Keeping the lights on

The Farmhouse Inn and Restaurant in Forestville, Cal., still had their lights on after the winding roads of west Sonoma country had got lonely and dark. I had gotten something wrong, and we weren't on the list for 7:30. But, never mind---can we take your coats, here's a table with a view, still or sparkling, and the wine list.

We asked for a Riesling. (There were twenty-four: 12 dry, 12 off-dry.) "How about something with some age on it: a 1995 J. J. Prum from Mosel." Round in the mouth, with raisins and caramel. Heavy, balanced. Possibly a little too one-note. But why quibble when it's a delicious one?

We had a really nice salad of butter lettuce, pear, manchego, maracona almonds. And then...seared foie gras that was still plump from the heat. I did not chew, I suckled. Burnt butter and caramel, a firm, savory custard. It was so good I forgot to take a picture. It was without question the best thing I ate on this trip to California. Perhaps it's cheating to compete with goose NASH. I don't care.

The signature dish of the chef at the Farmhouse Inn is Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit: roasted rack of rabbit (bottom right), applewood-smoked-bacon wrapped loin (left), and confit leg in whole grain mustard sauce. I felt I had to get it. I have not had too much rabbit, but I can guess it is a tricky beast to cook. There can't be that many lazy rabbits, meaning that the meat is liable to be lean and very easy to dry. The loin (surrounded by bacon) had the mouth-feel of perfectly cooked pork tenderloin. The rack, with its ribs like fork tines, a bit more moist and savory, and delicious in its simple unadorned preparation. The confit leg, well, I mean it as a compliment when I say it reminded me of perfectly cooked duck. All in all I am glad we had this; next time we'll feel free to try the rest of the gorgeous, local, slow-food menu.

My wife chose the blue nose sea bass with chanterelles, celeriac, apple, and potato puree. This dish was something really extraordinary. Where the Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit struck three clear notes with the same instrument, all of the components here, though quite distinct in texture and flavor, cohered into a singular, sublime, lush and buttery liquor of flavor. And I was happy with how the Riesling was able to support the many disparate elements of the meal: the robust savoriness of the rabbit, the rich creaminess of the fish. We spoke little, until it was all done.

For desert, a superb chocolate souffle (imagine a chocolate marshmallow perfectly browned on a camp fire), and then this, figs served atop pedestals of chocolate and caramel, in a strip of caramel sauce that is studded with port-fig reduction, alongside a lemon granita with chocolate fondant. All those words are not adequate to the task of supporting the flavors in this desert. There was enough flavor here to stop a steam engine.

We bid adieu to wine country. We look forward to returning.

Don’t let anyone get between you and your ingredients

Willi’s Seafood and Raw Bar is a small-plates sort of a place. Hectic at first, we sat outdoors finally. The rain, ever present this week, had let up. Our server was jovially Californian. ("Woah, with that one you’re gettin' inta serious oak, brah.")

Their lobster roll is a signature dish. It, and also a Dungeness crab cake were focused on not getting between you and the ingredient. The lobster roll would not be found in New England…not nearly enough mayo. It was light, on an airy home-baked roll, with the subtle flavorings of garlic butter and fennel. The chunky lobster meat was perfectly cooked (though on this my wife and I disagree). The dish was so subtle that I already forget it. It is the most likely to get a shout out in a review, but we’d leave it off the tab next time.

We chose the Hamachi ceviche (at left) from the half-dozen raw fish selections, and we were not disappointed. Does yellow-tail swim in the Russian River, because it tasted like it had been gutted that afternoon. The inherent sweetness of the fresh fish was beautifully balanced by the tartness of lime, and the pleasing heat of chilies, piled up on a lightly salty taro chip. For this I would travel.

I ordered the Hangar Steak skewer with chimichurri because I have never tasted hangar steak (only one per cow!) The meat was cooked perfectly, but the chimi and the accompanying salad were not worth the trouble. Hangar, though, is like a filet packed with the flavor of a strip…I guess that makes it a porterhouse in one muscle, and I guess that makes it the perfect steak. I’ll have to seek it out again.

Now might be the time to mention the wine. I had a rose of syrah that bowled me over with tannins at first, with watermelon hiding in the shadows. I thought I had mis-fired, swayed by the pretty display of roses in the waiting area. Well, three or four courses into the meal, the wine kept bringing it to the food. Citrus for the ceviche, apricot for the lobster roll, strawberry for the steak. It was by Enkidu, from Kenwood, in Sonoma Valley. This I followed with a chardonnay by Robert Young from Alexander Valley (yes, the one where "you’re gettin' inta serious oak, brah." Indeed, it was butterscotch in a glass.)

