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I got to Sushi of Gari 46 a bit early for my noon lunch reservation.  I had about thirty minutes to kill.  It was a blustery, frigid day in Manhattan that Friday.  I looked around for a place–a place that wasn’t a Starbucks or a Dunkin’ Donuts– to have coffee or tea to warm my bones.  I walked west toward 9th Ave. along 46th.  I looked uptown.  I looked downtown.  I metaphorically flipped a coin and walked uptown.  Then, I found the inviting storefront of Amy’s Bread and their similarly inviting chalkboard out front.

The Hell's Kitchen location of Amy's Bread

I initially passed Amy’s Bread and walked further uptown to see what other options were nearby, but I fully planned to come back to Amy’s Bread if nothing else seemed as promising.  As expected, nothing did.  Then, I turned around and headed to Amy’s Bread.  I saw on the chalkboard an invitation to passersby.  The lovely people at Amy’s Bread were warmly inviting us in for a little soup or a cup of coffee to warm our bones on that painfully cold day in Manhattan.  I took them up on their kind offer.  How could I refuse when they put it like that?

I entered to find the store packed, presumably with locals who frequent the place.  One look at the bounty of baked goods is enough to explain.  A couple of display cases show off their wonderful pastries, breads, cupcakes, cakes, cookies, scones, and sandwiches.  On top of one of their display cases is an impressive array of little sandwiches on their artisanal bread.  Too many to list here, a visit to the online menu of Amy’s Bread will show a great variety of sandwiches that belies the tiny size of this New York-small store.  As I had lunch reservations, I could only choose a little tiny sandwich to try while I drank my coffee.  I thought a little baguette and cheese would do as an appetizer before going around the corner for an omakase at Sushi of Gari 46.  I chose the Mini Brie Sandwich.

The Mini Brie. For Mini Me?

Amy’s Bread describes the Mini Brie as being done on a baguettine roll with tomato and a light vinaigrette.  Admittedly, I was a bit disappointed that the Mini Brie wasn’t a mini-something else.  Brie is fine, but I think that there could have been something more fun.  In any case, cheese and tomato just works.  So did this sandwich, especially with that light vinaigrette, I assume.  I say that because there was a little something there beyond just bread, tomato, and brie.  I only notice in retrospect that it was there.  The roll was soft.  It was firm, a bit chewy, but it wasn’t uncomfortably so.  It was just firm enough to  be an appropriate vessel or handle for the brie and tomato slices.

My coffee was served in a paper cup.  They asked me if I would like to have some cream in it.  I asked for half-and-half.  I sweetened it myself with a bit of Splenda.  It was just the thing non-corporate-chain I was looking for to warm my bones.  The sandwich and the coffee were a wonderful, unexpected prelude to a wonderful meal at Sushi of Gari 46.  Serendipity indeed.

If I lived in the area, I could see myself seeking out Amy’s Bread on a fairly regular basis for a coffee and a little sandwich.  I’m sure that the next time I’m at the Marriott Marquis for a conference, I’ll be visiting Amy’s Bread for more coffee and little sandwiches.  It’s a surprising little find around the corner from the tourist trap Restaurant Row where the seemingly most notable place is Sushi of Gari 46.  If you’re in the area, give Amy’s Bread a try.  Skip the Starbucks.  Support the little, local guy–or girl.  http://www.amysbread.com/

Sure, I’ve had better meals from a social perspective—meals eaten with certain female dining companions.  (If any of you readers think I’m referring to you, yes, my dear.  Yes, I am.)  Let’s face it this blog’s title is Food=Life, and the social aspect is part of the enjoyment of food.  That social aspect was missing here.  For my late summer/early autumn visit in  2008, I did that lunch with a very dear friend and old flame.  That experience was one of those great social experiences that exemplify the food = life connection.  In December 2008, I had the opportunity to experience Le Bernardin’s Chef’s Tasting Menu with wine pairing.  I did that alone, because I couldn’t imagine that anyone else I knew was nearly as committed as I to such an investment of time and money.  I had a window of opportunity that night, and I took it.  I did something similar in December 2009.  I realized that I could squeeze in a lunch at Le Bernardin on December 15, 2009, before I had to jump on a plane from LGA to DTW.  I went for it.  It was such a last minute thing, that I didn’t even have a table.  I arrived about 20 minutes before they opened and “camped out” for a seat at the bar.  It reminded me of some experiences back in college camping out for concert tickets.  Thankfully, I didn’t feel nearly as stupid camping out for a Le Bernardin lunch.

Why am I so nuts about the food at Le Bernardin?  The simplest explanation is that I think it’s so damn good.  I’m not alone in singing Le Bernardin’s praises.  Reportedly, Zagat’s rates Le Bernardin highly.  So, all those people who contributed to that rating must agree.  The Michelin guide seems to agree (but that’s controversial, I suppose).  The New York Times has agreed with me.  The place is still every bit as packed as I first experienced it back in late summer/early fall 2008.  I have never eaten at a meal that has given me so many moments of sheer astonishment at the quality of the experience as my meals at Le Bernardin.  I never expect how good it’s going to be except for the dishes I already know and have eaten.  It has been said that we eat first with our eyes.  I would agree.  Next, I eat with my nose, smelling the food.  Then, I eat with my mouth.  I think I usually can tell what I think the food is going to taste like before I ever put it in my mouth.  Le Bernardin has exceeded my expectations every time I have eaten there.  This has been true from my first bite of bread with their salmon rillettes back in the late summer/early fall of 2008.  Since that lunch, I have been back to Le Bernardin two more times on two separate trips to New York.  I fully intend to return to Le Bernardin.  Eric Ripert and his crew continue to surprise me.  I ate at another New York Michelin 3-Star the night before, Jean Georges.  I had their tasting menu consisting of their signature dishes.  I was not nearly as impressed with that meal as I was with this Le Bernardin lunch.  A chef friend of mine—a veteran of Michelin starred (two- and three-stars) kitchens in France—called Le Bernardin the best restaurant in New York City.  As far as haute cuisine is concerned, I might have to agree, but I’ll reserve judgment.  I’d like to experience both Per Se and Daniel before I make such a statement, but I strongly suspect that I will agree with my chef friend.  I do, however, have to proclaim Le Bernardin to be my favorite restaurant in the United States.  Unfortunately, I cannot find any of the pictures I took of the food from my most recent visit.  I’ve seen other people’s pictures of the same dishes on the internet, and a web search for the dishes listed online at the Le Bernardin website should bring them up for the reader.

The build-up to this visit started when I ate with a friend at Sushi of Gari 46 in November 2009.  We were there for dinner after a Sunday afternoon matinee of Hamlet, starring Jude Law.  We did tourist stuff walking around that night—a picture here, a picture there.  We were coming east, and we were a few blocks from Le Bernardin.  So, I asked my friend if we could stop there for a book.  I wanted to get a copy of Eric Ripert’s On the Line.  Unfortunately, Le Bernardin was closed.  On my December 2009 trip to Manhattan, I was having dinner that Saturday night at Insieme around the corner from Le Bernardin.  Somewhat disappointed with Insieme (itself a current Michelin one-star), I went around the corner to Le Bernardin to wash away the disappointment by just being there.

