Fresheast : Be Kind to Yourself

Although I adore Chinese food, I'm quite wary of going to Chinese restaurants *Note: in America*. Partly because my parents dragged me along to way too many as a kid and I feel as though I've fill my lifetime quota. But mostly, I'm not too fond of the queasiness I am left with after a meal. The copious amount of oil and MSG within each dish just wreaks havoc to my stomach. 

So, when Ravine, the owner of Fresheast, invited me for a meal at his newly opened restaurant, I was cautious. 

But I did some research and learned that Fresheast wasn't a Chinese restaurant, but rather an eatery dedicated to sustainable ingredients and showcased flavors from Asia. Interesting.

I called up my friend and off we went to explore Fresheast. Tucked away in an unsuspecting plaza with Pavilions and a Chase bank in Weho, the restaurant is easily overlooked with the exception of day-glo green vinyl patterning on their windows.

The interior houses an eclectic mix of modern furnishings and traditional decorations tied together by the theme of sustainability. There were recycled chairs made out of coke bottles, reclaimed wood floors, Japanese wood screens and vintage bird cages—interior-wise, they certainly do as they preach.

However, we're there for the food so we ordered a few of their offerings. The menu was easily navigable with your choice of protein and sides as well as a few specialties (a burger even!).

For drinks, we tried the melonade, a refreshing blend of watermelon, lemon and palm sugar, which can be liken to a milder aqua fresca, and the Fresheast juice. The latter was the standout star, which startles at first with beets and kale, but then finishes on a sweet note with orange and apple. 

The Shanghai beef with brown rice and stir fried veggies came out first. The flavors was spot on for the beef, but the Harris Ranch grass fed beef unfortunately didn't have enough fat so it was too tough for my taste. I quickly abandoned it for the veggies, as they were crisp and had a kick coming from an abundance of grated ginger.

The grilled miso jidori chicken was my favorite. Perfectly grilled and lacquered with a no-too sweet miso glaze, it was a great pair with the quinoa. My friend and I fought over for the last piece! 

By then, we were both full, but we couldn't resist ordering their sorbet of the day: comice pear. Unbelievably creamy, yet made without dairy (impossible!!) and full of pear goodness, it was a great end to a tasty meal.

Best part? As we walked out, I was not overcome with the urge to go to the ladies room or the need to sit through a food coma. Rather, I felt uncharacteristically good and filled with energy. Even though we were off to watch Tangled, I was ready to run or lift something. Crazy huh? 

On that basis alone, I'll be back to Fresheast. I mean, of course it's a noble cause to support their goals of being sustainable and socially responsible—even their plates were made of recycled palm leaves. But it's rare to find a restaurant that's able to produce healthy dishes that actually taste good as well. Kudos!

Happy Birthday, Sona!

I may be a designer by trade, but I am first and foremost a foodie. It's unclear when exactly I became one, but if you ask my parents, they would say around the time my first tooth sprang up.

The search for the next great meal often leads me to some outrageous stunts, but last year takes the cake: I took the summer to work at at Sona.

Yep, you heard right. A brand new college graduate who wanted to travel to France for a grand food tour, but alas with student loan payments looming over like a storm cloud, the trip will have to wait. Instead, I did the next best thing—I wrote to Sona. And as fate would have it, Pastry Chef Ramon was in need of a prep assistant.

You may think this is the sort of story where I dropped everything to become the next Daniel Boulud, but it was not the case. I realized I loved cooking as a hobby, not as a career, so I went back to design. However, I'll never forget my pastry-filled summer in Sona. They taught me much about fine dining, cooking under extreme conditions and most of all, help me gain a better understanding of the work it takes to create an extraordinary dining experience.

I've had the privilege and pleasure to dine at Sona on four different occasions within this past year after my brief culinary stint. Each visit there was an out-of-the-world experience, epic to say the very least.

One of the major contributors is the duration of the dinner itself. While most meals usually run for an hour to two, a meal at Sona easily will double the amount. It's largely due to the pacing and the sheer number of dishes they present. I've tried the 3-course dessert tasting, 6 and 9-course dinner tasting menus, yet in the end, they all average upwards of three to four hours.

