A couple of gentle reminders later, Ron starts to work the phone Friday and finds a table for Saturday evening at a place that's peripherally been on my list: the Dry Creek Kitchen in the Hotel Healdsburg. I call ahead myself and ask about the dress code and corkage. I'm definitely looking forward to it.
The stakes in Sonoma are a bit high, not just because of nearby Napa but also because of places like the Harmony restaurant in the Ledson Hotel on Sonoma's town square. Dry Creek Kitchen has a reputation because it's from a name in the business, Charlie Palmer. That's him at left.
I'm told over the phone that the scene is "business casual" and that as long as the wine you bring is from the county, there's no corkage. That's an awesome touch, I think. What a note of confidence, a great way to get people to think about local wine.
So what to make of dinner? The main courses and a couple of other things miss. Dry Creek comes up short, CP.
The room, where the big money went, is beautiful. Columns sweep into the ceiling, and at one point I thought of the TWA terminal at JFK. The windows draw in evening light that fades into candlelight from the tables. There's also this cute vase for breadsticks, and a small potted plant of thyme. We shed our four bottles of wine from the Trader Joe's bag -- one sparkling (Korbel Blanc de Noirs), a chardonnay (Belvedere) and two reds (a Peterson zin and a Hop Kiln blend of syrah and grenache) -- and have the first two opened right away.
The Korbel, which K and I picked up after a quick tasting on the way back from a hike in Guerneville, has a touch of sweetness and a nice gold hue that goes great with the starters: two ahi tuna tartares for R&R, a cannelini bean and smoked tomato soup for Kristen and a special one for myself. I'm having the housemade tagliatelle with winecaps, morels, ramps (Jomo, remember these from Perbacco?) and asparagus entree as an appetizer, an off-menu improvisation I learned from my dad.
Everything is going well. I do have to ask for a flute refill, and also for cracked pepper to finish my pasta primi. The tuna tartare is creamy and the avocado relish doesn't bowl everything over, even though it's rich. It's good. The broth for the soup, poured separately on the beans at table, is full of flavor, although K isn't into the caramelized bay scallops. I try them and not sure they're warranted. Maybe an Anaheim pepper in a very thin dice would have worked? Charlie?
My pasta is fine; not sure if I can tell this tagliatelle from spaghettini. I love looking at the shapes and colors, and there are mouthfuls of mushrooms and seasonal asparagus. My favorite thing is the plate: Think of a smooth, white LP with a bowl popped out of the center label. The transition to the red bottles also happens seamlessly. They're opened early on, and the Peterson zin gets decanted. (Hop Kiln did advise having its blend otherwise sit for 20-30 minutes.)
The comments on the entrees (check 'em out) are average, except for Ron's Wagyu steak, called excellent. Roz has the duck, K has the salmon and I got trout. The presentation is knockout, especially the skin of the trout fried into a thin cracker on half a filet, then a layer of green chard, then the other half of the filet on white watercress. Ron's russet-potato fries are stacked like Lincoln logs, at right angles. But again, three out of four reviews come in as just adequate.
Roz, who's been spoiled by Aaron and Del Monte Meats, doesn't think her duck breast is that special. I try it and agree. She also reports her "cassoulet" was overly salty. (Knowing her palate, that means too salty.) Kristen isn't doing cartwheels, although her salmon pieces in miso look beautiful.
I'm not overwhelmed, either. The cracker novelty wears off quick, the so-called bacon roasted beets are a bit bland, and how come I can't cut this chard that well with this knife I have for the fish? The fish: It's fine, rendering itself as trout. The best part, though, is the watercress and "pesto."
Our wines, all acquired at reasonable prices, pair well. I do have to reach over to the nearby counter and refill my glass a couple of times. The waiter did notice eventually.
Desserts, which included cappuccino crème brulee and a chocolate peanut-butter bar, become popular. I barely get a forkful once they go around Kristen. It's an up-note ending to a $300 evening, with $40 tacked on for corkage on two bottles.
Weren't Sonoma wines supposed to be comped corkage? Only two per table, our waiter says. Why weren't we told that over the phone? Two bottles are standard, he replies. (Hey, the charge is reasonable, given that we had chilled bottles, employed a decanter and used different glassware. Just let us know, mkay?)
Next time I'm around the square and feeling saucy, I may visit again and enjoy drinks and starters. There's even something of a scene with live jazz and couches in the lounge across the courtyard. Yet I want to ask, Charlie Palmer, even for seasoned food nuts like ourselves, shouldn't there have been more standouts? The setting and presentation are in place, but doesn't that raise the bar for what you actually taste, and for what you think you're getting?
It's your name out there.
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