Bar Lou is Bar-Lou-Ti-Ful

One of the most pleasant of struggles is deciding on your culinary adventure for the evening when many a menu's options lure you in. That was the case as we settled into our comfy leather booth and its rich marble table the other evening at Bar Lou, now just a year in at the Coast Village Road, Montecito, Craftsman-cottage location formerly home to Oliver's and prior to that Peabody's. (On the slope side of CVR also gives Bar Lou a charming glimpse of sunset, btw.) Fortunately, there were cocktails to help get us in the mood. As with the food menu, the list is neat--you're in for a curated experience, not an evening at a New Jersey diner. The Petite Amer I choose, looking like an old fashioned in the photo above, is sort of that, but via Mexico and a bartender fond of Amari. It's mezcal, Amaro Montenegro, Cynar, and then an orange zest oleo that adds both sugar and bitter, quite like the two Amari, come to think of it. The mezcal smoke and earthiness from the artichoke in the Cynar lift and ground the drink at once. Simple, and simply lovely. The tall glass is a NA option cheekily called L'innocente: the local favorite Tilden Lacewing, mint, lime, tonic. Bright, fresh, a fine way to awaken the taste buds sans booze for the adventure to begin.

Somehow we pass on tempting items such as the evening's special, a pan roasted king salmon with green lentils, horseradish, crème fraîche, and salmon roe caviar. And the crab cakes with Creole remoulade, which means something since chef Brandon Boudet comes from N'awlins. And the fresh catch--Boudet works with local fisherfolk at both Bar Lou and his other fine spot, Little Dom's Seafood--tonight a vermillion rockfish, served alongside ratatouille. Or the oysters, or uni toast, or the surprising, and therefore tempting, French omelet with chive Boursin cheese and herbs, which, if you're feeling flush, you can goose with 8 grams of Osetra caviar.

But we did choose two ways to start, the first of which is above and begins a bit of a trend--Bar Lou wants to make delicious food even if it isn't easily Instagramable. (Wait, what year is this?) The smoked black cod rillettes in the jar might not visually shine, but as a culinary treat it's a supernova. Creamy, fishy, briny, bright--a hint of vinegar instead of citrus for a different take?--and you get to slather it on a crusty baguette Bar Lou gets from their friends down the street, Bree'osh. (If the spelling bugs you it won't as soon as you get some of their brilliant bread in your mouth.)

The rillettes came off Le Bar Menu, which expands options in enticing ways, from snacks like Creole deviled eggs all the way to another dinner option, the Bar Lou Burger with Comté cheese, tomato, and onion jam. But from the main menu's hors d'oeuvres section, we couldn't resist the trumpet call of the king oyster mushrooms. Expertly grilled to a meaty chewiness, they are perfect on their charcoal-kissed own, but with the zhoug on the bottom, they are beyond perfect (shoot, backed myself into a linguistic corner there). Think of it as Middle Eastern chimichurri, a vivid mash of cilantro, parsley, green chilies, olive oil. You will be very happy you have bread from the rillettes to sop some of it up. You will wish for a spoon to get even more.

My dear wife often opts for a salad, and by ordering Chicories, she got one big enough for a party double our size of two. Gorgeously piled under a snowfall of shredded Manchego, the refreshingly bitter leaves were perfectly balanced with dates, pecans, and a sherry vinaigrette. Balance is the mantra at Bar Lou, and this seasonal salad expressed that skill impeccably. 

Speaking of seasonal, with the evening air cooling faster and the sun setting sooner, it's time for a dish like this one, simply called duck leg confit on the menu. But, as you can see, with its saucy Ayocote blanco beans beneath the bird, it's nodding to cassoulet. I do love a good bean, and this one ends up both firm on the outside and creamy on the inside, a perfect complement to the duck, crispy on the outside and moist on the in. Both are kind of rich, so that toss of bitter greens atop again helps the dish find a balance. 

For dessert we returned--with a vengeance--to the land of what doesn't photograph well. And we didn't care a whit. For these apple ricotta fritters are heavenly, crispy with a cinnamon-sugar crust, and then the cheesy-apple inside ready to go gooey on you. For an elegant lift they come with Calvados-laced whipped cream that you can spoon like butter on each bite.