Next is the space.  The dining room is housed in a muted palette of whites and concrete grays, with the main vocal point a seasonal flora arrangement in the center that sits atop a large slab of rough marble. It feels almost somber if not for the warm glow cast from tiny tea lights found on each table.

Admittedly, I thought the dining room was rather cold during my first visit. That is, until I was presented with the amuse bouche. I believe the reason for the immaculate interior space is to allow the food shine, rather than compete with it. The space is like the pristine walls found in art galleries—when the plates are laid out, the food itself becomes the decor, a progression of edible sculptures that effortlessly draw you in with their form.

Now, there are countless restaurants that serve beautiful, yet mediocre food, but Sona is not one of them. Not only is their food aesthetically arresting, their play of flavors and textures are both innovative and has the uncanny ability to transport you to a different place. It's difficult to describe the experience, as it's not of the comfort food variety that reminds you of your childhood. Rather, it's more about exploring new territories in flavor profiles, yet a sense of familiarity remains.

I've thought about explaining every single dish I've had at Sona since they were all memorable. But in an attempt to avoid being long-winded (which I'm failing already), I'll restrain myself to my absolute favorite dishes:

1. Hamachi with burrata, cantaloup gazpacho and basil oil. Normally, I dislike raw fish with a passion, but this changed my view. The buttery hamachi was a dream when paired with the creamy cheese. And the slightly sweet melon soup, like a complementary color, took it to the next level by providing contrast and freshness.

2. Torchon of foie gras with black pepper candy, blood orange and arugula. Black pepper brittle was torched on top of chilled foie gras medallions so the melted sugar  becomes the sauce. The bitter arugula and blood orange slices kept the dish from being one noted.

3. Salmon with strawberry jam and candied clementine peel. A perfectly seared fillet of fatty salmon was tempered by stewed strawberries and slightly astringent citrus peel. Wonderful.

4. Red wine cranberry bread and Earl Grey tea roll. The names say it all. Notice how the butter have a sprinkling fleur de sel and freshly cracked pepper—it's all in the details.

5. Shaved foie gras with buckwheat noodles and shiso. A masterpiece by Chef Kuni-san (Chef de Cuisine), the normally heavy foie is perfectly balanced by a fresh shiso salad and buckwheat noodles seasoned traditionally with sweet mirin and soy.

6. Lobster risotto with kaffir lime leaf. A decadent risotto made with mascarpone cheese and topped with lobster.

7. Deconstructed Cosmopolitan. An exercise in molecular gastronomy, an orb of tart cranberry juice floats in a pool of rhubarb juice with vodka jello, and cilantro oil. When you pierce the orb, the different components mix together to form a delicious "Cosmo."

8. Carrots x 3 (I forgot the actual name). A dessert made entirely out of root vegetables—a moist carrot baked pudding with carrot sorbet and fried carrot chip with a beet and tapioca compote. If moms all over the world can make this, every kid would have a balanced diet.

9. Margarita, deconstructed. Another alcohol inspired palate cleanser—lime sorbet paired with orange pop rocks, candied lemon peel, tequila gel and micro mint.

10. Chocolate panna cotta with orange vanilla "yolk" and squid ink ice cream. An experience within itself—the squid ink ice cream tasted like a  briny caramel.

11. Ivoire chocolate pudding with coffee gelee, bacon powder and foie gras ice cream. Everything I ever wanted in a dish together. What's not to love?

12. Manjari chocolate creme with tobacco ice cream and Hoji cha gel. Another experience. For those who are curious, no, the ice cream did not taste like cigarettes. Instead, it had a subtle herbal taste and a stinging sensation when eaten. The tea gel was a good match for the milky mousse.

13. Stewed Bing cherries, shiso ice cream, Indonesian Pepper Espuma, raspberry tuile, buckwheat ice cream and shiso glass. Spicy, sweet, and fresh.

