My Dinner at...

At some point a few weeks ago, I realized that I would be going to L.A., as I have done each November for the past couple of years, for an absolutely wonderful education conference at UCLA.  Last year I presented a workshop; this year I would be coaching/supporting a colleague in a presentation. 

Generally I've been a good girl at these conferences, and just gone along with whatever dinner plans are made for my group.  After all, not every trip has to include stellar dining experiences, does it? 

Well, no, it doesn't -- but it's always so much better if it does.  My plan was to arrive in L.A. fairly early on Thurday, one day earlier than in prior years.  Our conference had been extended to two days and so I needed to arrive a day early in order to participate in the Friday sessions.  As it turned out, no dinner plans had been made for Thursday, since members of our team would be arriving at all different times from all different parts of the country.  Where should I treat myself to dinner? was the question most on my mind.

Lucques, of course, was the obvious answer.  I've dreamed of having a meal here ever since blogs (and other media) began to praise Suzanne Goin's lovely cookbook.  Some of the recipes were even shared online.  I hadn't yet purchased the cookbook, but I had made the wonderful Romesco sauce for a dinner where people positively wanted to bathe in it.  And honestly, not to be too much of a groupie or anything, but I've never really had a bad meal at a restaurant started by a Chez Panisse "alum". 

Whom would I get to accompany me?  Most members of my team were coming in too late for dinner on Thursday.  An email to my colleague Elyse bore fruit, however.  I'd had the feeling that if the very busy Elyse were free, she might bite, so to speak.  Although we also share a set of *loftier* values, delight in an excellent meal is something we certainly have in common (then again, is there anything loftier than a good meal?  Other than saving the world, I mean).  The first time I ever had lunch with Elyse, at downtown in Berkeley, I knew that I was in for a good afternoon when she suggested that we begin with the oysters and the fried olives, and move on to the salad of duck confit with plums.  To my great good fortune, Elyse was free for dinner on Thursday night.  And as is often the case in almost any place that is NOT New York, it was not difficult to get a prime dinner-hour weeknight reservation only a couple of days in advance. 

Lucques is a beautiful, intimate space, spare and tasteful in decor but with a lovely warmth.  The light is quite low, and the space is not big, so I must confess that I didn't even try to take pictures.  Clearly I would have needed a flash, and I really didn't like the idea of disturbing other diners' evenings.   Like all dinners at Lucques, ours began with good bread, a crock of sweet butter and a little pile of sea salt, and a dish of the delicious eponymous olives and some very shiny almonds.  At first glance I thought the almonds were candied -- they had an almost lacquered surface, so I was expecting a sweet flavor -- and not particularly looking forward to that as one of the evenings opening flavors.  But I was wrong.  Somehow these were the crispest, most delicious almonds I had ever had, even better than Marconas, to which I'm positively devoted.  Was it the variety of almond?  Something in the preparation?  Our waiter shared the secret with us.  They are roasted at a very high heat, in a pizza oven, for just the few minutes that they can withstand before they would start to burn.  Then they're tossed in just a bit of olive oil and salt, and somehow this develops the shiny burnished coat.  I foresee some experimentation here at home, kids, during which many burnt almonds will probably be issuing from my not-professional oven.  I ate these lovely treats with an amazingly delicious cocktail -- a fresh-picked guava martini.  I think it was guava.  Anyway, it was great. 

I wanted to try everything on the menu.  If I win the lottery any time soon, I'm going back to that restaurant with a big crowd, my treat, as long as I can taste some of everyone's plate.  Oh, and you all have to order different things.  On Thursday, however, I sadly narrowed my choices to a starter and an appetizer.  Since I had fixed on the suckling pig for my entree, I thought something light to start would work -- especially since Chef Goin is famed for her wonderful way with seasonal salads.  I went for a plate of "fall fruit with jamon serrano, ricotta salata, arugula, and pomegranate salsa".  Elyse decided on the "market butter lettuces with buttermilk dressing, avocado and radishes" which was a lovely, very fresh plate of greens.  I had not expected to be so completely bowled over by my starter, which emerged from the kitchen looking like a tiny Renaissance still-life on a plate.  Fall fruit, ho-hum,  I had thought to myself.  My limited imagination had envisioned only a plate with some apples and pears, maybe, and the other stuff named.  But I was wrong.  On my plate were tiny pink-and-green fig quarters, sweet apple slices, sugary and chewy pieces of fresh date, various grapes, and half-moons of a delicious bright orange fruit that I couldn't identify.  Turns out it was persimmon, with which I have limited experience, but which now, thanks to Chef Goin, enters the list of delicious things to eat in the fall.  Small slices, differently shaped pieces of all of these things were artfully arranged on the plate, with fresh peppery arugula leaves twining around them, and just a thin slice or two of ham and ricotta salata providing a salty, savory counterpoint to all the sweetness.  Little rubies, perfect pomegranate seeds flecked the whole plate, and the dressing, which was applied with just the right sparing hand tasted of very good olive oil.  Sorry to go on about this at such length, but really, it was one of the best salads ever.  I love being wrong about something when it's wrong like this.   

