René
Redzepi,
Alain Passard, Mauro Colagreco…this may appear to be a
shortlist of world’s most exciting chefs, but their names also
comprise a checklist of those who have recently made their way
across the world, from Europe to little Los Gatos, to cook at
one specific restaurant – David Kinch’s Manresa.
Kinch first hit the
national headlines in the summer of 2004, when at the behest of
Eric Ripert, he prepared a meal at Le Bernadin for a group of
journalists. Ripert had just eaten at the chef’s then
newly-opened restaurant and was
amazed: ‘that guy is seriously talented. I was like, Son of
a *****! He has an incredible, obsessive knowledge of his
products and the rare talent to elevate ingredients to their
best.’ The assembled guests were stunned and delighted by what
he had cooked with the local produce that he had brought with
him all the way from the Bay Area.
Since then, inspired by
Passard’s biodynamic gardens, Kinch has followed in his
footsteps, establishing a partnership with farmer Cynthia
Sandberg to create their own potager to produce
Manresa’s produce. This search for superior ingredients, in
combination with his creativity and talent as a chef, has won
him loyal and growing admiration locally and globally. In 2007,
he was invited to speak at Pamplona’s I Congresso ‘Vive las
Verduras’ and then at the Festival International de la
Gastronomie de Mougins the year after. He is currently
recognised as a chef on the forefront of gastronomy.
Born in Pennsylvania,
David Kinch’s first foodie memories are of his
grandmother – ‘my big German grandmother’ – who would regularly
cook, for tens of guests at a time, her traditional Teutonic
recipes. However his family’s business being oil, he had to move
around when young, before finally settling in New Orleans. At
just fifteen, whilst at high school, he began bussing tables at
Commander’s Palace where he
became ‘mesmerised by the chefs. They were like pirates –
treating people insolently and working over open flames…they had
a free spirit, they were creative – I found myself drawn more
and more to the kitchen.’ And that is where he moved to, making
salads under local legend Paul Prudhomme; ‘from the first day, I
knew I loved it and I didn’t ever want to leave it.’ Although it
was not until a couple of years later when one of his best
friends, a trumpet prodigy playing in the city’s philharmonic at
fourteen, set off touring the entire country, that his eyes were
opened to his own opportunities and he enrolled at Johnson &
Wales Culinary Academy in Providence.
In 1982, having
graduated with honours, he took a position as sous chef
at the Hotel Parker Meridian in New York City, then as executive
chef at La Petite Ferme. Fuelled by a thirst to travel and to
learn, Kinch arranged a stage in France with La Petite
Ferme’s owner’s brother, Marc Chevillot at the Hôtel de la Poste
in Beune. France was the benchmark and Burgundy was where he
wanted to be, both for the cuisine and also for another passion
of his, wine. With the money he earned, he ate at the region’s
top restaurants and it was on Bastille Day in 1984 that he had a
meal that changed his life. ‘I remember it to this day. It made
me go back to my room and cry. It made me realise that I didn’t
know anything. It was so fabulous, so simple, so sublime. It was
what food should be all about.’ It
was
a roast pigeon with fresh peas and braised lettuce at
Alain Chapel in Mionnay. ‘What this guy could do with a handful
of peas and some lettuce and how the purity of the flavours
could be maintained and yet come together, was something I had
never learned…I had completely missed the point of what makes
great food.’
Soon afterwards, he
returned to New York and joined Barry Wine’s Quilted Giraffe –
one of the hottest spots in the city and noted for its
brilliant/bizarre creativity. What he had uncovered at Chapel
was reinforced and a curiosity and confidence were also
instilled within him that remain driving forces even today.
Whilst Kinch considers Wine his mentor, Wine thinks him ‘a very
good student,’ asserting that ‘he understands food. He has great
respect for food and flavours.’ Here as well he found a dish
that impacted him greatly: Wine’s salmon glazed with mustard
powder, sugar and water – ‘it couldn’t be simpler, but it wakes
up every element on your tongue.’
Every summer, when the
Giraffe closed for a month he would head to Spain. Not yet the
home of all things molecular, he fell in love with the place,
even running with the bulls in Pamplona for five years straight.
