State Bird Provisions is Far From Clueless

So, okay, I don’t want to be a traitor to my generation and all, but I don’t get how restaurants get hipster cred today. I mean, come on, it’s like they just fell out of bed and put on some baggy pants and take their greasy hair ew, and cover it up with a backwards cap and like, we’re expected to swoon? 

“I don’t think so!” is my typical response.  While I simultaneously check out a menu on my iPhone5…with envy.  The truth is, if SF Weekly and 7x7 and Bold Italic are covering a restaurant [and my friends are subsequently tweeting and posting and commenting “I want to eat all of the food” on said articles, which is how they make it into my frame of reference] then I want to eat there.  I don’t want to stamp my foodie passport or wait in line with potentially famous people.  I want to put it in my mouth and experience the bliss of rarest umami without worrying about the bill or the calories.

And how often is it the case that a rave review elicits the same ecstasy the writer experienced (as they were likely being carried in on a golden throne by hunky tuxedo-clad waiters and provided tasting bites of every single delicious morsel as the Chef triple-checks and plates the dishes himself)?  Not often, right?  Because inevitably, the hostess is annoyed or the wait is over an hour even with a reservation or the corkage fee is exorbitant or you’re too close to the service area/bathroom/bar/door. 

So, okay, State Bird Provisions is different.

Open for about 18 months and still impossible to book, State Bird keeps a third of tables for walk-ins, one of which I was lucky enough to nab.  The menu is a simple affair with pancakes, Commandables (mains) and desserts for order.  But about as quick as you can decide you want to try everything on the menu, the first dim sum-style tray of goodies arrives to hawk at your table.  In our case, he had duck liver mousse with tiny, beautiful almond biscuits; a familiar flavor combination delivered with an unusually pleasant texture, that of a fine scone and clotted cream.  It was the perfect beginning.

Next: Heirloom tomato salad with eggplant prepared like a cousin to baba ghanoush with expertly applied virgin olive oil and the crunch of sea salt flakes.  Then: Steak tartare with Romesco sauce and extra crispy potato chips.  Again, none of these dishes were particularly divergent from their normal-restaurant counterparts, but each was absolutely transcendent.  Spicy, nutty, smoky Romesco sauce was a lovely departure from traditional Dijon mustard and the steak got to be the hero instead of usually-overpowering capers and raw onion.

At this point, our sweet corn and Mt. Tam shortstack of mini-pancakes arrived off the menu.  Presumably fashioned as a take off of scallion pancakes, these were so gooey and savory-sweet that I found myself taking micro-bites.  (You know, when you go to take a bite but become worried you’re eating such a masterpiece too quickly so you cut it in half and then repeat this until what’s left on your fork is literally a corn kernel.)

Our next three plates of provisions arrived in quick succession: Salmon tartare prepared with a crunchy vegetable somewhere between onion and celery over crisp cucumbers with baked sesame quinoa crumbled over the top.  Roasted balsamic figs tenderly resting in a pool of creamy Wagon Wheel fondue.  And raw Belle Soleil oysters with pickled kohlrabi and spicy chili oil, topped by sesame seeds.  Each dish was just big enough for a party of four to share and get a few delicious bites, but (equally importantly) small enough to order lots!

Off the Commandables menu, our pork spare ribs and CA state bird were served.  The ribs were so eager to fall off the bone, they had to be carefully delivered to each plate.  Not overly salty or sticky or spicy, these ribs demanded your full attention to their succulent balance of tender and crispy.  The state bird (quail) was buttermilk fried over an aged hard cheese sliced impossibly thin.  Quails are not large birds, so each bite was delicate yet approachable.  For the first time in my life, I understand the desire for a bucket of such fried poultry.

At this point, the wine was flowing and my recollection of the specifics of each plate was diminishing, but we ate: grilled, deliciously tender octopus with chickpeas; deep-friend garlic bread (yep, you read that right) smothered in burrata; ever-so-lightly-fried crispy pork hock salad with mint and jalapeno; rainbow quinoa and sweet corn salad with ricotta; an impressively thick “slab” of nori cooked to be just crunchy enough to break simply, topped with buttery raw albacore, dollops of citrusy-avocado mousse and elegant herbs.  One of the highlights (among highlights) were the fried green tomatoes over more eggplant deliciousness with oily fried padron peppers and basil leaves, pimento aioli and the sweetest of cherry tomatoes.

You would think we could be rolled out of the restaurant at this point.  We only said no to two proposed provisions: the rabbit with boiled potatoes and the cooked salmon.  Only because our table was too full to make room for the plates.

