Mama Mexico in NYC.
Rose Angelis in Chicago.
The Frontier in Albuquerque.
The Jordan Pond House in Maine.
Even Pearl's in Sonoma.
These are just a few of the restaurants that litter the canvas of my gastronomical map. The sorts of places that maybe don't get the kind of recognition they deserve.
The kind of places that you tell people they have to try when they are in that town. Because the pineapple tequila at Mama Mexico is wacky greatness. Or the popovers at Jordan Pond House are the lightest and fluffiest in the world. Or the homemade ravioli stuffed with pears in an alfredo/pesto sauce at Rose Angelis is worth flying across the country for when they notify you by email that they are making it that weekend.
There's one that needs to be added to that ever growing list and I've blogged about it before here
But this sidewalk breaky cafe, so well known and reviewed for their early morning cuisine just blew us away.
Again.
Yes, I'm talking about Blu Jam on Melrose.
On Fridays, Chef Kamil Mejur has opened his restaurant for a one night a week, single themed experience. every Friday its something new.
But it's only on Fridays and we haven't been able to get to it, yet. And then we heard about the special Valentine's menu. Saturday night, which was also our anniversary (long story). So we made reservations. And, knowing that the no corkage fee for the night was going to mean downing a hefty bottle of Sonoma Merlot, we cabbed it over.
The trouble with Kamil's menu is that you can rest assured that everything will be good. This renders a choice whore like myself unable to decide on what to get.
So we tried the chef's tasting menu.
And, holy crap.
While we waited we, and everyone, were treated to a creamy and delectable olive tapenade that put to shame the tapenades we get excited about when we are in Wine Country.
Opening with a beautiful circle of Tuna Tartare in dressing and wrapped around avocado we knew we were in for something special.
It's worth noting at this point that Chef Kamil was also the Maitre D' for the night, his bus staff having called in sick. So, while he was running around, seating everyone and making sure we were all happy, he was also in the kitchen preparing upwards of 12 or 13 different entrees as well as the cornucopia for the greedy tasters such as ourselves.
After a while we were treated to a plate of marinated goat cheese in vinegar and cherry tomato, possibly the least attractive dish that also melted in our mouths and vanquished the earlier, much more dynamic, fish.
Then the "tower of vegetables", a perfect circle topped and bottomed with yellow beets. In between a perfect melange of roasted red bell peppers, feta cheese and avocado (a theme, perhaps?). I hate beets. I don't loathe them but I don't eat them. And yet, the way they were prepared the nuttiness of the root was drawn out and playfully danced in concert with the peppers and cheese.
The spoon that was placed on my table was a surprise. Not a soup spoon, I had no idea what to expect when the bowl of braised mussels in a cilantro tomato broth arrived. Beth is not too keen on mussels and I was expecting to down this myself. But one taste from her and she was a convert. This was the spiciest of the dishes of the evening and a great way to say farewell to the appetizers. The spices bounced off the back of my tongue and throat and quickly disappeared cleansing the palette while at the same time preparing me for bolder and richer flavors.
Which followed in the form of a perfectly crusted whitefish on a bed of whipped potatoes and spinach. This immediately took me back to my honeymoon when Beth and I had dinner at the exquisite Oceana and we talked about the Loup de Mer for months afterwards. I dare say this was better.
The steak that followed was almost a denouement on it's thatched bed of pomme frits and vegetable strips. Not that it wasn't perfectly seasoned and melted like butter. It just wasn't AS fantastic and amazing as the whitefish. I understand why it followed and I don't regret it at all. Nor do I think it was a mistake for it to be the capper of the entrees, it's just, well, damn, that fish was perfect.
Tres Laiche cake followed and the wet, almost amaretto-esque bath it created with every carving of our forks turned us into lip licking heathens hell bent on devouring every morsel.
Maybe I could have done without the cheese plate that ended our culinary journey. I don't know. I'm just not a big cheese as dessert fan. And the most pungent of them (by this time I was too drunk to remember the name) was, as the chef said, much much better when mixed with the cranberry chutney. And who doesn't love roasted walnuts with creamy feta? But, like I said, the cake was enough.
Kamil, in his jeans and conductor's cap and sneakers managed a few minutes with each of us and we talked wine. He is also an accomplished sommelier. When I expressed my love for a particular Grenache (Mathis Grenache, the best wine I have ever had) Kamil vanished and reappeared moments later with the remnants of a french Grenache blend from Domaine De la Pertuisane. Le Nain Violet would put up a good fight with the Mathis.
We offered Kamil a glass of our Gloria Ferrer Merlot and he politely declined. I think he felt sorry for us with our domestic grape water as he re-emerged as we were getting our bill with a bottle of Briccotondo as a gift for us. I think we will probably bring it BACK and drink it at our next dinner at Blu Jam,
Our new favorite dinner restaurant in Los Angeles. Sorry, Little Door.
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