Roy's!

The Lakanilau roll: Wagyu beef, snow crab, tempura asparagus, avocado, sesame miso, truffled greens. Oh yeah.
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Fang - A photo essay in gastronomy

The Company You Keep: Ratto and Murphy

 There was a time, long before The Carpaccio Files, that a photoessay in gastronomy seemed impossible. The year was 1999. We were in Detroit. "We" were the Oakland A's traveling beat of Brian Murphy (That smiling man on the right), Susan Slusser, Mark Saxon, Gary Washburn, and me.
It was the final year of Tiger Stadium and in the dank corner of the press lounge (earlier I had nearly vomited from the overwhelming stench of bleach), Gary presided over an gastronomic nightmare: overdose heapings of potatoes and fried chicken, upon which the mighty G-Wash pumped frightening amounts of A-1 Steak Sauce.

I stopped him, horrified, and said, "Gary, A-1 is not for fried chicken. It's for steaks and marinades," to which he uttered a now famous line: "Tonight, fried is marinated."

How, from those unpolished beginnings, do Murph and I wind up at Fang, for what has become a tremendous tradition of daytime dining excellence?

And furthermore, how does Ray Ratto, King of Snapple, join us for the feast?

Fang Pork Buns with Cilantro

Sesame chicken with sweet potatoes, rice and green apple

Periodically, when I review the photos of these delights, I am reminded that it cost $500 just to walk into The French Laundry, a ridiculous, even criminal sum of money despite the fact that in one of their dishes they use Jerusalem artichokes, called "sunchokes." The sunchoke is neither from Israel nor an artichoke, but a type of sunflower, but I digress...

Mongolian Beef Tower

 The Mongolian Beef Tower, complete with haricots verts (That would be French for "green beans") was, for me, the height of gastronomic excellence - a staggering blend of spices and textures.


Of course, the name "Mongolian" also always brings to mind the wrestler Killer Khan, who like a Jerusalem artichoke was neither from Mongolia nor a killer - but Ozawa Masashi, from Japan, who according to Wrestlepedia, now owns a restaurant in Japan...

Killer Khan from Mongolia?

Still, before watching the WWF in the early 1980s, I had never heard of Mongolia...

Fang Five-Spice whitefish

 Meanwhile, the hits kept on coming...

Barbecued spare ribs

Fang onion cake

And a grasshopper mojito for me!

Fang after-lunch liquer

And finally,  cookies!

When it was over, and the cookies had been devoured and we debated whether that last dish (the Mongolian Tower) represented a fatal overkill, I saluted Peter Fang, had a picture taken with him and took a walk. Fang wins again...

The French Laundry

"That's it. I'm fucking going."

 The French Laundry (http://www.frenchlaundry.com/) is generally considered one of the Holy Grails of gastronomy. Reservations can only be made two months to the date of the reservation. The restaurant is rumored to receive 400 calls per day. Tables for two cannot be made online. Tables for four can.
Even the website takes its deliberate time to launch.

The restaurant, located in Yountville, in the California wine country of Napa Valley only has two seatings, and the menu _ one nine-course chef's tasting choice, one 12-course vegetable tasting _ changes daily. According to its website, No single ingredient is ever repeated throughout the meal.  And then there is, of course, this gem from its "Menus and Stories" page:

"What we want for you to experience is that sense of surprise when you taste something so new, so exciting, so comforting, so delicious, you think 'Wow,' and then it's gone. We want the peak sensation on the palate to be all that you feel. So we serve a series of small courses meant to excite your mind, satisfy your appetite and pique your curiosity.  We want you to say 'I wish I had just one more bite of that.' And then the next plate arrives and the same thing happens, but in a different way, a whole new flavor and feel and emotion."

Now is the perfect time to talk about Cynthia, an ex-girlfriend from the year 1996. Cynthia holds a very special if not difficult for me to admit place in my life. She's the only woman I ever dated whom I thought was too attractive for me. Devoured by carnivorous insecurity, I couldn't get comfortable. (Note: In 1996, I did not  _ to use my boy Kevin Hogan's line for his beloved Philadelphia Phillies _ think like a winner.)

Cynthia is also the person who introduced me to the phrase "food orgasm." April 1996, Esperpento, 22nd/Valencia, San Francisco. She was wearing a beret during dinner and asked me if I had ever tasted a meal so delicious that the sensation was the equivalent of (or quite possibly surpassed) that of an actual orgasm. Unevolved, I made the mental note that Cynthia was nuts.

But it turns out that only was the beautiful Cynthia correct (I know this, because it has since happened: the squid pasta from Nobu (April 2002), the Kobe beef sushi roll from Oishii Boston (2007) and numerous meals in between.), but someone of her tribe is clearly writing for The French Laundry.


Oh, as I cool down, there's one more thing about the French Laundry you should know:

The menu is $250.00.

Per person.

That's $500.00 without even having a drink.

Here is a sample of today's:

http://www.tkrg.org/upload/fl_menu.pdf


So, what does any of this have to do with me?
NOTHING. I'll be in San Francisco in October. I called the restaurant. I got nothing. Shut Out. Done!

But homeboy Christopher Vyce and lovely wife Stephanie will be dining on September 26th, for their 10th wedding anniversary.  Now, I gotta go. GOTTA! As Jules Winnfield said in Pulp Fiction, "That's it. I'm fucking going."

And to confirm the Travolta response, Yes, I'll dig it the most.

An unacceptable absence...

Having returned from the west coast, I needed some required downtime. However, the quest does not rest! Therefore, we will continue the journey shortly...
My apologies - HB
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Fang!!!

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Howard Bryant and Peter Fang: A gastronomic love story

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The year was 1991, the month, October.  Good Philly friends Scott and Barbara come visit me in my new home, San Franisco. Back then, I was an Outer Sunset guy: 1474 40th Avenue, at Judah. Scott has a guidebook with him and the most recommended restaurant was the House of Nanking, on Kearny and Columbus, where North Beach and Chinatown met.

I'll never forget that day. The waiter (who turned out to be the owner, Peter Fang) came over and took my order.

I ordered calamari.
He nodded his head disapprovingly and said, "No."

I ordered again.
He said nothing, but nodded his head negatively, offended.

I said, "Have you ever heard of the saying "The customer is always right?"

He said, "I will order for you."

Barbara and Scott, Scott in particular, laughed hilariously at the public leveling, telling me I'd been "denied on every front." Scott took special pleasure in my East Coast fury. I'd lived in San Francisco for slightly over a month and Scott enjoyed the comedy of my impatience.

My response was, "Why the hell is any of this on the menu, if you can't order it?"

When the waiter returned, he brought to the table to that date, the greatest meal I'd ever had: four season chicken, eggplant, chicken lettuce wraps, chinese style butternut squash.

From that day. I knelt at the altar of the House of Nanking.

Little did I know that Nanking had only been in business three years, but it was already a hit: Chinese restaurants flanked its left and right, but only Nanking boasted a line out the door, with the very cool West Coast feature of the restaurant selling Tsing Tao beer to the folks while they waited.  

Whenever guests came to visit, Nanking was a must-visit. As I settled, Nanking became less of a destination. It was a tourist spot, and when you live in a place, you don't wait in line to have dinner. I remained in San Francisco until 2001, with respect for Nanking even as it slipped off of the radar. When I would I would come into town, I would check into the Grand Hyatt Union Square and walk over to Nanking for takeout. We had lost each other, Nanking and I, until one fateful day in March 2010.... 

"WELL, GET ON IT WITH, MOTHERF---!"

On Carpaccio, you never know who might show up. To be continued...