This is the signature amuse-bouche at French Laundry, the salmon tartare ice cream cone; it was a short-lived burst of black sesame and crème fraiche.

Another signature dish at French Laundry, oysters and pearls. The tapioca pudding was an added sweetness to the caviar and reinforced the buttery-ness of every single bite. I think this might have been my favorite course of the night (though I shouldn’t get ahead of myself since it’s actually just the first course).

Zillion-year-old jurassic salt, grey salt, and salt from the Philippines to compliment the supplemental foie gras terrine spread. They also gave us these fresh buttery slices of bread from the Bouchon bakery. The primary course was a compressed Asian pear salad with turnip, broccolini, cashew, komatsuna, and ginger.

Next up is the Columbia river sturgeon with red beets, potato, cabbage, roe, mustard, and crème fraiche. The yukon potato was prepared like a tater tot, but I had no qualms about that at all.

The supplemental dish to the sturgeon was the pavé, a term related to stone setting — the food is prepared and plated as squares or rectangles in a couplet, of Japanese toro. A server showed us the slab of toro before it was prepared and it was definitely a sexy piece of tuna. The lightly grilled toro was another highlight; it out-shined the sturgeon in texture and intensity, so it was hard to go from the toro to sturgeon.

French Laundry’s take of the caesar salad: butter-poached Maine lobster tail, garlic melba (as the crouton), lettuce, and “bottarga di muggine” — a cured fish roe — grated on top to simulate the taste of anchovy.

The weakest dish of the night was the chicken and dumplings; the gnocchi was delicious, however, but could not redeem the plainness of chicken in tarragon sauce; it reminded of an expertly cooked version of Chinese chicken you can get at your local restaurant.

The alternative was cervelle de veau, or calf brains. Deep-fried into a nice little ball served with velouté. It was topped with frisée and black truffle. Gooey, crunchy, and tangy. All plus points in comparison to the chicken and dumplings.

At this point it was getting a bit unbearable. The food kept coming at evenly paced intervals, but it still felt like a marathon. Trouser pants were already slim enough at the start of dinner, but now I was ready to undo a button. Next was the lamb saddle served with sauce paloise. A bit too salty on my first bite, but the rest of it was exceptional.

Things began to wind down after the lamb saddle. This is the fourme d’ambert cheese with grapes, endive, walnuts, mâche, and wine reduction. At this point it was hard to consume the cheese with starches — I was strategizing how to survive the rest of the meal, and that meant forgoing all the carbs.

Steel-cut oat sherbet with granny smith apples and foamed apple sauce, and a crust of homemade granola. The crust was very pie-esque in its crunch. With the addition of the rum raisin coulis sauce, it reminded me of an actual slice of dessert pie.

Lemon tart cake with coconut and something else I forget to keep a mental note of. You gotta cut me some slack here. At this point they’re serving desserts not even on the menu and I’m curious as to how much shit they were going to spring on me. I don’t even like coconut but I powered through it to stave off the overwhelming food coma that was lingering around the corner.

Savarin au citron, citrus vierge, olive oil, and Straus dairy sorbet glacée. Second was the best dessert of the night — the peanut butter bavarois with banana sorbet. It was like a reese’s pieces with an airy, fluffy center and a crunch from the brittle and pie-like crust.

Last was the homemade candied macadamia nuts and chocolates. Thai chili, salted caramel, and other things I can’t remember. They’re boxed up and I’m looking forward to eating those in the future.

18 photos later, this concludes the chef’s tasting menu at French Laundry. The service was amazing to watch; it was seamless and orchestrated in a methodical manner — one that had checks and balances to ensure every patron had his/her needs met. French Laundry exceeded my expectations, and I hope to experience it again some day. For now, my wallet is a helluva lot lighter and it’s going to take some time to recover physically and psychologically.

The result has been a period of intense experimentation with French press pots, Chemex drip systems, Bonmac porcelain cones, and the current ne plus ultra, the V60 glass cone from the Japanese company Hario.

With all the fancy tech and top quality beans being imported into San Francisco, it’s pretty much guaranteed you’re going to get an amazing cup of coffee (or a shot of espresso).

