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Playing the Dining Public for Fools
- By Dan Clarke
- Published 02/9/2006
- Resturants & Chefs
Dan Clarke
California Wine Press publishes two internet magazines.
www.californiawineandfood.com (CWF) addresses the interests of restaurant and hospitality professionals.
Your kind comments have been much appreciated. Thank you. You may contact us at info@californiawineandfood.com
Regards,
Dan Clarke, Publisher
Sacramento is going through something of a Renaissance. There seems to be plenty of new money around and much of it is in pricey suburbs that are developing east of town. Restaurants have followed the dough and we have enjoyed some good meals in the area. One place that has been getting plenty of publicity lately makes much of its chef and his Michelin star reputation. Maria and I made reservations a few Thursday nights ago.
It was a bizarre experience.
Earlier in the week I called to see if the place had a website where I could find out more about it. It did not, said the woman answering the phone, but she was cordial and described a few of the menu items and mentioned that the place had a “martini bar” and a chef with a Michelin star.
The place was fairly quiet when we arrived and we might have enjoyed a drink before dinner, but a sign near the reception desk indicated that the bar was closed that night. We were seated by a pleasant enough fellow wearing a blue blazer. He returned later, apparently to serve as our waiter for the evening. I asked about the “martini bar” we’d heard about. He said it was closed because the bartender wasn’t in that night, but we could have beer or wine served at our table. Apparently, he could enter the bar to procure those beverages, so I wondered if he would be willing to pour from another bottle. I asked if there was any Campari. “Probably not,” came his reply after a moment’s reflection.
The menu included comments from the chef about his new classic style of French cooking--he used only fresh ingredients and produced dishes full in flavor, but light and not relying on butter and cream. There was also a mention of America’s obesity problem and that this sort of food that the chef favored (and with which we, presumably, were unfamiliar) might help the situation. I don’t remember the exact wording and it’s possible that I misinterpreted the message, but I thought it patronizing.
The wine selections were varied and fairly priced. No cocktails and aperitifs being available to us, I ordered two glasses of white wine, a Sancerre and a white Rhone that I thought would get us started and go nicely with our first courses when they arrived. The man in the blazer (MITB) assured me that they were excellent choices.
A woman who’d been seated at the (closed) martini bar when we arrived moved to the piano and began to play. Nice enough atmosphere. So far, so good.
Another server appeared on the floor after we were seated. He wore a white shirt, tie and black apron and appeared to be a regular waiter. Though not especially suave, he did seem able to get plates from the kitchen to his tables. At one point he delivered drinks in cocktail glasses to another couple.
The small soufflé and the salad with pear and blue cheese arrived. The latter plate included pieces of candied walnuts, just as the menu said. Ten or fifteen minutes earlier I had explained that Maria has a potentially lethal allergy to tree nuts. Could she please have the salad without the nuts? Of course, said the MITB.
Maria never likes to make a scene. We switched plates. I said nothing to the MITB, but did wonder whether he didn’t bother to tell the kitchen or if it was their screw up.
We selected main courses and I ordered a bottle of (red) Rhone. Another excellent choice, I was told. It took a while for the duck and the steak to get to the table, but they did arrive before the wine. When the MITB returned with the bottle he succeeded in removing the top half of its cork. Showing only mild surprise and/or chagrin, he toddled off in the direction of the martini bar to get a replacement bottle. A while passed before he returned. I didn’t watch the MITB begin his assault on the second bottle, but when I realized that things at my left were taking quite a while I noticed that he had put the corkscrew auger straight on through the foil cap. If this is the way he ordinarily attempts to open wine, no wonder the man is having difficulty, I thought. After extracting another chunk of cork—but not the entirety—he sort of shrugged and said they do have some trouble with French corks, which are particularly dry. He asked if I’d like to order something different. The list had many non-French options, but the Michelin star chef was quoted on the menu as suggesting we drink French wine with his food. What to do?
Hoping for better karma, I order a different wine. The third bottle was French and a recent vintage, as were the first two. I don’t remember if the MITB favored this selection with another excellent choice benediction.
He returned with the new wine, which he was able to open successfully.
The food we ate that night was good. Not great, but acceptable. The service was the worst I can remember.
Water glasses were not refilled unless we asked. Dishes from the first courses remained on the table after the main courses were served. At one point I looked up and saw the MITB sitting at a stool at the (closed) martini bar, Our table needed attention. Dishes needed to be removed. He’d walked by us at least twice and now he was resting on a bar stool.
There was a broad open window giving us a view to the kitchen. While we waited for wine to be poured, or food to be served, or dirty dishes to be removed, we watched two white-coated men in the kitchen. Which of these fellows was the vaunted French chef, we wondered?
It was neither of them, as things turned out. On departure we saw framed copies of articles about their Michelin chef—from the pictures it was obviously someone else. It was a Thursday night and he apparently wasn’t in the house.
In scouring some of that local press coverage afterward, I looked for the Michelin star connection. One article said that the chef had started his career in a restaurant with a Michelin star and that after his apprenticeship he had learned from many Michelin-starred chefs along the way. Nowhere did I see mention of a specific place that had a Michelin star when he had been in charge of the kitchen, so I called to ask where the chef earned the putative Michelin star. The man who answered the phone didn’t know for sure, but mentioned a restaurant with a French name which turned out to be in Poland. In a quick internet search I didn’t find any Polish restaurants with current Michelin star status. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Or maybe there was one in the past (these ratings can come and go).
Earning a star (or two or three--the maximum) in the Guide Michelin is a wonderful accomplishment for a restaurant, its chef and entire staff. But the whole Michelin rating system is irrelevant in the United States, and even in Europe the lack of a Michelin star isn’t a barrier to a restaurant providing a great dining experience.
