A motley crew rambled into town, nearly driving by the restaurant in search of a bucolic pasture, despite big bold letters reading Town House on the back of a wall – “that’s not it – it’s in a field.” Collectively, to a person, we were already looking past Main Street USA for green rolling hills in the mountain mist ahead – “keep going!” It was thought to be a place where the Shieldses (John & Karen) could just step outside and pluck wild herbs for the next course. The mythology of its remoteness had clearly fogged our senses¹ until The Ulterior Epicure, on a rare pause from the gas², pulled in for a closer look. Spotting liquid nitrogen tanks, he asked “Who else in Chilhowie would use those?”

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Sometimes, a touch of serendipity will light a spark. Table Three, arguably the best seat at Georges California Modern, looks out over the Pacific Ocean. Squint seconds after the sun sets and you just might catch that elusive green flash. Blue, orange, pink, and yellow fade to black as blips of light, fishing vessels, dot the darkness, possibly netting tomorrow’s catch. It is that impossible contradiction – a table with a great view and better food.

Table Three was born out of my last meal at Georges California Modern – where I asked Chef Trey Foshee to “go for it” – and it is now the menu’s official name.¹

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Searching for the new, in the constant grind to stay relevant, many chefs have adopted a maximalist philosophy, unleashing a barrage of technique and flavor combinations that aim to surprise first – the Cuisine Agape.¹ At its best, such as Pierre Gagnaire on an inspired day, thinking in eight more dimensions than humanly possible, epiphanies pop across the plate with revelations of flavor and texture. But there is something too about peeling back the onion, so to speak, paring the food down to its most elemental – fire and nature – where simplicity reveals the complexities of taste. Minimalist and light, Joshua Skenes has developed a style where the inflections of a toasted sea leaf divulge as much about food as an entire space-age twelve-course tasting menu. “Simple”, he says, “sometimes is very difficult.”

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Often, after taking a bite, you look at the plates for clues. Their simplicity belies the sensations of the palate. In an age of abundance, when dishes need matrices for decoding, David Kinch continues to reduce and refine, searching for the ethereal. A citrus or vinaigrette command immediate attention and focus, never letting the flavors wander or muddy. Sprigs of herbs, gorgeous but seemingly ancillary, pepper each bite with their quick short jabs of bitterness or tang, a Thin Green Line against an overbearing protein. Essence has always driven Kinch’s best dishes for my 25+ meals at Manresa.

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The incongruity of Roberta’s begins somewhere in Manhattan for many, where the island’s sheer density assaults the senses. One does not fare much better on the subway, fighting for a seat, while the car jerks and screeches toward points unknown.¹ Emerging from the Morgan Ave stop, on a cold eve before snowfall, the bustle is replaced by a calm grey stillness, desolate rows of shuttered warehouses, and empty streets. Random lights sparkle in make-shift lofts. There is a marked dearth of human activity. You could almost imagine, somewhere under the river, the bomb dropped – and this is the brave new world.

photo by Roboppy of The Girl Who Ate Everything

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