14. Penicillin. Ok, this is actually a cocktail, but a must-try for ginger lovers.

This month marks Sona's 7th year anniversary, marked by magnificent cuisine and gracious service—a definite full package. Under the guidance of Chef David Myers, Kuni-san, and Ramon, I wish them many more years of excellence.

Sona

401 N La Cienega Blvd

West Hollywood, CA 90048

310.659.7708

RH: Just Like New Glasses

For everyone who wears glasses: remember the first pair you ever got? After months (or in my case, over a year) of blurriness and haze, the moment that you put on your first pair of glasses might almost be classified as magical—at least it was for me.

After struggling with myopia for over a year in fourth grade, partially due to not knowing any better, but mostly because I didn't want to be uncool ("four-eyes" was the insult du jour in school), I finally got the nerve to ask my parents to take me to see the optometrist.

Fast-forwarding all the boring bits, let me tell you the moment the optometrist opened the case and presented me with my new gold and lavender rimmed pair of glasses, my hand shook. I was entering the ranks of the "four-eyes," but, holy moly, did the world look amazingly sharp. I saw the texture in the carpet, the sound-proof holes in the ceiling and the crater-sized pores sprinkled over my optometrist's face (yes, I still remember to this day). It was exciting to see the world in a fresh new way.

My lunch at RH was a similar experience. Like glasses, I was avoiding RH because it was located within the Andaz Hotel (normally a tell-tale sign for boring, $ food at $$$ price). I was highly skeptical of the caliber of the kitchen, but, they had included duck confit and rum baba in their dineLA menu, both of which are some of my favorite foods, so off I went with my friend.

When we arrived, the host graciously seated us next to the kitchen, which was simply a work of art. There were no walls, just a wide marble counter and a cooking range that can comfortably fit 4 chefs and a garde manger station. Beyond the range was a floor-to-ceiling glass walk-in where the fresh foods were displayed like jewels.

They first started us off with a small loaf of sour-dough baguette—warm and crusty from the oven. The butter was also presented at the optimal temperature for spreadability and sprinkled with fresh ground pepper. My only critique was the butter could have used a grinding of salt as well, but that's splitting hairs.

Next came the Prince Edward Island mussels, baked in a cast-iron plate with a sauvignon blanc cream sauce and bread crumbs. A balanced delight of briny mollusks tempered by the cream and crispy crumb topping.

As for my friend, he chose the shrimp ceviche, which was a solid combination of lime-cooked shrimps, and garden fresh vegetables—perfect for a summer day.

For the main attraction, both of us ordered the Petaluma duck confit, and it was stunning. Normally, hotel restaurants try to over-complicate food by adding foams, purees and other showmanship tricks to compensate for their prices, yet failing in capturing the true essence of the ingredients, but not so at RH. They provided a crystal clear flavor profile with a simply well-seasoned, well-confit duck  leg with expertly crisped skin. The duck was then paired with a tasty mix of oven-roasted red potatoes, spring onions, earthy shitake mushrooms and caramelized shallots atop a light pan sauce. There was no garnish because the dish didn't need any.

They really hit the ball out of park with my dessert, which was the rum baba topped with vanilla whipped cream and a fruit minestone soup. It was a play of tastes and textures with the almost-heavy rum soaked cake, sweet cream and the tart fruit compote.

My friend's walnut cake wasn't half bad either. Crispy on the outside, while soft and moist on the inside, it was paired with crunchy walnuts, caramel ribbons and vanilla bean ice cream. Aptly made, but lacked the extra something that the rum baba had, which was the play between the flavors. Something salty would add some interest, perhaps bacon and a light sprinkling of fleur de sel?

After the wonderful meal, I had a brief conversation with the executive chef, Sebastien Archambault. He shared his cooking philosophy, which was to cook with farm fresh ingredients and letting them shine and gave me a tour of his open-kitchen.

Having worked in a kitchen before, I asked if it is nerve-wrecking to cook in front of patrons just a few feet over, but Chef Archambault said it really teaches one to cook efficiently. Also, I asked what does he like to cook outside of the restaurant as it's a fascination of mine to see what chefs eat. His answer was a fresh, simple caprese. Well, I look forward to going back and who knows, maybe I can sample a RH caprese... bet it would be delicious.