His yearning for learning though led him instead to Japan where
in 1989 he acted as consultant chef to Hotel Clio Court,
Fukuoka. A year on and he had moved to Silks at the Mandarin
Oriental in San Francisco. This was prior to a two-year tour of
Europe that entailed stages at Schweizer Stuben (2*) in
Wertheim, Germany; then l’Espérance (3*) in St.
Père-sous-Vézeley under Marc Meneau; a summer doing cellar work
in a small domaine in Sancerre; and finally and most
influentially, six months at Akelare (2*) in San Sebastian. In
1993, Kinch returned to San Francisco as executive chef of
Ernie’s, a local landmark, but two years later left to start his
own venture, Sent Sovi in Saratoga, which opened the day after
Bastille Day, 1995 – ‘a neighbourhood restaurant that’s
overachieving. That’s our model.’ Soon his cooking was
attracting attention, but he felt confined by the size of
restaurant and especially its kitchen with only a single oven
and two electric broilers. He needed more space.
After much searching
around the Bay Area, Kinch found what he was looking for just
seven miles away in small, sleepy Los Gatos, a town in the Santa
Clara hills sustained by the riches of nearby Silicon Valley. On
a downtown side street, he bought a 1940s single story
ranch-house once known as the Village House, formerly a tearoom,
but by then long-empty, and hired architect Jim Zack and
kitchen-designer Mark Stech-Novak (Keller, Ducasse,
Vongerichten) to renovate and modernise it. Wine later said that
Kinch had ‘worked and walked his way around the world in order
to prepare himself for the ideal kitchen.’ That ideal kitchen
was a custom-built, seven-hundred-and-fifty foot-squared
laboratory (almost double his previous space). Pride of place
went to a two-and-a-half tonne bespoke Bonnet Cidelcem Maestro
stove from France; it was so big it had to be installed before
the surrounding walls could be completed.
He christened the
restaurant, Manresa. It opened on Bastille Day, 2002.
There are a couple of
reasons why the Santa Clara Valley appealed to Kinch. One is the
beaches. Indeed even if these are irrespective of cooking, they
allow the chef to enjoy daily his (perhaps first) love, surfing
– something which he discovered in his ‘skateboard and surf punk
days’ on the Gulf Coast. ‘I’m a surfer. I wanted a more
integrated life,’ he has said. In fact, it is from one of these
beaches, just south of his home that the name of the restaurant
stems from, itself so named by the early Jesuit immigrants to
California from the same-named Catalan town where the founder of
their order, St. Ignatius of Loyola, took refuge in a cave.
Coincidentally, Sent Sovi was Catalan too, its title taken from
an old cookery book – Libre de Sent Sovi – (maybe)
meaning ‘sweet taste’ and celebrated throughout the courts of
Europe in the fourteenth century.
Kinch
believes
that ‘there are two characteristics that enable
restaurants to transcend the ordinary. First is that someone has
a vision…the other is a sense of place – the restaurant couldn’t
be anywhere else than where it is.’ He wanted the cooking to
reflect who and where he was and to, like Chapel had, ‘create a
sense of place’. Thus, sandwiched between the mountains and the
ocean (thus bringing to mind the Basque country) and amid some
of the richest farmland in the United States, he quickly fell in
love with the area’s unique and fruitful terroir.
Whilst in Saratoga, the chef had his own herb garden and
employed a forager on nearly full-time basis, but after the move
to Manresa, he expanded his local supply lines: he buys from
(and surfs with) the producers at the much-loved Dirty Girl
Farm; sources his cherries, apricots, peaches and nectarines
from the nearby Novakovich family; and knows well the retired
IBM software developer, Gene Lester, who owns twelve acres
filled with hundreds of rare and exotic citrus to which he lets
friends help themselves.
Each of these suppliers
is important yet secondary. It is actually a two-acre plot in
Ben Lomond, twenty-five miles from Manresa, which shares a
mutually-dependent and mutually-rewarding relationship with the
restaurant. It is called Love Apple Farm and run together with
attorney-turned-farmer, Cynthia Sandberg. Several years ago, it
dawned on Kinch that local chefs were ‘go[ing] to the
farmers’ market and all…buying the same organic leeks and
lettuces. We’re all doing the same thing. I wanted to do
better.’ To him, the natural next step was growing his own.