Disappointment dissipated pretty quickly.  I figured it would be a good opportunity to get myself a copy of the book I wanted.  I informed the hostess that I was just going to the bar to buy a copy of the book.  I was greeted by the bartender who noticed me looking at their merchandise.  Included in their humble display was a DVD set of Eric Ripert’s PBS series “Avec Eric.”  Their 3-disc set included Chef Eric’s first season of the show and a bonus footage of some web-only shorts that he had done revolving cooking with a toaster oven, “Get Toasted.”  I just knew I had to pick it up.  The bartender recommended highly the DVD set.  As Honda used to run commercials proclaiming their vehicles as cars that sell themselves, this DVD set sold itself to me.  I would have bought it even if the bartender hadn’t said a word.  I feel vindicated, because for some reason, the PBS station that has just started airing the show here in my area is broadcasting it with some horrible picture quality.  I can’t fathom why it’s like that.  I also picked up Eric Ripert’s A Return to Cooking.  I asked if they had signed copies of those items.  The bartender told me that he could have Chef Eric sign them.  He disappeared for a few minutes after asking me to write my name on a piece of paper for Chef Eric.  My books and DVDs came back autographed.  Then, the bartender asked me if I would like to have a picture with Chef Eric.  I said yes.  He told me that he didn’t just do this for everyone, and he told me to follow him into the kitchen.  Unfortunately, Chef Eric had stepped out.  It turns out we just missed him, but there I was in the kitchen of Le Bernardin.  It was like being in the recording studio where your favorite artist is working.  For me, that would have been like standing in the middle of Studio A at Avatar Studios, which is only a few blocks from Le Bernardin, with Dream Theater’s gear all around me.  I thanked my new friend, and he introduced himself as Rick.  I told him I would be back.  Little did I know that I would be back three days later for lunch.  The following Monday, I asked the Le Bernardin host if there were any cancellations for a table at lunch on Tuesday.  The host advised me that I could come in anytime and get a seat at the bar if I couldn’t get a table.  He told me it was first-come, first-served.  Par for the course, I thought.  So, I made up my mind to come back Tuesday afternoon for lunch.

That Tuesday, I arrived at Le Bernardin with suitcase in tow to find the revolving front door locked.  I looked at the time on my phone, and I saw that I was earlier than I anticipated I would be.  I still had about twenty-some minutes until the doors would open at noon for lunch.  I sat on the cold stone benches built-in to the side of the building.  I tried to kill time surfing the internet on my phone, but that was a long twenty-some minutes.  I wrestled with the process of getting my suitcase and hand-carry through the revolving door at around 12:05.  After checking my things, I informed the host stand personnel that I was there for lunch at the bar.

Once at the bar, I took one look at the menu to see if my chosen meal was available at lunchtime.  For better or worse, it was.  It sure was a lot of food and drink for lunch.  Undeterred by any thought of moderation and decency, however, I erred on the side of gluttony, ordering the Chef’s Tasting Menu with wine pairing.  I could have had a three-course prix-fixe lunch.  I could have also had the seven-course Le Bernardin tasting menu, but the thing that really appealed to me was the Chef’s Tasting Menu and its eight courses.  I had to make a little show of it, though.  I had to make it look like I had to think about it.  So, I started off with a glass of bubbles, and I pretended to peruse the menu for five minutes or so.  As I sat there on my tan, leather-clad barstool, I munched on some of the salmon rillettes on the little pieces of holey baguette toasts.  Then, I ordered.  I think I put on the show just to buy time for me to have a glass of bubbles and eat that wonderful salmon rillettes.  On his show Avec Eric, Eric Ripert shows the world how he makes the salmon rillettes.  I found out the key.  He poaches some salmon.  Then, he mixes it with smoked salmon.  He mixes it all together, adds some chives et voila!  I felt almost like I had some small insight into the magic.  The magician showed me how he did his little card trick.

Soon, it was time for the real show to begin.  As if the lights went down and a curtain went up to suddenly reveal a performer on stage, one of the sommelier’s staff came to me with her first lines.  She attempted to instruct me about the wine she was about to pour.  I wonder how wine people learn anything sometimes.  They’ve got to take notes or not drink the wine.  I would forget anything I was told around the time of tasting a wine.  So, as you might expect, I know—and can tell you—little about what she told me about this, but I thought it was an impeccable pair for the first course.  She served me a Muscadet, “Clos des Briords”, Pepiere, Loire 2008.  Apparently, the wine is from the western Loire, and, therefore, it comes from near the ocean.  That tidbit made sense to me.  Wine from near the sea for seafood?  Yes.  Definitely, I can understand that.  The wine is made “Sur Lie,” which apparently means that they age the wine in contact with the dead yeast cells which lie as sediment at the bottom of a tank after primary fermentation.  This process supposedly results in protecting the wine from oxidation and allowing for more complexity of flavor.  I can say that it was certainly unlike any of the few Muscadets that I have ever had.  The details are fuzzy—thanks to the time that has gone by or, more likely, the memory blurring effect of ethanol.  I do remember it having more mineral, perhaps salty, flavor.  After I received my first course, the genius of Aldo Sohm’s wine program again revealed itself with another revelatory light blast of perfection.  The first course was a smoked yellowfin tuna that had been cured like prosciutto, served with pickled Japanese vegetables, roe, and crispy kombu kelp.  As I ate the dish, the subtle saltiness from the curing, the saltiness of the roe just went so perfectly with the Muscadet, which in retrospect, makes a lot of sense.  Muscadet is often thought of as a great wine for oysters, which may be briny.  So, the saltiness of the food could stand in for the brine, making this wine a perfect pair with its acid and almost salty character.

The second wine that I was served was a Krug Grande Cuvée.  I had never had it before.  I remember it as crisp and powerful in its character with a fine texture.  Some have described it as having notes of toast, grapefruit, ripe apple and coffee.  Somehow, those thoughts make perfect sense when you consider my second course.  Fans of Eggs Benedict, this is something you have got to see and eat.  Egg-Caviar consisted of a poached pastured egg, Osetra caviar, Mariniere broth, and some sliced English Muffin pieces.  Honestly, I don’t know how they do it.  The Mariniere broth tasted like the lightest of Hollandaise sauces.  The egg, I imagine, was poached in an immersion circulator.  It had to have been.  It was so perfectly done.  The whole thing tasted like Eggs Benedict.  With my Krug Grande Cuvée, I felt like I was eating brunch.  I was taken aback.  I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing.  My eyes opened wide as I recoiled in astonishment and pleasure.  Then, I dove back in for more.  You can bet I used up my English Muffin pieces to clean up the bowl.

