Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 2)

If you're just joining us, you may want to read my last post to get caught up.

To quickly recap, over three and a half hours on a Monday morning, we went from this:


.... to this:




.... and we broke for lunch.

After our lunch of burgers, fries, and shakes, we piled back into my car, drove back to Sheppard Mansion, headed back into the kitchen, donned our aprons (and jackets for the men) and got to work. At the same time, a small construction crew showed up just outside the kitchen window to dig out and lay the concrete foundation for a new wheelchair ramp into the inn. One of the guys on the crew -- the guy who was driving the cement truck, actually -- had a beard that made him look like the long-lost member of ZZ Top, so that meant the entire afternoon was all about trying to out-do one another with ZZ Top song poisoning, which then led to discussions about other bands from our high school days, and we fixated on Kix -- a local band that made it big for about fourteen seconds in the 1980s, and I ended up song poisoning myself with "Cool Kids." Aaaaaand, now that I just found that clip to link to, I've re-song-poisoned myself. Somebody stop me.

Back to the food.

Andy checked on the lamb breast braising in the oven, and it still had some time to go. So, in the meantime, we prepped the legs. Scott had already deboned and butterflied them, so we slathered them with a mixture of minced garlic, extra virgin olive oil, Dijon mustard, chopped thyme, and grey salt. After rubbing them with that lovely mixture, we tied them up nice and tight (I tied the one already on the tray below -- Andy's tying the second one:



In the background of that photo, you can see Scott working with the tenderloin. That part is coming soon. He also frenched the bones for the rack, tied them, and seasoned them. I don't have photos of him doing that because I was trying to spend as much hands-on time as I could with the lamb, and not too much behind the lens.

Overall (and Michael Ruhlman raised this in the comments section of the previous post), this was not a difficult animal to work with in terms of trimming and cleaning it up. In an older animal, there's more connective tissue, called elastin. When it cooks, it seizes up and makes the meat tougher. Younger animals haven't developed the elastin, and instead have more collagen, which when they're cooked, allows the collagen to melt (I think that's an apt way to describe it -- you experts out there, please feel free to correct my terminology if need be), and allows for a much more tender, almost creamy texture to the meat. I'll talk more about that when we get to the end because it definitely had an impact on how this tasted.

Next, we made a farce, or stuffing, with the lamb trimmings. This may have been one of my favorite parts of the process because I love watching chunks of meat get shoved into a meat grinder and swlurge and blop out the other end:







We mixed in some salt, pepper, mustard, brunoise, thyme, minced kalamata olives, and parsley to complete the stuffing:



Andy spread the farce onto the sirloin, placed the tenderloin on top of it (which made me think of the song Tenderoni), then wrapped it three times in caul fat to keep its shape:










Andy did the first one, then made Rich do the second one and heckled him the entire time. I swear, at one point I was ready to just whip out a ruler. First the heckling over the carrots for the brunoise, and now this.

Rich did a great job (even when I needlessly added to the heckling, because sometimes, yes, I am a joiner). Both were awesome. See?




By now, the lamb breast was done braising in the oven. Andy pulled the bones out of one breast, and I handled the other:



We went back to the book at this point to make sure we were still on track -- and I had to take a picture of how well worn Andy's copy of TFLC is:




Now, that's a book that's gotten some serious use in the kitchen.


I don't have photos of this next part -- probably because I was the one doing it and therefore couldn't also simultaneously take photos -- but we prepared the breast meat just like I did with the veal breast when I made it last year -- pressed and weighted them between two baking sheets and put it in the cooler to refrigerate it overnight before cutting it into two-inch rounds.... which you'll see in a later photo.

I deboned and rough-chopped the meat from the neck, shanks and shoulders (which also had been braising right alongside the breast meat, and which I did not take photos of, because I was the one doing it and I'm kind of a picky, annoying control freak about other people using my camera), and Andy tossed the meat with butter, olive oil, brunoise, and some salt and pepper. We also had reduced some of the lamb braising liquid to a glaze, and added that, as well.






Now comes my favorite part. We rolled that hodgepodge (lodge!) into a log. Andy did his:






Then, Rich did one (and was ONCE AGAIN heckled because we are, clearly, in sixth grade), and I did the third one (and was not heckled because I think they are secretly very, very afraid of me, and I was sort of pretending to heckle myself anyway, just to be a good sport about it). You'll see all three in a photo to come. Sort of a meat roll call, if you will.

But making these meat logs -- which would set overnight and the next day be sliced into rillettes and sautéed -- was our final step of Day One. WOOOO-HOOOOO!!!!!!!

We cleaned up the kitchen, got out of there around 4:30, and I took a little 30-minute disco nap before showering and heading over to dinner at Andy and Karen's house, just a few blocks from the inn.

Rich and Scott joined us for dinner, and all five of us sat outside and watched the sun set over the trees as we enjoyed the bounty of summer -- grilled steak, bread, corn, salad, fresh tomatoes, a bottle of Joseph Phelps Insignia along with some other amazing wines, fresh fruit with freshly whipped cream for dessert, and had a really lovely evening. The weather was beautiful, the company outstanding, the music perfect, my hosts most welcoming, and it was the perfect way to wind down what had been an exhausting and totally exhilarating day.


* * * * *


With lots of wine at dinner comes the inevitable throb of a headache the next morning, but some strong coffee and a few Pop Tarts took care of that right away. Andy and the guys ran errands all morning for the restaurant, and as much as I wanted to join them going farm to farm and producer to producer, I very reluctantly had to spend a few hours doing some client work. We agreed to reconvene in the kitchen just after lunchtime so we could finish all the prep and be ready to serve dinner at 6. My parents and some of their friends were coming over to enjoy this dinner, and I was looking forward to getting back in the kitchen and getting everything done.

Andy took the lamb breast out of the cooler where it had been pressed between two baking sheets, cut out 2" rounds, and we did a meat roll call to make sure everything was ready to go:












All lamb parts, present and accounted for, SIR!

The lamb brain had been soaking overnight in milk, but when Andy took it out of the milk to add it to the tray of lamb delight, he noticed there was some dark discoloration and a strange balance of blood still in there, so he decided not to cook it for me because he didn't think it looked right.

Whew. Crisis averted.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing little odds and ends, but eventually, I got kicked out of the kitchen because Andy wanted to prepare a few surprises for me and our dinner guests. I was really worried one of those surprises was going to be a tripe-cilantro casserole with fermented lamb brain croutons, but I was later relieved to find out I was wrong.

I was able to sneak in a few shots of the lamb breast all mustarded and pankoed, and the leg was just beginning to cook before my butt was given das boot:










At 6 o'clock, I met my parents and their friends in the dining room; Andy's partner Karen (she runs front of house) joined us, poured some wine, and we started in on Andy's famous soft pretzel rolls (hey, you can't be from Pennsylvania and not know how to make and/or appreciate soft pretzels in every incarnation -- I even make soft pretzel bread pudding, which will knock your socks off) and corn fritters made from fresh corn using an old family recipe (again, I don't know anyone from my neck of the woods who doesn't drool over a hot, fresh corn fritter). Next, he sent out demitasse cups of Creamy Maine Lobster Broth, which he followed with a Rettland Farms milk-fed poularde served over butter-braised cabbage, fingerling potatoes and corn jus. All of it delicious and quite unexpected. I love surprise feasts, don't you?

Then, I was "allowed" to come back in the kitchen and help finish and plate the lamb. As I turned the corner into the kitchen, I was ka-powed with the most amazing smells.

I stopped for just a moment to watch the guys at work as they pulled hot pans off the stove, working in synchronicity with one another and getting the lamb rested and prepared for plating. Karen joined me in the kitchen, and we all worked on the plating together -- exactly as it should be:















So, let's talk about each element of this dish one-by-one, then talk about it as a whole.

Lamb stock reduced to a glaze, with thyme oil Andy made the day before, and on top of that -- each piece of the lamb: leg, breast, saddle/loin, rack, rillettes (shank, shoulder, neck). Oh, and also the kidney. Almost forgot about that.

