Ortolan

I had a dream last night that I returned to Ortolan. Needless to say I woke up sorely disappointed at my meaningless life, not to mention in addition, an empty stomach. It is because of my experience at Ortolan that America has been relatively redeemed. The ever popular maxim, "The customer is always right" -- even if it means disowning your family, turning a blind eye to any shred of morality, and denying your very identity -- is a very effective method of making maximum profit. I always thought this very maxim was created for overindulged suburban housewives who needed to take a break from their equally overindulged and self-absorbed children who eventually will have babies at sixteen. But no. Butt kissing will get you very far in life. What I loved about Christophe Émé's restaurant was not necessarily the food (but this definitely played a large part), but the entire atmosphere. I walked in fearing judgment and pretension (after all, I had worn stockings with a run in them! Quel faux pas!), but was met instead with a charming, suave, and polite man named Jamal Thompson. There were chandeliers above every elegantly padded beige booth, offset by crispy white tablecloths, coy French tunes chiming through the speakers, and busboys calling you, "madame." I would have preferred mademoiselle, but that's a technicality, seeing as how they would have probably normally called me "senorita" in their native tongue. Okay, excuse the slightly racist comment. I guess that was blatantly racist. . .ahem.

Suffice it to say that this has been one of the best. I mean... the best places I have ever eaten at. Do you hear me? Did you read that correctly? Yes. Yes, that does mean you have to go for yourself. I know what you're thinking. "Tiffany, didn't you say you were going to tone it down with the whole eating-out excessively and breaking your bank account thing? And don't you have French Laundry to save up for?" My answer to you is firstly, "damn it, it's none of your business what I do with my lunch money" and secondly, "Yes, but Monsieur Émé had an offer advertised on his website that I just couldn't refuse! A $40 spring tasting menu (3 courses!) with an optional $20 wine pairing." Okay, if you've never finely dined, I will say now that that's an amazingly affordable foreplay dinner. (Not that I'm condoning this.)

Courtney and I reunited to tackle the likes of this contemporary Frenchie. We had our reservations about what was going to come out of the kitchen, due to past unmentionable dineLA nightmares -- BUT the food was nothing short of spectacular, if not eccentric.

Photo Credit: Jamal Thomas

Eggplant purée + pesto spread
almond + zucchini gazpacho & hot beet soup
(if I remember correctly...)
The hot soup was memorable, and the spread was excellent. I could have licked the bowl clean.

I decided to try out some frog legs.
Not bad. Does taste like chicken (or what I remember chicken to taste like), albeit a bit veiny.
Émé was rather fond of gnocchi. It seemed to be an accompaniment to every dish. But the gnocchi was yummy. Pan-seared.

Courtney ordered quail immersed in cream and pesto
It was delicious. I had dish envy.

nom nom nom

Lobster spaghetti with herb caviar, white asparagus, and some form of mushroom.
I forget.
I'm not a huge fan of spaghetti, but Jamal insisted on it, so I ordered it. The spaghetti, for me, was a little too thick, and the lobster was too insubstantial. I like my lobster in CHUNKS. This was shredded. but it was very lovely nonetheless, at least in presentation :)

Courtney ordered an amazing lamb confit.
It was. . .
I mean, it was impeccable.

Vanilla honey panna cotta with strawberry caviar.
Again, presentation was interesting, but the panna cotta was a little bit too watery for me -- it didn't set properly. the strawberry caviar could have used a bit of lemon -- or something to counter the creamy, sort of dullness of the panna cotta.

lemon tart.
Sounded bleh on the menu, but LOOKED amazing,
and tasted even more amazing. I'm drooling just thinking about it...

Yes, they even had a wax seal for their bill.
As though to say, "You're going to be so enthused by this wax seal with our signature birdie on it and lustre dust that you're not even going to care that the numbers inside exceed double digits."

Well done, Ortolan, well done.


I hope to see you again soon.
& thank you for the dining points.
;)