The third pairing was one of the two courses that I was anticipating most eagerly.  They started me off with a Gewurtztraminer, Cantina Tramin, Alto Adige 2007.  Apparently, this is a wine from northern region of Italy, bordering the Austrian states of Tyrol and Salzburg.  If one is from the Italian-speaking population, one would call the place Alto Adige.  If one is from the German-speaking population, one would prefer the name Südtirol, South Tyrol.  I suppose if you know wine, you probably knew all of that.  This wine had some great fruity notes with peach, ginger.  Some characterize it as having some lime, which makes sense when you consider the dish.  The Langoustine was lightly grilled, with mache, wild mushroom salad, shaved foie gras, and a white balsamic vinaigrette.  To me, that sounds like a dish that needs some acid and some sweetness.  That’s exactly what I got in this beautiful pair.  I have been hankering for langoustine.  I never imagined that it would come with a bonus piece of foie gras on top.  Of course, the langoustine itself was sweet and tender, perfectly cooked.  This was one of many examples of what Eric Ripert and Aldo Sohm’s feeling that the wine and food should complement each other synergistically.  The pair was truly better together, making the whole experience greater than the sum of its parts.

Honestly, for this pairing, I don’t remember much about the wine and how it impacted the experience.  All I can tell you is that it all worked perfectly.  I received a Chassagne Montrachet, 1er Cru Chenovettes, Bernard Moreau 2006.  The star of this pairing was the pan-roasted monkfish with hon shimeji mushrooms, turnip-ginger emulsion, and sake broth.  The plate came first.  Then, if I recall correctly, the turnip-ginger emulsion was poured around the fish.  Lastly, the sake-miso broth was poured.  What instantly came to mind was a pan-fried fish dish in a Chinese restaurant.  There was a nice seasoned crust to the monkfish, vaguely alluding to the crisp outside of a pan-fried fish.  Usually, I’m not a fan of fusion, but hey…this one worked beautifully.  I kept thinking that Eric Ripert outdid the Chinese at their own game.  Strangely, he did it with some Japanese ingredients.  I suppose it was all in the spice mix on the monkfish.

Next, I received a Rioja.  Specifically, Rioja, Reserve “Vina Ardanza”, La Rioja Alta, Spain 2000.  This, to me, signaled that the crispy black bass with braised celery; Iberico-ham, green peppercorn sauce; and parsnip custard was coming.  This dish, which I love, has been featured on Top Chef New York.  One of the contestants was tasked with making it.  I think it was Jamie or someone else who just couldn’t get into the flavors involved.  Honestly, when I first had this dish over a year ago, I felt like Eric Ripert was reading my mind making something out of Iberico Ham.  When I first had this dish, the Rioja surprised me.  When the Iberico Ham sauce was introduced and poured, it suddenly all made complete sense.  It still does, and I still love it.  For me, even though it was only the second time I had eaten the dish, I think I might have been happier to eat something new, because all these new dishes were so brilliant.  I helped sell the guy sitting a couple stools to my right on this pairing while I was eating the monkfish.  The woman who served me my wine was still there telling the guy about the Rioja/bass pairing.  She gave me a quick smile and poured me an extra ounce of my wine as she was talking to him.  I’m not sure if she was trying to subtly shut me up or thank me.

A Chateau Haut-Bages Averous, Pauillac Bordeaux 2001 heralded the arrival of the last savory course.  I’ve seen people describe this wine as having ripe fruit notes, speficially blackberry.  It wasn’t overly tannic.  It was well-balanced, and it was a perfect complement to the last savory course.  Baked lobster came on a bed of truffled foie gras stuffing with a red wine-brandy reduction.  Nothing short of remarkable, it was kind of the culinary expression of the philosophy of more is better.  I don’t mean with respect to quantity.  It was as if Eric Ripert was trying to blow me a way with a bunch of culinary treats, and he just kept piling them on.  Lobster, foie gras, truffles?  What else do you want?  Chocolate?  It was kind of like a very sophisticated child’s way of looking at making a dish: just keep adding the good stuff!  The red wine and the red wine reduction countered the richness of the lobster and foie very well.  Of course, the execution of this dish and all the rest of the savory courses was exemplary.  It makes one wonder why fish ever gets overcooked anywhere in the world, and it’s often done on purpose.  Here, great care is taken to never overcook the fish.  So much care is taken that sometimes they hardly cook it at all.  Thank goodness for Eric Ripert and Le Bernardin.

Dessert started with Torrontes Sparkling-Deseado, Familia Schroeder, Patagonia Argentina.  The fruity and flowery notes seemed to go well with the creamy goat cheese spheres with Concord grape, candied walnuts, and black pepper.  The wine really picked up the Concord grape flavors very well, accentuating them beautifully.  Following that course, they brought me a Ron Zacapa Rum from Guatemala.  The dish was a caramelized corn custard with hazelnut praline, brown butter ice cream, and popcorn tuile.  The desserts, while very nice, weren’t outstanding to me.  The first dish seemed to me to be a play on a cheese plate.  It made sense in that regard.  I certainly enjoyed the cheese flavor as well as the red fruit flavor of the Concord grape.  The last course seemed to me to be more like a geometry project.  There wasn’t really anything memorable for me about the flavors.  The popcorn tuile, for me, seemed to be an exercise in pure technique.  I’m not sure I understand the point of the dessert.  Is it a play on  buttered popcorn?  I’m not sure.  I don’t really understand the trend to use popcorn so much these days.  At Ken Oringer’s Clio, one of the courses on their tasting menu during the summer of 2008 was a variety of flavored popcorns.  The cheese-flavored popcorn was a huge mess with the white cheese powder getting all over my napkin and the tablecloth.  Similarly, the porcini powder on the popcorn served as a snack at The Modern was a big mess as well.  Jean Georges bar also served flavored popcorn.  While it wasn’t nearly the mess that was Ken Oringer’s popcorn or Gabriel Kreuther’s at The Modern, still, that’s a lot of places doing popcorn.  Now that it seems to be a trendy item to use, I think that’s enough of a reason for places like these to stop.

While I didn’t meet Eric Ripert on this visit to New York, I imagine I will on some future visit.  Chef Eric was visiting tables as I was eating my lunch.  One day, when I get back there, I’ll thank him for all the great meals that I’ve had in his restaurant.  Le Bernardin still stands as my favorite restaurant in the United States.

Through a strange, serendipitous synchronicity, I drove up in the VW with Hendrix’s “Gypsy Eyes” playing off the hard drive.  The soundtrack was appropriate.  The propulsive drums and bass; the almost hyperkinetic, R&B, clean rhythm guitar of Hendrix himself; and the scenery seemed to go together like an unexpected wine and food pairing like Rioja and crispy black bass or lobster and a red Bordeaux.  The apparent decay of the surrounding neighborhood with the Hendrix’s urban 1960′s musical sensibility worked perfectly.   The area seemed trapped in a bygone era architecturally.  The few clues to modernity were cars, fashions, and satellite dishes.  The neighborhood could have played the role in a period piece if it weren’t for those occasional clues.  My friend stated that the place also reminded him of Philadelphia.  Maybe, a film crew could make it double for a 1960′s Philadelphia by removing the satellite dishes, modern cars, and modern clothes.

