fork and knife is not necessary here.

I’ve brought home slices of this pizza several times, and I will say that it keeps exceptionally well for several days.  After the first day it’s really more like bread than pizza.  It tastes good hot or cold, for breakfast or for dinner, and still maintains its crispy texture despite being refrigerated.  The light saucing means this crust will never get soggy.

Special Pizza – Mozzarella, Olive, Anchovy, and Capers – I ordered this pizza to try something completely different and outside my comfort zone.  I’m not an anchovy guy.  I was surprised at how well the olive’s acidity complimented the salty anchovies all supported by a base of creamy mozzarella.  In this situation, the crispy crust was fantastic as it gave significant structure to all the toppings.  A fork and knife was still not necessary.

During my visits I’ve rarely laid eyes on Chef Mathieu Palombino behind the counter; but that doesn’t seem to matter.  The pizzas are consistent, a testament to his ability to train the staff effectively (I only wish that such pizzaioli actually existed in Mexico — the pizza down there is awful).  However while consistent, they lack much of the love and soul found at Kesté.

Is it an authentic Pizza Napoleatana?  Sometimes; depends who’s making it.  On some visits I’ve had hints of elasticity in the crust; other times, it was more crispy with extra garlic and charring.  So while the pizzas are consistently good overall; there is a range of variability in textures and flavors: sometimes it’s more New York-style, other times more Naples-style, and occasionally somewhere in-between.  But they sure are consistently gorgeous.

As with any pizza, no two are completely alike.  You’ll just have to go see for yourself.  And what better way to test this edible chaos theory than with a pizza?

Roberto Caporuscio, chef and co-owner of Kesté Pizza & Vino, is a pizza master.  Chef Caporuscio comes from Pontinia, Italy just over an hour north of Naples, the putative birthplace of pizza.  After several years of training in Napoli he ventured to the United States to share this traditional style of pizza without compromise.  New York-style pizza wasn’t for him.  Despite being the president of the Associazione Pizzaiuoli Napoletani, he is rarely found outside of the kitchen.  And if he is, his hands are always covered in white dust.  Roberto’s enthusiasm for making the perfect pie can be seen almost immediately by watching  his slow precise hands working the dough, his eyes almost never straying from the pie.

The dining room is modest, a long narrow corridor with simple wooden tables and chairs lining both sides.  On a Saturday night (actually any night, for that matter) the brick walls echo the groans and sighs of a jam-packed room full of ecstatic diners. Kesté does not take reservations, and since the word got out that “this is it” (the rough translation of “Kesté” from Neapolitan dialect) be sure to arrive early.

The menu features authentic items such as the pizza margherita and pizza marinara, as well as more original creations involving squash, mushrooms, truffle oil, and other unique assortments of seasonal ingredients.  I’ve heard purists cite the variety of Kesté’s menu as a weakness, saying Naples doesn’t have “salad pizzas.”  While that’s probably true, this isn’t Naples and the clientele isn’t from Naples; unless you’re David Chang, having a restaurant in New York without light and vegetarian options is operational suicide.  Good luck.  Fortunately, Chef Caporuscio uses this to his advantage: the creative pies are still baked in the Neapolitan way, just with toppings to please the diner.  However if you’re a member of the cultural police, stick to the first few items on the menu.

Pizza Margherita – A soft and pliable dough, just over a foot in diameter, with crispy charred black spots decorating the rim. The pie was adorned with molten globs of fresh mozzarella, tomato sauce, and crispy basil leaves. In a wood-burning oven this hot, pizzas cook in under a minute. While I tried to use my hands at first, the soft eye of the pizza quickly told me a fork and knife would be easier. Each crack with the knife sent a puff of black dust onto the table. This pizza was just as much fun to cut, as it was to eat. The flavor was extremely fresh and subtle, reminiscent of the first time I made marinara sauce with canned tomatoes. The high quality mozzarella cheese nearly made me reach for the salt shaker, until the subtle sweetness of the tomatoes shone through. This pie was in perfect balance.

It’s always a battle with pizza: eating too quickly will result in a burnt tongue; but wait too long, and the cheese hardens.  As tempting as it is to take an immediate bite, I usually try as hard as possible to wait a minute for the molten tomato sauce to cool to a safe temperature.  However Kesté’s pies are no bread bowl: sauce is applied sparingly so the cooling time is much quicker.  I find thirty seconds to be ideal.  At least, that’s the extent of my restraint.

