Adour

Tonight I had a glass of 1982 "Don PX" from Bodegas Toro Albala in Malaga, Spain (only the Spanish home of sherries), a port-style sherry made from the Pedro Ximenez grape that thankfully graced my glass tonight. This hospitable glass was the metaphorical grape being delicately dropped into my mouth, as I sat in Adour's dining room at the St. Regis hotel, metaphorically side-reclining-Cleopatra-like. Poorly-crafted-metaphor-explained: the service was terrific. And Wolf Blitzer was there too (and he interviewed Anwar Sadat, so, full circle).

Dinner was exquisite, particularly breaking into an admirably and sensuously flavorful peak at dessert (that concurrent third glass of wine helped too). Since I can make semi-substantiated and pretentious comparisons, Adour was the warmest and most comfortable of the three Alain Ducasse restaurants I have been to (the others being Mix and Aux Lyonnais). The wood ceilings were richly adorned and painted, the wine cellar's packed-full-shelves girded the dining room with additional intimacy, and the tables were spaced well enough apart that two girls could get their talking done relatively unimpeded.

Lobby of the St. Regis

My friend Meredith (who embraced my food photography, even of herself) and I began with a delicious half decanter of whatever Pinot Noir the wine director (anecdote about him later) offered us, featuring blackcurrant and cherry notes. Then the butter was put on the table, to let it warm up a bit more. Unshakable expression of Francophilic habit tonight: my love of butter.

Then we had sturdy but conservatively wispy cheese rolls. Deux for each of us.

Then we were offered a cup of carrot-ginger soup, which had just a small insinuation of spice.

The amuse-bouches were delicious, but not zealously innovative, so it was good the fun quickly began. We were offered bread and, like good students of French, took petits baguettes.

My first course, seared day boat scallops with braised endive and shaved black truffles, arrived. They were plump, perfectly cooked, and had shaved black truffles, which for me are as extravagant as gold leaf on desserts (which I got, half an hour later).

They were delicious but not exceptional and certainly not photogenic. But, my entree was both of these things. And certainly dramatic. I ordered the Maine lobster and penne cocotte with black truffle and tomato/basil sauce. It's only partially true I ordered these dishes almost entirely based on the chef's inclusion of black truffles.

I ordered the lobster because it came in a cocotte, which is a French Dutch oven. I guess. And I've found that cocottes usually contain rich, reminciently-countryside-prepared, soulful foods whose flavors blend perfectly together in tight spaces. Surprisingly, my cocotte was prepared with a ring of pastry locking the lid on, which was cut tableside. There was enough lobster for two, perfectly prepared pasta, and flavorful yet densely intact tomatoes, with long strands of fresh basil clinging to them all.

Meredith got venison, which came with root vegetables that became symmetrical geometric shapes when plated.

Dinner was exceptional, but we and our table became luminous when dessert starting being served. As our desserts were laid down on the table, the waiter explained that since they didn't accommodate us just ordering one tasting menu (at least two have to do it, so we did a la carte), they'd offer us two glasses of dessert wine. This would typically be unwelcome, Meredith and I both agreed after the glasses were poured, as dessert wines can be syrupy, sugary, and resiny.

At other places, apparently. Meredith had a reminiscent-of-Gone-with-the-Wind glass of Madeira, allegedly with butterscotch notes and an orange finish (we only tasted the butterscotch) to accompany her hazelnut souffle and ginger-lemon sorbet.

I had the glass of 1982 Don PX, retrieved from the depths of the real, underground cellar, apparently. It had notes of chocolate and coffee and gratitude. It was a perfect complement to my dessert, a chocolate-pecan dacquoise, described as cremeux, crumble, and coffee ice cream. The pastry at the bottom was perfectly constructed--thin, crunchy yet flaky--with layers of chocolate and pecan under a chocolate frame with, you guessed it, gold leaf in the middle.

These were served, astonishingly, with four satisfyingly Parisian macarons (chocolate and raspberry?) and Adour-labelled chocolates.

Double-double fisting

The dining room was buzzing but still hushed, the lighting was faint but the whites reflected, and the service was friendly but unobtrusive. It was one of the most welcoming let logically-arrayed spaces I've seen at a DC restaurant.

As we left, I giddily thanked the handsome wine director for the delicious port-styled sherry. "I'll be sure to have plenty of it on hand next time you're here," he said.

A blog about the intersection between food and love just writes itself.