Rising Stars: Rory Hermann

Can't forget the finishing touch!



Rory Hermann of Bouchon Bistro and I have bumped into each other a few times in the past - once in the kitchen of Bouchon during their grand opening with our good friend Larry King, who we often get together with for coffee and a round of canasta.



Rory won my heart with these little pork belly and pesto bites



For my first formal dinner at Bouchon, I ordered the luscious short ribs and my friend went for the breast.





We visited the kitchen after our gorgeous meal. Maybe it was the fact that I'd been allowed to run wild all over the place during the opening so I felt at home. Maybe it was the champagne or just my boisterous personality. but I didn't enter the kitchen with the usual humility. Rory was happy to hear our compliments and stopped all of the staff so he could announce, "These fine young ladies here have reported that they just had a meal that totally kicked ass!" to resounding applause.





They have a wide-screen TV with a 2-way live feed between this kitchen and the one in Yountville, which was a trip. After getting some sauce-making advice, we waved goodbye and waved thanks to everyone, then in a strange Cheap Trick moment I raised my hands over my head and hollered at the screen, "...and good-niiight Yountville!"

So maybe I shouldn't have been surprised when I introduced myself to the chef at Rising Stars and he said, "Oh, YOU I remember." Everyone at their station was laughing and having a good time. In addition to the Sweetbreads with Celery and Sauce Perigourdine they had those lovely, lovely chocolate bouchons. They even had little bags of brittle to take home. Such good hosts.





Rory Hermann receiving his award from Thomas Keller







Thomas Keller looks ready to start some mischief with those pesky balls of his



...and Rory gets the reach on John Rivera Sedlar.

dineLA: La Cachette

If there is one thing I love, it is foie gras. So naturally, I LOVE La Cachette. The original La Cachette on Little Santa Monica was a little ritzy for a relatively new foodie. I remember standing outside in the rain on the cell phone asking my brother how much to tip a Maitre D'. I always expected to turn around and see Nancy Reagan at the next table.

So La Cachette Bistro down by the beach is a welcome relief. A much more mellow vibe, scaled way down on zee frainch waiterrr 'tude. BUT it still has the luscious, luscious foie gras, and, as we were to find out, some very hearty and comforting winter dishes. We were invited to test out the dineLA menu during the last go-round.



Fawning all over chefs does have its benefits, one of which is that Chef Jean Francois sent out a terrine de foie gras with rhubarb pearls. Holy Christ! It was silky and fatty and rich and melted on the tongue. We ended up doing that thing where you cut the last bit in half, then the other person cuts it in half, and you keep doing that until you have a ridiculously small dot on the plate, but no one wants to be rude and take the last bite although they can't stop eating it. let's stand on the chair and yell BRAVO! for that, and thank you, Jean Francois, that was very generous.

I started with the fish and longostine soup, and Lindsay chose the tartar. I have to quote her here, it is so poetic, "The champion of the appetizers was the tartar, which beckoned with an almost winking come-hither sheen." Once we got a bite of the grassy, herbal, citrusy and smooth fresh tartar. It was like meatloaf's cousin that left the farm and became a big success in the city.



For the main course, I chose the Beef Daube, a stew braised in red wine stock. It was hidden under a blanket of pasta rounds, like half-raviolis. A little odd, but original. The stew that peeked out from beneath made you stop and stare at your dining partner in disbelief. All conversation stopped at first bite. The stock was so intense and reduced down to pure beef essence. The meat was tender and flaking apart, making my mouth water at the very memory.



Lindsay's Housemade Boudin Blanc Sausages were not what we expected. They were so light and finely ground, like won ton filling or gefilte fish. They yielded to the tooth willingly and easily. The little tater tot-like potatoes that accompanied the dish were a capricious delight.



The chocolate cakes, cut into fingers, reminded me of an upscale Devil Dog or Zinger. The chocolate was on the finest quality and treated with great care. Somehow the inside of the cake managed to stay hot while I snapped away with my camera.



Lindsay's apple tart, which she describes as " stacked with thin slices of apple on a bewitching, buttery, flaky pastry crust, topped with caramel sauce with creme fraiche on the side."



I love La cachette, I love Jean Francois, and I will definitely return to the little bistro by the beach for every special occasion.

Bouchon's Grand Opening

Glamour was the order of the evening at Bouchon's opening event Monday night. After ascending the staircase, we were greeted by servers offering champagne near a caviar station with caviar quenelle and whipped cream cheese-topped bagel crisps surrounding the biggest ice volleyball in the world.



Gliding down the elegant hallway, we came across a full bar on the right serving Bouchon's signature drink of Grey Goose vodka, Lillet Blanc, and Brizard Peche with an Orange Baton/Lemon Twist. A raw bar around the corner was shucking oysters at lightning speed.



Chef Thomas Keller



The room is reminiscent of a bistro, but on a grander scale. Whimsical murals line the walls and high ceilings keep the rococco touches from overwhelming the eye.