As another reviewer has stated, there is a public lot next to Polonia where we parked.  At the entrances to the lot, there are some fancy, new-fangled machines where you can prepay for your parking.  The one we passed by wasn’t working.  I saw no evidence in other cars that anyone had used the machine.  It seemed that no one put money in the meters either.  So, I parked at a meter that had some two hours on it.  Of course, that was broken too; it had the same amount of time on it when I got in the car to leave.  Yes, the Detroit decay radiated over to my parking meter in Hamtramck.

The interior of Polonia

My friend James and I started off with some service with a smile as our waitress greeted us enthusiastically.  She then happily led us to our booth.  Having Filipino blood must include having  pork-loving gene somewhere on one of those chromosomes.  I was immediately drawn to the Smalec Zi Skwareczkami, which is apparently a famous Polish bread spread featuring lard, bacon, fried onion, and spices.  I thought there was some garlic in there too.  I highly recommend it if you have a death wish–a death wish which includes dying of a heart attack from eating tasty food which modern medicine would deem to be inconsistent with eating for longevity.  Don’t hesitate to season with some salt and pepper to bring out the flavor a little.  It’s much better that way.  After all, we put salted butter on bread and olive oil, salt, and pepper on bread.  It’s the same idea.  My friend made the observation that it kind of made the Smalec into a lardo when I did that.  Mmmm…lardo.  The last time I had that was at Del Posto in the Chelsea/Meatpacking District of Manhattan.  I know.  It’s fat.  It’s probably going to be considered pretty disgusting to some, but I appreciate it.  I love the fact that it’s about hungry people not wasting anything from an animal.  It shows respect.  It shows a history of love–a peasant’s love for one’s cold, poor, hungry children.  As Bourdain points out repeatedly, some of the great culinary and gastronomic experiences are brought about by deprivation and the creativity required to turn the awful (or is it offal?) into something edible and satisfying for one’s family.  That’s what I see in the Smalec.  That’s what I see in Filipino Kare-Kare (made with oxtails and tripe), Sisig (made from the meat and cartilage from a pig’s face), Bopis (made from the lung of I don’t know what), Tsitsaron Bulaklak (made from pork omentum), the infamous Balut (fertilized duck eggs), Dinuguan (made with pigs blood and pork), and so many other great Filipino dishes.  A dear female friend has repeatedly reneged on offers to cook for me, because she thinks I’m a food snob.  She’s intimidated.  She thinks I won’t like what she’ll put on my plate.  I say to her that I come from a culture of peasant food.  Sure, I love baked lobster from Le Bernardin, and I have high standards.  But, you know, my family comes from humble roots.  We eat humble food, but it’s food made with love and an earnest desire to please.  If that’s what my friend puts on my plate, I’ll eat it with a smile and with a dose of love returned.  I tell her that she needn’t have worried.

Lipitor, Omega-3, red wine...you're going to need them all for the Smalec.

James and I both ordered the marvelous dill pickle soup.  If that sounds strange to you, let me assure you, it’s grand.  Think cream of potato with some pickles involved.  It may sound odd, but it makes sense in any case.  Rich food needs acid, and that’s where the pickles come in.  Pair the soup with a rich, meaty sandwich, and you’ve got something–not that this soup isn’t wonderful by itself.  My friend and I agreed it was very good.

Small Dill Pickle Soup. Marvelous.

For my entrée, I ordered the Polish Combination Plate, which had stuffed cabbage with tomato sauce, sausage, 2 pierogies, mashed potatoes with brown gravy, and kraut.  I thought that the stuffed cabbage was excellent.  My friend James, who being from Wisconsin knows some things about Polish food, assures me that it was a good example of one.  The sausage was probably the tastiest example of a Polish sausage that I have ever eaten.  All those familiar spices were there.  It’s what I imagine a homemade Polish sausage to be. The kraut was amazing.  I am guessing that this is the spiritual source for that NY/NJ thing for putting sautéed onions in that red sauce and sauerkraut on a hot dog, because that is what it was like—only better.  It’s like the homemade version—not the hotdog cart version.  The pierogies were good, but they’re really about being a starch source, it seems.  Again, it’s that peasant thing of trying to fill bellies in the most economical but creative way possible–something borne out of a grandmother’s or a mother’s love.  I see that in the potato noodles as well.  They remind me of potato dumplings or gnocchi.

Polish Combination Plate. Sorry. I took a bite out of my pierogie.

Overall, I had a wonderful experience at Polonia.  I’m sure I will return.  I’m sure my doctor will advise me to stay away from the Smalec, but she’s Filipino too.  So, maybe, I can’t count on that.  I washed all of that great food down with a pint of Okocim Porter, which was indispensable in allowing me to make it through the rich meal.  I’m definitely a fan of Polonia, but bring your appetite.  You’re going to need it.

One may have to view my following comments as those of an outsider here.  I feel like I can taste the history of the Midwest in a dish like this Polish Combination Plate.  In truth, I am a transplant to the Detroit area.  I’m not of this earth.  I was born, and probably conceived in Manhattan.  I’ve lived in SoCal and NorCal.  I’ve lived in Asia.  I just landed here by quirk of employment.  So, my comments are very much the thoughts of an outsider observing his new surroundings.  What I see in this Polish combo is one story in the history of the development of regional tastes.  It’s a large portion of food.  It’s hearty.  It’s meaty.  It’s filling.  I think that’s something people would associate with Midwesterners’ tastes.  Paul Kahan said as much when discussing the concept behind the things he does with his food.  Also, I’m told it’s an accurate view into Polish food, as my friend knew it from his Polish neighbors in Wisconsin.  So, it’s a Polish immigrant story too.  It’s an inescapable truth that food history IS history.

Lately, I’ve been thinking that I haven’t been eating enough fruit.  I think that somehow my body is telling me I need fruit.  I’ve been craving it.  I bought some peaches, a plum, and some strawberries this past weekend.  Honestly, I haven’t a clue how to eat a peach.  So, I caramelized the suckers.  I took some inspiration from Eric Ripert’s videos at his website (http://aveceric.com/).  In one video he caramelized some mango and basically did what I did here.  So, I’m cribbing from Eric Ripert, basically.

I followed basically what Chef Eric Ripert did by taking my fruit slices, basting them with butter, seasoning with brown sugar, and placing them on a buttered toaster-oven baking pan.  What I did differently, was that I took my peach slices and drizzled them with some Robert Lambert White Ginger Syrup.  There’s just something about peaches and ginger that seems to work.  Think of the Republic of Tea Ginger Peach tea.  The ginger seems to add a little spicy complexity to the whole thing.  I put the pan in the toaster oven and broiled for about 5 minutes.  The peel came off the slices easily in most cases.  Then, I plated the slices.  After that, I put a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on top and drizzled the syrup left in the pan on the whole thing.

Some rum might have made it a lot more interesting.  Maybe, I could have added some more of the ginger syrup too.

Next up, I’m going to have to do something with all the cherries and other berries out there.  I’m probably going to try Chef Eric’s Raspberry Clafouti that’s found on his website.

In my last blog entry about the restaurant, I really didn’t give credit where credit is usually due.  I totally neglected to give credit to Executive Chef David Gilbert whose creativity and passion is a major part of what makes The Forest Grill such a great place.  His partner-in-crime Mario Plaza, GM and Sommelier, and he really make the place shine when it comes to both the food and wine.  So, apologies, David and Mario, for not having mentioned either of you so prominently in my last blog entry about The Forest Grill.