Originally, he thought about buying a farm, but after tasting
some of Sandberg’s organic tomatoes, he asked her to supply him
exclusively. When it came to negotiations, each had a final
condition, which fortuitously turned out to be the same thing –
to try biodynamics. By November 2005, the pair had made their
first ‘preparation’ of manure-stuffed cow horns to be buried
beneath the soil. By summer 2006, the garden’s crop was on the
restaurant’s menu.
The farm has
flourished, furnishing Manresa with more and more of its needs.
It is on the verge of completing what Kinch describes as ‘a
closed loop’ between guests and garden, farm and fork. Each day,
at their usual Surf City Coffee Company meeting-spot,
Sandberg and the chef exchange what she has harvested that
morning for his leftovers from last night’s dinner. She feeds
the trimmings to her animals, who in turn give her the ‘black
gold’ that improves the soil. He feeds the pickings to grateful
diners. Love Apple is not only a grower of fruit and vegetables
– there are bees making honey, chickens laying eggs and goats,
sheep and pigs too – it is much more than just a supplier.
Manresa’s menu is now decided daily depending on what the
potager has provided – ‘it’s not like placing an order with
a specific produce company – I open the cooler and decide the
menu based on what’s there…the garden is writing the menu.’ It
is also a canny business investment, generating significant cost
savings, and a source of stimulation with the chef claiming
ninety-percent of his ideas transpire while walking through the
farm; ‘it has been my single greatest inspiration in fifteen
years and it’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done.’
David Kinch is a chef’s
chef. ‘I do it because I still like to. I don’t want to work in
hotels. I don’t want three restaurants. I don’t want to do
five-hundred covers a night…None of this interests me. Call me
anti-success…but I just want to cook in my restaurant with my
crew in my beautiful kitchen and make people happy.’ His
collection of 1200 menus, partly hung upon Manresa’s (bathroom)
walls, is evidence that he himself is a lover of good food and
in his spare time, reads French, Spanish and English cookbooks
and travels around the world to learn and try new techniques.
His time out of the kitchen however is limited by his desire to
be at the pass for every service. The first time he left the
restaurant for more than two nights in a row, to visit France,
‘he was constantly on the phone, checking in.’ Behind the stove,
he has a reputation as a serious, intense perfectionist and
showed these colours last March when battling against Bobby Flay
in America’s Iron Chef competition. For the contest’s ‘secret
ingredient’ round, he had readied himself meticulously – ‘I
didn’t go in blind. I tried to narrow it down so when the
ingredient was revealed we had a line of attack’. He had in fact
prepared fifteen lines of attack. The mystery item was cabbage.
He won.
Two weeks later,
Aaron and I arrived at Kinch’s lemony-mustard yellow
rambler. Set within a small garden and nicely nestled in lush
native fauna, it is not easy to recognise the building as a
restaurant. There is a madest, wavy sign of rusted metal buried
in a bed of red flowers that spells Manresa in funky type, but
even this is nearly hidden by citrus trees lining the fence in
front. A thin tiled column of red carpets the path to the large,
reflective front door. Once within, a corridor leads to the
dining area; there is a rippled glass window on the right
through which one can spy the chefs in the kitchen, dressed in
white and sleeves rolled up, surrounding the stainless steel
stove that boasts four ovens, a continuous flat cooking surface
and two salamanders.
Inside, the theme is
rustic Hispanic and accentuated with its warm, characteristic
tones of yellow, brown and red, the classic colour of the
Iberian kitchen. The dining area, seating nearly seventy, is
bound by slate-grey smooth stucco walls and a cracked cement
floor that has been fashioned to resemble natural tiles. The
ceiling is composed of wooden beams supported by a single steel
bar. Tables are nicely spaced with two to each of the Colonial
Spanish rugs that litter the ground in an assortment of
miss-matched shades. It is spacious and bright with windows
stretching wall-to-wall; lighting is from bulb-like hanging
lanterns. The room is separated into two by a varnished oak
partition that doubles as a wine cabinet. The larger, principal
space is occupied by four central tables with several more
lining the low-lying grey banquettes that border on two sides.
They are dressed in thick white linen and are set with crystal
stemware, Villeroy & Boch crockery and miniature enamel beehive
candleholders. In the middle, there is a free-standing, sturdy
chest laid with ornamental glass flasks, corn potpourri and
large red ceramic vase filled with seasonal bouquet –
Sansevieria Black Coral today. Upon the walls, crushed silk
curtains are coloured gold and various vibrant, geometric art
pieces hang. A curved, creamy border behind the entrance
conceals the bar and kitchen. The second room, which can be used
for private functions, is narrow and long. Large patio doors,
fringed with sangria shantung drapes, open onto the garden
behind. The showpiece is a corner fireplace, covered in tiny
mosaic tiles of sapphire blue hemmed with hues of olive green
and comprising a mantle bearing the restaurant’s name and
fire-pit filled with candles.