The Notebook Dilemma at Jar

My experience with Jar can be best liken to Allie's relationship with Lon from The Notebook. For those who haven't watch or read the quintessential romance, the story is about a young woman's struggle to choose between her heart vs. her head. Set in the 50s, when it was unheard of for a woman to support herself, a good marriage is the ultimate goal.  Fortunately (and unfortunately), Allie found herself with two suitors: Noah, her first love, an all-in-all exciting, rousing man but of the blue collar elk; and Lon, the perfect man (ie. rich) albeit rather bland. 

I wanted to love Jar, I really do. You see, on paper, Jar couldn't be any more perfect. Situated in a cozy, dark wooded interior, Jar serves up aptly grilled steaks with solid sides and appetizers. If that wasn't enough, the service was stellar as well—professional, yet friendly. See? Perfect.

Yet, with perfection also comes boredom. Throughout my meal, while every dish was expertly prepared textbook-style, nothing in particular really shone. To explain, here was my meal in detail:

Our server first started my dining companion and I with libations. He chose a vintage red whereas I opted for a classic Sidecar. A concoction of Cointreau, cognac and lemon juice, it was bracing yet comforting at the same time.

Shortly after came the lobster tomato bisque. Exclaimed by the server as one of Jar's signature dishes and prepared sans cream nor butter, it's a briny brew of tomatoes and seafood. Though the lobster wasn't evident except for the one lonely nugget floating in the middle of the bowl, it was nevertheless a good soup better named as tomato bisque with seafood essence (or something to that extent). 

That was one of the few healthful parts of dinner as the following two dishes were deep fried: fried Ipswich clams and crab-stuffed squash blossoms. The clam strips were overpowered by the batter so the dish became an exercise in eating crispy batter. The blossoms fared much better as the zucchini flowers were much more substantial and so held its own to the tempera coating. The mild crab filling and tangy yuzu dipping sauce were nice touches as well. 

For the main show, we each ordered their 14 oz. rib-eye. Since each steak comes with two sauces, we each ordered a different combo to cover all our bases: Bearnaise & Lobster Bearnaise and the Tamarind & Green Peppercorn. Now, their steaks were broiled impeccably, but where was the seasoning? I could detect pepper, but my steak was definitely not salted, which is a pity as properly seasoned food is a fundamental of cooking. 

With no salt shaker in sight, I quickly reached for the pitchers of sauce. The first was the Bearnaise, an emulsified lemon butter sauce, didn't help the cause. It added to the unctuousness of the steak and not much else. The Lobster Bearnaise was the same except with the added bonus of seafood essence. The Tamarind was better since it wasn't butter, but its sweet, cloying taste also didn't do much for the under salted meat. Fortunately, the Green Peppercorn fit the bill. It had the most sodium out of all sauces and the pepper helped cut through the fattiness of the meat. 

To balance the steak, I ordered sauteed pea shoots. It was nicely prepared with big slivers of garlic. 

For the big finale—the desserts—my friend had their chocolate paradise and I settled on their peach cobbler. Nothing much to say except I couldn't find any faults with them. 

So you see, the  meal (with the exception of the steak) was quite enjoyable, but completely forgettable. Usually, there's always a dish from every restaurant that blows me away and makes me think and crave about long after my visit, which in turns brings me back time after time again. However for Jar, there wasn't any spark. The squash blossoms was very good, but I can find better ones elsewhere with a much cheaper price tag. The same can also be said for all their dishes. 

Every restaurant has its function—if you are looking for a solid meal with no surprises, this is the perfect restaurant. It is the restaurant version of Lon: a place to take your parents to and a place you know will always treat you well. But ultimately, it's one dimensional and lacks excitement. For me, I would rather choose the Noah variety: a restaurant that may not be as well polished, but is able to create a meal that surprises, delights and essentially make me plan the next trip back before the dessert even comes out.