Pizza Marinara – The lightweight cousin to the Pizza Margherita, this pie has no cheese.  The same elastic crust is garnished with bright red tomato sauce, slices of roasted garlic, thin crispy basil, and a drizzle of olive oil.  There are few things in the world as satisfying as this.

There was a bit of a line on my first trip to the sole bathroom, which afforded me the opportunity to watch Chef Caporuscio in action.  He could tell that I was curious, and without taking his eyes off the pizza, managed to keep a conversation.  He was genuinely interested in talking about pizza, the places that do it right while omitting the places that did not do it so right.  He explained his passion for finding the right ingredients and for methodically assembling and baking them in just a few minutes.  I watched as he pulled a pie right from the oven into the trash, “a little too charred on the edges,” he replied.  He was a perfectionist.

Mast’nicola – A pie from such an ancient recipe that it doesn’t include tomato sauce.  Thin and translucent slices of lardo and basil are spread over the dough and crisped in the oven with a dusting of Pecorino romano.  I feared this pie would be dry.  It wasn’t.  It was this pie that awakened me to Kesté’s true secret: the crust.  Part elastic, part crispy, part chewy, part dusty, this crust expanded the entire gamut of texture.  It formed a perfect foundation for a variety of topings; but frankly, could easily be enjoyed by itself.

Ripieno (Calzone) - Tomatoes, ricotta, fresh mozzarella, salame, extra virgin olive oil.  A pizza folded in half, overflowing and oozing with warm mozzarella and ricotta.  Hidden strips of spicy salame were buried under the crust, adding a meaty salt to the overall flavor.  I’ve tried on various occasions to get Chef Caporuscio to make a calzone of just ricotta and mozzarella with no tomato sauce and no salame; but every time I got the same dish with a note from the waiter, “Roberto says it doesn’t taste so good like that.”  I just wanted to compare this calzone eye-to-eye with my favorite from DiFara; because frankly, this might be my new favorite.

Salsiccia e Friarielli – Chunks of sausage and a vegetable similar to broccoli rabe.  The crust was outstanding; but I don’t care much for smoked mozzarella.  This was the special pizza of the day, often spontaneous and impromptu creations by the chef.  While I did enjoy this; I’m not too sure I would order it again.

Tiramisù and Tiramisù alla fragola – Regular and strawberry tiramisu, moist and wet with a clearly defined shape.  The taste of coffee was very light, which I appreciated.

Panna Cotta – Firm and rich, with a delicate hint of vanilla.

Torta Caprese – A dark chocolate and walnut cake spiked with limoncello.  This was very heavy and I would only recommend it for those with a rather large appetite.  Delicious, nonetheless.

Regina Margherita – like a Pizza margherita only with grape tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella.  The added acidity of the tomato skins cuts through much of the cheesy mouth-feel from the traditional margherita.  A similar pie, only with burrata instead of mozzarella, is available sometimes as a special.  I highly recommend trying the later if it’s available; but only with a large appetite.  The squeaky mozzarella spills off the pie onto the plate.  It’s almost like drinking cream.

Prosciutto e Rucola – Large layers of prosciutto layered over raw arugula.  An obvious choice for salumi lovers looking for something light.

Pizza alla Nutella -Kesté’s signature crust sliced horizontally and layered with nutella.  The whole pie is then dusted with sugar.  Really now, try to think of a more appealing dessert to share.  It’s exceptional (and apparently authentic, says the Chef, too).

Kesté is the best thing to happen to New York’s pizza in a long time, and I find myself constantly returning for another exceptional pie.  It’s just always the right decision, for lunch, for dinner, with family, or with friends.  And the staff is kind and accommodating, the service prompt and responsive.  I highly recommend that everyone visit, and am counting the days until I return to New York.

This is where Marea comes in.  As sister restaurant of New York’s other Northern Italian gem, Alto, Marea’s menu is rife with raw seafood.  Over half of the menu, in fact.  At times some of the plates look Japanese in simplicity and presentation, that is until the golden dab of olive oil shines through.

Marea occupies the former space of San Domenico, which other than perhaps Del Posto, was the most expensive Italian restaurant in the city.  In this respect, Chef Michael White’s cuisine is similar: it’s expensive.  But the restaurant space has been completely renovated and no longer feels like a scene from CSI Miami.  Its reflective hard lacquer surfaces and focused halogen lighting put the food on a well-lit pedestal.

