foodwinesex

Very different kinds of chemistry

Heston Blumenthal, owner and chef of the Fat Duck may be the best-known practitioner of molecular gastronomy today. He examines food at the most granular level and searches for a nexus between seemingly irreconcilable ingredients. (He of the infamous bacon and egg ice cream or the snail porridge.) The combinations sound surprising and to many, off-putting. The revelation is in the tasting. I was fortunate enough to eat in this quaint little reconstructed inn back in February. The restaurant is in the village of Bray (which required a train ride and a cab to eventually get to the door). The interior was pleasant but nothing that might indicate the quality of the dinner and service I was about to enjoy.

The first thing I noticed was that all the service was French and uniformly excellent. Shortly after perusing the menu, our waiter brought us over an Amuse-Bouche which consisted of a whole-grain Pomerol mustard ice cream in a red cabbage gazpacho. I was waiting for the wild pairings to begin and was not disappointed. The temperature of the soup served to tame the edginess of the flavors and the experience was quite unlike anything I've tasted before. Frankly I think the language required to describe this kind of thing needs to be rethought. My next course was the Cauliflower Risotto with Carpaccio of cauliflower and chocolate jelly. I think this was just a bit less successful than the gazpacho but still caused my taste buds to ask what the hell was going on.

I called for the sommelier who was friendly and helpful. I ordered the Venison as my entreé (Saddle of Venison - Celeriac, marron glacé, sauce poivrade, civet of venison with pearl barley and red wine; venison and frankincense tea - yes, that's right - tea) and asked for a pairing. He immediately suggested Jim Barry, The Armagh, Clare Valley 1997. He did the full decanting and let it open. The wine, in a word, was phenomenal. Inky, large, chocolate with long finish. (When I got home I found 2 bottles of the 1996 at the Jug Shop in SF...one signed by Jim Barry himself.) The venison was magnificent...wild but not gamey. The wine supported it quite well (except perhaps the tea). X had the Pot Roast Best End Of Pork with gratin of truffled macaroni (fancy macaroni and cheese with black truffles). The macaroni dish remains one of the best things I've ever eaten - the definition of comfort food. Desert for me was an assortment of local cheeses and for X was the Délice of Chocolate, Chocolate sorbet, cumin caramel. All perfect.

This meal started me on my current ruminations on chemistry. This was the best meal I'd ever eaten. Does a similar phenomenon involving the unexpected nexus occur with humans? Do we just not see it for what it is? We frequently see evidently happy couples and wonder what it is they could have in common or question how nature works in such strange ways. Putting a microscope on the relationship is probably not going to explain the connection but moving it to examine some strange, hidden chemical pairings might render answers to the mysteries I'm feeling these days. Why or how is it that I find a woman's nose to be one of the most important aspects of her appearance? Why is it that I am partial to the type of nose that might be thought to be "imperfect"...you know a nose that you won't find on the wall of a plastic surgeon's office? Why do I find myself drawn to smaller-breasted women (and so few of them believe I actually like them that way)? Brunettes? Why do I find Jewish women appealing on a level I can't explore intellectually (and believe me I've tried)? Why is one type of sexual act more preferable with one woman while another is more obviously enjoyable with another? Might is simply be the way they taste or smell? We traditionally suggest there is something "psychological" in determining taste and predilection. I think it might be more causal. Feel free to let me know what you think and I'll continue seeking answers.

g.

Nopa Number 2 (or why do the Eskimos have so many words for snow and we only have one for "fuck"?)

foodwinesex. Back at Nopa again. It could become a regular Friday thing. I arrived around 7pm and was greeted at the door by plumes of estrogen fanning out onto the street. Chemistry again. The place was packed with women and they skewed a bit older. Nice. I stood behind the bar-diners waiting for an opening. Couples got up and other couples took their place. I couldn't see my way to breaking up a perfectly good pairing so I stood with a very dry Belvedere martini and heard "Hi G". I turned around and NR and his beautiful wife MR (amazing smile and eyes) stood there grinning at my surprise. They live in the area and noticed me through the window as they were walking by. In quick succession they ordered glasses of wine, a seat opened and I grabbed it, we chatted a bit, they took off for dinner at another place nearby (I have to ask about it...they have great taste) and I got down to the business of ordering dinner.