First, to quench our
thirst…
Aperitif:
Champagne Diebolt-Vallois à Cramant, 1996. This lingering
yet light blanc de blancs, with its distinctly
delicate, faintly fruity scent of chardonnay, was an unintended
nod to the spring season.
Amuse Bouche 1:
Petit fours “red pepper-black olive”. Manresa’s
signature amuses bouche – black olive madeleine
and red pepper paté de fruit – were served on a thick,
rustic rough slate slab. The former, memorably and forever
famous for its semblance to ‘la valve rainurée d’une
coquille de Saint-Jacques’, is also with the sugar-dusted
jelly, a compliment to Pedro Subijana, who has a similar habit
of offering savouries disguised as sweets – polvorons
of artichoke; black pudding that resembles a cinnamon swirl;
even his own ‘madeleines’ that are actually
cocoa-encrusted oysters – before the meal. It is an amusing play
on accepted customs, concurrently comforting those uninitiated
to finer dining, whilst also light heartedly teasing those who
are. The small cake was warm and biscuity with the subtle
sweetness of olive and consistency of cookie dough whilst the
red pepper had latent vegetal sweet heat, tasting strongly of
roasted capsicum, with a gummy, but not sticky, denseness.
Amuse Bouche 2:
Garden beignets, vinegar powder. Two beignets
of purple and green mizuna were sprinkled with a little
vinegar powder. The well-fried, greaseless samples were fluffy
and soft with a leafy crunch and mild peppery piquancy; the
vinegar atop added salty tanginess.
Amuse Bouche 3:
Mustard granité with carrot. A bright blanket
of carrot foam covered granité of mustard interspersed
with red leaf mustard flowers and leaves. The sweet carrot was
nicely contrasted by the icy condiment whose own warmth of
flavour coupled with its confusingly cold temperature toyed with
one’s expectations. The tender greens added excellent texture
and amplified the pungency already present.
Amuse Bouche 4:
Seaweed grissini, homemade lardo. Unfortunately, I was
unable to try this…
Amuse Bouche 5:
Strawberry gazpacho, almond oil. A brunoise of
onion, garlic, cucumber, capsicum, tarragon and strawberry sat
in a bowl with amaranth shoots and Marcona almond halves; at the
table, a consommé of the same components, along with
almond oil and chive, was poured in. The mind games had
recommenced with what seemed on sight a stereotypical
gazpacho of tomato, but smelled and tasted of summer berry;
Kinch, believing in the innate analogy betwixt the two,
abandoned the former (often mistaken as the fundamental
ingredient for this Andalucian soup), in favour of fresh
strawberry. It was the deft accord between the fruit and alliums
that stood out here; the savours were each clear and precise yet
in total harmony. The cucumber, pepper and onion offered
succulent crispness; tarragon and amaranth, a little sweetness;
whilst Marcona almonds added Spanish crunch and the oil, subtle
toasted nuttiness.
Amuse Bouche 6:
Arpège farm egg. Controversially inspired by
Alain Passard’s trademark amuse, oeuf à la
coque; quatre épices, a carefully decollated egg, from
Manresa’s own farm, was warmed in a water bath, but the yolk not
allowed the set. On removal, it was sprinkled with chives,
filled with crème fraîche and spiked with Tahitian
vanilla and sherry vinegar before being topped off with
fleur de sel and some maple syrup. The first smoky-sweet
taste was of this, but it was quickly countered by the subtly
tart cream beneath. Delving deeper down and wounding the yolk,
the vivid yellow that bled out was brilliantly rich and tasty.
However, although the chives helped a little, a little more
vinegar would have helped better to cut through the heavy yolk
and compete with the sweeter vanilla.
A comparison between
this and the original is inevitable: from my experience, the
actual egg at Manresa is of far superior quality, but
l’Arpège’s oeuf has a finer balance.