The first glance of the menu brought a huge smile to my face: raw scallops, prawns, sea urchin.  This menu read like happiness on a page.  Dishes appeared fresh, clean, crisp, and simple: almost as if an Italian and Japanese chef had shared their mutual cultural secrets.  I was literally ready to book a second reservation, as getting a table can be difficult, before any of the dishes came to the table.  But that sentiment quickly changed.

AMUSE BOUCHE – A white fish soup, olive oil, with a fried crisp of bread.  The texture was salty and grainy, much like watered down mashed potatoes.  Still, the textures were nicely balanced, and I was starving.

RICCI – sea urchin, lard, sea salt.  This was a room temperature slice of sea urchin served atop a slice of toasted baguette and encased in a thin film of lard.  The warm urchin was shrink-wrapped by the clear layer of lard, preventing it from dripping off the toast.  This was an interesting combination, particularly the salty cured flavor of the lard mixing with the sweetness of the urchin.  I like sea urchin for its clean sweet flavor; I did not like how the lard’s saltiness made it taste a few days old.  The lard masked the freshness of the fish.  This was an interesting combination of two ingredients I like separately; but together, they felt forced.  Quite simply, this just didn’t taste good.

SEPPIA – cuttlefish tagliatelle, soffrito crudo, bottarga di muggine.  Another dish that sounded great on the menu.  Extremely fresh cuttlefish develops an addicting chewy crunch with a hint of elasticity.  The texture of this fish definitely had that.  But there was so much bottarga on the plate that everything tasted like sour salt.  I could not figure out why someone would pair a very fishy tasting bottarga to a sweet and fresh tasting fish.  The bottarga seemed out of place and overwhelming; by flavor alone, it was impossible to connect with the freshness of the fish.  The fish could have been 2 hours or 2 days old, and would have still tasted a week old.  Bottarga has its place by itself and in small quantities; but in this case, completely dominated the subtle flavor of the cuttlefish.

SPARNOCCHI – sweet maine prawns, lemon, black lava salt.  This dish sounded fantastic on the menu.  Large sweet prawns lifted by a little lemon and salt.  In reality the prawns were bitter in taste and the sweetness never came through.  I wasn’t sure why the dish was layered with slices of flavorless cucumber.  Since the ingredient was not listed in the menu, it was likely more a thoughtless garnish.  But why slice them thinly in edible slices if not to be eaten?  This seemed too academic without any thought that the watery cucumber offered nothing to the dish, except for the color green.  The cucumber skin made the shrimp taste terrible and the overall dish appear lazy.

FUSILLI – red wine braised octopus, bone marrow.  This was another dish that just sounded incredible. I’m pretty much always in the mood for L’Os a Moelle, the smell of which immediately brings me back to my two years living in Paris.  Its combination with fresh octopus also sounded intriguing.  But the red wine sauce was just too sweet and too sour.  Each bite of the fusilli left an aspartame-like chemical tingle on my tongue.  And the strong sour smell, similar to orange juice, really put me off.  The sauce was so thick and abundant that at times this seemed more like a stew as the pasta became pasty.  This dish has so much potential; but the night I went, it was the most disappointing of the evening.

TARALLI – nantucket bay scallops, mussels, tomato sauce
This was the highlight dish of the night.  While I did find this sauce too sweet as well, the texture of the pasta combined with the briny scallops and mussels kept me distracted.  But frankly this dish stood out merely because it was the least offensive of the other dishes.  This dish has no offensive ingredient combinations.

UOVO – slow poached egg, black truffle, marsala ragu, polenta cream.  A rich and creamy poached egg buried in a bed of polenta cream touched with black truffle.  A weightless polenta cream that held together the black truffle and egg, contributing an earthy touch of silky-smooth cornmeal, which tied everything together.  This part of the dish was exceptional.  However, layered in there was also a marsala “ragu”.  The ragu was both sour and sweet, like a red wine sauce that had been sitting on the stove too long.  Like the bone marrow fusilli, it smelled like orange juice.  The texture of this sauce was thick, clear, and starchy.  It was too similar to gooey Americanized Cantonese sauces, and completely offensive to the rest of the dish.