Neither is the earning of one a guarantee of a great experiences in future.
The afternoon I called the restaurant to find out more about the chef, I also asked about the MITB. “Oh yes,” said the voice, “that would have been Joe. He’s one of our owners.”
The restaurant deserves to fail. And it will.
It was a bizarre experience.
Earlier in the week I called to see if the place had a website where I could find out more about it. It did not, said the woman answering the phone, but she was cordial and described a few of the menu items and mentioned that the place had a “martini bar” and a chef with a Michelin star.
The place was fairly quiet when we arrived and we might have enjoyed a drink before dinner, but a sign near the reception desk indicated that the bar was closed that night. We were seated by a pleasant enough fellow wearing a blue blazer. He returned later, apparently to serve as our waiter for the evening. I asked about the “martini bar” we’d heard about. He said it was closed because the bartender wasn’t in that night, but we could have beer or wine served at our table. Apparently, he could enter the bar to procure those beverages, so I wondered if he would be willing to pour from another bottle. I asked if there was any Campari. “Probably not,” came his reply after a moment’s reflection.
The menu included comments from the chef about his new classic style of French cooking--he used only fresh ingredients and produced dishes full in flavor, but light and not relying on butter and cream. There was also a mention of America’s obesity problem and that this sort of food that the chef favored (and with which we, presumably, were unfamiliar) might help the situation. I don’t remember the exact wording and it’s possible that I misinterpreted the message, but I thought it patronizing.
The wine selections were varied and fairly priced. No cocktails and aperitifs being available to us, I ordered two glasses of white wine, a Sancerre and a white Rhone that I thought would get us started and go nicely with our first courses when they arrived. The man in the blazer (MITB) assured me that they were excellent choices.
A woman who’d been seated at the (closed) martini bar when we arrived moved to the piano and began to play. Nice enough atmosphere. So far, so good.
Another server appeared on the floor after we were seated. He wore a white shirt, tie and black apron and appeared to be a regular waiter. Though not especially suave, he did seem able to get plates from the kitchen to his tables. At one point he delivered drinks in cocktail glasses to another couple.
The small soufflé and the salad with pear and blue cheese arrived. The latter plate included pieces of candied walnuts, just as the menu said. Ten or fifteen minutes earlier I had explained that Maria has a potentially lethal allergy to tree nuts. Could she please have the salad without the nuts? Of course, said the MITB.
Maria never likes to make a scene. We switched plates. I said nothing to the MITB, but did wonder whether he didn’t bother to tell the kitchen or if it was their screw up.
We selected main courses and I ordered a bottle of (red) Rhone. Another excellent choice, I was told. It took a while for the duck and the steak to get to the table, but they did arrive before the wine. When the MITB returned with the bottle he succeeded in removing the top half of its cork. Showing only mild surprise and/or chagrin, he toddled off in the direction of the martini bar to get a replacement bottle. A while passed before he returned. I didn’t watch the MITB begin his assault on the second bottle, but when I realized that things at my left were taking quite a while I noticed that he had put the corkscrew auger straight on through the foil cap. If this is the way he ordinarily attempts to open wine, no wonder the man is having difficulty, I thought. After extracting another chunk of cork—but not the entirety—he sort of shrugged and said they do have some trouble with French corks, which are particularly dry. He asked if I’d like to order something different. The list had many non-French options, but the Michelin star chef was quoted on the menu as suggesting we drink French wine with his food. What to do?
Hoping for better karma, I order a different wine. The third bottle was French and a recent vintage, as were the first two. I don’t remember if the MITB favored this selection with another excellent choice benediction.
He returned with the new wine, which he was able to open successfully.
The food we ate that night was good. Not great, but acceptable. The service was the worst I can remember.
Water glasses were not refilled unless we asked. Dishes from the first courses remained on the table after the main courses were served. At one point I looked up and saw the MITB sitting at a stool at the (closed) martini bar, Our table needed attention. Dishes needed to be removed. He’d walked by us at least twice and now he was resting on a bar stool.
There was a broad open window giving us a view to the kitchen. While we waited for wine to be poured, or food to be served, or dirty dishes to be removed, we watched two white-coated men in the kitchen. Which of these fellows was the vaunted French chef, we wondered?
It was neither of them, as things turned out. On departure we saw framed copies of articles about their Michelin chef—from the pictures it was obviously someone else. It was a Thursday night and he apparently wasn’t in the house.
In scouring some of that local press coverage afterward, I looked for the Michelin star connection. One article said that the chef had started his career in a restaurant with a Michelin star and that after his apprenticeship he had learned from many Michelin-starred chefs along the way. Nowhere did I see mention of a specific place that had a Michelin star when he had been in charge of the kitchen, so I called to ask where the chef earned the putative Michelin star. The man who answered the phone didn’t know for sure, but mentioned a restaurant with a French name which turned out to be in Poland. In a quick internet search I didn’t find any Polish restaurants with current Michelin star status. Maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Or maybe there was one in the past (these ratings can come and go).
Earning a star (or two or three--the maximum) in the Guide Michelin is a wonderful accomplishment for a restaurant, its chef and entire staff. But the whole Michelin rating system is irrelevant in the United States, and even in Europe the lack of a Michelin star isn’t a barrier to a restaurant providing a great dining experience.
Neither is the earning of one a guarantee of a great experiences in future.
The afternoon I called the restaurant to find out more about the chef, I also asked about the MITB. “Oh yes,” said the voice, “that would have been Joe. He’s one of our owners.”
The restaurant deserves to fail. And it will.