Le Pain:
Pain au levain, Pim’s butter. This single choice of
sourdough proved the old adage, ‘quality over quantity’. Thick
with faintly tangy crust and fluffy, soft open crumb, the
excellent homemade bread was accompanied with excellent homemade
butter. Made by
Pim with the milk from a Normande cow she co-owns with the
owners of Deep Roots Ranch in nearby Watsonville – for the
record, Nutmeg is her name – the hand-churned vibrant beurre
was smooth, complex and rather French in character.
Entrée 1:
Shellfish in crab broth, green strawberries. Two claws of
Dungeness crab, one laid as the yang to the other’s ying, were
layered with overlapping cross-sections of geoduck clam, octopus
and green strawberries, all strewn over with coriander flowers,
fennel fronds, red leaf mustard and chervil, in a shallow crab
broth laced with extra virgin olive oil. Dungeness, a local
speciality, was meaty, delicately sweet and salty while its
stock, quite concentrated, though clean. The clam was firm yet
yielding and octopus, very tender, disappearing on the tongue.
Unripe strawberries from Dirty Girl Farm were a mildly bitter,
barely acidic counterpoint to the sweetness of the shellfish,
with which the fennel and chervil had natural affinity. Mustard
and coriander delivered pepper and citrus.
Entrée 2:
Yuzu and sea salt snow with buckwheat honey, toasted seaweed
with mackerel. Twisted slivers of cured Japanese mackerel,
their silver sapphire skin framing maroon flesh that depreciated
to pink, resting on rosemary oil, were buried beneath yuzu, sea
salt and buckwheat honey infused, icy crystals and chervil
flowers. Marinated with tart sherry vinegar, the mackerel was
intense, but deliciously tempered with the sour, salty-sweet,
citrusy snow that beautifully balanced the oily richness of the
fish. A further hint of lemony-mint was imparted by the aromatic
oil.
Entrée 3:
Asparagus in bonito butter, toasted seeds. Blanched
Julienne laces came entwined with skinny, raw ribbons of
mandolined Sacramento Delta asparagus, sprinkled with
furikake, in a bath of bonito butter. From the
plate, an inviting perfume was immediately perceptible. An
initial taste showed that the sweet, tender vegetable went very
well with the salty, savoury sauce whose umami effect
was enhanced by the nori, katsuobushi and
toasted sesame seeds that the Japanese condiment atop was
composed of; its seedy crunch was an additional benefit. The
deep, beefy flavour of the frothy bonito lingered long
on the tongue.
Entrée 4:
Mar y muntanya; vegetables with caviar. A crisp cabbage
leaf, upon which were set stems of brocollini, was smeared over
with fork-crushed kohlrabi and its sauce, densely dotted with
Iranian Oscietra caviar. The aesthetic was arresting. Dark green
rug and ridges, shrouded with paler paint punctuated with
gleaming feldgrau beads mimicked, at once, both a mountain
landscape (note the undulating aspect assumed by all the
elements) and ocean scene (see the dynamic rhythm of the sauce
and seaweed-esque vegetables). It also simultaneously had the
semblance of something refined – luxurious caviar coupled with
an exotic hybrid of broccoli and kai lan from faraway
China – and something rustic – roots and puy lentil-like pearls.
The savour was just as successful; the briny, silky subtle
caviar, prepared malossol (slightly salted) married
with the gentle sweetness and firmness of the greens; there was
also a nutty note running through the long stems and roe. A
small detail, easily missed, was that this was a clever play on
crucifers, what with cabbage, brocollini and kohlrabi all
belonging to the same family.
Entrée 5:
Into the vegetable garden…Scattered, deep periwinkle blue
borage blossoms, pink-fringed radish flowers and colourful
orange Crystanthemum ones caught the eye from a cluster of
variegated vegetable roots, stems, shoots, seeds, buds and
leaves that satisfied every shade of green across the spectrum;
a trail of heaped crushed chicory and hazelnut suggested an
appropriate starting point on the plate.
Hand-picked just that
morning, having made the short journey to the kitchen never even
seeing the inside of a refrigerator, the produce was as fresh as
possible. Indeed though no longer living, the last vestiges of
life lingered in each legume and leaf – a romantic image maybe –
but they had been assembled to inspire an idea of what first
light at the farm that very morn must have been like: the
greens, of course, represented the plants and the
chicory-hazelnut signified the soil, but there was also a
delightful and appreciated attention to detail with the
intermingling, melting emulsion, made from the vegetables’
cooking juices and designed to act as that dawn’s dew.