Let's start with the sauce. Wow. Working with a really young animal, again, means there's more collagen than elastin in the muscle tissue, so not only does that help make the meat so incredibly tender and almost butter-like in its texture when it cooks, it makes the stock and then the reduced sauce more viscous and velvety smooth. The thyme oil and thyme leaves were perfect, too. I never understood why people like lamb with rosemary -- I think thyme is so much more complementary to lamb.

The leg of lamb, which had been slathered in a mustard sauce, pan-seared, then roasted was hearty, yet not heavy. Flawless. The breast meat, which had been braised, then cut into disks, pankoed then sauteed was so creamy, I had to really remind myself I was eating lamb. The loin with the kalamata olive stuffing? Fer the love of Larry Dallas, I think it was (maybe) my favorite of all of them. It was so flavorful and rich, I wanted more. The rack, straightforward and roasted on the bone was exactly as I hoped it would be, and was so fresh and delicious. I'd never tasted lamb like this before, and my dad (who really doesn't like lamb -- actually, he kind of hates it, but came to dinner anyway) was blown away. This was unlike any lamb any of us had ever had, and we were over the moon. The rillettes were really, really good and I was happy to have had some of them leftover to chop up with potatoes the next morning and make a breakfast hash that I still think about.

Every singular element of this dish was phenomenal on its own. It's when I started taking little bites of the breast meat along with some of the tenderloin together... and then the rillette with the rack, that it sent me over the edge. It seemed as though the combinations were limitless, and every single one of them was as good as the next.

The lamb was so good that I could barely focus on the braised cipollini onions, although they were quite good as well, and little bits of those added to the lamb were a treat, for sure.

You know, when I was thinking back to other lamb dishes I've had to try and compare and contrast, I couldn't. Young baby lamb is like nothing else. Prior to eating this, I expected it to taste like lamb (which I already loved), but better. It was a completely different taste altogether. It reminded me of when I made the pig's head, because prior to eating that I figured, "oh, it'll just taste pork-ish." And it was so different (and better) than my expectations. That's how this lamb played on my palate. It was unlike any other lamb I'd had before, and raised the bar, for sure. It was soft and creamy, but not wimpy or lame in any way. It had some heft to it, but it wasn't lamb-y. Cooked lamb has a distinct smell. This did not have that smell. It was much more fragrant and not as meat-y smelling as lamb often is. It was f-ing fantastic.

In fact, I really think I'll have a hard time ordering lamb in a restaurant, knowing how good it can be when you make it yourself with people who crack you up, and then eat it with people who think you're slightly nutty for doing it, but love you just the same. My parents and their friends had a great time, and I think we all felt a little bit spoiled by the experience. This was a great plate of food.

We ended the night with some fresh fruit and freshly whipped cream for dessert, and my parents and their friends headed back home. It was great to have them experience this dish, because it was something I'd never done before, and I think they thoroughly enjoyed the whole night. They don't live close enough to be able to taste all these dishes, so after spending all this time reading this blog from afar, it was nice for me to have them actually there to eat something that was such a big learning moment for me... and that tasted so freakin' good. I think I would have been written out of the will, had I had them drive two hours to my house to eat tripe, pig's feet, or lobster jelly.

I stayed behind to help with clean up, and once the kitchen was shiny and put back together and the few leftovers we had all packed up, I said my goodbyes, dragged my ass to the car, and drove two hours home, giddy and exhausted, but with the greastest sense of accomplishment that I've felt in a really long time.

So, would I ever do this dish again? Hell yes.

But probably not on my own, because I honestly think it's just too much for one person to do (in a short period of time, to ensure the meat stays fresh), unless they've got the experience, tools, and space to do it. That said, if I were ever thrown into a situation where I was forced to break down and cook a whole baby lamb all by myself with a good saw, a good knife, but no help from no one, no how? Let's just say that now, having done this, there's far less risk of failure... or at least I could fail with dignity.

So, thank you, again, to Andy, Scott, Rich, Karen, and Kathy for opening the Sheppard Mansion's kitchen and allowing me to make it my home for a few days.

One last thing: if you ever get a chance to do this -- visit a farm, see a lamb, buy a lamb, connect with a chef, work with and learn from that chef, understand and work with an entire animal, and be able to feast upon your labors when all is said and done, you will be one of the luckiest people on earth.

I swear.


Resources:
Lamb from Whitmore Farm
All produce from Hanover, PA-area farms and gardens

Music to Cook By: It was an iTunes-free kitchen, but in the spirit of our banter and heckling, go ahead and download yourselves some ZZ Top and Kix and feel the south central PA love.

Up Next: Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate with Cinnamon Stick Ice Cream

Read My Previous Post: Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

I think it's safe to say -- and I hope you'll agree with me -- that in the past 20 months, I've grown by leaps and bounds as a home cook. I've learned so much (through failure as equally as success) and I've conquered some serious kitchen phobias. I've changed the way I cook on a day-to-day basis, and I've become even more fearless when it comes to trying new things. I've cut the faces off softshell crabs and lived to tell about it. I made a braised, stuffed pig's head. And more recently, I learned how to break down an animal, cook its various parts, and pull together a dish that I'm incredibly proud of. But, this time, I didn't do it alone.

If I may, I'd like to share some text from the instructions for making Baby Lamb dish -- on page 198 of The French Laundry Cookbook:

"I value this dish as a chef because it's a learning experience for my staff. It gives them an understanding of how to break down an entire four-legged animal and where the individual parts come from. These things are important for any chef to know." -- Thomas Keller

I couldn't agree more, but I'm not a chef. I'm a home cook who has had no formal or informal training, and who has never broken down an animal on her own (let alone with anyone else, and the frog in 7th-grade biology class doesn't count). So, I knew I was ill-prepared to do this dish on my own. And, for being what I think is the most complicated dish in the book for a home cook, the instructions are the most vague. Actually, vague isn't the right word because I don't mean that the instructions were unclear. They're not. They're quite clear. All the steps are there, the terminology is pretty self-explanatory, and the steps on how to prepare each part of the lamb are pretty straightforward.

I think it was more that I felt lost reading those instructions because this is such an elemental, fundamental thing any chef or cook should know how to, or at least understand, and I didn't. I had some leads on sourcing the lamb -- that wasn't the issue. And, when I was in Morocco nine years ago, I watched friends roast a whole lamb. So again, I didn't feel intimidated by having to cook an entire animal. It was in the mechanics of it all.

Bringing home a 25-pound lamb, hauling it out of the back of my car into the house, having the right tools and saws to work with, and expecting to know how to break it down, debone it, prep each section, and prepare each element of the dish in my little home kitchen was something I knew I needed help with to be able to do properly, and to be able to show the animal the respect it deserved.

So, I turned to my friend, Andy Little, at The Sheppard Mansion. Andy helms the kitchen at an historic inn not far from where I grew up, and even though our hometowns are minutes away from one another and we're close to the same age, we've gotten to know one another only over the past few months. You can read more about Andy on his blog and you can learn more about what he's cooking in the restaurant here. I asked if he wanted to help with this dish, and he so very graciously said he would. I couldn't have been more thrilled, and it made the whole thing so much less intimidating on the whole.

Andy invited me to come to Hanover, PA to work in his kitchen -- where there was lots of space, plenty of supplies and tools, and most importantly, an abundance of expertise. I immediately said, "YES!!!" and spent two days at the inn while we cooked and ate, and I got an intensive crash course on butchering and cooking like I'd never done before. The Sheppard Mansion's restaurant is only open Wednesday - Saturday, so we'd have all day Monday and Tuesday in the kitchen, then serve it for dinner to family and friends Tuesday night.

Before we get to the cooking, I want to spend a little bit of time on the lamb, because it's important to me that you know where it came from.

The baby lamb came from Whitmore Farm in Emmitsburg, Maryland, and I spent a Saturday morning at the farm not too long ago to meet owners Will Morrow and Kent Ozkum and see their operations. It's a really gorgeous property, but beyond that, it was really important for me to see how they raise their animals and learn more about what they do.

