Feast Blog

Six weeks ago, I got a text message from Lisa stating simply, “Just found us a new restaurant!!!!!!” That means a lot because both Lisa and I have become bored dining around San Francisco. She was excited at having found an establishment that is like those she discovered while traveling around Japan; authentic, intimate, and unlike anything else we have here in the Bay Area. There is a sign in the front window that warns the philistines: No Sushi. No Combination Plates. This is not your standard, Westernized Japanese restaurant. With an expansive ten-page menu, this is a restaurant based on the concept of lots of small plates. Not like an izakaya with a bar setting, the dark wood room is effectively serviced by attentive waiters and waitresses who are quick to offer suggestions.

The reason behind the lengthy menu is its layout; each ingredient with the descriptions of how that ingredient is prepared. For example, Gindara (black cod) has eight preparations: sakamushi (steamed with sake), oroshi-ni (simmered with grated daikon), teriyaki, yuan-grilled (soy sauce and sake marinade), sakekasu-grilled (sake less marinade), butter grilled, and panko-fried. With ingredients like eel, pork, duck, beef, chicken, shrimp, eggplant, tofu, krab, flounder, etc., it is easy to see why the menu is so extensive. And that does not include the fact that there is also shabu-shabu and sukiyaki offerings (with Wagyu beef for $80!). That’s okay, we’ll be back for those because there is so much to try…

With the help of our waitress, we managed to pick a selection of tastes, starting with a special that evening, toro sashimi served with fresh wasabi. More than just exceptional fish, the plating and offering was a cut above with shredded daikon and an interesting micro green served alongside the wasabi. Some of the best, melt-in-the-mouth tuna I have tasted. Being an uni fanatic, the preparation that Lisa wanted was served in a bowl with crab, an agar sheet, shredded vegetables, sliced chestnuts, and more than we could determine. It was clean and engaging with more gelatinous goo added for texture.

Another texturally-challenging dish (for those who have problems with gooey things — which Lisa and I don’t), was Mekabu-Su, vinegared sticky wakame (seaweed) topped with a raw quail egg. Served in a small, celadon green lotus bowl, here was a mouthful of viscous goodness. A dish we probably would not have considered had our waitress not been so passionate about suggesting was the butter-grilled scallops; four large, tender scallops in nothing other than simple brown butter. But the preparation was enhanced by its offering on top of a selection of grilled vegetables; sprouts and greens which were a delightful juxtaposition to the intensely rich scallops.

Another surprise was an offering of grilled oysters with egg yolk. It was actually a fresh grilled oyster encased in an omelet-like preparation, topped with toasted pine nuts and a sliced, crisp lotus root. We had debated ordering the chawan-mushi and was glad we didn’t; this was more than enough rich egg flavor which was definitely enhanced by the pine nuts. Best of all, they were very careful to not lose any of the oyster liquor in the preparation.

We finished our meal with their preparation of Japanese sweets, wagashi, three small offerings of delight; two red-bean based. The square wagashi was topped with lightly toasted rice bits and stuffed with a chestnut. The round, azuki-based wagashi was topped with a square of gold leaf and stronger than the square version. The last, round delight was an anmitsu, a chilled gelatin with fruit; large, golden raisins, orange peel, and a surprisingly different hint of celery which provided that surprise flavor.

Much of the joy of this type of dining is a sensation that many Westerners seem to miss: TEXTURE. There are complaints about some dishes not having enough TASTE when the cultural bias in Japanese food is often about the feel versus a strong flavor. That is not to say that there is no flavor to the courses, but that many times the dish is not about presenting a strong component of tastes, but a strong component of texture. And if you are willing to experiment and enjoy all that is offered, I can guarantee a stupendous experience. Personally, with a menu as expansive as Kappou Gomi is offering, I am anxious to go back and work my way through all of it.

My old friends are well-seasoned in the ritual of my annual Cassoulet. The ritual is simple; once a year, the duck fat flowing in my veins runs thin and like a fine automobile requiring its regularly scheduled quarts of oil, my body begins its craving for this unctuously rich dish, redolent with duck confit, over three pounds of pork products, duck fat, and Tarbais beans. I have written in the past how I came about using my favorite recipe, Paula Wolfert‘s Toulouse-Style Cassoulet. It takes three days to make. It is a labor of love. I have to order specialty ingredients from a local importer, Joie de Vivre. I soak my beans and season my pork. A ragout is made a day in advance and the beans and duck and pork products are layered in the specially-designed bowl by Clay Coyote and baked for several hours.