Eating was exploring.
As one gathers food onto their fork, one must prod, separate,
push away and uncover with their cutlery. The frothy mist fizzes
and hisses as one digs into the dish, imitating the crackling of
leaves one would hear as they walked around the garden. Each
forkful is a new discovery: the first bite brings peppery baby
rocket, succulent New Zealand spinach and sweet pea shoots
together; the second, piquant glory frisee mustard, cooling
spearmint and tart pansy flowers; a third… Then, beneath the
foliage, there are larger elements hidden, like green onion and
fingerling potato, as well as the bitter dirt and assorted
purées of turnip and carrot that form the cohesive chords
that bind every bite.
Entrée 6:
Abalone in its own bouillon, seaweed persillade. Placed in
the centre of a bright orange pool of its own broth, a whole
Monterey Bay abalone, sautéed in beurre noisette, was
glazed in wakame and sea lettuce persillade
dressed with champagne vinegar. The rusty-coloured mollusc was,
like the octopus before, juicy and yielding; Turks have a term
for cooking such as this, ‘lokum gibi’. It had also
absorbed the flavours of the salty-peppery topping that teamed
nicely with the inherent honeyedness left behind by the brown
butter, whilst the touch of subtly acidic champagne had an
uplifting effect. A small surprise came from the inclusion of a
little xanthum gum in the rich bouillon, which gave it a
viscidity that imitated the texture of the abalone in a very
intriguing and eye-catching way.
Entrée 7:
Atlantic cod with fava beans, cod tripe. An Atlantic cod
kokotxa was coupled with the cod’s tripe in an olive
oil emulsion with fava beans, peas, their shoots and their
flowers. A Basque speciality, kokotxas are actually the
jowl of cod or hake and highly prized. And rightly so – they are
delicate, gelatinous and utterly delicious. The equally unctuous
tripa made this an even more decadent treat. The
sweetness of the greens was a pleasing complement, whilst their
crisp crunch, a very nice contrast. The intense sauce, thickened
with the fat from the fish, had a lovely olive oil finish.
Entrée 8:
Vegetable risotto and spring peas, without rice… Peas and
finely diced parsnip, Swede, turnip and kohlrabi, suffused with
Arborio rice water, were accompanied by trumpet royale and
trompette de la mort mushrooms, sautéed, fried and dried,
in addition to fennel fronds and a mizzle of turnip milk foam.
The root vegetables replicated the texture of rice rather well
whilst some parmesan and the Arborio water supplied pleasing
creaminess and a savoury relish that served as a counterpoint to
their natural sweetness. The foam was a splash of sourness and
the mushrooms varied the consistency, with the royales, meaty,
plump and also nutty, standing out; this nuttiness also helped
bring out similar savours in the vegetables and cheese.
Plat Principal 1:
Suckling kid goat, curds and whey. Mantled with an
emulsion of bubbly alabaster goats’ whey, speckled with its
curds, a braised cut of thigh from a baby goat lay buried. Along
with their appetite, one’s humour and intellect are also fed
here: the whey-curd coverlet concealed the contents beneath,
thus building suspense and presenting the promise of something
secret; its second purpose was to play its parts in the amusing
faux-reformation of the kid – the white whey froth acting as its
fluffy fur whilst the curds, the fat. The whey also worked to
keep the meat moist while the slight salty-sourness of the
soured milk mellowed the mild gaminess of the goat as it,
through juxtaposition, also brought out its inherent, youthful
sweetness. The young kid, raised locally by an English lady no
less, at Harley Farms Goat Dairy in Pescadero, was so tender
that each fleshy fibre separated strand by strand. Incorporating
the goat’s flesh with its own milk was simple yet intuitive and
clever.
Whilst awaiting the
next course, we were showed the slow-roasted saddle of lamb that
would soon follow. Rich mahogany and glimmering, it was
presented with a fresh, green patina of parsley, thyme and
garlic that bore testament to the season. This premium cut,
always apt on special occasions, was evidence of the kitchen’s
butchery expertise.
Plat Principal 2:
Spring lamb, assorted spiced alliums, green garlic panisse.
