The weight of art.

My experience at CRUSH, Seattle, Washington.

If art can be summarized as a form of personal expression, cooking should be regarded in the same manner as painting. An artist interprets their own thoughts and feelings through physical representations. With the shutter of a camera, the stroke of a brush, the ink of a pen or the movement of a whisk, something has been created. It is from this creation where creativity forms. If a 'blue period' can arise for some or '16 frames-a-second' for others, then why not 'oysters and pearls' as well? A chef creates from knowledge, uses colors as well as canvases, allows evolution of work, and ultimately expresses the major calling from within.

To find a restaurant like Crush is like finding a new gallery that has everyone talking. While the comparable aspects of an actual gallery and Crush's building are many, the food/wall-art similarities are few. Framed art work is a public display, where a plate of food is much more specific. And at Crush, the food tastes as if the chef created it with you (specifically) in mind.

The menu read like a passionate sonnet of delicious decisions. My wants far exceeded my realistic needs of hunger (and stomach capacity), so I decided on allowing the chef to freely compose my meal at his specifics.



The tasting started with Roasted Squash Soup, Raw Scallop, Mint Creme Fraiche, a fine diced mixture of Celery, Gala Apple and Preserved Lemon. This was as expressive as a Monet while being much more refined. A delicate but bright flavored beginning.

I absolutely love octopus. The amazement of the animal aside, it is utterly delicious to eat. After seeing it offered on the menu, I mentioned my cephalopod obsession to my waiter with hopes of the words being passed to the chef. Like a pencil sketch being inked over and colored in, my wishful vision was made a reality.



Grilled Octopus, Pear Pasta (Israeli couscous), Gremolata puree, Paprika Oil, pieces of the garlic flavored Portuguese sausage-Linguiga, and fresh oregano. The octopus was milky, soft and pleasantly chewy. It held a texture that was very comparable to that of the garlic ridden sausage. The couscous was cooked in meat broth, the gremolata was heavy on the parsley and the oil was sweet and faintly smoky. The distinctly Strong flavors tasted authentic and they all were enjoyed in their entirety.



This next course was a fun take on "Surf and Turf". (on the left) Seared scallop, Foie gras, Walla Walla onion risotto, Balsamic figs. (on the right) Roasted cod, Cured Pork Belly, Spinach, fennel confit and Syrah sauce. There was such a level of composition to the two distinctly different dishes, I felt this was museum worthy with its beauty. The scallop was seared heavy on one side (the other being rare), and the foie was a juicy bite of show-stopping quality that-texturally speaking- imitated the raw part of the scallop. The risotto was simple but cooked wonderfully and the fig balsamic combination brought a tart lightness to everything.
The cod was able to stand up to the pork's fat level, but being belly it did get sticky in that 'stuck in the teeth' kind of way. This was a treat more than anything. So many flavors on one plate that really worked in their specific placements, but got a little confusing when accidentally crossed.



Like viewing a Carravaggio for the first time, this dish brought a tear. Crispy Sweetbread, Cauliflower filled ravioli, chanterelle mushrooms and lamb's tongue bathed in lamb demi. Really? All mine? I hardly got to see this dish because my eyes were closed so tightly. The mushrooms and tongue were gamey (a taste I actually prefer in lamb), but so rich and decadent. The sweetbread was crispy and crunchy with a heavy cream likeness on the inside. The pasta was egg-yolk composed and the filling had a surprising addition of truffle oil. I was stunned. I didn't know I was worth anything until that moment. I felt unfaithful to my dedications and lost interest in finding a life partner. After eating this arousing plate of food, I almost thought I knew the meaning of life...

With my eyes glazed and my mouth smirking, I was brought the no-brainer of the evening.



Just one look was enough to know that this was going to be incredible. Braised short rib, Yukon Potato Puree, Buttered baby carrot, Horseradish-Parsley and local black truffle shavings. A short rib could possibly be the thing that brings peace throughout the world. Full beefy flavor and intensely tender, this short rib was a text-box definition of enjoyable.