(A small but just-as-good gem is Trouble Coffee.)

Favorite off-night spots?
Sebo, Popeyes. [Bowien told us he's been on the hunt for great fried chicken lately.]

You can’t beat the Tuesday 99¢ special at Popeyes. Part two of the interview here.

Oxtail Terrine with fines herb gelee, root vegetable brunoise, truffled egg, mixed chicories, puffed barley, sorrel

I won’t lie — I ate two orders of the terrine…

Beef Consomme with Marrow Butter Toast, persillade

Surf & Turf: Simmered Atlantic Skate and Crispy Veal Sweetbreads with asparagus, crushed pea, sea urchin emulsion

Aged USDA Prime Ribeye with potato espuma, charred scallion pickle and bearnaise

Tongue & Cheek: Seared Tongue, Braised Cheek, savoy cabbage, demiglace, fresh horseradish

This was easily one of the best meals I’ve had at Mission Street Food. I’m looking forward to the next visit…

Zucco, the face and owner of Le French Diner on Orchard St. in the Lower East Side, passed away from an apparent heart attack on February 13th, 2010. You will be missed. (Thanks for the link, Chris Sojka.)

Image via Bowery Boogie.

For many of the ramen obsessives — myself included — it was all, I suspected, about the hunt. Whether they were scouring the Japanese media for leads or wandering around, nose in the air, eyes alert to suspicious lines, finding gems among Tokyo’s 4,137 ramen shops (a conservative estimate, by the way) was a laborious process that made the final first slurp that much sweeter.

Be warned: if you read this on an empty stomach, you will crave a heaping bowl of shoyu ramen.

At Shake Shack, a Double ShackBurger, fries and a peanut butter shake pack 1,980 milligrams — a lot of sodium, yes, but goodness, a lot of food.

That’s a lot of sodium—but not so bad considering it’s a burger, fries, and shake. The real kicker is Katz’s Deli:

Katz’s justifiably famous corned beef sandwich, with mustard but only two of the six pickles the counter guy gave me (along with his number), came to a truly remarkable 4,490 milligrams of sodium. That’s about two whole days’ worth in one sandwich, nearly the equivalent of 10 McDonald’s hamburgers.

I feel guilty for slamming down so many of those sandwiches while I was in college.

Via @JoseRMejia.

Danny Bowien, over at Mission Street Food (and Mission Burger), made tonkatsu hot dogs last Friday. Come through to Duc Loi Supermarket tonight at 5:30pm; he’ll be making more treats this time around.

The restaurant has a number of procedures designed to bring small pleasures. Those going to the theater get a card under their salt shaker to ensure speedier service. If it’s raining, they’ll give guests a free umbrella to take home. If guests are having difficulty deciding between two desserts, the server will often deliver their choice-and the other at no charge. “You are working for a company that is looking long-term at those kinds of decisions,” Meyer tells recruits. “Not ‘Oh my God, we gave away eight desserts.’” This system is even more striking when things go wrong. When a child dropped a Sprite in the bar, the entire family got new drinks. Meyer calls this “writing a great last chapter.”

There were 50 people lingering in the foyer of Sparks Steak House, a bastion of male power, when I entered at 8:15 with a male friend. We were told it would be 9:45 before we could be seated. I asked to be put on the list.

Given the size of the crowd and the length of the wait, I decided to reach for my right pocket. I waited until the man behind the podium was alone (Rule No. 6) and rested my left hand lightly on his back. Suddenly, I was Fred Astaire and he was Ginger Rogers. He knew exactly what to do. He pivoted toward me and turned his right hand from face down to face up, giving me a target. I slipped the bill into his hand and said again, “This is a really important night for me.”

He disappeared briefly, then 45 seconds later, he reappeared at my elbow. “Right this way,” he announced, and led us to a table. I had jumped a 50-person line and saved myself an hour-and-a-half wait. Forget Frank Sinatra. I was now James Bond.

I think I’ve slipped a $20 to a maître d’ in the past and it has worked. In today’s climate, however, I’m not sure how well this would work; it may even work better since more folks are skimping while dining out.