A Slow Descent to Sideways...

A Slow Descent to Sideways...

Tim Dwight "| Through the Grapevine | August 27, 2009

To view the article as it appears in Florida Today, click here: http://www.floridatoday.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009908270303


"We'll let the chef know that you've arrived, Mr. Dwight; welcome to Cyrus".

I'd like to think that we were getting special V.I.P. treatment, but I'd been forewarned that all diners are greeted in like manner.

(Reputedly, when the restaurant first opened a few years' ago, they would even bring a phone along tableside and call the chef to inform him of a guest's arrival).

Nevertheless nonplussed, my traveling companion and I had arrived for an evening of gustatory gluttony at one of the wine countries' top restaurants, taking advantage of the chauffeur service offered by our hosts at Jordan.

"Yes, sir, anywhere you'd like to go for dinner tonight, we'll be happy to drop you off and pick you up later", offered our new friend from Guest Services. "Particularly if you're unfamiliar with some of the local terrain, it can be a little daunting to find your way back here after a big meal; not all of the roads are well marked, and in the dark..."

Had us from 'hello', as they say; the opportunity of not having to drive for our night out couldn't have come at a better time. My friend and I have been planning a meal like this for quite some time; Cyrus is not the sort of restaurant where one just pops in unannounced for dinner. Reservations must be made weeks in advance, and even then, we've just made it off the "wait" list to fill the space of a last minute cancellation.

That probably explains why we're seated between the waiter's station and hostess stand. It has nothing to do with the fact that a trio of well-dressed forty-something women have arrived amidst clouds of competing perfume and non-stop chattering, and they're going to be seated, just as I suspect, at a table about a foot and a half away from our own.

"Hoo-boy", whispered my companion, "there goes the neighborhood".

"Well, maybe they'll be a quick in-and-out", I replied. "I bet too many people don't order the chef's eight-course menu like we have tonight."

"But we've been here for over half an hour and they haven't even brought us the first course yet", noted my friend.

He's right, but we've not been lacking for attention-or food-thus far. In well choreographed orchestration, we've been offered several rounds of canapés and "amuse bouche" as they say in the fine dining trade these days. This last round is particularly profound: a three-tiered platter designed to "awaken all five senses", describes our waiter.

He goes on to explain that each of the micro-sized morsels have been designed to stimulate the taste sensations of salty, sweet, bitter, sour, and umami (savory).

As with most of our meal this evening, the ingredients are both many and complex, and trying to recall exactly what they were, from my vantage point several weeks later, is a bit too daunting for this writer. Suffice to say, I do remember the waiter describing the "salty" offering as the chef's attempt to re-create a Philly-style soft pretzel. Not quite what I remember from my days at the Jersey shore, though as I munch down, I kind of get what he's saying...

After a brief interlude with the Champagne and caviar cart, we opt for the chef's special menu, which changes nightly. Our meal goes on to include such likes as "Tataki of Waygu Beef with Tomatoes, Avocado and Sea Beans"; "Turbot with Corn, Scallions and Radish, Shiso-Ginger Dashi"; "Abalone with Kijiki Noodles and Snap Peas" (and those are just the first three).

"Good thing these portions are small", notes my friend, and fortunately he's right. These artistic creations take much longer to craft in the kitchen than they do to consume; most can be done in one quick bite.

We're just about at the point in our meal when the table next to us has been seated, and the three ladies immediately alter the course of our evening.

"Could you take back our wine and chill it properly this time?" says one of the trio, "this is an expensive chardonnay, after all..." she elucidates unnecessarily to the patient waiter.

(There's not a sliver of doubt in my mind that their wine, like ours, has arrived at the perfect serving temperature, about 45-48 degrees, which is just not ice-box cold as too many folks are used to.)

I exchange a sympathetic smile with the sommelier, who has come over to attend to the desires of the women, but now one of them has caught the subtle exchange, "Stop laughing at us", she grimaces.

"Sorry!", I apologize for the indiscretion, which I immediately blame on my friend. "We're just enjoying our meal, and that's one of my friend's favorite Kistler chardonnays", I offer in a hopefully conciliatory note.