Let's do a quick tour of the farm. Here's the main house and barn:




Here are some of their chickens:



And turkeys:



Baby bunnies (!!!):

Kent (L) and Will (R) doing a morning feeding:



And, while I went to the farm the weekend after we'd already cooked the lamb, Will said the lamb we ate was just about the same size as this little brown guy giving me the stink eye:



They have an incredibly beautiful and well-maintained farm that produces the best-tasting lamb I've ever had. Will and Kent are so devoted to what they do, and they're fun to spend time with, to boot. If you live in the DC-Baltimore-Frederick-southern PA area, please check these guys out. You won't be disappointed. I spent the whole drive home that day running numbers and timetables in my head to figure out when and if I ever might be able to do what they're doing. It's remarkable, enviable, and I want to be them when I grow up.


* * * * *

So, now that you know where the lamb came from, it's time to talk about this dish. I'm going to split it into two separate posts (this one, and one to come in a few days) because I think if I put it all in one post your eyes might bleed from the length of it and I am not a fan of bleeding eyes, so YOU'RE WELCOME.

By the way, if you have questions as I go through this, please feel free to post them in the comments. I'll answer them, or I'll ask Andy to chime in if they're more up his alley.

Okay.... here we go!

* * * * *

I was visiting my parents, and brother and sis-in-law (and their new baby) for the weekend, and made my way over to Hanover that Sunday evening so that I could get a good night's sleep and be ready to start cooking first thing in the morning. Andy, his partner Karen (who runs front of house), and their boss (Sheppard Mansion owner, Kathy Sheppard Hoar) were gracious enough to let me stay at the inn while we made this dish, and it was so great to be able to wake up and just go downstairs to work in the kitchen that morning -- a revised, slightly more upscale and hospitable version of my "At Home" mission for the blog.

Monday morning, I woke up with a healthy amount of nervous energy. After a long shower and some time watching the news, I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and said hello to Andy. He then introduced me to his sous chef, Scott Robinson (who came in on his day off), and his friend, Rich Matosky, who played hooky from work and drove in from the Philly suburbs to lend a hand. Will delivered the lamb the day before, so after the round of handshakes and nice-to-meet-you pleasantries, I downed the last of my coffee and walked into the kitchen to find this waiting for me:

I will confess that I was surprised to see its head still attached, but I didn't vomit, nor did I flinch, nor reach for vodka. There may have been a wince. I may have said, "Oh... little guy" in my head. Or out loud. I'm not sure which.

There was very little chitchat at this point, and we got right down to business. Andy had already made a list of the exact cuts we needed, so he and Scott went to work breaking down the lamb while Rich and I watched and learned (and I took photos) as he explained each step of the process.

First, he cut off the head:



Then the legs:







Hello, kidneys:



Next, Andy and Scott (the one wearing the cap) began splitting the lamb down the middle:















See the clock above the sink and how it's only 9:25 a.m.? We started our morning at 9 a.m., and in less than 25 minutes, the lamb's head and legs were removed, and it had been split down the middle.

Do you know how this would've played out in my kitchen at home, had I started at 9 a.m.? By 9:25, I would have downed my second shot of bourbon as I peeked for the fourth time around the corner from my dining room into the kitchen and said, "Shit. That lamb is STILL THERE and he's dead but somehow STILL STARING AT ME and I don't know what to dooooooo" and lit my hair on fire and jumped off the roof of my house while singing the Barber of Seville.


Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating. But still.


Next, Andy removed the silverskin from the loin and tenderloin:



Andy and Scott split the rack:



Then, they got to work deboning and butterflying the legs, trimming and cleaning up the breast, and generally preparing all the rest of the lamb parts:









While Andy and Scott were working on all this, Rich and I were on carrot, leek and onion duty for the braises and brunoise, and Andy had also gotten started on browning bones and making stock (although he was MORE than happy to take a break from that to school Rich on his carrot-peeling technique and the size of his carrot cuts for the brunoise, which then became the running joke for the next two days... oh, who'm I kidding -- we're STILL busting Rich's chops about it and probably will for a long, long time.):




I was happy to be on vegetable duty, because it's easy, I got it done quickly (faster than Rich with the world's slowest peeling of the carrots) and it allowed me to more closely watch Andy and Scott break down the lamb, clean and trim all the parts, and talk about what they were doing as they went along.... while still feeling like I was doing something to contribute to the process.

There were so many moving parts -- many of which needed to take place simultaneously -- and it was fun to be in a kitchen with people who knew their stuff, had a sense of humor about it, and could teach while also taking the piss out of one another. My kind of kitchen, indeed.

By this point, it was about 11:30 a.m. The lamb had been butchered into its respective parts, bones were browned and stock begun, sauces on the stove, brunoise done. Now it was time to figure out what had to happen next so that we could take a quick lunch break and come back and finish out the afternoon. The kitchen full of MEN decided they should work on the BREAST (shocker, I know... 12) before we took a break.

The French Laundry Cookbook instructs that the lamb breast is to be cooked like the veal breast in the Braised Breast of Veal with Yellow Corn Polenta Cakes, Glazed Vegetables, and Sweet Garlic.

Easy-peasy. That I can handle. So, I seasoned both pieces of lamb breast with salt and pepper, seared it on both sides, removed the meat, and drained the fat from the pan. Then, I added leeks, carrots, onions, garlic, bay leaf, thyme and parsley to the pots (the breast was in two pieces, so we did all this times two but at the same time [yay for multiple burners!]), caramelized them, returned the meat to the pan, added chicken and veal stock, covered with a parchment lid, brought the liquid to a simmer, then put them both in the oven for what ended up being a little over three hours.











While I worked on that, Andy decided he'd TRY and one-up my pig's head prowess by sawing the lamb's head in half to get the brain and eyes out -- he had some sort of cockamamie plan to get me to eat the brains in a ravioli or a doughnut or something, and he seriously thought maybe someone would want to eat the eyeballs. Fortunately, he ruptured one and abandoned that idea pretty quickly.

But here he is, sawing that lamb's head in half -- which, by the way, took him FOREVER to do. I mean, really. It shouldn't have been that hard, and if I can do a pig's head, why was he struggling with that lamb's head for so long?


Feel free to sing the Jeopardy theme song....



And now, key change into Verse Two of the Jeopardy theme song...



Look at the sweat on his brow. Psshttt. Amateur.

KIDDING.

Andy, put down the saw. Seriously, dude. I was kidding.

He put the brain in milk to soak overnight, because he really thought I was going to eat it, despite the fact that I told him to put down the crack pipe. He kept insisting that it tasted "just like oatmeal, only more like, oh I dunno, a meat-flavored oatmeal" at which point I just said, "FINE. If it will shut you up, I'll eat the damned brain tomorrow night at dinner!" (knowing full well I would hide it in my napkin and then dump it in one of the potted plants in the lobby, duh)


Dude. I would rather listen to the same Celine Dion song for 24 hours than eat that. Except for that song from Titanic. Now that's where the lamb brains just might have a fighting chance.

With the two pots of braising lamb breast in the oven, we put all the other meat into the cooler, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed out to "The Trop" for lunch. Short for Tropical Treat, The Trop is a local burger and shake shack we all love and went to as kids, so we headed on over there to sit outside in the shade, down some burgers, fries, and shakes, and swap stories. It wasn't until I actually sat down at the picnic table that I realized how badly I needed to sit. I wasn't necessarily tired.... just ready to not be standing for a little while.

Besides, I knew when we got back, not only were we going to work on the lamb for a few more hours, I also needed the strength to steel myself against the inevitable torture that would arise from Andy butchering and cleaning the turtles he'd caught that weekend:



I like turtle soup as much as the next guy, but ew. Thanks for the dry heaves, Andy. Thanks a lot.

And, it's at this point that I'm going to take a break. I'll be back later this week with the rest of the story. Stay tuned.

To be continued......

Read My Previous Post: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

French Laundry at Home Extra: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

First, let me thank so many of you for your very sweet comments and emails after my last post. Not a day goes by where I don't think about how lucky I am to have such fantastically awesome and funny people following along and enjoying this blog. You all make this so much more worthwhile than perhaps you'll ever know. So, thank you.

