Ewe Owe Yourself a Cocktail at Black Sheep

Owner-GM-maitre 'd Ruben Perez admits his head's swimming a bit, and it's because his lovely brasserie Black Sheep has just begun a cocktail program, having landed a full liquor license. Don't blame the drinks themselves--Ruben is an always sober if jovial host--but the way a bar program led to a revamp of what Black Sheep is. (Don't worry, nothing is messing with Wednesday moules-frites night.) It's just the goal is to loosen the mood bit--a bit less expensive, a bit less formal, a bit more raucous. And, yes, to provide some kick-ass drinks. It's made for the past few days to be a bit of a business blur for him.

Speaking of blur, sorry the photo above doesn't do the drinks we enjoyed justice--it's dim but not too dark in the dining room, and it seemed rude to illuminate or flash. But both cocktails were winners, the further an Aztec Goddess which fully earns its name as its base liquor is Casa del Sol Añejo, aged in barrels for 14 months, usually just sipped. It's luxurious and rich and round and a fine offering to Mayahuel, the Aztec goddess of agave. (Hence the drink's name.) And don't even think it's merely a high test Marg, for its other ingredients are Yuzu, egg whites, bitters, and Thai basil. It truly takes you on an adventure.

The nearer drink is from the Classics list, a Corpse Reviver #2. Long time readers of this blog might know it's one of my favorite cocktails, witness a post waxing poetic about them way back in 2012. Black Sheep nails it, starting with the absinthe wash that brings the anise to your nose as much as to your tongue. And then the Sipsmith gin, Lillet Blanc, Cointreau, and lemon all do their magic conjoining trick, leading to a sweet-n-sour, Goldilocks approved utter delight. Also crucial--they got some elegant glassware to show off their creations, an essential touch for an elevated cocktail service.

And the cocktails better be elevated to keep up with the fine food coming out of Chefs Jake Reimer and Robert Perez's kitchen. Start, as we did, with the salt-roasted pickled beets, pictured above. You pick up a lick of that salt but then all the good earthiness you expect from the tender beets, although it's all that sauce that sends the dish into the stratosphere. It's an aji, blood orange, and Yuzu kosho citronette, with both a heat kick from the first and last ingredients and then the tang from all of them, all neatly rounded by sweet and salt. We ordered baguette to sop up what was left. That Pt. Reyes blue cheese espuma is something else, too, like whipped cream and blue cheese had a baby, and now you're all for infant munching. (Hmm...metaphor took a dark corner, sorry.) An effortlessly sophisticated, wildly pleasing dish. 

Chryss got to sing the praises of the sea with the local catch--this evening a Channel Islands halibut--served moqueca baiana style, that is a Brazilian fish stew/curry. It's zippy with coconut milk, lime juice, red palm oil, tomatoes, and red bell peppers all reduced and whirred into a smooth sauce. The cucumbers keep things a refreshing cool, sort of yogurtless raita.

We shared a side of fried fingerling potatoes that were a wonder of texture and smokiness--I've got to assume they had a moment directly in some open fire or were buried in embers? Crisp and crackly on the outside, moist and meaty in the middle. Plenty of Maldon salt making it clear why finishing salt's a thing. What set the dish truly apart was the romesco, the Catalan wonder paste that makes everything extra delicious--more red peppers, almonds and maybe hazelnuts pine nuts, etc. Also note the wide-ranging influences that weave through the kitchen. The chefs know their stuff, and will make whatever is certain to please you. (This dish really reminded me of something you'd get at Gjelina down in Venice.)

Last but not least for me was this steak. Sure, ordering the filet mignon can feel like waving your hand high when they ask, "Who lacks a culinary imagination?" But I was celebrating and feeling carnivorous. Even more, it comes bathed in a double-Cognac peppercorn Bordelaise, which is so my jam I wish someone made actual jam from it. (Note to self: start new business.) Some of that sauce even, sloppily, got on some potatoes. It's great to eat messy, you know. If you want a steak that the kitchen nails, you aren't going to do better than this one.

We had no room for dessert. We have a great desire to go back.