Our waiter brought us a small dish of chocolate petit fours, which were delicious — paper thin layers of chocolate encasing a full spectrum of fruits.  We chose to skip dessert.

Aside from the occasionally distracting across the room chant of “ándale güey” (Mexican slang for “Go ahead, man”), the service was excellent.  The restaurant was packed and at no point did we feel rushed, particularly with the extended amount of food we ordered.  That’s no easy task.

But at the end of the day, the dishes felt forced and unnatural, and did not taste good.  Creativity should never be at the expense of flavor, and every chef must at some point step back, look at his dishes, and do a taste test to make sure that they actually work.  Nearly every dish we ordered had an offensive ingredient or flavor that tasted like it didn’t belong.  But the menu still reads really well, so perhaps the restaurant just needs some more time to settle.  I’ll probably re-visit; but not anytime too soon.

But at the same time, an ingredient’s source should never supersede flavor. Just because hand-picked moss comes from the high hills of northern Hokkaido, or if tomatoes come picked this morning from a farm nearby, doesn’t mean they will necessarily taste good.

Unfortunately, there are few restaurants that combine an ingredient’s unique naturalness with an inventive cuisine that doesn’t take the spotlight away from nature. It’s usually a tradeoff. Noma has both. The unique flora and fauna found in Scandinavia provides a full spectrum of ingredients with which René Redzepi, chef of Noma Copenhagen, can paint into sophisticated flavor.

Noma, a play on the words “nordic” and “food” in Danish, is located seaside in a 250 year old industrial complex now converted into lofts and large open spaces.  The decor is minimalist nordic warmed by exposed wooden beams.  Though open and uncluttered, the small windows can at times make the lighting dim if not seated directly next to a window.

Service was exceptional from the very beginning, when I was greeted by name as being the last member of a party of four to arrive.  It could be because I was eating with a well-known Parisian restaurateur and two established food bloggers; though, glancing around the room revealed the restaurant’s unique ability to feel as if each table is the only table in the restaurant.  The staff in general was extremely proud of the food it served and genuinely wanted guests to feel at home and to enjoy the experience.  This was one of the warmest and most genuine lunch services I’ve ever experienced.  I felt at home throughout the entire meal.

Amuse bouche – savoury cookie; speck, blackcurrant.  These were crispy and salty with a hint of sweetness.  It was a nice accompiament to a glass of champagne.  These bite-sized portions served in a tin can.

Amuse bouche – rye bread, fava beans, chicken skin and smoked cheese.  This was also salty with hints of chicken stock and no detectable fat whatsoever.  Beans were added texture to the paste, like potato skin in pommes purées.  Smoked cheese gave depth and emphasized the saltiness.

Amuse bouche – smoked quail egg. For me this was more about the texture than flavor.  It was a lot of fun to eat.  The warm egg bursted in my mouth like a little explosion.  There was a stark contrast from white to yolk, this was cooked just enough to solidify the shell while keeping the inside fluid.  The flavor was rich and creamy, like an intensified egg yolk.

Amuse bouche – radish and turnip, soil and herbs. Cool concept.  A radish was buried in a ceramic pot full of edible “dirt.”  It literally felt like I was literally eating dirt as some parts of the soil were even hard to chew, like they contained little pebbles.  The imagery of this dish was very powerful, like stopping for a quick snack in a friend’s greenhouse.  The flavor was light and clean with a hint of burn as found in very fresh radishes.

Amuse bouche – toast, herbs, beurre noisette and vinegar. Gorgeous presentation; a lot like fresh snow fallen on a pile of greens.  There was a slight acidity on the vegetables from the vinegar as frequently seen in Nordic cuisine.  For me this was prettier than it tasted, but it did feel like talking a hungry walk through an herb garden.

Squid and white currant; cream and dill. This was absolutely breathtaking both in flavor and presentation.  The highlight of the meal.  The squid was chewy but nothing like the pencil eraser texture some varieties of squid can develop.  This was a different type, translucent and snippy.  I’ve had similar squid before in Kozue (こずえ） and Sukiyabashi Jiro (すきやばしじろ) where it was referred to as Monga-ika (もんがいか).  I’m not sure what that’s called outside of Japan; but I’d like to hunt it down and buy some.  The chewy squid complemented very nicely with the pristine white currant.

Apple, walnut, walnut milk, marjoram.  This had a very subtle flavor and the thin slices of walnut and apple did not help in tasting the ingredients.  This dish was more about the texture than the taste, which was crispy and cold.

