It is said that the great surfers live in pursuit of the perfect wave, traveling the world’s turbulent shores to put their lives at peril in hopes of a rush bigger and badder than the last. It’s the downside to obsession, this insatiable hunger. So it can be with, among all things, something as ordinary and mundane as eating. Diners of a certain class map the frenetic career paths of celebrity chefs, trot the globe for new taste sensations, and promptly book reservations to every restaurant opening, all in search of the next rush. It’s little wonder that they gather in cities like
Diners to whom thrills mean inventive and novel construction (think Alinea and El Bulli) or seven stars between the Michelin Guide and The New York Times (think French Laundry and Jean George) may find that Coi hardly incites a modicum of enthusiasm. There are indeed some elements of novelty – a first course salad of grapefruit, ginger, tarragon and peppercorn comes with a drop of oil made from the essences of the same to be applied to your wrist as you eat – and already there is some critical praise. But the real root of Coi's success stems from a simple return to the elemental, a philosophy that has somehow languished in the periphery of the culinary scene but seems due for the spotlight given the increasing attention to organic and local sourcing of ingredients.
Many restaurants advertise their relationships with local farms. But how many have you seen list the farms right next to the menu? Indeed, vegetables take center stage at Coi, and even this diner who regularly raises a brow and curls down his lips at even the most agreeable vegetarian didn't mind. For the spectrum is dazzlingly broad, and the preparations stunningly spare. The candied fennel, for example, was a simple wedge on a puff pastry strip, bound by cauliflower puree and a little vinaigrette drizzled around the plate; the kampachi sashimi was accompanied not by pickled ginger and pungent wasabi, but raw japanese radishes which offer a more pristine and delicate sensation; you are invited to smell the blossoms that in the field provide the particular nuance for the honey that arrives with the cheese course. Rustic and at the same time supremely elegant. But above all it was a return to the most elemental quality of food, the quality that makes you think the food came straight from the farm and right to your table, only slightly edited from their natural state, the chef as a mere conduit, a medium who simply coaxes and cajoles. This simplicity makes the Dionysian compositions at Michael Mina or La Folie seem vulgar, ostentatious, self-conscious.
It is not surprising that Daniel Patterson's cookbook is called Aroma and emphasizes the complex sensual response we have to simple aromas that are associated with food. The book is an exploration of distinct categories of scents and various methods to harness ingredients for their particular aromatic personalities. This highly cerebral method for such pure sensual effect results in what I believe to be the most exciting dining experience currently offered in this city. Matched with gracious service and a plush, modern decor, it is also the finest. Others will disagree - they will cry for the mackerel lozenge and toast sorbet of the new guard, or call out the many stars garnered by the elite among the old guard. I am all for novelty and for critical endorsements, and in my own pursuit of the next big rush, I would have agreed with these detractors. But dining at Coi I discovered that nothing invigorates the jaded but addicted diner more than having brought to his senses in such a spare, poetic way the purity of a fennel, a carrot, a grapefruit... or whatever is growing just an hour away.