Before she went on to a perfectly cooked veal chop with sauteed greens and a dark, mysterious, delicious sauce, Elyse and I talked of many things.  It's great fun to have dinner with a colleague/friend whom you don't get to see all that often.  With Elyse, the talk is always a nice mix of the professional and the personal.    The following day, I was to support a colleague in a Native American studies presentation.  This very beloved colleague, who is Lakota Sioux, has given me what amounts to the beginnings of an education in Indian culture, and an understanding that the idea of "Native Ways of Knowing" is not based in legend or myth, but has to do with a culture that functioned perfectly well for thousands of years before intruders came west.   I told Elyse of my current obssession with Bill Buford's Heat, which has been lying on my bedside pile for several months.  I decided to schlep it with me and take advantage of the long flight, despite its heft.  In the book, I discovered that once corn was brought to the old world, Northern Italians became so infatuated with polenta that they gave themselves pellagra, a deficiency disease that I had thought was limited to the rural south.  Of course, the Native Americans had planted beans and squash to eat with their corn, which provided the necessary niacin to prevent pellagra.  Thus do education, history, food lore, conversation and revelation mix over a good meal. 

My plate of roast suckling pig was a tower of food that had as its foundation a piece of cornbread.  Next was a layer of sauteed greens, and then a large chunk of dissolvingly tender roast pork encased in super-crunchy crackling skin was balanced on top.  Buttery-soft little black-eyed peas were scattered over the plate.  This was a beautiful and delectable interpretation of  southern-style "meat and three."  The portion was absolutely mammoth, and I could only get through about half of it before calling quits.  The sad thing about having a great meal when I travel is that I rarely ask to take the remainder with me, since I don't usually have a fridge nor, in all probability, time to eat it.  And we were both so very full that although we glanced at the dessert menu, we decided that we couldn't even share a sweet.  Drat.  I really do have to go back to Lucques, although I don't have many other reasons to go back to L.A. any time soon. 

Or perhaps, although I won't be able to match the elegance and deliciousness of what emerges from Lucques' kitchen, I will try out my newly acquired (and signed!) copy of Sunday Suppers at Lucques.  Don't touch that dial. 

Comments

[Lisa (Homesick Texan)]

I don't believe I've ever had persimmon, but after reading this and a post on Cook & Eat, I think it's high time I try them. And you never see black-eyed peas on a menu in a "real" restaurant...wow! What a delightful experience, thanks for sharing!

[Luisa]

Envy, Julie, basest envy is all I can feel right now. What a lovely write-up of a place I am just dying to visit.

[Yvo]

My goodness, with the start off saying you hadn't taken pictures, I was disappointed but with descriptions like that, who needs pictures? Your main course sounds so fabulous (I of the self proclaimed don't really eat too many pig products).... wishing I had a reason to go to LA. And a distinct lack of fear of going.

[Melissa]

Oh yum, I'm so envious! I've cooked a couple of things from Sunday Suppers and they've been incredible. I'm still scheming how to get myself to L.A. to experience the restaurant itself...

[Julie]

Lisa, this was delightful indeed. Persimmons=yum! I love the fact that Lucques isn't strictly French or Mediterranean. Nor do they do the sort of fusion cooking that sometimes produces muddy results. They are faithful to clear flavors over trendy combinations, and obviously value great ingredients above all...

Luisa, Yvo and Melissa, my problem is that I have no real desire to go back to L.A. nor any particularly good reason to be there -- other than to eat everything on the menu at Lucques, as well as experience as many Sunday Suppers as possible.

[Nina]

This is such a wonderful write up for a wonderful restaurant. I love Lucques -- and the cookbook! In the introduction for her Pork Burger (which I recommend making), Goin says that her cooks sometimes refer to Lucques as the "house of pork" -- so I'm happy that you got to have that roast suckling pig.

Sigh, I wish I had some of those shiny almonds right about now... :)

[Ivonne]

It sounds so delightful! And I for one can't wait to read about your journey through the cookbook!

[Rachael]

It really is a winner of a restaurant, isnt it! Just perfect. Glad you were able to make it in...

[johanna]

in my opinion, lucques is one of the best restaurants in the usa. but it does not seem to respond to hype--being consistent in all ways, every time i have been there--for the past 5 years or so.
Goin, a true food artist in my opinion, has one of those singular abilities to consistently transport the eater to a different place, related to the specific food item.
the meals are true, fresh, without uneccessaries, yet complex and well thought out. TRULY satisfying. (it's too bad erin did not have room for dessert--they are light yet rich, satisfying and truly wonderful). the service is discreet, relaxed, classy and perfect. the atmosphere and 3 possible seating environments are again, classy yet relaxed, homey, and warm. the outside patio is lovely in summer especially. i cannot say better things about any of the many restaurants i have tried. this place is really a find.