But the damage has been done and there's no getting the jack back in the box at this point. "Say, where are you two guys from anyway?", says one of the ladies; "We live in San Jose, the Silicon Valley, you know. Girl's getaway. We're staying at this cute little B & B down the road. This is one of our favorite restaurants; we were going to go somewhere else but then we thought that this one would remind us of last year when we all went to Paris and had this simply delightful meal at..."

Fortunately, we were saved by the arrival of our next course, "Duck Breast with Sherry Jus; Rosti Potatoes and Peppers". It was also time to move from our opening bottle of white wine, a Savenniere (dry chenin blanc) from the Loire Valley, which I had ferreted out from the restaurant's wine list.

They say that a good sommelier will save a few hidden kisses on his or her wine list for knowing patrons, and at $38 the Savenniere fit the bill; a much friendlier price point than the hundreds of other bottles going for upwards of $100 a shot.

I'd also taken an opportunity to look over the complete list of wine offerings at Cyrus over the internet, as that's a deregueur practice for high end restaurants these days.

Plenty of great wines, but then I also noticed the small print at the bottom stating: "Corkage fee $35". With all of our travels through the wine country, we'd managed to accumulate a few nice bottles; what better opportunity to enjoy a few of them...

By now our (near) dining companions were curious as to what we had brought, wine-wise, and offered to trade some of theirs in return.

"My husband told me I could take anything in his cellar", said one of the women. "But then he decided I should have this bottle of Bordeaux-a Haut Brion."

Impressive, until I looked at the label. It was a Grand Cru all right, but from the unremarkable, even dismal 2002 vintage* .Too young to drink, no matter the provenance; I easily imagine this woman's husband as he condescendingly offered this "special" bottle to his wife, "Just perfect for your night out with the girls, hon."

Next up on the menu was a choice between "Lamb Roulade with Fennel, Garbanzo Beans, and Black Olive", or, the one I couldn't resist, "Cyrus BLT". Being an adventurous sort, I had to see what would inspire the chef to such an offering...

After the obligatory exchange of wine bottles with our neighbors (I confess there wasn't much left in our bottle by the time we switched); we were treated to an extravagant cheese platter. Delectable selections, all hand made by local farms...intoned our waiter.

And all with unpronounceable or forgettable names at this point in our meal. We'd finished our second bottle, and most of our neighbor's Haut Brion as well...isn't it amazing how much better a formerly bad wine can get as an evening wears on? Time for something else; we still had multiple cheeses remaining, and then those two dessert courses as well.

I ordered several glasses from the wine list, and used the lull to explore different parts of the restaurant. After discerning that, "No, we don't have any Averna in stock", from the bartender (anyone recall last spring's column about drinking with Mario Batalli?), I repaired to our table to find my friend locked in heated conversation with the neighbors.

"Well, I'll have you know that my friend here was on the cover of the Wall Street Journal last week", said one of the women.

"Yeah, and so was Bernie Madoff", grumbled my companion.

Our waiter deftly noted that things were beginning to spiral out of control and saved us once again with the dessert course (or courses). "Cherry and Pistachio Ice Cream Sandwich with Cardamon Streusel", and then "Strawberry Rhubarb Bread Pudding".

Fortunately again, tiny bite-size portions, but as with all of our dishes that evening, simply exquisite. Just enough to soothe the savage beast, or at least calm down tensions in our part of the dining room, which we noted, had miraculously begun to clear.

"Well, it is past midnight", offered my friend. "What time did we ask the driver to pick us up?"

Oh, about fifteen minutes ago, I remembered, and sure enough, parked outside the front window was our inscrutable driver.

"Don't let him leave without us", my companion croaked, "I'll get the bill and we can settle up in the morning."

Time to call it a night; there's a slow descent towards sideways...we should have known there's a price to pay for having all that fun!


~ Tim Dwight


*Footnote: Robert Parker's Wine Advocate describes the '02 Haut Brion thusly: "...Lacking the natural ambiance of other vintages...smooth but lacks complexity and depth...reserved and angular..."