From platter to plate, Don Watson’s Napa valley spring lamb had
been carved and served with a vibrant quenelle of assorted
alliums, an intact ramp, pair of green garlic panisses
and a confit slice of lamb tongue; ras el hanout
garnished the ingredients. It was from this bespoke blend
of unbeknown herbs and spices from the ‘top of the [chef’s]
shop’ that an exotic, enticing aroma emanated. The milk-fed
lamb’s cerise coloured flesh, thinly coated in almost amber
adipose, was tender – no steak knife was needed – subtle and an
excellent stage for the rich savours of the Moroccan mixture.
The melange of ramp, leek and garlic was pleasantly creamy
whilst the coarse and chubby chickpea-garlic fritters, having
absorbed the meaty jus, were just scrumptious.
This dish was
superficially a fusion of Mediterranean cuisines, namely those
of southern France and northern Africa. Provençal
flavours – garlic, thyme, chickpeas, rosemary, lavender, leeks,
lamb – abounded on the same plate as panisse, the
predominant street food of Marseilles, the most prominent city
of Provence. Ras el hanout, a Maghrebi concoction, was
almost an aberration, but on second consideration, it may have
been an inspired representation of the cosmopolitan melting pot
that this same city is. Marseilles was the main port that linked
France to her Muslim colonies and so now harbours a large number
of immigrants from these lands, who have undoubtedly brought
with them their own cooking cultures, which over time would have
melded with the native one to possibly create recipes very much
like this.
One cannot help but
also wonder whether the inclusion of panisse was some
sort of ambiguous allusion to the restaurant of the same name…
Dessert 1:
Exotic citrus with honey and spices. A covey of various
citric supremes, all sauced in fennel frond-infused
Meyer lemon rind purée and atop Corsican lemon curd,
was covered in granité of oroblanco pomelo
beneath spearmint ice cream and a crown of orange tuile.
The underlying set of segments, supplied by Gene Lester, from
his collection of exotic and unusual citrus in Watsonville, and
which included rare breeds like temple tangor
(tangerine-orange hybrid) and wikiwatangelo (tangerine-pomelo
and grapefruit), were especially juicy with a tart-sweetness
that was amplified by the acidic, sticky lemons and sweet
pomelo ice. The ice cream was fresh and cooling, whilst the
tasty tuile added crunch.
Dessert 2:
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? Bisected
banana, its sliced-open crust caramelised, came with espresso
reduction, pralines, their ice cream, chicory cream and milk
coffee foam; alongside arrived powdered beignets. This
dessert, bringing new meaning to the term home sweet home,
was a curtsy from the chef to the Big Easy and possibly more
precisely Café au Monde, the coffee shop that sits within the
city’s French quarter and is celebrated for its café au lait
and beignets. In addition to these though, the other
flavours for which New Orleans is famous were also here: the
banana (referencing bananas Foster) was rather firm, too firm,
with a hard, brittle top; the pralines, the recipe for which was
brought to the area by Acadian settlers ousted from Canada, whom
replaced traditional almond for local pecan, were nutty-sweet
and crunchy; and the mildly bitter and sharpish chicory, which,
blended with coffee, is a Cajun custom. The beignets
(the official doughnut of said state) were hot, sugary and airy,
dissolving on the lips into a paste; we
begged
demanded
politely asked for more.
Petit Fours:
“Strawberry-chocolate”. Manresa’s signature petit
fours – chocolate madeleine and strawberry
paté de fruit – were served on a thick, rustic rough slate
slab. A reminiscence of the meal’s commencement, these little
treats of thick, warm madeleine with excellent crispy
edge and nicely-flavoured, smooth jelly, informs the diner that
dinner is about to end in the sweetest way possible.
Migniardises 1:
Armagnac and tobacco truffle. Before one leaves, they
are offered homemade chocolate truffles of Armagnac and tobacco.
Thin, crisp coats encased a thick liquid core. From within, the
imbued brandy makes itself known straightaway, coming through
strongly, but it fades and leaves behind a tingly spiciness from
the tobacco.
Migniardises 2:
Salted butter caramels. As a final souvenir, salty
caramels were doled out at the door from a large glass urn.
Slowly melting in the mouth, thick yet not heavy or sticky, they
were perfectly balanced in savour and perhaps the best caramels
I have ever eaten.
Service was superb.
Throughout dinner – and we were the first to arrive and last to
leave – all the staff were welcoming, hospitable and attentive.