I hadn't eaten all day and felt it. I went with the Baked Goat Cheese, Crostini, Frisee and Pickled Beets as the appetizer. This has got to be one of the best openers in the city. It all works together. The sweetness of the beets offers the perfect counter to the pungency of the goat cheese. The crostini supplies the right counter texture to the soft cheese and beets. Can't recommend highly enough. I ordered a glass of the Roessler Red Label Pinot Noir. Good but only good. (Ordering by the glass really doesn't offer enough of a sample to go into deeper descriptions so I'll hold this to bottles only.) I narrowed the main course between the lamb and the pork chop. My waiter (who I believe I remember seeing at Chez Nous) steered me to the pork chop. The pork turned out to be just good...nothing great. It was just a tiny bit dry and the cut was thin...nothing like the chop at Town Hall. It may have been prepared in the Korean style (marinated in 7-up). Desert was a selection of berry sorbets which was excellent.

Throughout dinner I pondered the role chemistry plays in our relationships and the meaning of "fucking". My time with B has been based almost solely on chemistry (she likes Celine Dion for god's sake). A lover's appearance changes quickly depending on chemistry. We've all been with somebody and our subjective opinion of their appearance changes forever after spending a short time with them. Chemistry plays or maybe I should say chemistry is the magic in sex. B and I got there quickly and with abandon. Every inhibition was shed from the first and in our dizziness we went everywhere. Between rounds I heard "European men don't do that" and so we did it again. Eyes rolled back into her head, mouth barely open, whispering slowly - semiconscious mantra in a tiny french voice - "I love it". This is one description of "fucking".

The fact is, we have little else in common. Two weeks earlier I met MaryAnn. Very attractive...medium height, dark brown hair, great smile, nice figure. We had a drink at the bar and then dinner at Ristorante Capellini (don't get me started) in San Mateo. After dinner I walked her to her car. There was a lot of kissing, groping, etc. but no chemistry. Her car door shut, my heels hit the pavement and despite the fact that another date could have had us flying across her room like the Flying Walendas I had no interest. No chemistry. Could have easily "fucked" her but it would have been a totally different experience than what I had with B.

It's obvious that there are different types of "fucking" but we don't have a language rich enough to describe the nuances. We have synonyms but the language goes broad rather than deep. Eskimos have hundreds of words for "snow". It seems that our contemporary culture is as based in sex as the Eskimo's culture is based in snow and ice. Why is our language so lacking?

g.

Vive la France

foodwinesex. It's really about our senses...all of them. Last Friday I found myself sitting at the bar at Nopa having a very dry Hangar One martini and obsessing about, of all things, the taste of a woman's skin. The woman in particular was B.

I met B online. We agreed to have lunch in Palo Alto at Zibibbo on the previous Sunday afternoon. Lunch was fine, although I don't remember much about the food. Conversation was nice and B's French accent (she's lived here for many years but she will always be French) was sexy as hell. She invited me back to her place for coffee and we sat in the sun on her patio enjoying the espresso. What happened next knocked me out for a while. She kissed me and I tasted the espresso. I tasted the trail of a cigarette she had just finished (the first time I'd kissed a woman who smoked since I was a teenager and just the memories set off there are enough to write about). What I really tasted was B and it was mixed with the smell of her skin and the texture of her tongue and lips. Combined with the sun it was all enough to make a lasting impression. That is what I reflected on sitting on a barstool at Nopa.

Well, how was Nopa? In a word, terrific. I had heard about it from my friend NR a few months ago and then saw Bauer's review in the 6/25 issue of the Chronicle Magazine. The bar was busy but I had a stool within a few minutes. The cocktails are good and so was the crowd. It seems like the area was starved for a high quality joint for dinner and now the neighborhood shows up for dinner. Fun stuff. I ate alone and so only had one entree. (I'll be returning soon with friends to get a better sampling.) I had the rotisserie chicken and it was delicious. Tender with the right amount of crispness and saltiness to the skin. (They brine the birds before cooking on their J and R rotisserie.) A number of waiting diners approached me at the bar and asked how I liked what I was having. Seemed like there were a lot of first timers there that evening...there were a lot of women and all seemed to be enjoying themselves whether they were at the communal table adjacent to the bar, at the bar or waiting to be seated. Can't wait to get back.

Can't wait to get back to B either.

g