The carrots held a slight bite with garden fresh sweetness. The potato was smooth and wonderful for soaking up all the dark demi-glace. A simple dish that showed proper technique though time honored preparations. Like a picture in Paris, this would always be remembered.



A warm piece of walnut leaf wrapped Vache de Chalais-French-Cow, Apricot 'marmalade', and flakey crackers. The cheese was a lactic pleasure of savory proportions. Nearly drippy at the edges with a firm but spreadable interior it was very similar to certain robiolas and even Vacherin. It tasted of toasted nuts and sour milk. A luxurious cheese with great beauty that I took a long time in savoring.



Still processing the previous flavors and reflecting on my experience thus far, desert was served. A sheep's milk Cheese Cake, Quince, a thin layer of apple butter, and a little flour-less meringue-style cookie. The cheese cake was lofty in texture and the distinct sweet and tart flavors of sheep's milk really came though. The quince (both cubed and as a syrup) was a bit too sweet but because of the sheep's cheese it was never overwhelming.



As coffee was served, I was already reminiscing of the meal. Biting the caramel filled dark chocolate petit-four, I felt complete. My senses were stimulated, my memories were large and (just like the chocolate sweetness that was filling my mouth) I felt balanced.

When a chef (as an artist) takes pride in the work created, it simply shines on the plate. From squeeze bottle control to natural jus, it is all seen as correct in the eyes of the maker. Unlike a Jackson Pollock, Crush was never confusing. There was an expression to be had for each plate, and just like the faces in the photographs of Bresson, they were all genuine. Art is undefinable but when the restaurant is a gallery, the kitchen a studio and each plate of food a personal portrait, it becomes an influential experience of flavors.

The personal touch.

My experience at MISTRAL, Seattle, Washington.

For a restaurant to not have a printed menu is very risky. The menu is an expression of the chef's talent and wisdom. For the viewing public, a restaurant can be summarized within the appetizers section alone. Some menus come off as uninspiring while others are a bit intimidating in their splendor. Through all the interpreting, a menu should always be a thing of pride on the kitchen's side. It is a place where rare ingredients can be explained through creative combinations. Those who read a well composed menu are then shown a small piece of the mind and personality of a chef. Through the listing of options we gain comfort with choices and calmness with selection. But, there are those few places where decisions aren't allowed. It is not what has been taken away at a menu-less restaurant, but what is given. There is such a strong notion that one is there for the purpose of experiencing food that has been personalized without discrimination. The bold restaurant: MISTRAL conveys this point with complete conviction.



I walked though the door of MISTRAL and knew I was in for something different. The waiter greeted me and seemed happy I was there. WIth assuring eyes he led me though the calm dining room to my table. I was taken before I even sat. I was given time to take in my surroundings and then the waiter explained how dinner would unfold. He informed me of the only options available: Wine by the bottle, 7 courses, 8 courses and flights to accompany. He described the structure of the courses (fish, foie, meat, cheese, dessert) while hinting at the possible proteins (lamb, squab, duck) that were ultimately up to the chef's choice. I smiled and surrendered myself, I was ready to accept all they felt appropriate.

I realized at this moment how excited I felt. Lacking the ability of making any choices filled me with a large amount of anticipation. Chef William Belickis was able to enforce his vision even before any food was served. The sun-set tones of the walls and celling calmed my nerves. The artwork of distant islands set among the horizon of a grand sea was interesting without being distracting. The interior of the restaurant was intentionally subtle in its presentation, the chef didn't want to focus on anything but the food.



It all began with a fragrance of freshness. Sashimi style Fluke, with finely Julianne asian pear, shaved fennel, watercress, pomegranates and incredibly concentrated celery foam. Chef Belickis concern of the textural aspect of each item was well planned. The soft bite of an asian pear, the paper thin delicateness of the fennel, fresh leaves of watercress, dissolving celery foam and the sweet explosion of the pomegranates all worked with the meaty-like-quality of the fluke. Fantastic way to begin the meal.



