Slacking Off/Great Links

I'm not trying to slack off here, but between the holiday parties and visiting families, Maggie and I haven't had a free Thursday in some time. I have another review or two on tap, but in the mean time I'd like to share some food-related links I've enjoyed recently.

First up, here is an absolutely riveting documentary featuring Anthony Bourdain exploring the El Bulli restaurant near Barcelona. The restaurant, voted by Restaurant Magazine as the #1 restaurant in the world five times, is run by chef Ferran Adria, a pioneer in molecular gastronomy. There isn't much to the video below - Bourdain simply eats a meal at El Bulli and describes the dishes as they arrive. Yet this is seriously compelling. I'm nearly brought to tears by apple caviar.

• Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bg9h5S1VW3w
• Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mS0rttp9EIE

While we're on molecular gastronomy, this gallery of plates from Alinea in Chicago is stunning. Similar to El Bulli, a meal at Alinea consists of dozens of small dishes, each served on a plate/bowl/etc designed by an architect for that particular course. Alinea is the creation of Grant Achatz, who was diagnosed with (of all things) mouth cancer in 2007. Imagine, the greatest chef in the United States got mouth cancer. The New Yorker wrote a fascinating profile of Achatz, focusing on his rise to gastronomic glory and his battle with cancer. I highly recommend reading it.

Finally, I ran across this instructional video from Gourmet Magazine (RIP) detailing the preparation of duck confit. It certainly looks doable at home, but also a bit involved for those of us with day jobs. Also, I don't know where I would get rendered duck fat. I suppose I could always render it myself. Regardless, it's a lot of fun to learn how this great dish is made.

Until next Thursday!

Pearlz (downtown)

Your average twentysomething Charlestonian has consumed Pearlz's (Pearlz'?) food many times, but I hesitate to say many have actually eaten it. Among my peers, Pearlz is best known for their oyster shooters: a raw gulf oyster is shucked and dropped in a shot glass where it hovers, almost prenatally, in a slurry of pepper vodka and cocktail sauce. There's fierce debate over whether to chew the oyster or just swallow it whole, but either way probably doesn't give a fair shake to the kitchen's capabilities.

On a particularly dreary Thursday evening, Maggie and I trudged to Pearlz with our mutual friend Carly who was visiting from New York. We settled in at one of the long communal tables that form a nave through the center of the restaurant. Most days Pearlz is well lit from the bank of windows facing East Bay St, but this particular evening the restaurant was calm and moody, complimenting the dark wood furniture and exposed cement frescoes.

We ordered a dozen Gulf oysters on the half shell. The Gulf oysters are often the cheapest single oysters available, but I think they're often the best. Call me unsophisticated, but to me the most important characteristic of an oyster is size. Frankly, the really big ones freak me out. They're gross. I'm sure someone out there will try to convince me of the merits of such-and-such an oyster, with its superior flavor profile, particular texture, etc, but if it's too big, forget it. The Gulf oysters are delicious, inexpensive, and have the good sense to stop growing when appropriate.

Pearlz' head shucker (I'm not sure if that's the actual title, but he introduced himself as Chief (I'm equally unsure that's his actual name) and couldn't have been nicer) judiciously inspects each oyster, either shucking it and serving immediately onto a bed of ice, or discarding it. Maggie, Carly, and I took them down as fast as Chief could produce them. Just great.

Our food took a little longer than I would have liked to arrive, but was hot and fresh when it did. Maggie's lobster roll was enthusiastically toasted to a slight burn, which I actually liked, and filled with plenty of buttery, mayo-covered lobster salad. I thought I detected a bit of crab meat, but it was difficult to tell. Either way it was decadent and fantastic. My hamburger (yes, I ordered a hamburger) was perhaps slightly undercooked, but tasted perfectly of grill char without loosing its meatiness or flavor. The wildcard dish of the night was Carly's crab pizza. Though it looked enough like a pizza, the flavor profile was something else entirely: salty, tangy, and from the ocean. While not unpleasant, it took some getting used to and wasn't necessarily what any of us expected.

Pearlz is not in the same league as the heavy-hitters of Charleston cuisine, but for the price I'd find it tough to beat their winning combination of fun, upscale atmosphere and fresh, well made food. I'll have a hard time resisting a few appetizers next time I'm there for a drink.

153 East Bay St

Charleston, SC 29401

(843) 577-5755

Flavor Tripping at Caviar & Bananas

Caviar and Bananas is not on the list of restaurants this blog intended to cover, but sometimes opportunity calls and in response you have eat obscure West-African berries. And so we did.