Second, yes I know I'm slightly insane, but I'm also equally excited about the Alinea at Home project. I'll answer all questions related to that blog in a few weeks when I get everything up and running. For now, we're going to stay focused on French Laundry at Home, because....

Third, quite a few people emailed me last week with things like, "I'm so sad it's over" and "Wow, I can't believe you're done with the blog" to which I say, "HEY! WAKE UP, SISTER! I'm not DONE YET. There are still a few more dishes to write about and post about and for you to drool over, not the least of which is when I single-handedly (okay, that's a big, fat lie, but I'm on a roll, people, so work with me here) butchered, dressed, prepared, cooked and ate a whole baby lamb so DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE THAT? OR, SHOULD I JUST QUIT RIGHT NOW? HUH!?!?!?"

So, um yeah. It's not over yet, people. There are a few more dishes to write about, and a few other posts I have in the works, so stick with me. I'll let you know when we're done, and thus, when it's time for you to bookmark my new blogs. Yes, that's blogs with an "s." You already know about one of them. But the other one, you don't. You will, though, soon enough. I promise. Pinky swear.


* * * * *


Picking up where my previous post left off, I flew home from California on Wednesday, August 20th, got in very late at night, slept for about six hours, then drove to the southern Jersey shore where I spent Thursday and Friday with friends. On Saturday morning, I drove up to New York to continue the birthday festivities. The sky was blue ("and all the leaves are green"-- ten points to whomever knows that lyric) and the city skyline teased and beckoned every cotton-pickin' minute I sat waiting in what turned out to be an unnecessary goat rope leading to the Holland Tunnel. Why cars have to slow down to a near-stop to watch construction taking place on a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ROAD, like, nine miles away, I'll never know.

I couldn't WAIT to get into the city... not just because I really love New York and feel energized every time I'm there, but also because joining me for dinner that night at Per Se were Linda, Sean, and Holly, my friends who also happen to be neighbors who have eaten nearly every one of the dishes made for this blog, as well as my friends, Andrea and Todd. I was so happy to be just hours away from sitting down at a table with friends I knew were going to love this experience.

That evening, Holly met Linda, Sean, and me at the hotel, and we walked the half-block from there to the Time Warner Center. It was all I could do not to skip across the street in absolute glee. I probably could have -- 58th Street was a ghost town -- but my shoes were sooo not conducive to that kind of activity. As we went up the escalators in the Time Warner Center, it was, again, all I could do to not leap up the metal escalator steps three at a time to get there even sooner. But I am not a lady who leaps (at least not in those shoes), so I maintained some semblance of patience and decorum.

Upon reaching the fourth floor, we stopped for a moment in the garden, the glass door slid open, we stepped into Per Se, and were greeted with a smile and a lovely "welcome" that set the tone for the evening. Andrea and Todd had gotten there a few moments earlier and were enjoying a cocktail in the bar area, so after saying hello to them and introducing everyone to one another, our service captain, Mike Minnillo, took us to the private dining room where we settled in for what I thought was certain was going to be a really great night. I mean, I'd checked out the tasting menu on the way in so I thought I had a pretty good idea of what might be in store, but when Mike said, "We'll have printed menus for you at the end, but I wanted to let you know that Jonathan is going to cook for you, okay?" I nearly wept. "Jonathan is going to cook for you, okay?" Oh my. It was more than okay. Because when "Jonathan is going to cook for you," I know that means there are going to be some wonderful surprises along the way.

When I sat down, there was a lovely note from Jaclyn, who, along with Célia, had helped coordinate the evening, as well as a note from Chef Keller, which was so unexpected and so cherished.

Mason, our sommelier, helped us make our wine selection for the evening:

* Peter Michael, "La Carrière" 2006
* Shafer, "Red Shoulder Ranch," 2006
* Turley, "Dusi Vineyard," Paso Robles 2006

... after which he brought out some champagne (Schramsberg Reserve, 1999, if I'm remembering correctly; and, sparkling wine, if I want to be technically correct since it's from California not France); we toasted one another, and then the fun began.

I didn't take photos, because I just can't bring myself to do that in restaurants, and I hope I can do the menu justice with my descriptions of each dish. Are you ready to go along for the ride? I hope so, because this was such a special night, and I'm so excited to be writing about it. Here we go:

* As is tradition at The French Laundry and Per Se, we started the evening with Gougères, which were followed by Salmon Tartare Cornets with Red Onion Crème Fraîche. Perfect.

* Chilled Hass Avocado Soup; Honeydew Melon and Garden Mint with Espelette Pepper Mousse. Cool, creamy, fresh, light, clean, aromatic, crisp, sharp, gorgeous, flavorful, and elicited the first of what would become a multitude of moans, sighs, and giddy smiles.

* Basil Sorbet; Picholine Olive Tapenade and Thyme Tuile. Fresh, fragrant, solid, smooth, pointed, well rounded, made me want to lick the plate, and the basil sorbet reminded me of my dinner at Alinea, which was an unexpected pleasant surprise.

* "Oysters and Pearls;" "Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters and Sterling White Sturgeon Caviar. I feel so incredibly spoiled and luxurious when I eat this. It may just be one of my favorite things in the whole world. Creamy, warm, salty, poppy, bursting with flavor, didn't want it to end.

* Atlantic Fluke; Ginger Gelée and Citrus Vinaigrette. Beautifully plated and the flavors and textures complemented one another so perfectly, it made me want more. I never make fluke at home, but now I have to... and if I only get it a mere 0.000003% close to being this good, I'll have succeeded. I'm often hesitant to order anything in a restaurant that has ginger listed as an ingredient, because far too often it overpowers the dish. This ginger gelée was so subtle, and yet it brought the dish to life so beautifully. A total homerun, and one I didn't expect.

* Mediterranean Sardine; Confit Eggplant and Spanish Caper Emulsion. When I was in elementary school, there was this kid who brought a tin of sardines for lunch every Friday, and they (and that kid) totally grossed me out. Since then, I've come to appreciate sardines when I'm cooking and using them in their various preparations, but I honestly don't think I've ever eaten or enjoyed a small fillet (if that's even an accurate term) of sardine, let alone with eggplant and caper to complement it so perfectly. This is a flavor combination I'm going to experiment with here at home because it was divine.

* White Truffle Oil-Infused Custard; "Ragoût of Black Winter Truffles." This was the fourth time I'd eaten this canapé, and as always, I could have eaten twenty of them. Makes me want to spend a few hours (okay, weeks) in my kitchen perfecting my chive-potato chip so that I can make and serve them with dignity, unlike the first time I made them.

* "Smoke;" All-Day Braised Hobbs Shore's Pork Belly, Heirloom Beets, and Burgundy Mustard. I knew what type of preparation was coming when I saw the crystal spheres being so gently and carefully carried into the room, but I had no idea I was in for the single best piece of pork belly I've eaten in my life. This dish, if you'll indulge me in a rather nerdy confession, almost made me cry, it was so good. The reveal that takes place when the top of the sphere is removed and the smoke rises up and into and onto your palate is such a wonderful tease, and to be able to feast on even that small morsel of pork belly that has spent a day braising to absolute perfection (along with beets and mustard that more than held their own) is nirvana.

Upon taking that final bite of what was sheer bliss and having had our plates cleared, we began to look at one another and whisper, "Wait... how many things have we eaten? What course are we on? Was the fluke our fish course?" A few minutes later, Mike came in to check on us, have our water and wine needs attended to, and said, "Your first course is next."

Your. First. Course. Is. Next.

::: cue the nervous giggling because we thought we were already on our fifth course, at least :::

So, yeah. Now that I have a menu to refer to... Nine canapes, then those magical, magical words.

