A Good French Bistro: Bouchon

With the disappointment of Plouf still lingering on my tongue, I drove to Yountville with a friend, determined to get my mussels done right. I secured a table for two at Bouchon, Thomas Keller's "casual" french bistro just a block down from The French Laundry, where I knew I wouldn't be disappointed by the food.

And I wasn't (for the most part). The menu is printed on thin wax paper and wrapped crisply around your napkin. A long list of daily specials is written on several chalkboards, and everything sounded so appetizing that finally pinning down what to order was labor, but one of love... or at least of lust. We'll call it lovst. Lovst for food.

We finally opted to split a chilled Maine crab salad and their house special soup, French Onion, as starters. The crab salad was crisp and clean, the flavors - the crab, the citrus, the mache green - standing on their own before resolving to a major chord in your mouth. The soup was special, full and robust. The onion was well caramelized and created, along with a vibrant beef stock, a deep smoky yet sweet flavor. The cheese, however, was a bit heavy on top and I found it difficult to finish in pace with the broth.

My friend picked the wild mushroom crepe as an appropriate Sunday brunch selection at a French bistro on a sunny day in Napa Valley. The crepe was pleasant, although a bit salty in certain areas - undoubtedly the work of an intern whose unpracticed fingers haven't quite learned the very important craft of salting. I chose the mussels. I have to confess that I hesitated - gasped even - when I read the recipe prior to coming to the restaurant. It calls for mustard, a flavor I don't associate with Mussels, and one I don't like in general. But I'm glad I ordered it. The Maine mussels were small, perfectly cooked, and tasted like the sweet ocean where they happily grew plump on protein-rich fish poop. The broth was the best I had ever tasted. The mustard was barely perceptible, used more to color and thicken the broth and bind the other ingredients together, forming a rich dipping jus for the bread and frittes. Roasted garlic is used, and shallots, and white wine. Parsley and a generous measure of saffron too. It was the perfect bowl of mussels. I miss it a lot.

We ended with an order of profiteroles and a mint pot-de-creme. The profiteroles were magnificent, the dough crisp on the edges, the flavor creamy, with vanilla bean ice cream and Valrohna chocolate sauce ("you can leave the chocolate sauce gravy boat on the table") to complete the dish. I have to admit though, my friend Ann Kim makes them from the Bouchon cookbook and she's been able to successfully improve on it by creating larger profiteroles which results in a slightly spongier pastry and a more prominent egg flavor and reducing the ice cream to pastry ratio which results in a better balance of flavors, textures, and temperatures. I didn't care too much for the pot-de-creme - it tasted like toothpaste, although a high-quality all-natural one like Tom's of Maine. But my friend, who loves the herbal flavor of fresh natural mint leaves, enjoyed it completely.

It was all a very pleasant experience. The food, of course, was excellent. I never expected it to be revelatory the way it is at The French Laundry where one discovers what celery can really taste like with a little help, a little coaxing. Sitting there in a sun-drenched dining room with marble floors and brass rails and eating profiteroles, I forgot that I was in California, merely an hour away from the city, so close yet so far from Plouf. For a moment a flicker of rage flared up at the thought of Plouf, but was put out immediately and simply with a sip of good, strong French coffee.