A soup of brown butter-parsnip-chestnuts, Hake, Pumpkin oil and carrot foam. The foam, again, was brilliant. I couldn't pick out individual flavors of the soup mainly because I felt they were all understood at what they could contribute, and then brought to an equilibrium that was deep and majestic. My waiter told me the fish was seared on one side and them placed (cooked side up) onto the soup to finish. The hake was mellow (seasoned wonderfully) and felt so smooth with the soup. The oil was nutty and distinct and varied from how much was on each spoonful. A bite by bite pleasure.



This dish made me so happy to be alive. Cod, matsutake mushrooms, cauliflower, tarragon, and two drips of a saffron reduction. So much flavor in the mushrooms (I also found numerous leaves of thyme), the cauliflower was calming and rich, and the tarragon was used in just the right amount. The fish was miraculous, big flakes that opened like pages in a book and the saffron was sweet like honey. Amazing, one of most well composed dishes I have ever had.



I love meat that has been cooked sous-vide. (Although I do feel too many kitchens are overusing the technology, but that discussion is for another day). This particular sous-vide assisted squab breast was an "8 hour poached" delicacy. The firm pink flesh surprisingly gave very little 'wild' flavor. The 'provencal' veggies (eggplant, red pepper, sweet onions) were uniform in size and necessary in giving that southern French feel. I found pieces of pancetta hiding throughout the medley that sat atop a small parsley puree. This was the base flavor holding it all together. Drops of orange 'sauce' were sweet and they contrasted with the squab's unique flavor. As heavy as some of the flavors were, this was actually quite refreshing.

I noticed the table next to mine were one course behind me. After my Squab was cleared, and I awaited the next item, they were served all the same components only fish taking place of the bird. This was amazing for me. The chef made dishes on the spot and changed them just as easily. I must say the one waiter on the floor did a phenomenal job of following the chef's lead.



The fifth portion was the 'ever controversial foie-gras' course. I don't know who would not get a smile on their face when being handed a plate of fattened duck liver. This was the good stuff, Hudson Valley foie, the best in America. It was a shame that the only real hiccup in my meal happened during this course. The foie was sliced too thin and while achieving a crunchy crust, they overcooked most of the portion. The center was soft and succulent but the edges were just a bit too harsh. I also found the squash puree to just be good (not great), the quince mixture unmemorable and the passion fruit syrup just got lost among all the activity.



A thinly sliced duck breast glazed in honey with drops of reduced red wine atop market vegetables (carrots, leeks, spinach) and a decadent fingerling potato puree. It seems overindulgent to puree fingerling potatoes but after tasting them in this manner, I will never reach for an Idaho-russet when making mashed 'taters ever again. There was also a middle-eastern spiced streak that brought the unmistakable sweet licorice flavors of sumac and zahtar to the forefront. This dish (just like the squab) utilized heavy flavors with a light accent of sweetness.



The beauty of a cheese plate, from 9 o'clock going clock wise are Idiazabal-Spanish-sheep (the sweetest of the five and my personal favorite), Bucheron-French-goat (All the basic elements of goat's milk from this simple cherve), Brillant Savarin with black truffle-French-Cow (I didn't sense much truffle, but I did think it was smoother than the regular Brillant Savarin), Saint Agur Blue-French-Cow (The flavor was light but distinctly blue. Rich and memorable, I will keep an eye out for this one), Brescianella-Italian-Cow( I was told that this was chosen as a finisher to the progression because it was strong enough to top the blue while also cleaning the palate.) Great selection with simple accompaniments (Apple, dates and very thin pieces of walnut bread).



Intense passionfruit sorbet with orange 'soda'. This little glass washed away the lactic notes leftover from the cheese and got the palate salivating for the big finish.



Coconut soup, coconut noodles, olive oil-chocolate gelato, sesame seed nougat and black Sicilian sea salt. I didn't taste olive oil but the gelato was smoother than normal (even coming from a paco-jet it was different), and actually lighter as well. The salt intensified the chocolate and was balanced from the rich coconut milk. The 'noodles' were firm and unmistakably there, but not very interesting. The sesame seeds would have been great but they got stuck in my teeth are were more annoying they enjoyable. With or without the noodles, this was a great pleasure and a proper way to finish.

