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.
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.
posted by Bard at 10:13 AM
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