This latest dinner at The Forest Grill had me using the iPhone OS 3.0 voice recorder to pick up whatever I could of what David and Mario were telling us about the food and wine.  It’s all too much for a person like me with limited food and wine knowledge to absorb.  So, I tried to use some tools to help me out.  I found my tools hopelessly inadequate, though.  I’ve got a crappy iPhone 3G camera.  I’ve got the iPhone Voice Recorder.  That’s about all I had with me.  So, I told Mario that next time, I’m taking HD video!

The first course, pictured above, was, as best I can recall, was made with a Sweet Corn Mash with black truffles, Perigord truffles in the Ricotta Angolotti, and some Mascarpone foam.  One of the amazing things that David Gilbert is able to do is to take the limited ingredients that have been ordered for the menu and recombine them into something special for these degustation menus.  I’ve seen and eaten these Ricotta Angolotti many times.  I’ve had this Mascarpone foam again and again.  The truffles keep showing up as well.  They don’t always appear together with corn, however.  Chef Gilbert always manages to do something interesting with these old characters.  He always manages to put them into a great new situations.  Ingredients get recombined with dramatic effect. We’ve seen brothers Michael and Fredo interact in The Godfather.  It’s quite something else when Michael sends Fredo out onto a boat on Lake Tahoe to die.  It’s one thing to see Al Pacino and John Cazale playing their roles in the Godfather saga.  It’s something else to see them together in Dog Day Afternoon.  What has to be said about these novel combinations of ingredients from the Forest Grill’s pantry is that they’re great every time.  This time, the food was paired with another old favorite, the Dibon Demi-Sec Cava.  It was an impeccable pairing.

The following course featured seared foie gras, a quick bread and some strawberries.  Honestly, I can’t tell you many more details.  What I can tell you is that it was paired impeccably with a gorgeous sweet, white wine that complemented the dish masterfully.  It was around this time in the meal that I began to give up on remembering what we were eating and drinking.  Pictures ceased to suffice.  I had to start recording audio.  If I recall correctly, we were served the Mas Amiel Muscat de Rivesaltes.  Nothing short of amazing!

Next, we had scallops two ways.

We had Diver Scallops seared, finished with citrus powder, a tangerine reduction, fresh tangerine slices, and red radish.  A savory version was done as well.  A scallop was sliced and studded with Perigord black truffle and done en croute in puff pastry.  Truffle emulsion surrounded the puff pastry.  With the sweet version, a Riesling from New Zealand was served.  A great citrus note in the Riesling and the great acid made the wine a perfect pairing.  A Mawby Blanc de Blanc from Michigan’s Leelanau Peninsula accompanied the savory version.  The wine’s acid went perfectly with the scallop en croute with its hearty, earthy truffle emulsion.

Unfortunately,  I can’t seem to find a picture of the next course.  We had duck breast two ways.  One piece of breast was fabricated.  The skin was removed and made very thin.  The meat was wrapped in the skin as a ballotine and slowly seared.  Inside the ballotine was a Morel mushroom duxelle.  The other slice of duck breast was roasted.  Served with the duck were baby turnips, house-made pancetta, almond oil, and a port-wine reduction.  Served to our red wine-allergic friend was a Macon-Villages Chardonnay seasoned with earthy Thyme and Oak with great acidity to balance the rich duck.  An earthy 2005 Pinot Noir from the Cote du Beaune with red fruit notes was served to the rest of the party.  Was it magic?  As before, all the food and the paired wines were magic.

Intervening between dinner and our last course  was a small, complementary cheese plate.  We had some gruyere, cheddar (which seemed very much like an Irish cheddar), and some lovely parmesan.  This little plate was inspired by that great Pinot sitting in my glass.  Mario thought we needed some fromage to go with our remaining wine.  So, he thoughtfully brought some around.  Again, it was magic!

For dessert, a chocolate veloute came with some chocolate soup and some cinnamon gelato.  We were all amazed.  I had tried The Forest Grill’s chocolate veloute before.  This was somehow different.  If I’m not mistaken, this is the latest evolution of the chocolate veloute.  We still had the great molten chocolate veloute disc.  We still had the chocolate soup.  Maybe the cinnamon gelato made the difference.  Who knows?  It was magic.  It was insanely good.  For our red wine-allergic friend a Buller Muscat was served.  For the rest of us, a Late Harvest Zinfandel was the pairing.

This is just the latest episode out of many at The Forest Grill.  My dining companions believed that it was the best meal that they had ever had at The Forest Grill.  I have to count it as one of the best I have experienced as well.

Okay, here we go with a blog update–the first in a long time.  Now, I’m no chef, and this blog wasn’t ever planned to be about my own cooking exploits.  But, who cares?

Today, I decided to cook up some Morcilla de Cebolla that I had sitting in the fridge.  I had been wanting some blood sausage for a long time.  So, when I was at Zingerman’s Delicatessen in Ann Arbor, MI, I grabbed some of the Morcilla they had there.  Today, I finally decided to do something with it.  There are two types of Morcilla of which I am aware.  There is the Morcilla de Cebolla, which is made with onions.  There is also Morcilla with rice.  Recently, I had been talking with David Gilbert, the Executive Chef at The Forest Grill, Birmingham, MI, about breakfast.  He mentioned the French variation of blood sausage, Boudin Noir.  To him the ultimate hangover breakfast is Boudin Noir and eggs.  At St. John Restaurant in London, Anthony Bourdain had Fergus Henderson’s Blood Cake with fried egg on top.  At a local Irish Bar, I’ve had their “Irish Fry,” which has ham, both black and white puddings, some other breakfast-y sausage, tomato, fried eggs, and lightly toasted Irish Soda Bread.  So, with all these culinary inspirations, I thought revisiting the blood sausage.  Thus, I purchased the Morcilla from Zingerman’s.

Today, I went out on the internet to see what I could do with this Morcilla.  I found some recipes for something called Morcilla Frita, which I guess is fried Morcilla.  That sounds great, but I don’t have many of the ingredients right now.  So, what did I do?  I went with the sausage and egg inspiration from the culinary inspiration above.  I just took one of my sausages, sliced it, and fried it Catalunyan extra virgin olive oil.  As I was frying up the sausage slices there in the omelette pan, I could see lovely reddish grease coming out of the sausage and coloring the olive oil.  It was something like the red grease that chorizo puts out, but this was a bit more subtle.  After I browned Side A, I flipped the sausage and browned Side B.  After I finished Side B, I took the sausage pieces out of the pan with some tongs, leaving the great reddish oil-grease mixture for some egg frying.  I did a hack-job over-easy on the nice organic eggs, and I seasoned with some Halen Mon organic sea salt from Wales.

