My two friends and I split two appetizers: the veal meatballs (those poor tortured delicious calves), and the dungeness crab stuffed artichoke hearts. The meatballs were incredible, the highlight of the evening. Slightly sweet and tart, with spices and herbs that penetrated into the deep flavors of the fragrant meat, the meatballs came atop mashed potatoes. The gravy was brighter than most, but it had to be to match the intensity of the meatballs. Delicious. The dungeness crab and artichoke hearts was also fine but didn't leave me overly impressed. It tasted like... well... like dungeness crab and artichoke hearts. Simple and straightforward. But paired with those magical meatballs, it couldn't have had much hope for standing out.
For the main course, I ordered the lamb chops with mashed English peas and olive gnocchi. But of course, as soon as the plates came out, I sat up and leaned over to begin shoveling bites of my friends' dishes. One friend ordered the duck with wild rice while the other was a bit braver by ordering the scallops with andouille sausage. I say brave because, just as expected, the scallop dish tasted like jambalaya: lacking any degree of subtlety, it's likely to rough you up a bit if you're not ready. I thought I was prepared tonight, but as it turned out I really wasn't. The duck plate consisted of duck meat picked off the bone and piled on top of wild rice and various fruits and vegetables including dates and perhaps a type of zucchini. A large stretch of crisp duck skin covered the plate, and a surprising measure of a very intense and sweet sauce bound the ingredients together. The first bite was delicious - it sang in your mouth. One friend said it tasted like Christmas. That would explain the sweetness (and the singing in the mouth). But the intensity shortened the flavor-life (the food version of half-life), as your tongue became tired and eventually got beaten up. Now I really feel like a sissy - roughed up by scallops and beaten down by duck. Thank god no one ordered the venison. Fortunately, the duck paired superbly with the Syrah which tempered the sweetness.
I have mixed feelings about my lamb chops. I loved the peas - I always love fresh peas, especially ones with English accents. Cooked and mashed with some fava beans, they had great texture, similar to well cooked edamame. The gnocchi, pan fried, were light and had a hint of olive. The lamb chops were well crusted on one side (I'd be surprised if it didn't fry in butter for about seven minutes), but as thin as they were, the chops cooked through to medium-well. I prefer to hear mine still baa-ing when I lean in close, or at least pink throughout. My biggest beef with the lamb dish was that it was a bit too bland, not in terms of salt, but in flavor. It was more of an etude of texture rather than taste, which might be fine if their intent was to be avant-garde, but I strongly doubt that in a restaurant serving butterscotch pot-de-creme. Speaking of butterscotch pot-de-creme, it was quite delicious - fun, creamy, dense. The apple huckleberry crisp was also executed well - as well as one could execute something that refuses to be extraordinary.
The service was a bit dull. I would've expected a bit more snap-crackle-pop. The life of the place came from its clientele, not its waitstaff. Which brings me to my most important observation. So this isn't the finest restaurant you'll go to - at $50 per person (pre-tip), there are a dozen that could easily match the place - but being in the heart of former dot-com central in a large modern brick building that is the archetype of SOMA architecture, it reclaims the electricity that once surged through the city during the boom years. The place is packed with smartly dressed yuppies, with silver haired socialites, professional gays, and 20 somethings gathering for some special occasion. My friends and coworkers are tired of my rants about how denial and delusion run and ruin my generation. But in a moment of weakness, I just may come back, order a glass of wine I'm not supposed to drink (i'm allergic), traipse through a thousand calories in three courses, laugh til I choke, scream to my friends over the buzz, and pretend like the boom years are back.
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