[Warning: very long]
What an extraordinary evening. For those who haven’t been lately, they’re moving toward chocolate making (more on that below) and to that end now have only one seating per night, sixteen guests. There is one host, Nina Nugent. There is one chef, Chris Nugent, and there appears to be no one else in the kitchen. In four hours there, we saw exactly one other person working there. We were more than a little surprised to see no one but Chris and Nina. From time to time, Chris helps out with plating in the main dining room—there are two islands on which sixteen plates/bowls/serving pieces are set and either or both Nina and Chris spend time prepping each serving. Nina does much, but not all, of the presenting and clearing. Chris helps out.
For those who have never experienced Chris Nugent in person, let’s just say he’s the polar opposite of Curtis Duffy. While Duffy is almost painfully shy, Nugent is hyped (a la the late Homaro Cantu), nonstop free association. There is clearly much depth and thought in everything he does, but he can come across as a little overwhelming. None of this would matter if the food wasn’t worth the trip. We’ve eaten his food at Les Nomades, at MK, and years ago, at Prairie—somehow we missed Bêtise. In any case, we’ve always come away impressed with his food and the other night was no exception. The food was exceptional—easily worth its Michelin star. And yet. There were two things: first were the “issues” or small hiccups, nothing significant enough to keep us away, but worth mentioning, I think. And second was our take on the overall evening.
Since everyone arrives pretty much within five or ten minutes of each other, it takes time for all to settle in and for Chris and Nina to get up to speed. We were the last two to arrive and though we were quickly settled and given water and my first wine, we sat with nothing to do but twiddle our thumbs for a full half hour while the first course was readied and then served. There is no bread service and there was truly nothing to do but look around the small—nicely appointed—room and listen to the eclectic playlist (curated by Nina; we enjoyed chatting with her about what was on it and why). After half an hour, one is a little antsy. The chef’s tasting menu is predetermined and though 12 courses are listed, some came in multiples: thus, three arrived on a single serving piece, two on another. One thing we noticed about the menu immediately was that what seemed key ingredients to us were sometimes omitted from the printed descriptions. For example, one element of the second course is described as “goosefoot & cherry soup/citrus oil.” We barely noted the cherry but front and center (and, indeed, the first ingredient that Nina mentioned when she delivered it) was beet. It takes nothing away from the quality or deliciousness of the food, but I guess it was a bit of a surprise to read what was coming, anticipate it, and then get something that felt odd. Not wrong, certainly, but it’s one thing to anticipate cherry and something else to “get” beet.
A number of the courses were also highlighted with either greens or blossoms from their own garden. Not only were these absolutely pristine and eye-catching, Chris came by late in the meal with his cell phone and showed (and explained in some detail) what was what in their garden. This brings up one of my takeaways from the evening: the unmistakable pride that both Nina and Chris took in presenting each course, particularly those courses where the food was enhanced by something from their own garden. It’s pretty much the norm these days to have servers who can give you the provenance of every one of two dozen individually tweezed ingredients that compose the dish they are setting down in front of you. Some even have a knack for making parts of that explanation and presentation interesting. But it is almost unheard of—at least in my experience—to hear, to feel the pride of those who have thought deeply about what they are growing and why and who have nurtured it from seed to plant, from garden to plate, and then show and explain it all to you. More than once, a course was accompanied by a tiny, perfect blossom of a kind that had appeared earlier. That fact did nothing to detract from the sheer joy and pleasure Nina (or Chris) took in telling you what it was and why it was there.
pine/rosemary/coriander/pea tendrils
goosefoot & cherry soup/citrus oil[/b] – beet was a key item here – in the tiny pitcher
foie gras mousse/huckleberry/honeybush tea[/b] – with the tiny spoon
oolong tea/mint/lime[/b] – in the tiny vial, to be drunk as a palate cleanser (a terrific idea after the foie mousse—and a stellar, intense item)
hard at work
scallop/dehydrated butter/lobster/lemongrass
chestnut soup/trumpet royal/truffle essence
maitake mushroom tortellini/smoked rabbit/perigord truffle
angus beef/winter/meyer lemon/nasturtium – highlighted with a pour of a special olive oil from a supplier in Petaluma
At this point, Nina began decorating the central island in the room. No longer were there sixteen serving pieces being prepped; something larger was clearly being readied. Item after item was brought out and meticulously placed or set up. Depending on where you were seated in the room, you could get some sense from three large panels—or not (if you were seated “behind” them as we and another table were). The music shifted: from quiet bossa nova we now were treated to the Beatles, mostly circa the White Album. Unlike earlier in the evening, Beatles succeeded Beatles. And Nina came out to tell us about their devotion to the group; they both clearly feel a deep connection to the group. Nina noted that Chris’s birthday is within a week of John Lennon’s. She explained the significance of the (magic) mushrooms and certain other pieces on the island.