And then we ordered dessert.  The menu was just obscure enough, actually, make that completely obscure.  “Birdseed bittersweet chocolate crunch, caramel cloud cream, blueberries” is actually what’s on the menu.  We needed help.  Our waitress recommended the birdseed which was a really different texture combo of creamy sweet custard with Nestle Crunch-esque chunks of unsweetened chocolate.  Also, an extremely minty ice cream sandwich and a light-as-air coconut tapioca topped with strawberry and Indian blood peach (a wild plum and white peach hybrid none other than Thomas Jefferson invented) grantia and drizzled caramelized honey.  So sweet yet nothing overpowering. 

Every dish was worth savoring.  I enjoyed State Bird so much more than I have many other restaurants in San Francisco.  Specializing in slightly Asian plates with decadent ingredients in bite-sized portions for maximum access to layers upon layers of flavor, I would brave crowds of hipsters, lines filled with exasperated Important People and even a bill to match my excess.  Guys, there's a reason this place is so in demand.  Grab your skinny jeans, comb your beard, order another pair of plaid Warby Parkers and get in line.  

Complete list of (my) provisions on August 8, 2013:

·      Duck liver mousse with almond biscuits

·      Heirloom tomato salad with eggplant

·      Steak tartare with potato chips and Romesco sauce

·      Sweet corn & Mt. Tam short stack pancakes

·      Salmon tartare over cucumbers with sesame quinoa crumble

·      Raw oyster with pickled kohlrabi

·      Roasted balsamic fig over Wagon Wheel fondue

·      Pork spare ribs glazed in their own juices

·      CA State bird with provisions (buttermilk fried)

·      Grilled octopus over chickpeas and tomato sauce

·      Garlic fried bread with burrata

·      Pork belly salad with jalapeño and mint

·      Fried green tomatoes, eggplant & padrons with pimenton aioli

·      Quinoa with sweet corn and ricotta

·      Nori with albacore and avocado cream

·      Mint ‘ice cream’ sandwich, chocolate plum coulis, pistachios

·      Birdseed bittersweet chocolate crunch, caramel cloud cream, blueberries

·      Strawberry & indian blood peach granite, coconut tapioca, caramelized honey

The French Laundry Experience

When offered a reservation at French Laundry, how many seconds of processing the inconvenient location and exorbitant price tag before I agreed?  About one.  Once I learned the reservation was for lunch, I did a little recon to discover it’s the same 9-course menu—it’s just an 11am start rather than 5pm.  Still interested?  YES.

Thanksgiving weekend was rainy in that mysterious way where the streets are wet, the sky is dark, but there’s not a raindrop in sight.  Napa sparkled despite the overcast skies; ponds amidst the vines like mirrors with vivid autumn colors, as if the rain was a glaze enhancing golds, umbers, neon greens.

Arriving in Yountville at 10:15am, we excitedly scoped out the unsuspecting restaurant and busily-attended-to gardens.  Was it a sign there were rainbows in every direction?  I think so!

We were seated upstairs in a room among five tables total, however, with the level of service you’d think we were the only ones in the restaurant.  Immediately upon putting my napkin in my lap I was offered a choice between still and sparkling.  This is usually not a difficult decision for me: still if I’m in dire need of hydration and sparkling on every other occasion because I’m enjoying the novelty of dining out.  In this case, I struggled because, let’s be honest, I wanted to try everything, down to the mineral water served!  And so, I had both.

Wine was trickier yet.  Saying the wine list was extensive is the understatement of the century.  Just locating local options was exhausting.  We finally gave up and mom worked with the waiter to choose three half bottles: a cuvee, sauvignon blanc and syrah.  The Michael Turgy Champagne Reserve blanc de blancs was lovely: crisp granny smith apple.  As I was sipping my first taste, fragrant gougères arrived, a delightfully tiny bite of decadence.  Chou pastry puffs so small and perfectly round were filled with creamy, buttery cheese, likely a Basque hard cheese with a nutty undercurrent.  You know you’re in good hands when you’re getting started with champagne and impressively gooey gougères.

Even before the first course arrived, smoked salmon cornettes arrived on a silver platter.  The platter was a talking point for a good couple of minutes while we pondered the significance of metalwork created specifically for such an exotic dish.  The Scottish Salmon Cornettes, or “Twills,” consisted of red onion marmalade, crème fraîche, chives and smoked salmon scoops atop a cone made from black sesame.  The cone batter is poured, extra thinly, on baking sheets and baked until malleable.  Then it’s wrapped around a metal cone for shape and back into the oven to crisp.  I believe the red onion marmalade was cut into the smoked salmon like gravlax.  What shook up my tastebuds was how non-threatening the red onions were.  Typically, they make or break a bite with such intense flavor it’s easy to overpower.  Cooked down slightly into marmalade, the best parts of the red onion flavor remained while the sharpness was gone, allowing heightened smoked salmon intensity.  I discovered the crème fraîche was all by itself inside the cone, under the smoked salmon, so I deftly, if not unbecomingly, bit off the bottom of the cone to mix the flavors in my mouth.  So worth it.  I found the black sesame cone a subtle burnt complement to the salmon and cream.  (Who am I kidding?  Anything even reminiscent of bagels with cream cheese and lox are a winning combination, forget about it when French Laundry deconstructs it to a science!)