Your. First. Course. Is. Next.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

* "Salad of Big Island Hearts of Palm;" Compressed Summer Melons, Salted Pine Nuts, and Red Ribbon Sorrel with Lemon Verbena "Aigre-Doux." So, here's the point in the evening when I totally geeked out and regaled my friends (complete with really bad sound effects and some sort of interpretive hand gestures that, looking back, made absolutely no sense) with the process of how you compress melon in the Cryovac machine (as I'd seen Chef Keller and Rory Herrmann do earlier that summer, so of course, now I'm, like a TOTAL expert on the subject; and my friends were kind enough to indulge my demonstration which is why I love them), and how it intensifies the flavor, and how it is just oh-so-awesome, and if they really loved me they'd just buy me a Cryovac and I'd make them compressed melon every day. Astoundingly, a red-ribboned Cryovac has not shown up yet on my doorstep, but I'm still holding out hope. This "salad" was absolutely delicious -- thin slices of heart of palm, the sweet melon, the salty pine nuts... all so beautifully composed texture- and taste-wise, and I really could have slathered myself in the lemon verbena aigre-doux and been quite a happy camper.

* "Peach Melba;" Terrine of Hudson Valley Moulard Duck Foie Gras, Frog Hollow Farm's Peaches, Peach Jelly, Pickled Red Onion, Cilantro Shoots (mine came sans), "Melba Toast," and Puffed Carolina Rice. This foie course was accompanied by six different kinds of salt, and was one of my favorite dishes of the night. I haven't made foie gras in what feels like a really long time, and I didn't realize how much I missed it until I had this dish. I know that might, to some, sound like an incredibly snotty thing to say, but deveining a foie gras was one of my biggest fears when I started the blog (I obviously was in denial about the pig's head and the whole baby lamb), and knowing that it's something that's actually pretty easy to do, now, feels good, so this dish gave me a little surprise boost of pride for what I've been able to learn.

* "Pavé" of Kindai Bluefin Tuna "À La Plancha;" "Haricots Verts," Globe Artichokes, Niçoise Olive Petals with Greenmarket Radishes and "Barigoule" Emulsion. In addition to this being one of the most spectacular things I've ever eaten, I was so excited to have my very first (and probably only) taste of kindai, because it's so rare. It was perfectly cooked and everything in this dish was so flavorful, you couldn't help but smile with every bite.

* Butter-Poached Nova Scotia Lobster; Long Island Gold Corn Kernels with Chanterelle Mushrooms and Fig-Chocolate Sauce. Lobster + Corn = duh, of course THAT was gonna be good. Add the chanterelles? Sure. Even better. A sauce composed of chocolate and figs to go along with it? Really? Huh. Well, I don't kn.... ::: taste ::: ::: stunned silence ::: For the next few minutes, I pretty much muttered to myself like a crazy bag lady about the sauce and how great it was and what the ratio of chocolate to fig might be and who knew it would be this good, let alone with the core elements of this dish, and I could've been hit by a bus right then and died incredibly happy, sated, and content.

At this point in the evening, we took a break to stretch our legs, take a stroll, and generally let those 13 dishes settle in before we started up again. The private dining room at Per Se is all windows on two sides -- one on the restaurant side (with a privacy curtain if we needed it), and the other overlooking Columbus Circle and the southwest corner of Central Park. The moon was full and bright in the sky, the skyline flecked with light on a weekend when many had fled the city for a final jaunt upstate or at the beach. We spent some time talking to Mike, who I'd met before and just think the world of. And, we enjoyed our wine as we talked about everything under the sun -- politics, high school antics, who could pull up IMDB fastest on their iPhone to settle a bet on a character's name in Carrie, work, our dogs, whether or not Swoosie Kurtz was still working and who could name all the female lead cast members of Sisters (which naturally led to speculation about the actual dollar value of Julianne Phillips' divorce settlement), and the merits of seeing Prince live on tour (which we all highly recommend, FYI).

After some time had gone by, we sat down, ready to find out what was coming our way next. As we settled into our chairs, fresh napkins on our laps, I looked around the table and felt so incredibly lucky to be surrounded for the second Saturday night in a row by amazing friends and people I care about so much. My friend, Todd, is my oldest friend -- we've known one another since we were four years old and used to rig up those little green, plastic army men with homemade parachutes made out of baggies and rubber bands... and he was my guest the first time I ate at Per Se, so it was really special to have him there with me that night. My friend, Andrea, and I met fifteen years ago when we worked together at MCI. She lives in southern California, and had to be at a family wedding the weekend prior so she wasn't able to go to The French Laundry. Lucky for me, she planned a business trip to New York that week so she could be at Per Se, and I'm so glad she was there. And, having Linda, Sean and Holly at the table with me was incredibly important, because they not only have tasted nearly every dish I've made as part of this blog, they've become like family to me in the eleven years we've lived next to and across from one another. This was the first time many of them were meeting one another, and everyone clicked so easily, it made for a warm and laughter-filled evening.

The service team came in with our next course, upon which they heaped the most incredible summer truffles... so, here we go:

* Buckwheat Rigatini with Shaved Summer Truffles. Who knew something so simple and as, dare I say, rustic, could simultaneously melt the heart and pique the palate quite like this dish did?

* Four Story Hills Farm's "Suprême de Poularde;" "Farcie à la Mousse de Truffe d'Été," Wilted Butter Lettuce and Cauliflower Florettes with Sauce Périgourdine. Chicken. Truffles. Lettuce. Cauliflower. Sauce. Magic. Pure magic.

* Snake River Farm's "Calotte de Boeuf Grillée;" Poached Bone Marrow, "Rissolée" of New Crop Potatoes, Black Trumpet Mushrooms and Arrowleaf Spinach Purée with "Sauce Bordelaise." Just before this dish was brought out, I was starting to feel full. Like maybe I'd reached my limit and would only be able to do a bite or two of everything else that was to come. Like that was f-in g possible, what with the way this dish smelled as it was placed before me. Wow. Just wow.

* DiBruno Brothers' "Burrata;" Heirloom Tomatoes, Petite Basil, and Tomato "Raisins" with "Croûtons de Pain de Campagne." Three cheers for DiBruno Brothers, a Pennsylvania (my people!) business I know and love. And a kazillion cheers for this perfect take on a caprese salad, which for some people is nooner-inducing. Ahem. This is the second innovative execution around these flavors I've had this summer -- the first one being at Alinea -- and this one was equally amazing and just made me smile and think about why I love the end of summer so much.

* Plum Sorbet; Santa Rosa Plums, Ginger Pudding, Plum Consommé and Gingerbread Crisp. Cold. Fresh. Sweet. Smooth. With ginger-y warmth, if that makes sense. This was absolutely delightful and was leading up to the thing I was pretty sure we were having next, because when asked a month prior what I might want as a special birthday dessert, I was pretty quick to respond by pleading for...

* "Coffee and Doughnuts;" Cinnamon-Sugared Doughnuts with Cappucino Semifreddo. If I had the skillz, I'd write a song about this dessert. Instead, I'll do a haiku:

Yay!, in cup, on plate
O, Per Se pastry team, go
On witcha bad self!

I savored every bite of the doughnuts and every last cold, velvety spoonful of the semifreddo and thought to myself, "this night is just so perfect."

The servers cleared our plates and we had just placed our coffee orders in preparation for the mignardises and other candy treats when the lights in the room dimmed to near-total darkness, the door opened, and in came Mike and the service team with the most elegant cake, candles aglow, and my friends, very quietly, sang "happy birthday" in hushed reverence because this was a most unexpected surprise, and the room was so beautiful in the candlelight, it almost took your breath away. I made a wish, blew out the candles, and grinned from ear to ear. Just when I thought the night was perfect, they went and made it even more perfect.

The final course on the menu read:

* "Birthday Cake;" Bitter Chocolate Mousse with Chocolate and Pear Financier with Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream. I think many of you know I've never really been a fan of fruit and chocolate together. But with age comes wisdom, I suppose, and just like "Oysters and Pearls" changed my mind about oysters, this cake changed my mind about fruit and chocolate. I was beyond blown away... not only by the incredible generosity of this most indulgent dessert, but also because it was just so delicious and comforting and celebratory and unexpected, yet most pleasantly and flavorfully harmonious.

After we'd eaten the cake and continued to nurse our coffee, they brought us each a teeny-tiny crème brûlée, a tray of mignardises (the dark chocolate/mocha ones were stunning), and a bowl of caramels -- a few, okay SIX, of which found their way into my clutch so that I could enjoy them a few nights later as I sat on my favorite beach watching the surfers take the waves. Who knew Per Se caramels and the salty evening air would go so well together? Oh yeah, I did. Which is why I snuck a few to go. Hee!

