The Conical Glass: Coi

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Coi

When I go out to eat, I have something of a large portion phobia. At home, I'll often make myself a large bowl of pasta, eat half of it, cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and microwave it the next day. I'm never intimidated by big servings of food because the refrigerator is only a few feet away. But dining out, receiving an enormous helping, having the server ask "Are you still working on that?," getting it wrapped up in a to-go box, toting it on BART if we're using public transit... it's a hassle. I love leftovers, but only if I don't need to interact with them to such a degree.

Nobody will ever take home a leftover from Coi, the outrageously upscale restaurant in San Francisco that is the only establishment in the City to receive two Michelin stars. I had been curious about the place for ages, but understandably intimidated by its rather steep price tag (if you only drink water, you can get out of there for around $150 a person including tax and tip; add wine, and the sky's the limit). As with the downstairs restaurant at Chez Panisse, when you dine at Coi, you don't order off a menu -- everyone eats the same thing. Unlike Chez Panisse, where the aesthetic is one of simple elegance, the food at Coi is fussed over to an almost ridiculous extreme. At the Chez, you might get one perfect peach for dessert, the implication being that some expert forager has looked at hundreds of fruits before selecting the one. Coi, on the other hand, seems more in line with the the avant garde molecular gastronomy techniques beloved by many European chefs. In other words, don't go there if you're craving a big juicy steak or slab of salmon, or even the locally-sourced grilled duck breast you may get at Chez Panisse.

Joe was kind enough to indulge my foodie dreams for our ninth anniversary, and so we went to Coi, which is located in an off the beaten path part of North Beach. (It took two months for us to get a reservation -- they don't need to worry about a walk-in clientele.) The dining room is intimate and Zen-serene; there are only about 30 (very comfy) seats. This isn't mass produced food. When I walked past the kitchen, it was filled with chefs hard at work. The staff-to-customer ratio is probably 1:1.

Our server, Sara, was friendly and helpful; on the odd occasions when I venture into a four-star restaurant, I always have a deep-seated fear that I'll be unmasked as the sort of person whose day-to-day dining habits involve choosing between the red or the green curry. She presented us with a menu listing the 11 (!) tiny dishes we would be receiving that evening. First up was a "frozen mandarin sour," which was sort of like the world's fanciest snow cone made with "satsuma ice, kumquat, and angostura bitters." It was very tart and refreshing and fruity-tasting. Then we were served the dish we were both nervous about, Oysters Under Glass. Neither of us had ever eaten an oyster before. It was actually Oyster (singular) Under Glass. I figured I could eat one oyster. It was OK -- it tasted sort of briny. The presentation was quite beautiful, though. You can see a photo here if you scroll down to 3b.

After that, we received a series of fabulous dishes -- we both picked the same favorite, Monterey Bay Abalone Grilled on the Plancha. These abalone are sustainably farmed, and the grilled flavor was incredible. They were served with a puntarelle shellfish vinaigrette (puntarelle is a variety of chicory -- see how much you can learn by eating at expensive restaurants!). Joe isn't a seafood fan, so the fact that he loved the abalone indicates how good it was. We also loved the smoky-tasting young carrots roasted in hay, which are pictured here, and the sunchoke-buttermilk soup, which had perhaps the most interesting presentation of the night. Two servers came out, and one set down a bowl with a chilled disc in the bottom. Then another server poured a hot soup, containing the exact same ingredients as were in the disc, into the bowl. The mix of flavors, textures and temperatures was exquisite.

There were a couple of desserts, the first more savory than the other: steamed kabocha squash cake with a garam masala ice cream, and then a bitter chocolate tart with a fluffy souffle-like top. We both agreed that the squash cake, which sounded sort of bizarre when we read the description on the menu, was the clear winner. It was soft and spicy-tasting, with bits of apple and pomegranate, a perfect winter dish. At the end of the meal, as if 11 courses weren't enough, we received some tiny homemade "Oreos" with a yummy, grainy cocoa flavor.

The meal is well-paced -- we were there for about two hours and 45 minutes -- and we were both very satisfied with the experience. Coi is not for everyday; it's the ultimate special-occasion restaurant. Now the only question is if we can top it for our 10th anniversary next year. Hmm, I wonder if I can finally score a reservation at the French Laundry...

posted by 125records @ 10:48 PM

1 Comments:

At 12:29 PM, Jeff said…

Sounds like a divine meal. Thanks for the write-up--nice to dine vicariously.