A Dees-licious Wine Dinner at The Lark

 

So I could simply say just read that menu and that would save both of us a whole lot of work--you can probably taste the yumminess just from that.

But I still want to write about how well a wine dinner can synch, for the one last night at The Lark (ok, actually held at sister property the SB Wine Collective, but created by The Lark team) featuring wines from the wondrous Matt Dees--namely Mail Road and Kimsey--danced like Rogers and Astaire, harmonized like the Temptations, even comically contrasted like Laurel and Hardy.

Let's start with dessert, shall we? See what wine paired with it? Now, when does a wine dinner end with rosé? But it totally worked, here, its copper color fitting in with the playful mix of balled melons, and the wine's acid cutting the sweet of the granita. Even the kick of the Aleppo pepper--and it was pretty kicky--turned the dish into something more (the borage flowers, so pretty and a bit tart, didn't hurt). Such a clever, refreshing course.

And refreshing might be the key word for Dees' approach to whites, too. That Mail Road Chardonnay illuminated the brilliance of the unique Mt. Carmel Vineyard, a site Dees clearly loves. (He likes his vineyards a bit harsh and unforgiving--remember he gets to work with Radian and Bentrock, too.) If you're looking for oak, this is the wrong wine for you--it's a pure expression of its fruit, with lime zest zing and then enough acid you could almost cut with it. 

Or cut a surprisingly rich dish like the opening halibut crudo, that I joked was halibut potato salad because of the grilled corn aioli that leaned a tad into its mayonnaise-ness, especially with the addition of some pickled green tomato. (I mean this is the most loving way.)  Still, that fish was rich and nearly unctuous. And then the perfectly fried avocado nuggets.... Chef Jason Paluska put together a dish cohesive and unusual all at once, and it set the tone for the rest of the delicious evening.

That's Dees explaining that when the block of marble comes in from the amazing vineyard sites he gets to play with, in this case Mt. Carmel in the Sta. Rita Hills and Kimsey in Ballard Canyon, you can either take a chisel to it and make it something else or take some sandpaper to it, and make it shine. One guess what he does.

Which he does no better than the Mail Road Pinot they poured last night. Here's how Antonio Galloni aptly put it: "A wine of structure and power…dark, sumptuous and enveloping on the palate…the 2015 possesses remarkable fruit intensity…Black cherry, plum, spice, leather and menthol…Don’t miss it." We didn't--and thanks to the staff for keeping refilling the glasses, too--very generous.

That powerful pinot was an on-the-nose match for the richness of the duck liver mousse, not quite as gamey as foie, but lavish and creamy, sort of like if meat and gelato had a baby that could live at room temp. This dish's accoutrements were equally brilliant bites, cashews roasted in duck fat so extra umami-ed, and Rainier cherries poached and plump. I might have said I would have spent the rest of my life at the Wine Collective if someone would keep bringing me boards of mousse and glasses of pinot. 

Yes, it's almost hard to see the lamb ribs in there, but that just attests to this dish being all about its strewn-composition, the smoke on the meat, the char on the eggplant and peppers, the juice of the pluot, the bite of the watercress. So much to take in, you just keep savoring bite after bite. And then there's the Kimsey Syrah, a bold wine, as it needed to be to stand up the fat and sweet lamb, but then it just cascaded with flavor, blackberry, a hint of anise, sage, black pepper, and more. 

Here are Chryss's two subs for the meaty things she doesn't eat. She says they were as good as they looked. And the couple of bites I snuck said the same.

The Lark is going to keep doing these winemaker dinners, and now that all of us vaccinated folks can sit inside next to each other and not die, they're going to be a lot of fun. The next one will be with Graham Tatomer.

And one tiny issue--why is "served to share" still a thing? I imagined COVID would have knocked that one out of the kitchen playbook, but even without the fear of cooties, it's often just awkward, especially with something like the mousse board. And our end of the table sat three people with dietary restrictions, all different (one gluten free, one pescatarian, one lactose intolerant), so they had to bring up a bunch of different dishes too. I get the largesse of it, and the sense we all dip into the communal plate and all that. But that's also not quite reason enough. 