My friends and I sat around the table for a little while longer, just generally enjoying one another's company in a restaurant that has always been special to me, and was now even moreso. Before we left, Mike took us back into the kitchen so that we could see everyone and everything that went into making this night so remarkable. If I could, I would have scooped them all up in the biggest, squeezingest hug imaginable and kissed them all over the face for days on end. But because I was not raised by wolves, I settled on a handshake, an incredibly heartfelt and hopefully-not-too-obviously-choking-back-tears "thank you" to Jonathan Benno, and a big thank you to everyone who was still in the kitchen finishing up service.

We collected our menus, along with little packages of Florentine cookies, gave hugs goodbye, and set out into the warm New York night. It was well past 1 a.m. -- we'd started around 7 -- and the city was strangely quiet for a Saturday night. Todd walked Andrea back to her hotel before getting himself home, Holly made her way back to where she was staying, and the rest of us walked back to the hotel. I changed into something more casual, washed my face, and went back out for a walk. I wasn't ready to go to sleep, and I really wanted some time to think and savor the night for as long as I could. When I finally crawled into bed, I dozed off knowing that I'd had the most wonderful birthday, if not one of the most wonderful nights, of my life.

I'm not usually this gushy or smooshy, but there's just something so very special about Per Se. Not only was it my first Keller restaurant experience as well as the place where I first met Chef Keller, there's also something just so welcoming that's boosted and enhanced by the energy of being in New York. Every touch of service is comfortable, inviting, and welcoming -- from the initial phone call to book the room, to the follow-up notes I received once I got home -- and the graciousness with which our evening was handled was truly outstanding. For instance, one of my friends has a wheat and gluten intolerance, and they made accommodations every step of the way -- from swapping out the foie gras terrine to a hot preparation because it didn't involve the melba toast and serving risotto instead of pasta, to offering gluten-free bread while the rest of us ate the multitude of bread choices (along with what I know to be the best butter in the country) throughout the evening. Another friend had an aversion to foie of any sort, so instead, they served her a little confit byaldi, or, ratatouille. It's touches like these that make Per Se an even more special place to me, because they didn't just take care of me and the things I am allergic to, they also took care of my friends. Every single one of us at that table was treated with respect and great care, and in such a friendly, yet professional manner... it's really like stepping into another dimension altogether.

For that and so many reasons, Per Se is a restaurant I hope to return to time and time again (yay for being a short train ride away), and I could not be more grateful for everyone who contributed to this amazing night, including my clients who provided those little extra projects here and there so I could afford it all. Talk about labor of love.... every time I got frustrated with work this year, I just kept thinking about how those billable hours were the means to a very delicious end.

So many moving parts still in the works, so many changes, so many good things, so many great people, so many dear friends, such a loving family (including a new baby nephew this summer!).... this past year has been incredible, and chock full of so many unexpected pleasures I never could have imagined or known I'd wanted or needed. But here it all is... and to be able to celebrate a milestone birthday with family and great friends at both The French Laundry and Per Se was an absolute joy. They truly are the most special places.

* * * * *

Up Next: Baby Lamb -- Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

Read My Previous Post: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Eating my way through Yountville, CA

French Laundry at Home Extra: Eating my way through Yountville, CA

Oh, hi there.

Do you know where I am?

I'm here.




Or, at least I was.

And, oh, what a night we had.

On Saturday, August 16th, I turned the page of another incredible chapter in this journey of mine. But let's begin at the beginning, because this trip was so much more than the amazing, incredible, and wonderful food at The French Laundry. It was about the whole package: being with friends and family, celebrating what has been a pretty fantastic year, immersing oneself in the entire Thomas Keller experience, having the most glorious weather, drinking really good wine, and spending some time in a town that felt remarkably like home.

I flew into San Francisco on Friday the 15th. My flight was late, but I was still on time to meet Shuna at Tartine where we ate and gabbed and laughed until it was time for her to meet a friend and time for me to try and beat the rush-hour traffic out of the city and head up north to Napa County.

I drove north, then west, then north again... the radio blaring, my car windows down, and the dorkiest grin on my face as I sang along at the top of my lungs to every song on the radio. I stopped at a Starbucks to get a cup of iced coffee then continued up Route 29 in stop-and-go traffic as I inched my way toward Yountville.

I turned off 29 onto Madison Street, took a right onto Jefferson, and pulled into the driveway of the house my friends, Marisa, Ron, and Jon, and I rented for our time there. I was the last to arrive, and when I got there, they'd already been cranking the tunes while unpacking and dropped everything to give big hugs hello. My parents had arrived the day before and were staying in their own rental house a few miles away. We brought in my luggage, and after just a few moments of ridding myself of the smell of the airplane and the drive, we hit the town.

Walking four abreast down Jefferson Street (and somehow lined up by height as if we were posing for the poster from The Usual Suspects or the cast of Oceans Eleven -- only hotter... um, heh), we made our way to the market where we stocked up on provisions for dinner -- sausages, fresh corn, spinach, goat cheese, peas, the makings for a vinaigrette, and a few bottles of wine. We walked back to the house, and instead of veering back down Jefferson, we stayed on Washington, and got a little quiet as we neared 6640 Washington Street. We were on the garden side of the street, and we stopped for a moment to take in what was just a few yards away on either side -- an acre or so of garden to our left, and The French Laundry to our right. We stood there for a moment to take it all in, smiled at one another, turned right onto Creek Street, then left on Jefferson, and headed back to the house to fire up the grill. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face the whole rest of the walk home. None of us could.

We made ourselves a wonderful dinner on the grill that night -- so simple, and so perfect for a group of friends who have known one another since 1986, have seen each other through our very best and very worst moments, and can always pick right up where we left off -- even though we are only able to get together once a year, at best.

Jet-lagged and having been awake for nearly 21 hours, I dragged myself off to bed. I wanted to be rested for the big day, for dinner at The French Laundry was the following evening.


I love being an east coaster traveling on the west coast, because I love waking up at 4 or 5 in the morning, and getting to see the place where I am when it's still so very quiet, and only beginning to stir. I woke up that morning around 4:30, and stretched as I laid there in bed, breathing in the fresh, cool air blowing through the window. I tiptoed across the cold bamboo floor into the bathroom across the hall to brush my teeth and freshen up a bit before heading out for a walk. Marisa's husband, Ron, was up early as well, and was heading out for a run. Jon was still asleep, and Marisa had just gotten awake. While the others got ready, I took a little walk through town. It was so great to be in such a small town in which everything is walkable, the architecture and landscaping so lovely, and the gardens and trees so fragrant. It reminded me of my favorite beach town, and a little bit like where I live now. Lots of bungalows, gorgeous gardens, and a general sense of neatness and order, interspersed with at least one house on every block that has, shall we say, "character."

Around 7 o'clock, I circled back to the house, picked up Marisa and Jon, and we walked to Bouchon Bakery for breakfast. A sampling of the pastries was in order, but as soon as I saw a cup filled with thick, creamy yogurt and some apricot purée, I was sold. That, a piece of leek quiche (which, HOLY CREAMINESS, was that good) and a large, steaming cup of coffee, and I knew I was gonna love this town. We sat outside the bakery and enjoyed our treats while we got caught up on one another's lives, eavesdropped on a few conversations, and enjoyed the general feeling of connection many of the regulars there seem to have. It felt so good to be on vacation, and to be sharing it with such great friends.


We began every morning of our trip with a walk to Bouchon Bakery for breakfast and some coffee, and it was such a nice ritual. I miss it, not just for the food, but mostly because I wish Ron and Marisa lived closer so that we could do this kind of morning walk thing more often.

After breakfast on Saturday, we decided to walk home via The French Laundry so we could spend some time nosing around the garden a bit and see the restaurant in the early morning light. I'd already learned how to pace myself, food-wise, in preparation of a chef's tasting menu when I ate at Per Se, so I knew I was just going to be snacking on some almonds and eating a salad or other light lunch and that was it. We walked through the garden (it was just barely 8 o'clock and still nice and cool outside), and marveled at the wide variety of vegetables growing there, and wondered what was going to be on our plate that night.