Shrimp and seaweed; rhubarb and herbs.  The pickled rhubarb was astringent and gave a tannic-sensation when combined with the raw shrimp, highlighting its sweetness and milky texture.  The fresh sea lettuce added a hint of bitterness resulting in an overall balanced and fresh dish.  I really liked this as it felt clean yet unconventional.

Sea urchin and grilled cucumber; Dill and cream.  To say that I enjoyed this dish is an understatement.  Big chunks of firm and cold sea urchin jumping out of of a frozen grilled cucumber granité.  The granité not only amplified the urchin’s sweet taste of the sea; but served functionally to keep the texture solid and dense.  The dill brought the whole dish closer to shore by adding a hint of the garden.

Tartar and wood sorrel; rromatic juniper and tarragon.  When I first saw this plate, I was immediately struck by the ordered chaos throughout the dish.  While the wood sorrel was disordered and densely packed, like a wild meadow,  it still remained confined to a rigid square.  The sorrel leaves sat atop a coarsely ground square of Danish beef tartar.  The clover-shaped leaves were large enough to serve as utensils for bite-sized portions of beef, so forks and knives were neither necessary nor given.  The sensation of eating this simple and pure dish with your fingers added another sense to the dish: touch.  This immersive experience powerfully evoked imagery of cows grazing on an open field.  The flavors of the dish were simple and unalloyed.  I wouldn’t call this  the best tasting dish of the meal; but I would certainly call it the most interesting.

Langoustine and seawater; parsley and rye.  A plump langoustine sat atop a warm basalt stone taken from a local field, not unlike a cold-blooded reptile basking in the sun.  The texture of the langoustine was firm and stringy, the flavors unaided by spicing.  This dish was also eaten without a fork and knife.  I liked the langoustine; but, would have preferred it to be slightly undercooked.

Steamed spinach and tea; swedish cheese, elderberries and pickled rose hip.  This dish was prettier than it was flavorful.  The melange of ingredients didn’t seem to have much coherency and the flavors were unfocused.  Most distracting was the strong taste of earl grey.    The tea foam made the greens a bit soggy, like a salad that had been sitting around for awhile.

Local, wild mushroom (pied de boeuf/amador); skate sauce, nasturtium, elderberry capers.  Our waiter brought this dish out from the kitchen to get a glance at the sheer size of the mushroom before being plated.  One of the biggest I’d seen.  He brought this out in part to prevent the mushroom from dying out, but also for a small show, as the mushroom was continuously sauced in front of us.  The mushroom was full of water which diluted the flavor, leaving behind the strong sour and acidic taste of the elderberry capers.

Onions from Læsø; chick weed and onion bouillon.  This was a beautifully presented dish with a well thought out mix of playful textures.  Contrasting against the crispy sweet onions were gummy beads of tapioca.  The flavor was dominated by the light onion broth; but remained overall soft on the palate.  The pearl beads were really entertaining to chew, and broke up the monotony of what would be a normally crispy salad.

Salsify and milk skin; truffle from Gotland.  Another beautifully presented dish containing black truffles from northern Sweden.  The truffles were mild and really required my nose to get close to the plate to smell them.  The flowers were pretty; but didn’t taste very good.  I brushed them to the side of the plate.  The milk skin had a texture and flavor identical to yuba which was creamy and pliable but dull.  The truffles in theory should have carried this dish; but since they were not the most fragrant, the overall effect was of warm milk.  Not my favorite dish of the afternoon.

Pickled vegetables and bone marrow; herbs and bouillon.  Very attractive presentation; a collection of greens and marrow sprouting out of the plate.  The pickled vegetables, however, were to strong and overpowering, adding an overall sour taste to the dish.  I also did not like eating lukewarm marrow with colder vegetables as there was too much of a contrast.  However, this light salad did manage to make the fatty marrow taste clean and delicate.

Sweetbread and bleek roe; Söl and sea salt.  This was outstanding.  Milky and sweet sweetbread resting in a briny and salty bleek roe broth.  The oceanic taste cut through the fattiness of the sweetbread which, aside from the texture, made it taste like something in-between meat and fish.  The roe, and what seemed like a hint of lemon, added a touch of acidity to an otherwise flat dish.

