Orange County Register Gives Charlie Palmer at Bloomingdale's Five Stars

Orange County Register

Charlie Palmer Brings Signature Style to O.C.
By Elizabeth Evans
October 8, 2008

Charlie Palmer. A muscular name with a pretty reputation. The New York-based chef has a handle that sounds as if it should belong to a sports legend or steak house, but he is best known for the powerful beauty of his Aureole restaurants.

And despite his burly name and burlier physique — the man is over 6 feet tall — he has even refined the idea of a steak house with his lovely Charlie Palmer Steak concepts.

Although his name does precede him at his first California venture — it is after all an eponymous eatery — I'm still surprised by it. The space tucked into a ground-floor corner of the massive Bloomingdales at South Coast Plaza takes my breath away when I first visit at lunch.

Maybe it's the high, high ceilings, or the quiet bustle of the well-filled dining room, but I'm transported back to the days of two-martini expense-account meals and men in slim-cut suits.

Midday, there is a well-edited selection of sandwiches, salads and appetizers. From the lunchtime entrees, I choose Crisp Pacific Sea Bass ($31), a filet of white meat fish served with the skin nearly glass-like in its crackle. It's livened with miso orange vinaigrette and served over a vegetable medley of edamame and shitake mushrooms.

There is also a three-course prix fixe ($26) offered at lunch that has as its entrée this day Georges Bank scallops. They are lovely pale pink centered bivalves served over a creamy corn risotto.

First course choices include the Watercress and Wax Bean Salad, which is also served à la carte for lunch or dinner ($10). The salad is terrific, the long pale yellow beans resting on a bed of peppery green watercress, dressed in aged balsamic and tossed with toasted pine nuts and pecorino cheese.

We end with Molten Chocolate Cake ($10), a square volcano with the deep brown center oozing from the top. It shares the plate with preserved lemon slivers over fudge and espresso ice cream.

I return for dinner, on a Monday night, because I've been told that the $25 corkage fee is waived on this night, and that includes the wine sold at Next Vintage, which — depending on how you look at it — is either the wine store within the restaurant, or, as one of the very cute sommeliers says, "The restaurant is surrounded by the wine store."

Indeed, there is a wine hard sell when we arrive; at least three people explain the concept to us: the prices listed on the wine menu are for the retail or take-away price. If you order it with your meal, a straight $25 is added to the cost of the wine. It's a deal if you consider that the average restaurant charges about two and a half times retail for wine.

One of my few complaints here would have to be the bread: at lunch, the small warm-from-the-oven baguettes are the best choice, the whole grain and olive breads being rather dry. At dinner, even the baguettes seem a day old.

Fortunately, there's a fine amuse buche — an amusing tongue twister of pickled prawns and parsley puree delivered to the table as soon as we order. The sweet and tangy palate tickler is well received.

So, too, are our starters, which arrive in very short order — and far too long before our wine does. Still, we're almost too taken with the starters to care.
The increasingly ubiquitous combination of Roasted Beet and Point Reyes Blue Cheese ($12) is updated by the addition of baby Mizuna, a mild Japanese green tossed here with pistachio vinaigrette. Roasted corn soup ($13) is velvety smooth and dotted with bite-size dumplings filled with Chanterelle mushrooms.

Braised Octopus Carpaccio ($15) is a mosaic of microtome octopus with equally thin potatoes, topped with shaved fennel and surrounded with an intense shallot verjus — a sour, almost vinegar-like, liquid.
For sheer decadence, though, look no further than the seared Hudson Valley Foie Gras ($24). The creamy goose liver is crisp from the heat and still sizzling when it arrives at our table. Sided with a single fig tart tatin and marble-size caramelized pearl onions, it is too rich to finish and too delicious not to.

Wine arrives and the proper amount of time passes before our dinners are served. Maine Sea Scallops ($32) are presented with tender sautéed calamari in a fragrant clam parsley broth. Black Angus Filet Mignon ($35) is well cooked, but even with its thatch of blue cheese crust, it's hardly a standout on this menu.

I'm much more impressed with Confit Berkshire Pork Tenderloin ($28), served over parsnip puree. The richly flavored meat includes braised cheeks that nearly melt in the mouth.

Pancetta-Wrapped Quail ($28) is miraculous. The tiny game bird is boneless and perfect beneath the thin Italian bacon. The sweet and salty juices blend into the tender white cannelloni beans on which the bird is served.

There are side dishes offered, but if you don't order the steak, they aren't necessary. Although I do like the Crisp Fries ($8) served with chipotle aioli.

Better to save room for dessert. Pastry chef Maren Henderson devises some sweets that are stunning and delicious. Pear ravioli ($10) come to the table in a checkerboard fashion placed uniformly on a white square plate; the pear is sliced thin and acts as the wrapper for a small dollop of smoked vanilla cream, made even more slyly complex with the addition of root beer ice cream.
The surprise texture trick — or is it real magic? — is also used in the Giaunduja ($10), pebble-size cream puffs filled with the silken hazelnut imbued chocolate. They are the least attractive of the sweets we try this night, but when I pop one in my mouth, I see stars. The warm chocolate mixture is just the right temperature to burst without burning. It's teamed with taste-provoking treats, including smoked homemade marshmallows.

The deconstructed praline tart ($10) is an example of one of the leitmotifs of the food here: bringing disparate ideas together to make the whole greater than the parts. In this case, a long rectangular plate is laid with slices of confit banana, honeycomb and milk sorbet that on their own are each too sweet, yet eaten together with the slightly salty and crunchy praline, they are just about perfect.

And they, like everything else, combine to make this Charlie Palmer live up to its name.

For the full article:
http://www.ocregister.com/articles/wine-served-order-2184617-lunch-well