Beatles shrineOkay. Well, we like the Beatles. But we do not understand the shrine as part of the meal. No course bore any tie or relation to the shrine. If there was a connection between anything on the shrine and our meal or between the music and the meal, it completely escaped us. It was—or seemed to us—nothing so much as an oddly self-indulgent desire to share their fervor with their diners. “Um, I’m glad that you like connecting stamps from Zanzibar and yes, they’re really pretty, but why are you showing them to me?” That said, they are so earnest, so…intent that you have a wonderful evening, it feels churlish to note things like this. And yet.
sheep’s milk cheese/concord grape/dragon fruit/pear – from top
sheep’s milk cheese/concord grape/dragon fruit/pear – from side
yuzu/mango/quince/olive oil
passion fruit/sorrel/coconut/lime – on the topchocolate/caramelized banana/coffee/sea salt/hazelnut - insideA somewhat bigger problem with the evening as a whole is not, I think, becomes clear from the menu as you study it: the number of soups or items to be drunk and, in consequence, the very small number of more “substantive” entrees. Indeed, the very first course, then the cherry/beet soup in the second group of courses, then the palate cleanser, then the lobster soup, followed by the chestnut soup. The first half or more of the evening is quite soup-heavy. We understand, as Nina said at one point, that soups are something Chris really enjoys and does well, but we were disappointed that the only substantial courses were the scallop, the tortellini and the angus beef. That said, every course was excellent. There were many high points. I think it’s also fair to say that nothing was out of the park.
When there are six or more tables of people and one server, dinner inevitably proceeds at the pace of the slowest table. Several tables had more than two people and so it was nearly inevitable that two-tops like ours finished first. Even if the four- and five-tops were served first and the two-tops last, the two-tops would always finish ahead. Then we would wait another half hour while the larger tables finished, while the next course was readied, and while the next course was eventually served. It made for a slow—sometimes a very slow—progression. We understand that this is a part of creating a cozy, homey feeling and, in a sense, we applaud it. But we also believe that adding a single additional server and/or a single additional prep person, could have made this a more…expeditious…meal without sacrificing the coziness.
Given that goosefoot is only $15 less than Grace, it’s hard not compare them on some level. They’re cl early not striving for the same kind of evening and it’s unfair to hold them to a one-to-one comparison simply on the basis of price. At the same time, it’s an analysis I think many diners would consider when thinking: “I have $x to spend on a nice dinner, where should I go?” I don’t think it’s entirely unreasonable to compare the experiences. At Grace, you are cosseted and every possible need anticipated and catered to. There are so many staff there that invariably it seems people are standing around simply waiting to be of service. Grace is about sitting in the lap of luxury. Goosefoot on the other hand, is about being in someone’s home. There is a different
kind of comfort in being there. You’ll get served when Nina is able to do so. I mentioned the half hour wait initially; although the pace improved noticeably once service actually started, there were inevitable waits occasioned solely by the fact that they have chosen not to have even a single additional server. I think that that’s a mistake. We enjoyed the feeling of being in their home and welcomed personally; it’s a treat to have the chef come out not once but several times and talk with you (though, as I mentioned above, his stream-of-consciousness conversation proved a little difficult for us to engage). But at the end of the day, it’s an evening out and while we certainly appreciated the amount of time and attention being paid to everything, it would have been more enjoyable for us to be served a bit more expeditiously. We started at 6:30 pm and didn’t leave until after 10:30 pm. Ten courses in four hours. That works out to about one course per half hour. (And it’s not inappropriate to note that at that pace, you get full sooner than you might otherwise.)
Nugent is extremely talented. Of that, there can be no doubt. But our take was that in creating the feeling they are after, they have unintentionally caused other problems for themselves. Chris Nugent appears to be by himself in the kitchen. Whether he has minimal help (neither one of us could see anyone in the kitchen) or not, and even acknowledging possible assistance during the day, he seems to have placed a limit on what he can achieve. It seems inarguable that two or even three people in the kitchen can do more than one person. That fact alone has something to do with what is—or even can be—served. With one additional person up front, it’s likely that what might be prepared and served might likewise be quite different and highlight his talents in a very different way, to say nothing of making the actual serving and pacing quite different.
goosefoot® chocolate – parting gift (notice intricate Mayan decoration)
I mentioned in the very first paragraph something that was explained to us late in the evening: their desire to move to chocolate-making. The Nugents decided that they couldn’t start by making chocolate full time, hence the restaurant is and has been partly a means to an end. And it should be noted that one of the “parting gifts” was an exquisitely hand-crafted chocolate bar. Likewise, another gift was a generous packet of field pea shoot seeds, complete with detailed planting instructions. This, too, is evidence of their remarkable thoughtfulness and, indeed, their devotion to their garden and the importance of its place in what they do. We left, finally, not just with souvenir menus but with souvenir menus carrying hand-written notes from the Nugents. Their love and devotion to what they do is evident in a more immediate way than what happens when you leave Grace or Alinea. That is not to say that Achatz or Duffy is any less devoted or loves what he does any less—but the way it is brought home is far more evident at goosefoot.
I certainly hope I’ve made clear how much we liked the food. At the same time, I think it’s important to make a distinction between the food and the evening. We thought that the food was terrific; we liked the evening and particularly appreciated the effort, the pride, and the enormous dedication. In the end, though, I think that the distinction between quality of food and quality of overall experience was greater here than anywhere else we can recall offhand. Much as we loved the food, neither of us sees returning any time soon: we’re really glad we went, we enjoyed it a great deal, and now we need to try somewhere else.
Last edited by
Gypsy Boy on December 27th, 2016, 4:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)