This concoction definitely satisfied my blood sausage craving.  I think it needed a few things, however.  I needed some sliced fresh tomato, some bread, and maybe some lettuce to help garnish the thing.  After all, we do eat with our eyes first, don’t we?  A nice beverage would have been good.  All I had on-hand was some Lemon-Lime G2 and some water.  I think some milk might have been nice too.  A nice Rioja or other red wine, which I did have, might have worked, but I might have to work later.  So, I skipped that.  Actually, the G2 wasn’t too bad, come to think of it.  Overall, it was a great little brunch.  I love the slightly spicy Morcilla and the extra flavor that its grease imparted to my eggs.  Very tasty, but it was more subtle than I expected.  In retrospect, some freshly ground Tellicherry pepper would have been nice.  This meal was miles closer to heaven than the starting point of ordinary mass-produced breakfast sausage and fried eggs.  It was definitely more satisfying.

Some things that became apparent were the following.  After all these years, I can’t flip an egg like a pro.  I can’t take food pictures like a pro, either.  I suppose that if I had some tomato and lettuce to garnish, I would have been better off.  I would have definitely had the makings of a better picture.

In August 2008, I was driving through the so-called Triangle District of Birmingham, MI.  At that time, I saw a restaurant going up in an apparently new building there.  Nestled behind the large Auto Club building on Woodward is 735 Forest Avenue.  At the southwest corner of that building, which is advertised as a Green building, is The Forest Grill.  When I first drove by that restaurant, there was no signage proclaiming the advent of a new eatery.  Fast forward to late November, 2008, a green sign now proclaims the restaurant’s name, and it heralds something new (to me) and, perhaps, credible in the Birmingham-Troy-Royal Oak culinary scene.  I turned the car around and got myself a copy of their menu.  I found out that they’re also fully booked for dinner until January.  I wondered if I could get a seat at the bar.

I went home and investigated this seemingly new player on the scene.  Apparently, Chef/Proprietor Brian Polcyn has been on the scene in the Detroit culinary circles for decades.  As I’m relatively new to the area, he’s new to me.   Brian Polcyn has been at such standout local restaurants as The Lark.  He has also served as chef/proprietor for Five Lakes Grill in Milford, MI.  Chef Brian won a nomination for the award of Best Chef in the Midwest, 2006, from the James Beard Foundation.  The JB Foundation also nominated him for best single subject book for his book Charcuterie.  Chef Brian has also been featured in a variety of national publications.  He was also the subject of a book by Anthony Bourdain’s associate Michael Ruhlman, The Soul of a Chef.  Apparently, this is what the all-seeing internet knows about Brian Polcyn.  So, yeah.  Apparently, the guy has some chops.  No pun intended.  With my interest peaked, I had to try to get a seat at the bar.

I made sure to get there fairly early, just after 18:00.  There were a few seats left at the bar.  The restaurant and bar were certainly designed in keeping with the Green/Industrial Chic of the 735 Forest building.  Abundant steel and glass framed and divided the spaces.  A glass and steel partition divided the bar from the main dining area, directing traffic flow from the entrance.  Right angles and straight lines ruled in this kingdom, but it wasn’t oppressively so.  The restaurant and bar managed to remain intimate.  The space was populated by square tables, a rectangular bar, and an L-shaped open food preparation area in front of the clay oven, whose face was one of the restaurant’s few concessions to curves.  Hung on the front of the oven was a wall hanging representing a pig with topographical landmarks seemingly diagramming various cuts of meat.  I took this decoration as an auspicious augur.

The Dining Room

I took a seat at the end of the bar, closest to the dining room and open kitchen.

My View of the Kitchen

I thought this would be the best place to stick close to the staff and to see what I could of the food preparation.  I was introduced to the bartenders Ron and Mitch.  Both of them would prove to be very helpful in my decision-making process.  Looking at the menu, I had no idea where to start.  I knew that I would be going for the charcuterie plate, as this was supposedly Brian Polcyn’s “thing.”  I ordered a glass of the Dibon Demi-Sec Cava, which turned out to be clean, crisp, and sweet.  I liked it so much that I couldn’t just have one.  Then, with Ron’s help and the help of one of the waiters who passed by, I settled on the Lobster Bisque in Puff Pastry and Maine Diver Scallops.

As I enjoyed my cava, I received some bread and butter.  A soft baguette came wrapped in a white cloth napkin.  Sesame poppy seeds adorned the bread.  The crust was firm and crisp, but it wasn’t hard and chewy like most baguettes.  My teeth reveled in the relaxing texture.  I was happy not to have to fight my bread to get it chewed.  The bread was simple, but it was flawlessly executed.

Mmm...warm bread

The Lobster Bisque was served in a tureen with puff pastry baked on top.  The puff pastry evoked the shape of the tureen’s top. This feature wasn’t just about style.  Form followed function here.  The buttery puff pastry helped the soup by giving it a richer finish, which seems to be accomplished with butter and cream in most other lobster bisques.  Many lobster bisques seem to be overpowered by the sherry as if the lobster were secondary.  In those cases, it ought to be called sherry bisque with lobster.  That wasn’t the case here.  The lobster and the rest of the soup were allowed to be the stars of the show.  The best part of the soup was the fact that the lobster was tender—not chewy.  It was perfectly done.  I went over in my mind again and again how this must have been done.  Obviously, the soup would have to be cooked.  The lobster would necessarily have been a part of that.  Then, however, one has to bake the puff pastry on the top of the tureen.  How does one keep from overcooking the lobster?  Again, I thought, these guys have some chops.  Again, no pun intended.

Lobster Bisque in Puff Pastry

The Charcuterie was up next.  With the charcuterie plate, three salads were included.  I chose marinated olives, heirloom beet salad (thanks, Ron), and cornichons.  Three meats were served: a salami, prusciutto di Parma, and sweet copa.  It was very good, but when you’ve got hand-sliced Jamon Iberico de Bellota sitting in your refrigerator, it skews your perspective a little.  Italian cured meats are fine.  Spanish ones?  Let’s just say that, to me, it’s like the difference between heaven (Spanish) and earth (Italian).  The Spanish know something about curing meats that no one else in the world can seem to replicate or to surpass.

The Maine Diver Scallops were done with a perfect sear and seasoned perfectly.  They sat on top of a cauliflower mousse, capers, almond slices, golden raisins, and chopped chives.  I wouldn’t have necessarily imagined to marry those particular ingredients.  It all worked wonderfully with aged balsamic vinegar balancing the all the flavors on the plate.  It was a remarkable synergy.  The whole was definitely more than the sum of its parts.

Maine Diver Scallops

Chef Brian visited the bar on a number of occasions to talk to his old associate and former Five Lakes Grill general manager, who was sitting next to me.  At one point he brought Executive Chef David Gilbert along.  They all talked shop.  They caught up.  Every now and then, I would hear a tidbit like, “Winter menu…Wednesday…roast marrow…”  Later, I heard, “best-selling…Veal Cheeks…” At that point, I was still hankering for more.  It wasn’t that I wasn’t full.  I just wanted more.  I was consoling myself for the lousy couple of days of work ahead of me.  So, I ordered the Veal Cheeks which are served with Parisian Herb & Ricotta Cheese Gnocchi, wilted spinach, and tomato.  Think of an updated Osso Bucco without the bone and the marrow.  Bartender Ron advised me that it was going to be the tenderest meat I have ever had.  He was right.  Honestly, chewing was nearly irrelevant.  While the meat didn’t melt in my mouth, every attempt at the cutting aspect of chewing was pretty useless.  The meat just flattened.  All I could really do was just swallow.  The cutting edge of my knife?  Irrelevant.  Just pull the meat apart.  Put it in your mouth.  Mash it flat with your teeth, because it’s too tender to actually cut with your teeth.  Then, swallow.  That’s it.  Some outer bits were well caramelized, crunchy and sweet.  If the soft meat were the foreplay, the caramelized parts were the orgasm.

