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Farallon
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Yet Another San Francisco TreatA few months ago, after a San Francisco trip, I reviewed one of my favorite local restaurants. My Webmeister visited the Bay area in early November, and he's asked for space to tout one of his new favorites. So here it is: We were warned, but nothing can quite prepare you. You walk into Farallon from Post Street and suddenly you're under the sea in an octopus' garden in the shade. Light fixtures? That's for ordinary restaurants. Farallon's sea-blue walls and upholstery are lighted by glowing orange pillars and gigantic glowing jellyfish. If you're lucky, and if you've come more for the food than for the see-and-be-seen scene, you will be taken to the back room. The back of the restaurant is, in many respects, almost old-fashioned in decor. Assuming that you don't look up and notice the monster mutant sand dollars that have replace the chandeliers. What's good about the back room is that you will have a view of the open kitchen. If you truly love food, you almost have to love to watch it being prepared by professionals. You won't actually be able to see the counter area, but you will see the controlled chaos of interweaving paths as pans are grabbed from shelves, ingredients are fetched, and, best of all, the open hearth grill (which is powerful enough to cause a noticeable rise in temperature at the tables closest to it. Farallon, named for a small chain of islands not far from San Francisco, is first and foremost a seafood restaurant, but Chef Mark Franz clearly respects the great, classical Escoffier tradition, because foie gras is an honored guest on the menu, and richness is the order of the day. The wine list is broad and deep. Even better, there is a large enough selection of wines by the glass to allow each diner at a table to match an appropriate wine to each of his or her courses. Settling in with a couple of celebratory glasses of Veuve Cliquot Gold Label, we were greeted with the evening's amuse gueule. On a plate in the center of the table were two of the flat bottomed spoons that you might be given with your soup in a Japanese restaurant. In each was a tiny portion of crab mousse in a pool of cucumber consommé, topped with a few pearls of trout caviar. One bite, but a heavenly bite. The menu changes by the day, according to what is good in the market, but one constant seems to be the appetizer called Oysters Farallon. I had to have it. It features six of whatever oysters are best that day, with Farallon's own homemade caviar. I was able to sample some of the sweet Pacific coast oysters that seldom show up in Chicago, and the Farallon people, I can now testify, turn out an estimable caviar. My spouse had a combination of two tartares: a yellowfin tuna and an Alaskan halibut. The tartare was obviously expertly and freshly chopped, and the accompaniments of capers, pine nuts, orange zest and quail eggs were elegantly presented along with the traditional toast points. Noting the size of the portions, we skipped the salads, with regrets that it meant we would not taste the house cured gravlax. Next time for sure. My spouse's entree was a grilled Pacific king salmon, grilled to perfection (within our sight), served with potatoes, leeks and chanterelles with Madeira. Based on my observation of the grill, this was the popular dish of the evening. My entree was one of the high points of my San Francisco trip, and could easily have been subtitled "a study in excess." Start with a bed of foie gras ravioli. Top it with a piece of roasted striped bass. Cover with a thick layer of dungeness crab meat. Put a little bit of braised endive on the side. Soak the whole thing in enough melted butter to cause arterial plaque in the people at the next table. If they shot a remake of The Blue Angel at Farallon, I would gladly play Emil Jannings to that dish's Marlene Dietrich. Desserts were both droll and well done, but the food before them put them in the shade. Farallon is around the corner from a San Francisco breakfast mainstay that serves silver dollar pancakes, and, echoing that, my dessert consisted of silver dollar blini topped with almond ice cream. My spouse's dessert followed the current comfort food trend. A large cup of Valrhona hot chocolate (it was, to quote the protagonist of The Polar Express, as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars) was accompanied by chocolate chip cookies. My friend Spider, dessert hater that she is, will be happy to hear that Farallon is one of the rare restaurants that offers a cheese course, with a choice of no fewer than six options. We failed to get to every place in San Francisco that we wanted to visit, and we will continue on our list next time we get there. But Farallon is one of the places that will rate a return visit.
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