Naha Aha Moment

The restaurant review in its present state is in need of a drastic makeover, and I’m just the guy not to do it. But until they become scratch and sniff or they come with flavor strips (or unless they’re on par with the interwoven personal histories of, say, a Ruth Reichl or are able to plumb the depths of a chef’s psyche, as Alan Richman did with Schwa's brilliant and troubled Michael Carlson), I say we put a moratorium on them.

I’m talking the prevalent middle-of-the-road, I came, I ate, I wrote about it reviews. These reviewers need to turn in their stained lobster bibs, toss their tiny notepads and Roget’s Thesauri onto a sacramental pyre and be fitted with hair shirts where they must trek the wilderness along with other equally useless professions, such as personal shoppers, those lab coated scientists who inject Maybelline into the eyes of bunnies, and Gwyneth Paltrow’s publicist.

While I’m at it, let me also propose there are two schools of thought when it comes to well-prepared food. There is, what I shall call, the Tom Colicchio school, which stresses the classics, harmonious flavors, balanced seasoning, and simplicity (but not simplistic), a straightforward cuisine with no curveballs. Sounds easy, right? Not exactly. Ask anyone who has ever stepped a Croc into a kitchen. In contrast to that, is what I’ll call the Ferran Adria school (he of the trendy global influence). The poet Ezra Pound, by way of Confucius, urged others to ‘Make It New’ and that’s what this camp does, pushing food to 11, like this:

...Reinventing tradition, taking risks and sometimes failing gloriously.

Which brings me finally to chef Carrie Nahabedian and her place Naha, which has garnered national attention and is within spitting distance from more famous Rick Bayless’ Frontera/Topolobampo, but in every way its equal. (Naha purportedly has a Cali-Mediterranean influence but I only see this tangentially; it is, generally speaking, that catch-all “American” food, grounded in seasonal, locally-sourced product.)

The dish I’d like to focus on seems to me to be a wonderful blend of the two camps I’ve described, although chef Nahabedian seems to have more taste buds in the Tom Colicchio corner than the Ferran Adria (in no way is this a value judgment).

Here is the description as found on the menu (on the LTH forum, a member of the grammar police indicted her for her liberal use of arbitrary quotation marks and, though at first a bit odd, I found them to be charming and emphatic):

Whole Roasted "Dressed" Squab,Foie Gras and Crisp Potato Cake scented with Armenian Rose Petal Marmalade and Licorice Root, Preserved Cherries, White Icicle Radishes, Pink Peppercorns, and Watercress Flowers

And a pic:

When I ordered this, the waiter leaned in close, like a concerned relative, “Sir, are you aware this comes with its talons, I just thought you should know.” Hell, yea! And I ordered a few pairs of extra talons, two for dipping and one to toss later into a boiling cauldron and cast a spell that would vanquish my enemies or win the lottery.

The squab’s skin was lacquer crisp, the succulent meat wild and flavorful, with not a trace of that blanched factory chicken white noise taste. (Domestic pigeon, go figure.) It would have been delicious on its own, but what pushed the dish through the roof was the flower power of the Armenian Rose Petal Marmalade. Could it have careened into an ‘Essence of Grandma’ abyss? Certainly. But it didn’t. The roses were not cloying and their notes played well against the savory. (Also, it made for the presentation, injecting a shot into the color palette.)

It was, for me, a gutsy ingredient and it edged the meal toward the exotic, a sultan’s repast, a valentine on a plate.