Like going to the dentist, I visit Schwa twice a year - but on Ashland Avenue without dread. Michael Carlson cleans my tastebuds. And most recently I visited on the first of September (with the cheery companions of VI and his spouse the newly-monikered 6 (VI and 6) and a shy New Yorker named Steve.
Some culinary thoughts come to mind. First the dishes seemed more self-assured with fewer missteps than any meal that I have yet been served at Schwa. The experience of dining a Schwa is often that of being offered a grab bag. Typically in a menu of nine (or tweleve – counting extras) courses there are a few goofs. A few dishes that miss the mark, but that was not the case last night. It is true that there were dishes superior and a few less so (and the canonical Quail Egg Ravioli), but no blunder. And the restaurant seemed humming (aside from the wine glass that one of us broke). The other thing that struck me about the menu was that although we were in the golden days of approaching harvest, the menu was not seasonal, perhaps deliberately so. Pea soup, ramps, and rhubarb – and plantain, Meyer lemon, and coco nibs were gathered from other times and places.
Chef Carlson cooks in the modern style with many snags of flavor on each plate, permitting the food to be interactive. He is less concerned with “combining” flavors, but placing them on the plate for the diner to mix as she will. The tasting menu this week ranged from the assertive: a mixed woodsy, tropical crab dish with pine, mushroom, and plantain sauce and a brilliant, intense tortelloni with dominant coco-nibs bits, served with mild curry and cauliflower.
In contrast, the pea soup with menthol crystals and Meyer lemon foam was less forward and assertive, but subtle in memory. This soup contrasted with a dessert soup: strawberry-rhurbarb which had assertions plenty: although both liquids were reminiscent of spring and not a coming Midwest autumn.
Carlson’s maki roll with root beer sauce was an evocative combination of flavors. Somehow the rootbeer, rice and fish worked. The lobster with ramps and pancetta was another success, perhaps more for the available textures than for the tastes themselves. Tonight the cheese dish – talegio with honey powder was particularly fine – sweet and pungent in a tiny ramekin. A composition of corn, which included popcorn, was less impressive texturally, and was the weakest dish of the night. By the end I was struck that the dishes were not deconstructions of other dishes, but often inspired compilations of flavors.
At the end of the meal one of Chef Carlson’s cooks asked us which dish we liked least, a somewhat odd request, suggesting that perhaps this was a new menu (we should have asked). Too quickly I responded the pea soup, perhaps because of its being out of season and the somewhat wan quality of the peas, but over the past few days the memory of the dish has grown in pleasure. Today I would say the corn medley (with candied sweetbreads) was least appealing mostly for the texture – popcorn deserves to be served naked with a diaphanous robe of melted butter.
Still, even if the meal was seasonally out-of-sync, it shows a chef listening to his own climatological drummer, creating some of the most temperate winds and rains in this town.
My apologies for the quality of some of the photo and for some of the descriptions of ingredients (I was not taking careful notes, and relied on a menu that was changed from printing to serving)

Crab, Pine, Mushroom, Plantain, Banana Sauce

Pea Soup, Methol Crystal, Meyer Lemon

Tortelloni, Cauliflower, Coco nibs, Curry, Cheese

Quail Egg Ravioli

Maki, Green Curry, Rootbeer, Pickled Carrots

Lobster, Fava, Pickled Ramps, Pancetta, Parsley Sauce, Black Pepper

Medley of Corn with Candied Sweetbreads

Pork Collar, Zucchini, Garlic, Borage, Anchovy

Talegio with Honey Powder

Rhubarb-Strawberry Soup with Foie Gras powder
Last edited by
GAF on September 4th, 2009, 4:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Toast, as every breakfaster knows, isn't really about the quality of the bread or how it's sliced or even the toaster. For man cannot live by toast alone. It's all about the butter. -- Adam Gopnik