Veal Cheeks. Leave the dentures at home. You won't need them.

After I finished my Veal Cheeks, Chef Brian approached me.  He seemed to notice that I was enjoying my food.  It seemed that he wasn’t the only one.  Apparently, people were wondering who I was.  I was eating quite a lot.  Chef Brian jokingly asked, “So, are you going to be getting four desserts?”  I told him that I planned to keep it to one.  I complemented him on his food and his restaurant, and I told him I’d be back for the roasted bone marrow.

For my one dessert, I ordered a Chocolate Pot De Crème and Warre’s Young Ruby Port.  Chef Brian’s former associate assured me that the port was going to be an excellent choice.  He was right.  The pot de crème was served in what looked like a miniature soup tureen.  This time, it had the top on it.  It was a double-shot of cold chocolate, and it was about all I could handle at that point.

I look forward to eating at The Forest Grill again.  The moderate pricing–moderate for fine dining–makes me think that I may become something of a regular.  Next time, I’m getting the roasted marrow.  Who’s with me?

On a recent episode of this season of “Top Chef,” Tom Colicchio recently commented that a contestant fell in love with an ingredient, but she didn’t do enough with that ingredient to make it stand out.  He felt that it seemed that Jill chose an ostrich egg to stand out from her rivals, but the choice wasn’t enough.  Something else was missing.  I willl comment on a restaurant that failed to deliver as Jill did and some other restaurants that hit the mark as Jill probably hoped to do. 

I recently had a dining experience that  made me think the same thing about a local  restaurant.  Troy,  Michigan’s Camp Ticonderoga was the offending party.  None of the dishes were particularly inspired.  It was as if the restaurant had fallen in love with wild game, but didn’t really do much with it to make it stand out.  Similarly in love with meat is the menu of Iron Chef Michael Symon’s Roast.  The Iron Chef and James Beard Award Nominee Mike Symon and Executive Chef Jeff Rose did not make the same mistake.

The appetizer I chose at Camp Ticonderoga was named Wild Thang.  Okay, so, I like meat.  I like Jimi Hendrix.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  I was most interested in the rabbit ravioli, which I hoped would be like a similar dish at Manhattan’s Del Posto, owned by Mario Batali and Joe and Lidia Bastianich.  Actually, more than anything, I went to Camp Ticonderoga for the rabbit ravioli, because I wanted to recapture the rapture of the rabbit ravioli I had at Del Posto.  Unfortunately, the appetizer was full of disappointment.  The plate also included spicy venison sausage, duck tenders, whitefish pate, and BBQ buffalo meatballs.  Unfortunately, the rabbit ravioli was fried.  Quite simply, it was dessicated and hard.  The meat could have been anything, and I would never have been able to tell the difference.  The best part about it was the sweet-and-sour dipping sauce.  Likewise, the venison sausage was dry.  It was improved by some lemon juice.  I’m not sure if I was supposed to use the lemon wedge on the plate for that purpose, but it certainly helped.  The duck tenders were not even remotely tender.  I suppose they were meant to be like chicken tenders that one might find at a bar or a fast-food joint.  Like the dessicated rabbit ravioli, I would have been hard pressed to identify the tenders as duck.  Again, the best part of the duck tenders was the sweet-and-sour dipping sauce that I used for the rabbit ravioli.  The BBQ buffalo meatballs would have been just as dry were it not for the BBQ sauce, which wasn’t particularly inspiring either.  It’s certainly nothing like the divine but superfluous Alex’s Red Rage BBQ sauce found at Zingerman’s Roadhouse (http://www.zingermansroadhouse.com/index.php, 2501 Jackson Ave., Ann Arbor, MI 48103; Tel.: +1-734-663-3663).  I have had Alex’s Red Rage BBQ sauce on the Roadhouse’s Pit Smoked Spare Ribs.  I say the sauce is superfluous, because the ribs are succulent, tender, and tasty all by themselves.  The sauce is merely a bonus.  It’s the cherry on top of the sundae.  The sauce on the BBQ Buffalo Balls, as Camp Ticonderoga calls its meat balls, is entirely necessary.  Everything on the Wild Thang seemed overcooked.  Perhaps, that’s the danger in using wild game that’s supposedly less fatty than meats like pork and beef.  They’re going to be easier to overcook.  Maybe, that’s what happened here.

Not everything was bad, however.  I must give credit where credit is due.  I did like the whitefish pate.  I did like the Guinness BBQ chicken: a half chicken, slow roasted in Guinness Stout and broiled in Camp Ti’s BBQ sauce.  Not bad.  It was pretty tasty, but it wasn’t excellent by any means.  I did appreciate the tangy bite of the sauce and the spicy finish, which were strangely absent from the BBQ Buffalo Balls.  As I ordered chicken and ribs, the ribs also deserve comment.  The ribs were described in the menu as being everything that BBQ ribs should be.  I know opinions are like assholes in that everyone has one.  Let me show you mine: this isn’t everything that BBQ should be.  Like pretty much everything else, the ribs were dry.  Did they fall off the bone?  Sure, with a little pushing and prodding.  The Jack Daniel’s BBQ sauce was okay, but this dish is something I would have expected from a mediocre chain like T.G.I. Friday’s.  If this restaurant is striving for a national profile, that’s not the type of profile I think one ought to strive for.    The ribs at Zingerman’s Roadhouse do fall off the bone without much effort.  Recently, I saw my friend pick up the bone in an attempt to tear a rib from the rack.  The bone came right out of the rack completely clean.  My friend was holding up a bare bone in awe and delight.  Trust me, the Zingerman’s ribs are excellent.  They’re so good that one easily forgets that they serve it with the exemplary Red Rage BBQ Sauce.  You can have your Zingerman’s ribs either with sauce or without, depending on your chosen BBQ dogma.  Now, that’s everything that BBQ should be.

I don’t know if it deserves mention, but Camp Ti’s lobster ravioli was another dish I was interested in trying.  So, we tried it.  This dish sparked a little discussion on focus.  Perhaps, Camp Ti should have stayed with their specialty, which is meat.  Instead, they seemed to have this dish to try to be all things to all people.  Having variety is a good thing, I suppose, but does variety for the sake of variety excuse poor execution of a dish?  One could find this dish at a two-star motel, a mediocre pseudo-Italian chain like Olive Garden or  Maggiano’s, or in a plastic box from Costco.  It was unexciting and bland.  It didn’t even taste much like lobster.