I feel a bit remiss not mentioning the perfectly professional service. Our server Brandon explained when we needed menu assistance, never rushed us, never scooped instantly in the millisecond one of our plates was empty. Yet we never felt abandoned either. It's a tough line to walk, attentive versus helicoptered, but he knew how to pull that off. Even offered a half pour of the sublime French Grenache I had with the duck, knowing I needed a bit more to drink to finish with the dish.

Bar Lou is surely on top of its game one year in.

Third Window's Boffo Bierbara

I don't know how I have been so remiss never to post about one of my favorite annual food-drink events in  Santa Barbara, in particular because it honors Saint Barbs herself. The St. Barbara origin stories, as with most of the old time saints--you know, the ones before the Romans even knew they'd need an M to count years--is murky, but basically she was a babe so her dad locked her up in a tower to keep her safe. (And keep her valuable to sell when a rich suitor came a-courtin'. It wasn't the good old days.) Pagan dad was later shocked to learn Barbara found the Catholic God in the meantime. Indeed, she convinced workmen to put a third window in a bathhouse on the family property, in tribute to how light comes in to one's soul through the trinity. Unhappy dad asks her to recant. She refuses. Turns her over to be tortured into recanting. She refuses. (Note: bad parenting.) Sentenced to death, her dad Dioscorus offers to wield the beheading sword himself, killing Barbara, only to be instantly smote by a lightning strike. So henceforth, St. Barbara is the patron of protection from things that go boom, especially thunderstorms and gunpowder.

Kris Parker, owner of Third Window Brewing, jokes, "Since all the mountain ranges were taken when we were looking for a name for a brewery that had an affinity for monastic ales, we turned to St. Barbara as a way to honor the town we are in." A graphic designer loved the idea--no surprise, as they have a nifty logo for all their merch--and Third Window was born. Every year for St. Barbara's feast day, December 4th, Third Window releases Bierbara, a strong ale that varies from year to year, and holds an actual multi-course feast. This year was number X. (Might as well stay with that Roman counting, no?)

There's Kris Parker, left, discussing one of the special pours before one of the courses. To his right is chef Logan Jones of Tamar, who has had an off-and-on pop-up at Third Window in the past (and currently at the old Tyger Tyger location Fridays), and given his foods all about Middle Eastern flavors, it seemed a particularly good fit for a feast day for someone rumored to have lived in that general region. It certainly worked this night, and he joins the line of esteemed chefs to prepare the Bierbara Feast these past ten years, including John Cox when he was at Bear & Star and Justin West when he owned The Mill's Wildwood.

Please note that non-optimal lighting makes these photos less the sell they should be. Every dish, brought out family style and placed so every four people had a platter to share, was as gorgeous it was delicious. Take that salad above, vivid with its Castelfranco and Treviso red-ivory streaks and then enough variations of shades of white to make you want to bring in an Eskimo who has all those supposed words for snow to help make distinctions--mixed chicories, Belgian endive, Asian pear, sheep's milk cheese, daikon radish. Toss with some toasted hazelnuts, sugar snap peas, and preserved lemon vinaigrette and you had a wonder of a winter salad. Especially when paired, like-to-like, with a lambic beer, a Ranch Koelschip re-fermented on Regier Farms peaches for an extra-sour-sweet snap of fruit. 

The second course offered the delight of ranch oak-smoked lamb kofta meatballs, crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, full of flavor, sat in some of the yummiest cucumber and mint tzatziki I've ever had, somewhere between that Greek dip and a raita, punched up with black garlic chili oil. As a delivery vehicle there was Michelline Parker's soul-satisfying sourdough bread, grilled and drizzled with just enough olive oil. All of that good taste was amplified by the vivid Winter Saison '23 poured alongside, an imperial aged in Cognac puncheons, mellow and bright and artfully acetous, with the exact additions of ginger and orange peel without overpowering the ale's balance. The beer did that fine cleanse the palate trick that helped keep the food course seeming light.