This was not a meal, this was an experience. The chef took away the aspect of choosing dinner, instead, he gave moments of tense anticipation and sudden surprise. Each dish was completely personal and unique to that single moment. In this world of obsessive-compulsive-disorders, taking away ones ability to control what they are eating for dinner could ultimately upset some. After making the plunge and realizing that a great level of trust is created when dining in this style, it makes all the regular places of set menus suddenly seem deceitful. MISTRAL is a location that needs to be prepared for. It is a small place with a large concentration on food. My wonderful experience was not without flaws, but they felt justified though the successes of everything else. My server gave a standing applause worthy performance that evening. He was one man that juggled tables, poured wine, opened doors and remembered on-the-second plate changes, and he was dead on. If the chef could, he would talk to everyone on the floor (as a matter of fact, he did). His love is expressed though his work, his passion explodes with every bite, and we are left feeling like a true interaction took place. MISTRAL will always be remembered.

Insult and degrade me, but do it elegantly.

My experience at UNION, Seattle, Washington.

The reservation is key. Many people base their evening on that set list of names. Line cooks mentally prepare how their night will be, managers juggle seating arrangements, waiters expect how much they can drink for the weekends (or not), and people like me can walk in the door with confidence that they WILL be eating.

It feels good brushing past all the chilly cocktails and loose optimism of those who didn't call ahead of time. Getting greeted and seated right away will get you stern looks from the waiting public, but they know the only anger to be had is at their own self. A phone call is all it takes and boy does it feel great thinking ahead. But it almost feels silly when you make the reservation, on a Monday, when there are many of open tables, and its just you dining. A touch excessive, but necessary in order to assure me a pleasant evening. So I thought anyway.

I'm confirmed as a one top, smiled at, and walked to my seat. Just because you can strut through the door with that 'rese' confirmed doesn't mean you get to pick. They saw my situation and placed me accordingly. The lonely table that becomes more of a hassle from the minor complaints it recevies. The seculted seat with the wobbly leg, stuck in the corner like a bad kid in class. They even made me face away from the rest of the house and peer out though the large window into the chilly night of a Monday. I took my seat (forgetting my 'dunce' hat) and had high hopes a touch of sympathy would be taken on my solo seating arrangement.

Things started with the removal of the wine list. My fault completely (not 21). I was ready for that, and ok with it. It was my first meal in the lush growing environment of the Pacific Northwest, I wanted to know what was local. Not much actually. Roughly 40% of the major protein dishes were from the area. Not to say the other ingredients are any less worthy of consumption at an establishment such as this. I just wanted LOCAL items that reflected the paticular area of Washington.

The menu looked very nice. Split into three sections that signified how large of portions to be expected. The appitizers had many raw/lightly cooked fish preparations. The second courses were a bit more innovative with combinations and ingredients, and the entrees came off very unpretentious and simple. A well rounded series of choices.

As I composed my meal, I would turn away from the locals on their way home and peer at all the other guests in the 3/4 filled house ( at 7:15p.m.), while thinking: " Did I reserve a spot in a different part of the restaurant?" The lighting at my table was not the same as the other tables. Orange shades of mellow concentration made my unaffectionate street lamp environment seem bland and neutral. They looked like a series of food under heat lamps, I looked like I was to be eating in an ally.

My choices were made and the wine glass was removed. Completely appropriate for the waiter to make that choice, it would only loom empty for the rest of the evening and slowly detracting from what I COULD have, food. The bread came warm (very nice) on a cold plate with cold butter (not so nice, but knowing that it eases the prep of the waiters for service, it was alright). Chewing away at a decent crust, the first course was served. I was allowed to view and indulge at something that was finally mine.