Led by Michael Kean, general manager, and Esteban Garibay,
maître d’hôtel, everyone was diligent, efficient and
well-choreographed – maybe not surprisingly so given the years
of experience they each have and Michael’s previous life as a
professional dancer. Both were friendly and endearing, engaging
us with conversation, but also taking the time to visit our
table and ask our thoughts. Our serveur, Bryan, was
particularly impressive, showing great patience, good humour and
meticulous knowledge of the dishes. There was also tremendous
generosity in both spirit and practise, which sincerely made
dinner more of a celebration than simply a meal. The restaurant
had an excellent atmosphere. Everyone wore a smile with people
clearly in a good mood and very relaxed – guests at an adjacent
table even started a dialogue with us. On a warm night, with
good cooking and good company, in a pretty villa on the other
side of the world, it was all rather convincing and very
charming.
The meal began with a
series of small dainties designed to whet the appetite. Kinch
prescribes to same thinking that I do: amuses are a
chance to have fun, experiment, to agitate and tease or, in his
concise words, ‘throw you a curve ball’. There is no necessary
pattern to what ensues, but that is precisely his point, ‘it’s
to make you think, ‘what’s coming next?’ Thus, today we toured
the Continent, from Italy (grissini) to Spain (gazpacho)
to France (l’Arpège egg) with our taste buds enticed
with things sweet, savoury, sour and spicy and our minds amused
and confused.
With the yuzu
and…mackerel dish, dinner moved into another gear. The
flavours here, crystal clear, big and bold, startled and
thrilled. And this was only the first in a string of plates that
provoked, pleased and impressed. The asparagus in bonito
butter possessed layers of fascinating savour and supplied
a strong umami slap. The mar y muntanya was
graceful, refined and full-flavoured whilst testing the
intellect, inducing and seducing one’s imagination.
Straight after that
stimulating course came another maybe even more so – ‘into
the vegetable garden…’ This dish is definitive of David
Kinch’s cuisine and the most obvious manifestation of his
farm-to-fork philosophy. The chef has one rule: if it arrived
from the garden, then it had to be on the plate. Therefore, each
ingredient is both symbolic of Love Apple Farm and a tribute to
it; and thus, it is also always changing, always evolving – so
although the raw materials may not be, the recipe certainly is
alive. The allure of this dish is that it develops day to day,
diner to diner. Initially inspired by Bras’ gargouillou
(except for the dirt, which came courtesy of Redzepi), it was
first a ‘reflection of the garden’, but has since grown into
more, a ‘concept of a sense of place’; no longer a mirror, it is
an edible translation of Manresa’s terroir.
Kinch, like
Daniel Patterson, has often spoken out in opposition to the
proclivity of Bay Area chefs to depend solely on their produce,
without being creative – earning the area a reputation (amongst
East Coasters especially) for producing good shoppers, rather
than good chefs. With this dish, it almost appears as though he
is practising exactly what he preaches against. But not so.
Without doubt built upon a foundation of superior materias
primas, it is the subtle details and nuances that make this
much more than a sum of its parts – much more than a salad. It
is tasty – but Bryan did tell us, ‘what grows together, goes
together’ – yet also interesting, interactive and so emphatic.
Over the years, Kinch has simplified the formula and enriched
the ‘experience’. Initial incarnations included gnocchi
and burrata, but as the garden has grown, these have
been stripped away, leaving only the fruit of the farm’s labour
– it is as if the cooks, having run their fingers through the
bushes, through the soil, have emptied their hands out onto
empty plates…
After these mental
manipulations came arguably the tastiest course of all
– Atlantic cod with fava beans. A mingling of Catalan
and Basque staples, this fatty, unctuous and rare delicacy was
simple and simply beautiful – bright green against bright white.
It was also utterly indulgent.
The cooking, precise
and skilled, was informed by the chef’s comprehensive culinary
experiences and preferences. It was a gastronomic journey that
revealed where Kinch has been and what he has liked. Tonight,
the ambience, scene and the service, all came together with the
food, to deliver an excellent and exciting evening that was
instantly and sincerely memorable.
And there remains more
to be said.
MANRESA
320 Village Lane, Los Gatos, CA 95030
tel: 408 354 4330
info@manresarestaurant.com
www.manresarestaurant.com
© 2009 Food Snob. Used by
permission. All rights reserved.
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