Terra

There are expectations, of course; those lines we inevitably draw in our minds and from which a good part, if not the whole, of our experience is measured and ultimately judged. That is, perhaps, why I can rave about the crisp chips at Chevy’s as fervently as I do about the crisp sturgeon at the French Laundry, and why a McDonald’s hot fudge sundae can satisfy my sweet tooth nearly as well as the warm cherry clafoutis from Gary Danko. For better or worse, expectations define our experience.

Before going to Terra I had done the standard research. I read every page of its website, talked to a few people, looked up its scores on Zagat.com, and scoured the web for reviews from both critics and diners. Consider the facts: A Japanese chef (and the Japanese are nothing if not meticulous) trained in French Californian cuisine; Access to ingredients so fresh that they make France’s three-starred chefs sweat with envy; A list of awards and critical reviews that are second in Napa Valley only to The French Laundry, which is hardly a bad position to be in considering that Mr. Keller’s restaurant is arguably the best in the country. I went to Terra with reasonably well-informed and carefully measured expectations.

The menu combined French, Italian, and Japanese elements, just as advertised. My problem with multi-themed menus is that it’s difficult to develop a cohesive theme through multiple courses: either one is limited in their selections by settling on a single theme, or one has to put up with disruptive shifts across several themes. For example, I began with Seared Hamachi Sashimi with Hijiki and Daikon Sprouts served with a Ponzu Vinaigrette, then traversed 13,000 miles for Pan Roasted Lobster and Scallops with King Trumpets and Garlic Lemon Parsley Butter Sauce.

Beyond a difficult menu, the food itself strived to be inventive but was entirely uninspired. Try as he might, Salieri was no Mozart. Terra supporters might claim that it may have been an “off night” but that could hardly be the case when the mediocrity was pervasive and problems were the norm. The hamachi sashimi was overpowered by the ponzu, traditionally used sparingly in Japanese cuisine, and everyone who had a bite of my entrée agreed with furrowed brows that the garlic in the sauce was far too forward.

The other appetizers were hardly better. The Tartare of Salmon and Hamachi with Sesame Tuile lacked any differentiating element, except, perhaps, for the overbearing intensity of the sesame of the tuile. It simply wouldn't stand out at any of the dozens of small neighborhood restaurants throughout San Francisco. Although my fellow diners praised the Braised Lamb Shoulder Ravioli with Mint and Raw Feta Cheese, I thought the dish languished as the smoky grilled artichokes conspired with the mellow, gamey braised lamb. The mint and feta stood no chance of balancing the dish against their combined heft.

It says something that the highlight of the evening was the Broiled Sake Marinated Cod with Shrimp Dumpling and Shiso Broth, a dish that is served with slight variations at a dozen other high-end restaurants (including Nobu and Aqua) and hundreds of more humble Japanese establishments across the country. It’s tasty, but so are churros, and I didn’t need to see it on yet another menu, much less in Napa Valley. Admittedly, I happily indulged in it as the best dish on the table. The richness of the foie gras sauce in the Grilled Squab with Corn Bread Pudding couldn’t compensate for the toughness of the meat. (One must ask, how tough can the meat of an eleven week old pigeon be?) And the pork chop was unhappily smothered with too much pesto and came with gnocchi-like pasta called cavatelli. One bite sufficed.

We ended the meal with the Yogurt Souffle Cake with Nectarines, the Warm Blackberry Pie with Buttermilk Ice Cream and the Tiramisu. I don’t like Tiramisu, so I passed on it. The Yogurt Souffle had a delicate fresh flavor and successfully married flavors: yogurt, nectarines, and Beaumes de Venise. But the best dessert was the warm blackberry pie. It was delicious because… well… because warm blackberry pies are inherently delicious. You have to put effort into making it unappetizing. I wasn’t convinced that Lissa Doumani, Hiro’s partner and pastry chef, improved on a classic.

The wait staff was friendly and courteous, though lacking a bit in polish. Asked for recommendations, and there were hesitations. I find encouragement in waiters who immediately jump to a recommendation with convincing exuberance. When I requested that my sencha (a fairly high grade of green tea) come slightly cooler than normal (knowing that their normal would be too hot for green tea, which should be steeped in 140-160 degree water for no longer than 90 seconds), it arrived scalding hot and too much acidity from the tender leaves were released. But the waiter quickly arrived with a second and more successful attempt when I informed them of the mistake. Quick recoveries define good service.

Just last week, a friend and I attended the symphony. Leon Fleischer, one of my five favorite pianists of all time, was performing a Mozart piano concerto and Hindemith’s rediscovered Concerto for Left Hand with the San Francisco Symphony. Neither of us enjoyed either piece, but we were convinced of Fleischer’s genius. His tone was supple, his phrasing genteel, and I would have happily listened to him perform Michael Bolton transcriptions. His quality as a musician was evident despite the mediocrity of the music itself. Likewise, I looked beyond my gastronomic preferences for Mr. Sone's reputed brilliance. I looked for some inspired genius that might have been handicapped perhaps by the ingredients he had to work with, or by the need to cater to the undiscerning but wealthy Regulars who keep his doors open. Was it hidden under the squab, or tucked away in the tartare? I found nothing. Perhaps my expectations were terribly miscalculated.

http://www.terrarestaurant.com