Lamb and horseradish; fresh salad and pickled ramson onion.  Another exceptional presentation screaming garden fresh.  The lamb however was quite firm surrounded by a very thick shell of fat which I separated from the meat before eating.

Carrots; buttermilk and anis.  This might have been the first time I’ve seen carrots used as the dominant flavor in a dessert.  It worked nicely, with the exception of the frozen buttermilk in the middle which was very cold without an easily detectible flavor.  I think that was the point as to let the carrots dominate; but something a bit stronger and more complimentary would have carried this dish further.

The snowman from Jukkasjärvi; cloudberries and wild thyme.  I didn’t particularly like this dessert.  It tasted like a snow cone of powder, just without the syrup.  The dish had the strong scent of thyme which was too intensely vegetal at this point in the meal.

Walnut powder and ice cream; Dried cream and dried berries.  This dessert was outstanding.  So much so, in fact, that the table unanimously asked for a second serving.  Our waiter laughed; then realized we were serious, happily returning with a repeat round.  Conceptually unique, this dessert had a mix of textures that gave me chills: crunchy, squeaky, slimy, creamy, and brittle.  The dried berries added a touch of astringency which complimented the walnut powder and ice cream.  Wow.

I left this lunch with a deep and sincere appreciation for the sheer number of new vegetables and mushrooms I’d tried, as well as how chef Redzepi took a step back to let their natural flavors come through.  Most of the ingredients just aren’t accessible anywhere else.  The staff was full of smiles the entire meal, proud and extremely knowledgable of every ingredient on every plate. A handful of dishes were phenomenal, the rest require a bit more refinment to compete with the all-stars.  I would definitely go back, in fact I can’t wait to return; but, I think the restaurant needs a little more time to experiment and polish its massive ingredients list to better identify what works and what does not.

Noma humbly accedes to the need to continue research and experimentation.  After the meal, Chef Redzepi was kind enough to give us a tour of the research facility next door, the Nordic Food Lab, whose purpose is to document and catalog the flavors found in new Nordic ingredients they encounter for which there is not much information.  The food lab floats on a converted house boat with a full kitchen and a hotel-like setup designed to host foreign chefs so they can share their culinary experiences with Noma.

Noma is incredibly innovative and brave enough to experiment and take risks.  With time and patience, I have no doubt Noma can only perfect itself.

Chef Jiro Ono has been recognized by the Japanese government as a national treasure and “modern master” for his contributions to Japanese cuisine. He has received three Michelin stars. The awards an accolades for this masterful chef are endless. And to believe he is over 80 years old.

Chef Ono’s dishes are simple and straight forward: the freshest fish imaginable, warm carefully selected and cooked rice, deft knife work, and a collection of wise and sarcastic jokes.  He is very serious.  But unlike Masa, he was faster to crack a smile.  He couldn’t stop smirking at how I took a picture of each piece of sushi and even offered to pose; though, his sharp sushi knife was a forceful deterrent.  He has a funny sense of humor and is full of clever quips; my limited Japanese only understood the surface.  He asked if we had any allergies or restrictions.  We made it very clear that we eat absolutely everything.

To me, an omakase meal is like perusing the colors of the rainbow: when everything is exquisitely fresh, it’s impossible for me to pick favorites or to dislike any of the fresh fish.  It’s like asking me to chose if I like the color red or blue better; I like them both.  Everything I ate here was unbelievable.

Full course list:
- Hirame　(ひらめ)
- Sumi-ika　(すみいか)
- Shima-aji　(しまあじ)
- Akami　(あかみ)
- Chu-toro　(ちゅうとろ)
- Oo-toro　(おおとろ)
- Kohada　(こはだ)
- Hamaguri　(はまぐり)
- Aji　(あじ)
- Kuruma-ebi　(くるまえび)
- Sayori　(さより)
- Tako　(たこ)
- Saba　(さば)
- Akagai　(あかがい)
- Uni　(うに)
- Kobashira　(こばしら)
- kura　(いくら)
- Anago　(あなご)
- Tamago　(たまご)

We started the meal with cuts of Hirame, Sumi-ika, and Shima-aji.  Each piece was lightly brushed with soy sauce and freshly grated wasabi already applied.  The only accoutrement given was a healthy handful of ginger.  The hirame (fluke) left a trail of sweetness lingering in my mouth.  The sumi-ika (squid) had a texture that I’ve only experienced at Kozue: not at all squeaky; but chewy and translucent.  The shima-aji (amber jack) snipped as I bit through it.