Course One

When the first course was served in a miniature bowl with mother of pearl caviar spoon glimmering in the light, I knew I was in love.  It was touted as a cauliflower “panna cotta” with Island Creek oyster glaze and California sturgeon caviar.  Purposefully in quotation marks on the menu, I had to wonder if the cauliflower = “panna cotta” was really a gelatin and cooked cream recipe.  It was more like savory custard with such strong cauliflower essence it was like I’d never really tasted cauliflower before.  I sensed white pepper which might sound like it would be overpowering but the cauliflower flavor was so strong, it merely set it off.  The shimmering layer on top tasted like the sea which made sense since it was an oyster liquour!  Caviar was icing on the cake, adding another decadent texture to the dish.  I so enjoyed this first course that I dragged on savoring it long after everyone else’s plates were removed and anxious glances from my family members forced me to finish it.  It may have been a mini bowl of flavors but I couldn’t get enough!  I said at the time it was my favorite course and I may have been right.

Course Two

Second course was a salad of Hawaiian hearts of palm, baby beets, granny smith apples, English walnuts and “crème de Raifort.”  I felt like this would have been a “classic French Laundry” example with compressed green apple and micro greens intensifying the tastes.  Beets and hearts of palm are each so mild, my expectations were for more of a palate-cleanser than flavor journey.  It sort of was, except for the surprise of horseradish cream tripping up my senses with its characteristic bite.  My dad would have appreciated the perfectly shelled walnut halves across the board.

Course Three

The third course was by far the most beautiful.  Octopus sliced impossibly thin was arranged as a mosaic with piquillo peppers, artichokes, dots of broccolini bud vinaigrette and squid ink with garlic—plus fried chic pea cubes (in brown butter, no less) and preserved meyer lemon zest and olive oil sprinkled on top.  If you think that’s too many different things in one plate, it was actually just the right amount!  Where to begin…The octopus is an excellent vehicle for the other flavors and spices; perfectly tender and not overwhelming.  Pickled piquillo peppers added a zesty,  acidic counter to the garlicky squid ink and broccolini pesto.  The baby artichokes were pickled as well, but in what could have been straight olive oil, they were so fresh.  The chick pea cubes were light and buttery almost like fried tofu in terms of texture and fluffiness.  My favorite part about this dish was how the combination of flavors didn’t require salt.  Strong lemon zest, garlic, herbs and vinegar combined to excellent, fresh result.  It reminded me of a Greek octopus salad ceviche.

Course Four

Sweet butter-poached Main lobster mitts were impressively just that: lobster meat in the form of large, meaty, perfect mitts.  Despite only tasting lobster a handful of times previously, I’m aware of the general rules for distinction: ability to absorb and/or retain butter flavor and firm texture.  I felt like I was eating lobster-shaped butter.  Two medium-sized, fried salsify sticks gave a slight reprieve from the richness of the lobster, which I dipped alternatively in two oddly matched sauces: watercress and apricot Madras curry emulsion and black trumpet mushroom paste.  Sweet pickled cippolini onion slivers paired well with the strong curry.  While executed superbly, I thought this combination wasn’t as impressive as the others.

Course Five

Devil’s Gulch Ranch “épaule de lapin” arrived with the 2007 Copain Syrah, thankfully, so it could cut the richness of black strap molasses drenching everything on my plate.  This dish was incredibly rich—in a completely different way than the buttery lobster—with dark meat game, bacon and sticky-sweet molasses.  Upon asking where exactly the bacon fit into the recipe, I discovered it (in equal parts to molasses) was the glue holding everything together: bacon mousse was stuffed under the skin of the rabbit shoulder; bacon fat melted the collard greens and chopped bacon flavored the baked beans.  Everything had a brown glaze from the black strap molasses so this was one case where you had to eat the skin because it was crispy, sticky and sweet.  It was the tiniest little chunk of rabbit—maybe an ounce—but so much sweet and salty.