For the uninitiated, "flavor tripping" has been quite the rage in gastronomy circles for the last year or two. A small, red berry, known colloquially as Miracle Fruit (and pedantically as Synsepalum dulcificum), is what the excitement is all about. A chemical in the berry's flesh does something very scientific and undoubtedly complex to the tongue that makes everything taste as though it were mixed with one-too-many packets of Splenda. Flavor tripping popped up on the radar in Charleston some months back with a Guerilla Cuisine event catering to the bizarre effects of the Miracle Fruit. Caviar and Bananas has gamely brought it back to the city for a second go-round.

Settling into our table at C&B, Maggie and I gnoshed away on the flesh of a small, red berry for a minute or so, allowing the juice to coat the inside of the mouth. Most of us trippers at this C&B event were first timers. Anxious glances and hushed questions raced across the tables, each group worrying that they did not apply the berry correctly.

"Should I eat the seeds?"

"Don't eat the seeds!"

"What seeds? There's a pit - should I eat the pit?"

"I think I missed a spot near my molars."

Some more instruction from the staff couldn't have hurt, but a lot of worries proved unfounded as we slugged back shots of balsamic vinegar, mistaking it for Port, and sucked suddenly-sweet lemons to the last drop.

Ignoring the tastes for a moment, the effect itself was difficult to measure. On one hand, sights and smells did not change, so the oeuvre of the lemon was complete as I brought it to my mouth. And though the taste was utterly unlemonlike, it did not seem particularly strange. My mind was clear, my senses functioning, and all was right with the world. I found myself wondering "Might a lemon have always tasted this way? How often do I eat a raw lemon anyway? This berry is hardly doing a thing!".

In this sense, it was a trip of the highest order. My mouth didn't feel funny and there was nothing beside my second-guessable memories to indicate that a fresh lemon ought to taste of anything other than faintly flavored sugar. The unremarkableness of the whole experience tied my brain in a knot.

The highlight of the experience, unquestionably, was a simple goat cheese tart. Consisting of nothing more than pie crust and warm goat cheese, the unaromatic tart blossomed in the mouth into a perfectly balanced bite of cheesecake. Our waiter explained that diet restaurants have sprung up in Japan, serving unsweetened, low calorie food like this to patrons under the influence of the small red berries.

I wish there were more foods to sample at C&B, lord knows they have enough on hand. I've also heard great things about the berry's effects on the flavor of liquor. I'd like try it again, maybe in the comfort of home with a few friends and foods of my choosing. In the end, flavor tripping is and will always remain a gimmick, but that doesn't mean it's not fun.

Bambu

Come with me once again fellow gastronauts, as we journey across the Ravenel to Bambu (sic).

The occasion: A double date with our neighbors before heading off to Boone Hall Fright Nights to get in the Halloween spirit. Also, it's Thursday.

The relatively new (have they even established a Cougar Night yet?) Bambu in Mt. Pleasant is strikingly chic in its strip-mall-esque surroundings. Situated in the Moultrie Plaza shopping center, it shares parking with the likes of Senor Tequila's, Boater's World, and Wild Wings. But Bambu immediately distinguishes itself - a beautifully configured outdoor area houses a cabanalike bar, tasteful rock gardens, and ample seating. Inside is not quite as compelling, but decorative touches like jellyfish lanterns and hand painted wall treatments made me feel well cared-for.

Thanks to the double date we managed to sample a number of appetizers off Bambu's unnecessarily large menu. The Edamame Spinach dip stood out in particular. It arrived piping hot with fried Wonton chips I would have happily eaten dry. Well into our appetizers though, we were still spelunking through the menu trying to decide on main courses.

I'm not sure if it was a function of menu size, but they were out of two types of beer my friend ordered and the main course (lo mein) that I wanted. The waiter did a good job of recommending an alternative (fried rice with beef, rice, and chicken - savory and satisying), but if the menu is regularly this inconsistent I'd like to see Bambu scale back the ambition.

All said and done, the food was on par with other upscale Asian bistros (PF Chang's comes to mind). The sushi was well made and fresh and the service fast. I wish the menu was a bit more prescriptive, but the overall experience was definitely positive. The outdoor area really sets Bambu apart, and I can't think of many other places I would rather sit outdoors and have a drink and appetizers. I imagine I'll be back soon, if not for dinner, then for a nice evening with friends.