We made a quick trip to Trader Joe's in Napa for a few provisions, and spent the day hanging around the house listening to music, relaxing in the hot tub, reading magazines on the deck, and taking long walks throughout the town -- exploring neighborhoods, getting ideas for future landscaping projects, and checking out the new construction. One of the sites for a new inn and spa had surrounding it a Portrait Project, which had just gone up a few days before we got there; it was fun to look at the photos on the wall and try and figure out who was who and what their story was.

Early afternoon turned into late afternoon, and we began the getting-ready-for-dinner part of the day. Remember how I said getting ready for dinner at Per Se the first time I went there felt like getting ready for a first date? Well, getting ready to eat at The French Laundry was a little like getting ready for a second date -- you already know you like the person well enough to see him or her again, and there's a slight sense of familiarity, but there's still a little nervous energy going into it because you want to make a good impression.

My parents met us at our house, and we all went over to the restaurant together. We took some pictures of ourselves across the street in the garden, and then walked back across the street, under the arbor and through the blue door into the restaurant. We were whisked upstairs to the private dining room, which, when you look at the front of The French Laundry, is in the front, right-hand corner -- and met our service captain, Zion Curiel.

Zion took great care of us all evening -- he was an absolute joy to meet, and made sure our dinner service ran smoothly. Our sommelier, Anani Lawson, was also great fun, and helped with some outstanding wine pairings throughout the evening.

Now, let's get to the menu. I didn't take photos of the food because I just don't feel comfortable doing that. I'm sure if you Google these dishes by name, you can find photos posted elsewhere by other diners who ate there around the same time we did. Alright, here we go:

*We started the night with a Pierre-Gimonnet champagne and with that had the Gougères and the Salmon Cornets. Perfection in pâte à choux, and decadence in a cone.

* "Oysters and Pearls"-- "Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters and White Sturgeon Caviar. As I think most of you know, I was a bigtime oyster hater before starting this blog. Couldn't stand 'em. This is the dish that turned me around. Of course, I really won't eat oysters any other way, so perhaps I'm spoiled, but this dish is the epitome of ocean and cream and salt and smooth. I'd had it before at Per Se, but no one else at the table had, so I just sat there smiling, as I watched everyone take their first bite and realize just how amazing this food was going to be.

* Truffle Custard. Suffice to say, theirs was beautiful. When I made it, not so much.

* Salad of French Laundry Garden Turnips -- Sugar Snap Peas, Red Radishes and Ginger "Aigre-Doux." Imagine beautifully turned, teeny, tiny, baby turnips, blanched perfectly, and arranged most beautifully on the plate with the most delicate sugar snap pea pods and thinly sliced radishes. The "dressing" or "aigre-doux" (French for "sweet-sour") was delicious and really pulled everything together. It's important to note that this dish was plated on a somewhat oblong plate that had an acutely angular base so that the plate tipped forward a bit to better present the dish. Beautiful. With this course, we had a 2005 Prager "Hollerin" Riesling.

* Sweet-Butter Poached Maine Lobster Tail -- Belgian Endive, Watercress and Apricot-Riesling Emulsion. This dish was extraordinary. The lobster tail was done sous vide (as so much of the food there and at Per Se is done), and was so incredibly solid, yet succulent. The endive was gorgeous, and I loved having a bit of apricot on the plate, because it made me think about my favorite breakfast discovery at Bouchon Bakery and made me quite happy. With this course, we had a 2006 Domaine de Pegau "Cuvée Réservée" Chateauneuf de Pape from the Rhone Valley.

* Snake River Farms "Calotte de Boeuf Grillée" -- Potato Confit, Baby Corn, Chanterelle Mushrooms and "Béarnaise" Reduction. This is one of those dishes for which I had no words. I think Marisa summed it up best when she took her second bite, turned to me, and asked, "Would it be bad form to weep right about now?" This was the best dish of the night. We were all pretty speechless at this point and the meat was so tender, it was almost like slicing butter. I also loved the wine we had with this course -- the Shafer One Point Five Cabernet Sauvignon (2005). So smooth, so soft, and so perfect.

We took a short break at this point to walk around the restaurant's courtyard/garden area and get some fresh air. It was a lovely, breezy night, and it felt good to step outside onto our little balcony and walk down to the garden and peek into the windows of the kitchen for a few minutes.

* "Sao Jorge" -- Grilled Globe Artichokes, Carrot Ribbons, Cilantro Shoots, and Caraway Dressing. Thankfully, mine came without cilantro shoots, but this cheese, this Sao Jorge, was really phenomenal. It's boisterous and sharp, but not overpowering or too tangy. My friend, Ron, grew up in the Azores and said this was the standard cheese they'd eat in sandwiches and for snacks, so for him, this course was an unexpected trip down memory lane. With this course, we had a bottle of Turley "Ueberroth" Zinfandel.

* Pudwill Farm's Blueberry Sorbet -- Andante Dairy Yogurt and Puffed Quinoa. Perfect palate cleanser. Cool, crisp, and a great textural pop... but it made me a little sad, because I knew we were nearing the end of our night.

* "Délice Au Chocolat et à la Menthe" -- with Amedei Chuao Chocolate-Mint "Parfait" and Mint Syrup. Okay, I have to link to someone else's photo of this dish, because it was a really interesting presentation. It was really very good (and I love dark chocolate, so I was a happy camper), and was followed by the standard post-dessert service of Mignardises (filled chocolates -- I OD'd on the peanut butter ones) and salted caramels. Anani poured a 20-year Dow's Tawny Port with, and although I'm not usually fan of Port, this was outstanding. Really warm and smooth and complemented the chocolate and mint quite beautifully.

We ended the night with a quick visit to the kitchen so we could thank Corey and the team for preparing a most lovely dinner for us. It was late, and they had already begun breaking everything down to clean up, but it was so nice to meet him and be able to get a little glimpse into that beautiful kitchen that has earned itself a special place in the history books.


They sent us home with a few packages of shortbread, and invited us to linger in the courtyard/garden for a little while with a glass of wine since it was such a beautiful night. My parents left (they had plans the next morning, and it was late), and the four of us just sat at a little table and enjoyed the rest of the night. We called a few friends to gloat about where we were calling them from, and watched as the remaining diners spilled out of the restaurant, had their picture taken in front of the door, and made their way home.

Although it was hard to tear ourselves away from that magical place, we got up from the table, once again thanked our service team who was closing up shop for the night, and made our way home under a clear sky loaded with stars and a bright full moon that lit up the night sky.

* * * * *

The next day, we lolled around like listless manatees hung over from the overindulgence of food and wine the night before. We managed to shuffle through the day, taking naps and reading, and rallied for dinner at Bouchon that night.

I needed to go easy on my digestive system, so I stuck with the familiar -- French onion soup and gnocchi with lightly sautéed vegetables and brown butter. My dad had the Poulet Roti (and loved it), and I'm drawing a blank on what everyone else ordered because once Marisa eyed the small side dish of sweet corn on a neighboring table and decided to order that, SWEET MOTHER OF LAVERNE AND SHIRLEY it was so good it stopped us dead in our tracks. I only got one bite of it, but it was life-changing. Turns out, it was done sous vide in a packet with butter and thyme, then sautéed with a bit of Pernod, and then some crème fraîche whisked in. I am not exaggerating (and I'm sure Marisa will chime in with a comment) that this may have been one of the best things I have eaten in my entire life. It was so good, in fact, that I went back to Bouchon twice before leaving town to eat it again.

So, dinner at Bouchon Sunday night was followed by a brisk walk home and a good night's sleep.



I woke up early Monday morning, took a walk through town, and had another apricot yogurt parfait at Bouchon Bakery for breakfast. I went back to the house and got ready for a very much anticipated lunch meeting in St. Helena at the Culinary Institute of America. Who was my meeting with? Why, the infamous Stephen Durfee, of course. He took me on a tour of the CIA's classroom and kitchen facilities and we had a very nice lunch together. It was so nice to meet him, and to spend time in such a beautiful building. In fact, it was so great to meet him that I'm kind of feeling the need to re-do a certain dessert which caused me great agita (and for which I have blamed him because he was credited with inventing it) -- and do it in a more honorable way. Thanks, Stephen, for a great afternoon. I really appreciate it.