Three slices of tuna came next, akami, chu-toro, and oo-toro increasing from lean, to medium fatty, to extremely fatty cuts.  The akami (lean toro) was the most tender slice of tuna I’ve ever tasted that did not contain noticeable marbelization.  The tuna was marinated in soy sauce for several minutes before service, perhaps contributing to this unique texture.  The medium fatty tuna had an interesting mix of crunch and fat, while the fatty tuna just completely melted in my mouth.  My friend with whom I shared this meal began to tear (I kid you not).

Making the transition from milder to more intensely flavored fishes came kohada, hamaguri, and aji.  The shiny skin was left on the kohada (something inbetween herring and mackerel) amplifying the already fishy flavor.  This fish literally smells like the ocean.  The texture of the hamaguri (a type of Japanese clam) was crunchy yet not dry.  The aji (horse mackerel) was soft and smooth with thin stripes of fat stringing together layers of lean meat.

The kuruma-ebi was simply gorgeous.  Killed minutes before and immediately flash boiled, the gigantic tiger prawn with beautiful bands of white and red made its way to our plate.  The texture of the shrimp was almost indistinguishable from langoustine: firm with a hint of pastiness.  I briefly wondered what happened to the head, my favorite part; but I was quickly distracted by the next course.  Chef Ono explained that the tiger prawn is sliced in such a way that the flavor and juices of the head are incorporated with the meat, and so the head itself is not necessary.

The sayori had a texture inbetween mackerel and squid: slightly crunchy yet clearly not a shellfish.

The tako, or octopus, was sliced very thinly and left lightly uncooked to preserve its soft texture and to prevent it from getting dry.  The edges of the fish seemed less cooked than the center, giving this slice of octopus a wide range of textures both chewy and crunchy.

Saba, a skin-less slice of mackerel that lacked the strong fishy flavor that I was used to.  This was the freshest saba I’ve ever tasted.

Akagai, or arc-shell clam, was a newly discovered favorite food.  I am literally tasting again this as I type this sentence.  A brittle and crispy yet moist clam with a strong briny flavor.  Chef Ono lightly scored the surface with his knife enhancing the crispy texture.

Uni.  Light and sweet with a slightly briny flavor and no iodine taste whatsoever.  The roe remained firm even while sitting atop the warm rice.  As my friend Lizzie said during our meal at Urasawa, “you can just inject this stuff directly into my veins.”  I couldn’t agree with her more.

Kobashira, round clam abductor muscles wrapped in seaweed.  This had a stiff and crispy texture much like the akagai.

Ikura, salmon roe.  One of the few pieces of Ikura sushi I’ve had with almost no salting.  Chef Ono, in the most humble way possible, let us know that this was the best in the world.  It was certainly some of the best I’ve ever had, right alongside the Ikura at Urasawa.

Anago, saltwater eel.  This was much leaner and less oily than usual.  It was very lightly glazed with kabayaki to add sweetness.

And now, time for dessert.  This is how I would like to end all meals.  If the quality of a restaurant’s Tamago can be used as a barometer for the skill of a sushi chef, this is as good as it gets.  The sweet egg sushi had a fluffiness like a dense pound cake.  It was addictively sweet and marked a perfect ending to an incredible meal.

The bill came, and I was told that no credit cards were accepted.  Uh oh.  Struggling in a panic to put together my thoughts in Japanese, I explained that I would leave my sister at the restaurant as hostage while I went to an ATM.  With his slippers and in full chef attire, Chef Ono’s assistant kindly walked me into the connecting subway station to the nearest machine.  The machine was on the other side of the subway turnstyle; but a quick conversation with the toll guard and he let me through to the machine.  I returned cash in hand to see my sister smiling with several autographed books that Chef Ono had signed for her … she must have left quite an impression.  This example of kindness is not something I’m used to living in Paris.

This was undoubtably one of the best sushi meals of my life.  The combination of chef Ono’s skill and access to the best ingredients makes this a must visit.  Each fish was served at its ideal temperature.  His timing was impeccable: not a single piece of fish rested for a second longer than necessary.

I would recommend going with someone who speaks conversational Japanese as the staff speaks absolutely no English and, for me, much of the fun came from the chef’s witty humour.  It was an all around excellent experience, and I can’t wait to go back.