The Mustard Seed (Mt Pleasant)

I've heard raves about The Mustard Seed since I moved here two and half years ago. When I shared with friends that I had never been, I generally heard some variation of "YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TO THE MUSTARD SEED??!" Similar to the reaction I have every time Maggie tells me she's never seen the Lord of the Rings movies.

With visions of big portions, fresh ingredients, and fair prices dancing in our heads, we struck out over the Ravenel for an evening at the original Mt. Pleasant location (in the last few years two additional Mustard Seeds have germinated - one on James Island, and another in Summerville).

Fresh, well-seasoned foccacia, warm lighting, comfortable but practical tables and settings - an auspicious start. The menu arrived and, in retrospect, at this point I should have started to worry. Here are three items off the menu, in the order they appear:

- Chicken Enchiladas
- Pad Thai
- Turkey Meatloaf

Really. Normally a baffling grab-bag menu like this would be an immediate red flag (Seriously, re-read those three dishes. I can't get over it!), but TMS's reputation is such that I reacted with only the faintest flicker of neurons, absent-mindedly admiring the chef for his range.

After a middling corn chowder (easily dismissed as well), Maggie's pad-thai arrived along with my (safe-choice!) shrimp & scallop risotto. The pad thai had some kind of odd and overwhelming clam-sauce-meets-lemongrass flavor that knocked out any chance of balance in the dish. The shrimp were overcooked and the bulk of the dish came home in a doggy bag, to linger, uneaten, in the fridge for a few days.

The risotto was better, but not transporting. Sort of upper-middle-class. The scallops were cooked beautifully, to just-past translucent with a nice caramelization. The risotto itself though, was quite bland. To make Risotto you have to stand over a pot, stirring and adding ingredients constantly, for at least an hour. The entire time you're tasting and adding more stock, salt, mushrooms, wine, pepper, herbs, cheese, whatever. The constant attention and slow cook time means it's nearly impossible to make a bland risotto. I have no idea why there was no more flavor than some basic chicken stock. It was fine, but wouldn't have required a great deal more work to make it great.

I think there is something akin to momentum with regard to TMS. Check out this review for an example. How on earth does an undercooked dish and a baffled and rude waitress garner four stars? In fairness there are a huge number of resoundingly positive reviews, but I think in some cases the restaurant's reputation precedes it.

The disparity between what I've heard about The Mustard Seed and what I experienced there is so great that I can't help but think we may have caught it on an off night (I'm falling for its reputation too!). Maybe we'll go back soon and give it another shot. Or maybe not.

La Fourchette

After getting a parking spot directly in front of La Fourchette at 8pm Friday (I have unbelievable luck parking), we had no trouble getting a table and a glass of champagne. (We had reservations, but the place was half empty. Why??) Settling in, I took a look at the menu: all French.

For me, French menus are dangerous. I've heard enough of the French language to have a good grasp on pronunciation, and know how a printed word should sound, but my mouth isn't as familiar as my ear so when I actually try to say anything, it sounds like someone stepped on a frog and I get weird/embarrassed looks from waitresses. As usual though, Maggie is there to bail me out by drilling me in advance and correcting my pronunciation. So, after barely mangling La Salade De Fromages Chauds and Le Steak Frites (Maggie ordered Salmon cooked in parchment paper, the French spelling of which I won't try to reproduce here), we were treated to one of our best meals yet.

"Intimate" is such a cop-out word to describe a restaurant, but in the case of La Fourchette try to take it seriously for a moment, rather than dismissing it as a cliché. The space was unexpectedly small, but ultimately right-sized. The interior, no doubt aided by the age of the old King St. building that contains it, has a tremendous amount of character for a three-year-old restaurant.

The skirt steak was deliciously crusted and presented with a lightly dressed stack of Bibb lettuce. On the menu, the side was described simply as Salade Verte, so the Bibb lettuce was a welcome surprise. The Frites are deep-friend in duck fat, and the warm cheese plate was properly portioned for two with enough variety to feel adventurous, while also pleasing everyone.

Service was fast, friendly, and French. I don't envy the job of the hiring manager - where in Charleston is there a ready supply of amiable, French-speaking women? Most seem to be working at La Fourchette.

It's too bad we have to wait 43 weeks to go back.

Thanks Digitel!

Great mention of the blog over on The Digitel. Thanks! If you don't read The Digitel regularly, you're missing out. It's my go-to for information about Charleston. In addition to their own take on local machinations, they pull in content from the City Paper, The P&C, etc. So you're always up to date.

A new post is coming later. I know I'm overdue.