Post a Comment On: Confessions of a Restaurant Whore

I know, I know. I haven't written about Europe yet and you've all got your panties in a bunch about it. And I have to make you wait just a bit longer, because I *really* have had zero time to see my husband, see my lover, eat at a restaurant (the shock! the horror!) or do anything even resembling a social activity. In fact, due to my schedule, I am even missing the Chow.com launch party this evening (side note: I recently wrote an article for them, so all you haters that bash me by saying I don't know how to write, all my writhing around nekkid with the check they write me will be just for you).

Since I have not yet posted about the fun house that is El Bulli, or the revelation that is L'Astrance (or the incredible value and deliciousness of L'Entredgeu), I want to tell you about the coolest event the bay area has. That, my friends, would be CUESA's Sunday Supper.

First of all, Jon and I believe strongly in sustainable agriculture. I actually cannot pick up a non-organic item in a grocery store without feeling fire and brimstone nipping at my heels (especially if I'm resorting to a grocery store rather than the farmer's market -- which you should support because the farmers are losing money since the majority of the people at the market are tourists). We also try to support restaurants that feel the same way. So imagine how thrilled we were when we discovered that they, along with Jon's workplace, would be donating their talents to put on this yummerific event. On top of that, one of my favorite people would be lending some pastry magic to the event. There was no way were were going to miss this.

I dragged my ass home from rehearsal, swiped on some deoderant, changed my clothes and headed right back out for some CUESA lovin'.

And it was beautiful. Amazing appetizers and copius wine got us started off in the Ferry Building's main hall. This, in my opinion, was worth the price of the ticket alone -- I mean, it doesn't get any better than Fra'Mani, right? Somehow, in a move that would surely score a 10.0 in any Olympic event, they got everyone upstairs and seated without anyone feeling like cattle.

Each table has a different team of chefs. We weren't thrilled with our first table, but fortunately for us, the people next to us had friends at another table that wanted to trade. Serendipitously, we ended up at the table where Shuna was the dessert chef. I cried tears of joy.

We sat with some dope people, were served by the most bad ass catering company around (you should hire them if you need caterers because those bitches are on point) and treated to a breathtaking atmosphere on the second floor of the Ferry Building.

Our appetizer of breasola was prepared by ACME Chophouse (I got a beet, jicama and goat cheese substitution, which was ultra nice of them), our perfectly seared halibut was prepared for us by Market Bar and, of course, our Anson Mills buckwheat French butter cake was Shuna's delight. It goes without saying that Shuna's dish was my favorite thing of the night. Lighter than it looked, as salty as my tongue (which is how I like it) and not at all cloying, this was the big hit at our table.

Jon traded his dishes with colleagues seated at another table so we got a little more of the tasties.

We had purchased raffle tickets and watched in horror as someone ELSE at our table (how dare they?) won the year of free dinners with gift certificates to, among others, Zuni, Delfina, Manresa and A16. I have never been so close to shanking someone in my life.

Our night ended with hugs, kisses and much praise for our beloved chefs, and we returned home with full hearts, full bellies and a promise to return next year. You better fucking go next year, too (we needed a fuck in here somewhere, right?).

xoxo
Joy

"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."
-- La Rochefoucauld