I had the rest of the afternoon to myself (my parents and my friend, Jon, left that morning, and Ron and Marisa were visiting our college friend, Richard, who owns Sonoma Organics) so I did a little shopping in St. Helena, drove the Silverado Trail for a bit, then plopped my butt on a stool at the bar at Bouchon and had a glass of wine and a dish of that phenomenal corn for my afternoon snack.

I went back to the house and took a nap while I waited for Ron and Marisa to get home. We had dinner reservations at Ad Hoc that night, and while I was a little sad to have missed Fried Chicken Night (the Monday night before), I knew the food would be good nonetheless.

As soon as we walked through the door at Ad Hoc, I immediately felt at home. The restaurant's manager Nick Dedier, greeted us and led us to our table. If anyone from the Thomas Keller Restaurant Group is reading this, let me take a moment right now to beg, plead, persuade, cajole, and offer whatever certain, ahem *favors* may sway you to PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF JOHN C. REILLY open an Ad Hoc in Washington, DC, for this was one of the best, most comfortable, most lovely and most perfect evenings I've ever had.

We started with a glass of champagne (we'd had to wait a minute or two for our table because the previous diners had made a mess of the space, so Nick saw to it that we had some bubbly, which was a very nice and unexpected touch), and gave us our menus so we could see what we were going to have. I also ordered a glass of Etude Pinot Noir rosé because both Russ Parsons and David Lebovitz had written recently about rosé in the LA Times and I wanted to give it a whirl (and now I'm a convert -- thanks, guys!).


Here's what we had to eat:

Jacobsen Orchards Stone Fruit Salad
-- fresh plums and nectarines on chopped romaine, general lee cucumbers, candied pecans with citrus mint dressing

Mishima Beef Sirloin Tip
-- with sautéed summer squash, rosa bianca eggplant, juliet tomatoes; tfl garden fingerling potatoes and chive butter

Carr Valley Cheese Benedictine
-- with marshall’s farm wildflower honey with k & j orchards gala apples

Warm Chocolate Brownie
-- with vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce


This was not even a home run; it was a freakin' grand slam and the World Cup and the NBA finals and the Oscars and a drum lesson with Stewart Copeland and a first kiss and the lottery and new lipstick and finding a $20 bill in the back pocket of your jeans and WOO-HOOOO!!! all rolled into one. Every single bite was fresh and extraordinarily good. The ambience was fantastic, and the music was so great -- it felt like someone had plugged in my iPod and played it throughout the restaurant all night. The staff was really great, and I'd go back there in a heartbeat. And, if Ad Hoc were to open in the DC area, I'd eat there at least once a week, because for $48 a person, it was a STEAL. We had a really great night, and yet another nice walk home in the cool night air.



I woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of my cellphone going badonkadonk. It was my birthday, and some of my friends forgot I was on the west coast and started calling at 7 a.m. east coast time, which is... well, you know... VERY EARLY in California. But I didn't care, because it was fun to get those messages. Especially when people sang to me. Ahem. You know who you are.

We sauntered down to Bouchon Bakery for our standard morning repast, and then scooted across the Yountville Cross Road and down the Silverado Trail until we got to the Stag's Leap Wine Cellars. The lovely Leah McNally invited us for a tour and tasting a few weeks prior to my coming out there, and we were so honored to spend our morning there seeing the vineyard, touring the facilities, and tasting the wines. Thank you, Leah, and Ben, who was a great host, as well.



We didn't know it beforehand, but we happened to be there on the day the Chardonnay grapes arrived for pressing and production, so they had a special "blessing of the wines" ceremony at which a priest did his thing and blessed the grapes, the workers, the owners, and the buyers. It was really neat to see, and we enjoyed meeting so many people whose hands and hearts go into some really wonderful wine.


After our wine tasting, we headed over to Taylor's Refresher on Route 29 where we shared a bleu cheese bacon burger, heirloom tomato sandwich, sweet potato fries, chocolate shake and myriad other foodstuffs to fill us up for the wine tastings to come. Sooooo delicious.....



After lunch, we did a tasting at Joseph Phelps (oh, that Insignia!) where we tasted some really great wine and saw the most beautiful little hummingbirds flitting from plant to plant, then drove down the Silverado Trail to get back home. We went back to the house and read and hung out listening to music for the rest of the afternoon before our last dinner together. We decided to go back to Bouchon one last time -- not just for the corn, but also to sit outside and watch the sunset and just enjoy the people watching and a relaxing dinner outside. Our server was really engaging and we had a great dinner. I had the Boudin, as well as a side of macaroni and cheese and a side of the CORN!

Here's the cute All-Clad dish the boudin came in. Must get me some of these:

Sorry I don't have a photo of the boudin -- it looked so good and I was so hungry, there was no time for photography. After our lovely dinner, we headed back to the house for laundry and packing, since we were leaving the following morning.

On Wednesday morning, Ron and Marisa left first for their 10-hour drive back up to Portland. I left shortly thereafter and got to SFO in record time -- enough so that I could hop on an earlier flight, which meant I got back home at 11 p.m. instead of the originally planned 1:30 a.m.

I had many, many hours on the plane to reflect on my time in Yountville and the Napa Valley. It was so wonderful to be able to have my first time at The French Laundry include my parents and my close friends. Because of the private dining room's space constrictions and some travel schedules, I couldn't have everyone there I wanted (hence the booking of a dinner at Per Se the following weekend for the rest of my besties... and I'll write about that next).

I can't wait to go back to Yountville. I'm the kind of person that when she vacations just likes to settle into a place. I'm not a big sightseer. Never have been. I don't consult magazines or make a list of the 25 things I MUST do or see in a certain locale. I just kind of hang. It's the most relaxing thing for me, and it helps me get a feel for a place. Even when I was a kid, all I wanted to do on vacations was hang out by the pool with my cheese and peanut butter crackers and read or people-watch -- even at freakin' Disney World. I'm just not activity girl, so being in a place like Napa is perfect, because I can come and go as I please and just revel in the experience of seeing people, eating great food, walking around, and enjoying the everyday.

So, Carol... you must be asking yourself... after all this time, what was it like to finally have dinner at The French Laundry?

It was incredible. And, almost indescribable.

I have spent nearly two years cooking my way through The French Laundry Cookbook -- getting to know the food, the process, the technique, the order, the methods, the stories, the people, and the nuances that help shape the experience. And, it's had a profound impact on me. I've met Michael Ruhlman. I've met Susie Heller. I've eaten at Per Se. I've met Chef Keller. I've been able to live this most amazing dream, and have my brain and my palate and my fingertips on the keyboard take me places I never even knew I wanted to go. Eating at The French Laundry for the first time was yet another step in that journey. It's not the apex. It's not the zenith. It's not the final chapter. It's not the end. It's an incredibly significant milepost in what has become something so very personal for me, it's really difficult to put into words and do it justice.

You'll see that I italicized the words "for the first time" above, because I do plan to go back again. I don't know when, but I will. There's so much more for me to learn from and experience at The French Laundry, and I look forward to the day when I can turn off Route 29 onto Madison Street again -- my hair a mess from the open car windows, my voice hoarse from singing along with the radio, my lips dry from all the dorktastic and anticipatory grinning, and know that I'm hungry for more, in every sense of the word.

* * * * *

Before I go, MAJOR BIGTIME THANKS to my lovely and dearest friend, Marisa, who documented everything visually, while I tried to focus on the "wow, how the hell am I gonna write about all is?" Many of these photos are hers.

And, speaking of photos.... something pretty special arrived at my house while I was traveling. Wanna see what it is?


Yep. That's the Alinea cookbook. Believe it.



Stay tuned, kids. It's gonna get even more fun up in here.

Up Next: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

Read My Previous Post: Q&A with Carol, Part 3