Course Six

The sixth, and largest, course was most like one I would have enjoyed at many restaurants.  That is to say, maybe the least unique, but still likely the best execution of the dish anywhere.  Elysian Fields Farm sliced lamb ribeye arrived atop faro and root vegetables.  Carrots, turnips and cipollini onions were just barely pan-roasted in (from what I could tell) heaps of butter.  They were still brightly colored and crisp as if farm to plate may have occurred within the last hour.  (That’s not actually a stretch since the farm across the street was abuzz throughout our meal.)  The farro was al dente with savory, chewy bits that turned out to be shredded “ribettes” of lamb.  I thought this was a great idea for future starches, mixing tender, shredded meat in.  The lamb was cooked beautifully, mostly rare with jus from the vegetable pan drippings.  Again, this dish was delicious but definitely more predictable than the rest of the program.

Course Seven

I can’t believe I didn’t remember to get a photo of this dish!  A large slice of comte reserve, a raw cow’s milk cheese, was served with sliced potato and Savoy cabbage cooked with Dijon mustard.  Sweet pureed prune dollops rounded out the flavor combination.  The cheese was salty and of a texture somewhere between sharp cheddar and reggiano.  While the cabbage and prunes were extremely odd flavors, I had to appreciate it as one of the reasons French Laundry has the reputation it has as pioneers in the industry.  Two years ago I thought grilled calamari and chorizo were impressive and odd, now I find it on every small plate menu!  Remember goat cheese and figs?  Everyone!  Keep your eyes peeled for mustard cabbage and prunes!

Course Eight

Knowing we’d be served all sorts of sweet goodies after nine + courses, I was still surprised we were served two dessert courses.  Bartlett pear sorbet arrived atop “pain d’epices”  (tasted like graham cracker crumbles with allspice or nutmeg) with pomegranate reduction and compressed pears.  The sorbet and compressed pears were like the first time you taste a perfectly ripe pear at the beginning of the season.  Besides the pomegranate reduction, tiny beads of pomegranate reduction added some texture and individual pomegranate seeds were all equally tart.  My favorite part about the plate was the teensy tiny branch of dehydrated vanilla bean.  It was intensely flavorful and such a fun way to add vanilla in.

Course Nine

For our last course, we chose between chocolate/pistachio/cranberry “pavé” and fuyu persimmon “en feuille de bric.”  Of course, I needed some menu translation help before I could choose between these two distinct tastes.  The persimmon dessert was rolls of pastry stuffed with glazed pecans, persimmons and molasses, so obviously I chose it.  The pastry shell was super thin so that it didn’t distract from the pecan and persimmon chutney packed inside.  Glazed and baked in molasses turned everything extra chewy.  Log-shaped persimmon pieces roasted in molasses were my favorite part.  On this dish, a scoop of cream cheese ice cream cooled everything off and tasted tart like cream cheese but not-to-sweet, just like cream cheese.  I expected cheesecake flavoring and was delightfully surprised.  John and Chris’ “pavé” desserts looked equally interesting with layers of pistachio paste, chocolate mousse, ivory (white-chocolate? Cream?) custard and cranberry gel.  Since their plates were served with crème fraiche sorbet, I had to compare to my ice cream.  They were equally tart and refreshing…and impressively different.

After we thought our luxuriously long meal had finally come to an end, a miniature banana crème tart with housemade marshmallow lightly toasted on top arrived.  Like everything else we tasted that lunch, the fresh fruit flavor was super intense.  I couldn’t believe it when truffles were served afterwards.  Each was made on the premises with crazy flavor combinations like masala chai (and chocolate), banana (and chocolate), tamarind (and chocolate).  I tried two and couldn’t continue.  I was finally, gratefully, full to the brim.

Beyond that, I couldn’t wait to take our server up on his offer to see the kitchen and meet the chef!!  By far the most interesting part of our day, we got to enter the small kitchen and see the chaos up close.  Within 5 feet of the room, you can feel the heat as if you’re about to enter an oven.  Inside, the kitchen is so hot, I expected to look up and see broiler flames.  As we entered, our server informed us a table of eight had requested a tailor-made menu so the foie gras being plated was off-menu.  It appeared to be sliced foie gras terrine en croute, wrapped in pastry on a plate with two different sauces.  Since the Chef was plating eight dishes, we counted fourteen people involved in spreading sauces, moving sizzling foie gras slices from pan to plate and adding presentation herbs!  At one point, the Chef didn’t think the sauces were being spooned onto plates fast enough so he demanded his own spoon to do it faster himself—but the way he asked was to just yell “Spoon! Spoon!!” at the top of his voice until he was handed a spoon!  A flatscreen TV above our heads connected to Thomas Keller’s New York Per Se restaurant where the staff was avidly watching this particular plating.  It was so impressive.  Within 60 seconds, all eight plates were ready to go and five servers came out of the woodwork to move them upstairs.  I’ll bet when their fois gras arrived, it was still bubbling hot!

At this point, the Chef shook our hands, we said THANK YOU and he agreed to sign my menu.  It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I wanted to capture it in all the detail it deserved, even if that means the longest post EVER!