The third course proves yet again brown foods might be made for the belly but not for Instagram. That's the fall-off-the-bone tender braised Fess Parker (what else?) beef short rib amidst a stew of homey loveliness--braised wheat berry porridge, pomegranate, toasted pistachio, roasted turnip, butternut squash, smoked dates. Atop the savory crunch of crispy shallot. Winter savory eating at its finest, so good you could have it without the beef and be completely pleased, and I say that usually not a huge fan of the whole porridge/oatmeal/congee texture of foods. (I tell myself I'm saving them for my toothless 90s.) But this dish I ate with relish. And drank with the '23 Bierbara, this year an abbey-style quad aged for a year in Willett Bourbon barrels, then rested on roasted pistachio and pomegranate. Super smooth for its no doubt high alcohol content, it was vivid with vanilla, piquant with the pistachio and pomegranate that the food also delivered. As ever, something special. (It's probably on tap/in bottles at the brewery soon if you want some.)

Note the reason for the season beer was poured alongside course three. For dessert we each got a generous glass full of dark chocolate budino, a very adult pudding that took a bit to get to through the whipped cream, tangerine segments and candied rind, and the peanut brittle that Chef Jones should be selling on its own. The beer match once again went for the samesies trick--the method of this feast's madness was always amplification, intensity, underlining--a bourbon-barrel aged walkabout, an imperial chocolate stout made with Third Window's almost neighbors 24 Blackbirds cocoa nibs, vanilla, and backyard orange peel. It could have been dessert in a glass itself, but we also had a dessert in another glass. 

And at least two of us were very glad we waddled our fested selves the 2.3 miles home on foot, reminiscing of deliciousness all the way.

Savoring a Solvang Spring

On Alamo Pintado Road, the Buttonwood Farm-Winery-Vineyard is a secret in plain sight. If you pull in to the tasting room, then walk out back, the rest of Solvang seems to fall away. Our brief bursts of rain turned the thirsty hills gushingly green; the herb garden did its always seasonally blooming thing; goats and their kids scrambled along the rolling landscape. Pastoral at its picture perfect. Such was the case last Saturday for Buttonwood's Taste of Solvang dinner, when all the makings came from within 25 miles of the lovely veranda we all sat upon for the five-course meal (preceded by some goat cheese sprinkled with farm-made olive oil and fresh herbs paired with the 2014 Sauv Blanc, a snack I could easily have made a dinner of all by itself).

Now I could take you through the meal course-by-course, and not talking at all about the charred lamb chops with tomatillo harissa atop canary bean hummus you scooped with fresh, grilled naan hurts a bit, as I hadn't had lamb quite that vivid in years.

But no, I want to talk about salad. Because we so often don't, and should, but too often can't beyond to say, "Yeah, there was one." But what Chef Conrad Gonzales of Vallefresh did with this one, well, you can see it above, and that's one crucial component. Take that pink paint. Sure, too many kitchens smear a dish without something before sending it out, thinking some color is everything, as if cooking for Instagram. But this beet-infused goat cheese you needed to scrape off the plate, it was so tasty, and its coral pink echoed the zingy Buttonwood Syrah Rose. (Karen Steinwachs is making some rocking wines that cry out for delicious food. Their cries got more than answered all evening.)

What's more, it's a tad early for strawberries of course. So to remedy that possible less-than-peak problem, Gonzales pickled them. Berry sweet up to the point they could manage, then the vinegar kicked in, just enough to make you remember how delicious Balsamic is on strawberries. That all gets cut by the greens, a mix of market and foraged, lettuce and herb, leaf and flower. So many textures, flavors, the idea of salad expanding. The fine fat of avocado. The crunch of a toss of toasted almonds. A pickled carrot, so much earth. And the hardboiled egg, from the farm, of course, so the yolk is the yellow of a rain slicker.

It's something to get the chance to devour spring.

Salad At Its Savory Best

People generally think of a salad as a lighter bite, but if they consider Pascale Beale’s new cookbook, Salade, they’ll have to think heavy — the book weighs almost three pounds.

Want to read the rest--plus get one of Beale's recipes--go to the Indy site.