The use of space for the event was practical and imaginative, with cheese and charcuterie being offered in the main dining room, hot appetizers in the kitchen, and cookies in the prep room. The only space that was not being used were the walk-in freezers, but quite a few people were peeking. It was fun to hang around the back corridors where the sommelier was offering a tasting. To add to the fun, there was a bake-your-own-bread station where they taught you to snip leaves of dough with scissors, forming beautiful baguettes.



The raw bar offered oysters, shrimp, clams, and mussels. The Beau Soleil oysters were ruffled, like in The Walrus and the Carpenter, and they tasted briny but clean. They went down gently with a dose of mignonette sauce. You know you are in a great hall of gastronomie when the shrimp cocktail is getting the least attention.











The charcuterie table held an inviting array of salami, pickled vegetables, marinated olives, tapenade and olivade, Pate de Campagne and toasted breads. The cheese table was laden with a selection of imported cheeses including Red Hawk and Fourme d'Ambert to enjoy with fresh Bouchon breads.









But in spite of the high quality, these were all cold apps -- where was Thomas Keller's delicious food? Slip down the hall into the kitchen, and voila! Cue "Fanfare for a King's Supper".



The first taste was a butternut squash soup that was comforting, but not memorable compared to the luscious morsels to follow.



Perhaps the most delicious "doot" (as James Beard called them) was Keller's take on a BLT -- pork belly with pesto between two slices of butter-soaked grilled sourdough bread.



Rich short ribs in a dark demi glace were another favorite. The little squares of short ribs may have been on a mashed potato and parsnip puree, but the meat was so intense that anything else on the appetizer spoon was overshadowed.



The pommes frites were a hit with the crowd, and the paper cones were set in an adorable tiered display as well as offered around the dining room in a carnival-like cigarette girl tray. In fact, isn't that a (truffled) popcorn machine over there? Along with the accordian player and chanteuse Morganne Picard's silky voice, Bouchon was conjuring up memories of Paris' Île de la Cité.







Other notable bites turned out by the kitchen were teensy croque monsieurs



croquettes, delicate pastries filled with mushroom duxelles, petit cod brandade, and canapés topped with foie gras quenelles, smoked salmon, or roast beef.











We ended up settling in the back hallways with out goods and some other bloggers (ahem) I mean food writers.





Ryan Seacrest was surprisingly friendly running into us in the back halls



Fred Savage is grinning like that because he just snaked some of my fries.



Down the hall as we were juggling plates, someone mentioned dessert. Dessert? Oh my God! Could there be any more delicious food left out there in the world? Or was it all here in this one building on this one night? Turning the corner into the prep area, we were dazzled by a delight of cookies. Signature TKOs, Keller's interpretation of an Oreo, were shaped like adorable little daisies.



Their macarons are light as air. The crackle as the fragile outer shell barely breaks between your teeth and sucks up into a little ball of sugar is as satisfying as breaking the top of a creme brulee with the tip of your spoon.



Chocolate Bouchons









The last room was the bakery, where people were learning to fashion baguettes, a lucky few under the guidance of Thomas Keller himself. Comaraderie built as people waited in anticipation for their loaves to be turned out of the oven.





It was a friendly crowd all around, and we chatted with Cheryl Tiegs as easily as with the bartender. Walking out into the early winter cold with our gift bags, Eliza Doolittle could not have felt any more glamorous leaving her very first ball.





Jay Leno garages his cars near my house and I did have this conversation with him.

"Hi. We have almost gotten into like three crashes, so I thought I would introduce myself now so if it ever happens you know I'm a nice person."

"Really?"

"Yeah. One time I was driving down Magnolia and this really bitchin' car hung a crazy U-turn in front of me and almost caused a crash. Knowing that you collect bitchin cars, I shook my fist out the window and shouted, 'Damn you, Jay Leno!" to be funny, but then you turned around and it was you...Another time - you own a car that is all silver, right?"

"Yes. I do."

Well, I was driving east into the sun, which by the way, makes that car totally invisible, and I turned right in front of you onto Hollywood, barely missing you."

"See? And did I shake my fist and yell damn you? no."



The only thing that marred the evening is being interrupted by some kind of PR/manager/handler, requesting that I not take any pictures of Don Johnson. They checked and double-checked my credentials, making me very uncomfortable. I was thinking, "Really? Don Johnson? That's what you are willing to die over?" But then he became my white whale and every time he passed, my camera finger itched until my friend had to warn me, "Don't."

Finally, as we were waiting at the valet, there was Don Johnson also waiting at the valet. My friend said, "If you go over and ask him to take his picture I'm leaving."

Sigh. But as he jumped in his car, he looked at me, grinned and posed, flashing the peace sign. It was dark and we were moving, so the pic is blurry. But I got my white whale and Don Johnson proved himself to be ultracool.