One A-List Bistro

I know I perhaps seem too kind to places, too fortunate in my eating life, as if the meals I enjoy bore the imprimatur of Escoffier himself. Truth is, I tend to avoid the places I don't like, so then I don't eat much bad food. And while some of my Indy features are about places that suggest the quit in adequate, well there, dear readers, I hope you realize I write as a reporter, talk to folks about their story creating their restaurant, and hope that's an interesting read.

But today I come to praise to high heavens, to try to pay homage to one of the best meals in my recent memory. A few weeks ago in Boston we got to dine at Hamersley's Bistro, a place I've wondered about for years thanks to Gordon Hamersley's great cookbook Bistro Cooking at Home, which I've raved about before and is still one of my go-to books in the kitchen. It's a lovely warm room that manages to call out to several architectural styles without seeming confused--warm yellow-cream walls that are somewhat Provence; wood beamed ceiling that might be Provence, might be Paul Revere's house (this is Boston, after all), chandeliers that are simple and somewhat Mission style, but maybe that was just the Californian in me. It all ends up both homey and glowy at once, special but comfortable. And despite some large parties (clearly it's a place for special occasions), there's enough space between tables and the ceiling is high enough the room is a-buzz without turning into buzzkill.

Then the help, well, it's gracious and attentive, and lord I love people who get paid well enough to make a career as waiters, so they bother to learn their jobs and care. They suggest wines with aplomb and knowledge (for spring there was a clutch of pinks to choose from, and the very moderately priced 2010 Commanderie de la Bargemone Coteaux d'Aix en Provence Rosé was brilliant, flavorful despite its very pale pink rose hue); they instantly notice the cream might be low for the second coffee serving; and I swear the guy just sort of had eyes that twinkled. But of course, as he's serve Hamersley's stunning food.

The photo you see above, taken from my iPhone, does little justice to one of the best plates of food I've ever eaten, and it was a goddam sandwich. Or at least that's how it's billed--Mushroom and Garlic Sandwich on Toasted Country Bread--but that's like calling Neko Case a warbler or Willie Mays an adult at a child's game or Flaubert a teller of tales. Those mushrooms, well, the quality of them and their nifty mix of wildness certainly helped. But then he gets them to do that stick to the pan trick, too, so parts have crunch, but then other parts retain that shroomy-chewiness. Who knew a funghi could be so varied in texture? The bread was also wonderful, toasted just so, assertive just enough (for after all it's about the filling, not the bread here, and you eat it with knife and fork--it's not even a conveyance mechanism). Finally, the garlic. It's clearly roasted loooong and sloooow. Mellower than a mess of Quaalude popping clubbers in the 1970s. Yet still the essence of garlic without the harm. Better than butter, this.

As for the rest of the meal, it, too, was wonderful. My companion's Crispy Vegetable Lasagna with Ricotta, Soft Poached Egg, Leeks, Peas and Asparagus … White Truffle and Parmesan was both rich and light, if that makes sense, lasagna dressed up for an elegant bash. My Spicy Halibut and Clam Roast with Bacon Braised Greens, White Beans and Black Trumpet Mushrooms, beyond having practically every food I love in one dish, was a masterpiece of execution. That spicy part a brilliant rethinking of blackening fish, for instead of a muddled, burnt crust, it was just the right amount of herb and spice with a quick pan sear, rich in coriander seed, too. The clams cooked exactly--not overdone as they often are when supporting players on a plate.

Then dessert was another stunner, Slow Roasted Pineapple with Lime Gelato, Roasted Coconut and Cumin Shortbread. What that doesn't tell you is the thinly sliced rectangles of pineapple are not only roasted, they get brûléed at the very end, too, so become a sour-sweet sensation. Pair that with the zippy lime gelato, getting its sweet from: 1) being, uh, gelato, and 2) the roasted coconut. Triple it with the cumin shortbread, again, the savory and sweet doing a tantalizing tango across your tongue.

Ok ok, that was a totally over-the-top metaphor, but it's the kind of thing Hamersley's leads to. If you're ever in Boston, go.