Fearing my guests won’t have enough to eat, I supplement the evening’s offering with cheese and wine, crudité and charcouterie, stuffed mushroom caps and goat-cheese filled endive studded with port wine- and spice-soaked dried figs and candied pecans, an Alsatian onion tart and caviar. There were desserts and friends. Yes, the evening is truly all about the warmth of sharing the goodness of the richness of great food with the richness of true friendship.

I have truly fabulous friends. They brought the wine; some bubbly to start the evening with, a Moet Chandon Champagne. But then the magic: Without being told it was traditional, every one who brought a bottle, contributed that special juice which is traditional with cassoulet, a California Pinot Noir or a French Burgundy (they are the same grape, after all). From California, we reveled in an ’07 La Crema from Sonoma, an ’06 Domaine Alfred Chamisal Vineyard from Edna Valley, an ’03 Marimar Estate Don Miguel Vineyard from the Russian River Valley, and a very special ’98 Olivet Lane Estate, also from the Russian River Valley. That ’98 Olivet was a close companion with the French ’95 Blagny La Piece sous le Bois.

There has been requests for a second bowl this very cold, wintery season. The fact that San Francisco is experiencing unseasonably cold weather might demand an encore; several friends have considered chipping in for the ingredients, only to divide up the portions for T.V. dinners (it freezes VERY well and I have been known to go through the effort of a second production just for the left-over factor). I was to create a second go-around. In making the ragout for the cassoulet, I was left with a quart or so of the seasoned broth. Not wanting any of it to go to waste, I seared up a few Italian sausages, sautéed some mirepoix with pancetta, and recooked the broth with some Rancho Gordo Yellow Indian Woman Beans. Heartier than the creamy Tarbais beans, the second version of the cassoulet was in some ways, more satisfying than the first — but maybe because I got to relish these leftovers over a few days in the quiet of the apartment without all the pageantry. Just a good friend stopping by for lunch, a mug of eggnot latté, and the cat who knows he gets to lick the bowl when I’m done.

Florio is a little restaurant in my neighborhood that I dine at only once or twice a year. Quite frankly, the menu has always been a bit too restrained for my tastes; generic steak frites and mundane roast chicken. Not bad at all, just dishes I always felt I could create at home. In fact, the times I have gone there I have always enjoyed myself, but was never blown away. But when my older sister comes to visit, Florio is a favorite for her for the very reasons I forget about it; she is a woman who revels in a good roast chicken, craves a hearty steak with fries, and loves its basic goodness.

When she arrived for the annual jaunt up Fillmore Street for pre-Thanksgiving shopping, I tried to steer her towards some other establishments. “S.P.Q.R. has a new chef,” I entreated. “Japantown is just a block away,” I reminded. Nope. She wanted Florio.

Trying to be a bit on the healthier side, I started with a salad of shaved fennel, anchovies, and pomelos. And was I ever surprised. That which used to earmark as staid and mundane was now surprisingly fresh and innovative. Sister Sue had a squash soup which was heightened with fresh wild mushrooms – so creamy and rich and engaging. Continuing in her vein of comfort food, Susan ordered a Berkshire pork Milanese with house-made sauerkraut, fingerling potatoes, and mustard sauce. Pounded thin like a veal cutlet, for $19 this dish was astonishingly good; tender, moist, and with a great crust, possibly made with the addition of panko for extra crunchiness. I was a bit jealous I hadn’t ordered the dish myself.

Except that I had ordered mussels. From Totten Inlet, this was offered as a starter for $13.50 but with my salad opener, I wasn’t worried that I had under-ordered. And then the mussels arrived. Crowned with an aïoli-topped crouton, I have to admit that I have never seen such engorged, fleshy, monstrously huge mussels. There is no way to get around the sexual innuendo of these bivalves, but beyond the obvious shape, the taste elevated the experience to one of ecstasy. They were tender and rich, a clean white-wine broth combining with the garlicky sauce of the aïoli to create a creamy milkiness akin to… well… Okay, I suppose saying the dish was orgasmic is going to far, huh? Enough said.

Suffice to say I have a new fondness and respect for Florio. It is far from staid and sedate. I have found a new gem in my neighborhood to bring friends. And a last word on service: Exemplary.