Dungeness crab salad with avocado, basil oil and mico arugula. I liked this presentation, It looked concentrated on a plate so grand. First bite nearly made me wince from the amount of citrus. The crab was sweet and very rich with the addition of the avocado. Lemon juice was essential to this combination, I felt just too much was added. The dish wasn't ruined, for the basil oil actually tasted like the herb described. This wasn't a 'Bobby-Flay-squeeze-bottle-addition' this was a component that cut the citrus, while bringing the sweet basil perfume to my palate. It was also nice seeing different tones of the same color. All green and pretty, only not enough to kiss (although I did pucker up a great deal through this dish).

Clean plates removed and the waiting game resumed, I was fortunate enough to over hear the conversation of a four top behind me. Older in age, mature like children and palate driven (much hype for the pork belly). They were having a fun evening. Discussions of clothing and being too big for outfits (and yet belly for dinner), complaining of a trucks sudden head lights into their field of vision (and yet I was the one facing into the street), and how their cholesterol was getting way too high (and yet a plate of sweet-breads). I found it humorous until they were suggesting with the house manager the possibility of a second pork belly: to-go. I cringed more at that then from watching the druggies on the street. The manager wanted to validate the request while still respecting the vision of the chef. He told them it would not be the same. The dish would get cold, re-heating could over cook it and they would ultimately be disappointed. I was happy he stood up for the fine work of the kitchen crew, I was also happy to be given a bowl of pasta.



My second choice was guinea hen filled angolotti in a meat broth with roasted cippolini onions and tomatoes. It looked composed of garden delights, smelled like fruity olive oil, rustic but elegant and ultimately satisfying. Pasta dough was everything one would want an egg yolk structured package to taste like. The filling was sweet and distinct. Onions were carmalized and intense with their aromatic sweetness. The broth was VERY rich from the gelatinous joy of baby cow bones. The tomatoes tasted like they were steps away from paste and the parsley garnish actually stood out. If this was just 3 angolotti and half the broth I would have loved it, but being the size it was, my passion faded. A slice of prosciutto is delicious, a big bite from the thigh is disgusting. They gave too much.

Feeling like I smootched someone beautiful for WAY too long, I drank my water and continued to listen to the increasing intensity of the fatty group getting their way. They were going to recieve a take-out bag of pork belly. With out the integrity or the finesse of a warm plated presentation, it felt like a great fight just got lost. Beauty shoved into a box and josseled on the way home, to the fridge it goes, waiting and loosing the dignity it once had. UNION drive-though. Order in.




A beautiful presentation of a single roasted 3-inch thick bone-in pork loin, sauteed fresh chanterelle mushrooms and roman style semolina gnocchi. Simple directions for simple preparations that would make a great finished dish. Too bad none of the cooks read the easy recipe for PROPERLY roasting meat or understanding how LITTLE butter is needed to make something taste rich. There were 2 gnocchi on the plate consisting of A LOT of butter and a touch of semolina. If you breaded a half a stick of butter in semolina and threw it into a deep fryer it would come out fairly close to what was served to me. Just the same if you took a nice thick and lovely piece of pig and tossed it into a roaring oven, then walked away, for a long time. This pork was overdone and most of it remained on the plate next to the uneaten semolina butter. The mushrooms were seasoned wonderfully. Soft and chewy but not woody. The only thing fully consumed.

I felt used. Taken advantage of and abused. My eyes swelled with tears thinking of what dessert was going to be like. I have noticed that the sweet part of a menu is almost ALWAYS a minor concern to a kitchen. If it isn't tasty it is usually uninteresting. I won't spend much time describing my dish for I didn't take much time in eating it.



Chocolate 'terrine'. Simple slice, boring.
Malt ice cream. No malt to be tasted.
Praline crumbs. Crumbs of praline.
-cough-
check please.

Union wasn't exactly the Seattle experience I had in mind. Hoping for a night alone with good food as company. More like a really bad date in a nice dress. Service was standard but uninteresting. A place to celebrate, and to get take out. An attempt at something, but not good food. And certainly not something worth reserving time for.