 We ate all of the above and still had room left. We got the fried calamari (at left). Now, you and I have both had fried calamari, in Italian restaurants, on boardwalks, in bars that put on Monday Night Football. Well, quit your houses and come get this fried calamari. It is the best I’ve had. Barely cooked squid that still has toothiness. A light batter, more substantial than tempura. And a barely sweet glaze with citrus and chili. (Wipe your chin and get in here.)

To follow, riblets, little thumb-sized nubbins of baby back ribs, slathered in barbecue sauce and served with a pile of salt and pepper (which was unnecessary). These little nuggets of flavorful goodness, tender but not falling-apart, packed serious punch. They came piled high in a bowl, admixed with deeply caramelized garlic and onions, and some sauteed red chilies. After I started eating these, I ate the calamari with my hands too, because what is the point of using a fork when you can savor the sauce on your hands.

The desert was a warm chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream, covered in sliced almonds, and I swear to you there was some praline somewhere in there, but I could not for the life of me find it anyplace except on my tongue. Whatever. I think I was still remembering the calamari and riblets and didn’t even notice that the subtle and floral black tea bag I ordered had cost me four dollars.

Bottom Line: Go with a group, share everything, eat calamari, be merry.

Figs with Apple Juice Zabaglione Cream

Figs with Apple Juice Zabaglione
Originally uploaded by KidItamae

It seems that reading Animesh's post from Napa has made me hungry and a little bit jealous. So I took out my frustration on the kitchen (whisking is amazingly cathartic); unfortunately, the fridge was a bit depleted.

A while back I read about an apple juice sabayon from La Tartine Gourmand and thought it would be fun to try making a zabaglione. And with the fridge a bit deleted, a simple recipe was just about all I could pull off.

I started with essentially the same recipe as LTG but thought folding in some cream would add some cream and lightness.

Ingredients:

4 egg yolks
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup apple juice
1-2 Tbsp lemon juice
Pinch of salt
1 cup cream
1 pint figs

Optional additions:
cinnamon
vanilla

Start by heating the apple juice with the lemon and salt in pot. Then in a separate bowl, beat the egg yolks with the sugar until light. Set up a double boiler with a pot and a large mixing bowl. Pour the apple juice mixure into the mixing bowl. While whisking, slowly add the egg yolk and sugar mixure. Whisk vigorously for a good 5 minutes, until the custard has almost doubled in volume and is light and yellow. It's done when the mixture coats a spoon.

Let the mixture cool, stirring every so often. In the meantime, whip the cream till stiff. When the custard has cooled fold into the cream to taste*.

*I ended up using about 1/2 - 2/3 of the custard for this amount of cream.

Food for a rainy day

Northern California was getting a purging as we arrived. Looking for something to warm us up out of the rain, we found Scopa on Healdsburg Plaza. (Scopa is an Italian card game, and not the exclamation used when breaking plates.)

Our waitress was on uppers, or else loved her job. We began with the wine, choosing a 2006 Nebiollo by La Spinetta, in northern Italy. I thought it tasted like a Cote du Rhone that had taken it easy. My wife thought it tasted like the anticipation of heart burn. The place where those notes meet is the locus of our marriage.

These bright green Spanish olives tasted younger than any I've ever had. Not briny. Grassy and clean, like young mango you would use to make pickle.

A grilled salad of radicchio, grapes, and bread. The radicchio was sweet rather than pungent; the grapes drew a raisiny-ness from being grilled. The bread, and a shaved hard cheese, gave all that sweetness someplace to stand. This was an unassuming dish with unexpected delights.

The star was this: a polenta with wild mushrooms and taleggio, served in a hot cast iron skillet. Creamy, earthy, and nutty. This is food that makes you want to slap your mother (for never having made it). [Mom, if you are reading this, that is just a figure of speech.]

Easy to eat, these arancini were fragrant with saffron, the risotto al dente. They only suffered from sharing the stage with other, brighter stars.

This was "Tonno" made from cured pork. I had read about this sort of preparation in "Heat" by Bill Buford and was excited to try it. It does live up to its name. The texture is quite like a tuna salad. (The accompaniment is a fig confit.) Somehow, without fish on the plate, it was fishy, and this was not entirely pleasing.

Chocolate souffle. Done!