I’ve been going on about Zingerman’s Roadhouse, but they deserve their own blog entry for their consistent excellence at providing diners with what they claim is “really good American food.”  Is there no truth in advertising?  Their food isn’t just really good.  It’s exemplary.  Executive Chef Alex Young is a recent nominee for the James Beard Award for Best Chef in the Great Lakes region.  If a restaurant is striving for some kind of notoriety, that’s the kind of notoriety it should seek.  Camp Ti has some sister restaurants in the area.  So, they seem to have at least a local profile—in contrast to national profile of Zingerman’s Roadhouse.  Camp Ti’s sisters have the same menu.  I imagine they all have the same mediocre execution.  I imagine they’re trying for something a little less than what Zingerman’s does consistently.

Where Camp Ti fails, Zingerman’s Roadhouse and Iron Chef Michael Symon’s Roast do not. Ensconced in the newly renovated Westin Book Cadillac Hotel (1114 Washington Blvd., Detroit, MI 48226; Tel.: +1-313-442-1600), Roast is one part of current attempts revitalize Downtown Detroit.  Roast has a similar emphasis to Camp Ti.  While it may not be wild game all the time, Roast does have a Roast Beast of the Day.  As you may gather, much of what is served at Roast is roasted.  (Menu .pdf: http://www.bookcadillacwestin.com/assets/u/ROASTMENU1008.pdf) Chef Symon was nominated in 2007 by the James Beard Foundation for best chef in the Great Lakes region, much like Alex Young of Zingerman’s Roadhouse.  I suppose it should be no surprise that both Zingerman’s Roadhouse and Roast are far better than Camp Ticonderoga.

We arrived early for our reservation.  So, we elected to have a drink at the gorgeous bar at the front of the house.  I started off the night at Roast with Samuel Smith’s Organic Ale, which I heartily recommend if you have the opportunity to try it.  My friend James had some Absinthe.

Chef Symon was in the house that night.  We saw him walking around talking to patrons, cooking on the line, the whole deal.  He walked by us, and I called out to him, “Chef!”  He graciously came over to us and welcomed us to the place.  I was honestly a little bit star struck having met a Celebrity Chef for the first time.  So, I can’t remember what I said, but I do remember shaking his hand.  I do remember he seemed glad to have us in the house.  I remember telling James that night that it seemed like Mike Symon was a guy kind of like us.  He seemed to be a rock ‘n’ roll-type dude who just happens to dig food in a big way.  I thought, “Hey, I dig rock!  Hey, I dig good food!  Mike Symon’s my kind of guy!”  I don’t know what part of that was serious and what part of that was Samuel Smith’s Organic Ale, but Chef Symon does seem like my kind of guy.

Restaurants that I like have the ability to make me feel like I’m going to be a repeat customer.  This feeling starts early in the meal, often with the appetizer.  Once, as with the case of Eric Ripert’s Le Bernardin in Manhattan, I felt that with the first bite of bread.  Roast isn’t Le Bernardin, but then again, who else is at that level?  It was with the appetizer that I knew I’d be back.  We chose the Beef Cheek Pierogie and the Roasted Marrow.  The Pierogie was the weakest part of the meal, but it was still good.  It was outshined by the heavenly (or is it sinful?) Roasted Marrow. 

Beef Cheek Pierogie

Roasted Marrow elicits a thumbs up.

Two halves of what I assume was a beef shank were served.  They were seasoned with sea salt, oregano, and chilies.  When Chef Symon came by to see how we were doing, we gushed about the marrow.  We all agreed that they were, “Awesome.”  I must admit that instead of having a sweet tooth, I ought to say that I have a salt and fat tooth.  The Roasted Marrow definitely hit me on both of those.  The oregano and the chilies were the perfect complement to give some complexity to the flavor.  Excellent.  I will be ordering this again, next time.  Heck, I almost ordered another one right there on the spot!

My friend James and I had been talking about getting roast suckling pig at Roast after their opening.  Heaven smiled on us that evening, because the Roast Beast of the Day was suckling pig.  It was done with a salsa verde and served with some cracklings on top.  Okay, it wasn’t a Cebuano Lechon from the Philippines, but it was still darn good.  It was moist, but not greasy.  My one criticism of the dish is that it could have used a bit more seasoning.  Otherwise, it was great.  Whether salt or a more aggressive salsa verde would have made the difference between merely very good and excellent, I don’t know.  It just needed a little more kick.  I probably should have reached for the salt shaker.  The good news is that the dish was good enough that I couldn’t stop to reach for the salt shaker.  So, was it really just “very good,” or was it something better?  Whatever it was, I’m interested in another portion.  Unfortunately, I don’t have a picture to show you.

Our sides were what modern American food needs to be to stand out these days.  Let’s face it.  Those of us who care about these things have probably been to our fair share of restaurants good and bad.  The good ones make us feel worse for having found yet another bad one.  With every good restaurant comes less patience for the bad ones, less tolerance for the waste of money and time that a bad restaurant represents in our lives.  Roast is definitely one of the better restaurants I’ve tried recently.  Our sides represent two more reasons why.  We ordered the Bacon Creamed Corn and Mac & Cheese with Goat Cheese.

Bacon Creamed Corn

Mac & Cheese with Goat Cheese

The Bacon brought the salty counterpoint to the sweetness of the corn.  As you can see above, the dish brought a thumbs up.  Honestly, I don’t know why no other restaurant that I know has thought of this.  Don’t they say that bacon makes everything else better?  So, why not the steakhouse standby, creamed corn?  Thankfully, that lightbulb came on in the design of Roast’s menu.  Whether it was Michael Symon’s idea or something out of the mind of Executive Chef Jeff Rose, to me, it was an inspired choice.  Professional food writers may have had something like this somewhere else, but I sure haven’t.  I’m also interested in another portion of the Bacon Creamed Corn.

I told another friend about the Mac & Cheese with Goat Cheese.  He was inspired to make his own.  Until another recent brush with Mac & Cheese greatness (at Zingerman’s Roadhouse), Roast’s Mac & Cheese was the best I had ever had. Certainly, it was more flavorful and complex than any other mac & cheese I had eaten before.  I wouldn’t say that it was necessarily more rich, though.  The richness was just right, but the flavor was out of sight!  While it is now the second best mac & cheese I’ve ever had, it is still exemplary.

For dessert, I honestly don’t remember a thing about James’ dessert, which could be the Dark Chocolate Cream cake that I see listed in a blurry picture I have of the desert menu.  I was too enthralled with the idea of my dessert: Beer & Pretzels.  I know.  It doesn’t sound like much, but wait until you read the description.  It was Guinness Ice Cream with chocolate covered pretzels arranged like a parfait in a pint glass.

This is another one of those ideas about which I wonder why no one else thought of it first.  Guinness does have hints of chocolate and coffee flavors to it.  They make both chocolate and coffee ice cream, right? Guinness is smooth and creamy, especially the foam.  Ice cream is smooth and creamy.  Hey!  Why not make Guinness Ice Cream?  I don’t have a clue how they did it, but I loved it.  I don’t know if liquid nitrogen was involved, but who cares?  I’m having another order next time.