Equinox

There's something clever women like about being taught something. Whether it's Jane Eyre devouring the contents of Mr. Rochester's library, the Princess Bride learning about the Dread Pirate Roberts, or a girl discovering the difference between bourbon and whiskey, a woman likes to know she's associating herself with intelligence. Which, is why on Friday night I knew I was falling for the tender culinary caresses of Equinox when gougères were wantonly put on the table almost immediately.

The night before, I spent the better part of an evening, a bottle of white wine, and my patience making gougères, a deceivingly complex gruyère cheese/choux pastry served typically during a cocktail hour or as an amuse bouche. They're airy yet leaden and saturated with butter, cheese, and more gruyère.

My endeavor started well enough, with a glass of chilled white and a "simple" one page recipe.....

....that yielded a cheese-confettied kitchen and 2-dimensional cheese blobs.

In the end I made three tiers of gougères: ones that would not agree to separate from the cookie sheet, the majority of which crisped up unsophisticatedly and crunched, and the precious eight that turned out at least the commonly-agreed upon color of gougères.

So, imagine my chagrin when I was immediately put in my place with a properly-consisted gougère at Equinox. Combine this with my realization that I was eating my final Andy-and-Kerry blog-worthy meal and a resolved solemnity overtook my regret at deflated gougères. How far we've come from the Cowboy Cafe.

We started with three exquisite cocktails, both Kerry and mine featuring subtly sophisticated accouterments: a slice of cucumber to accompany her gin cocktail and candied ginger on mine, complementing the citrus and vodka.


Those drinks tasted delicious both because of their quality and our need; our arrival at the restaurant an hour before wasn't entirely certain. Andy and Kerry, on their final stateside days, were busy with a variety of other departure preparations and suffered a minor-yet-wheel-debilitating car mishap, seconds after their voyage to the restaurant commenced. After some quick thinking, tires were replaced, carpools established, and valet parking capitalized on. Merely one hour after the threat of take-out seemed imminent, we were back on track.

The alcohol rushed to our fingertips as we used them to scan the menu and we started ordering, beginning with the risotto fritters and the gazpacho. Kerry's risotto fritters were creamy with stalwart grains that combined long enough to be fried. Andy's gazpacho tasted smooth, had a bit of vegetable chunk, and a hint of citrus (orange juice?) woven through.



















I had stuffed squash blossoms, which are fairly easy to obtain but hard to find on menus. These were stuffed with goat cheese, fried tempura style, and propped on olive tapenade; fried so delicately, their waving petals seemed to be frozen in motion. Our appetizers were a testament to the chef that despite the sweltering weather, appropriately flavored fried foods could satisfy in 100-plus degree heat.

Our pre-dinner salads and dishes were delicious and mostly remarkable, but lacked the proper fanfare to introduce the next course. Andy, who had ordered the tasting menu, had a pickled cabbage salad with a single shrimp on top and a drenched spinach salad with a citrus vinaigrette. I had a chopped salad with fresh figs, candied walnuts, roasted beets and a quail egg cooked up in the hole of a buttered piece of brioche. Kerry and I shared it but didn't realize the good stuff was in the middle of the salad until most of the frisée was gone. Andy also had a swordfish steak with tomatillo salsa, juicy and summer-complementarily tart.

Despite the seven preceding plates, we each ate all of our entrees. Kerry had the hand cut fazzoletti with poached lobster, fresh fava beans, charred farm corn, and smoked bacon. Andy had the grilled tenderloin of Pennsylvania pork with caramelized chanterelles.



















Kerry also ordered a delightful side of roasted beets and peaches, topped with a chilled, raw fennel salad on top. That's a summer salad that vaccinates against heat exhaustion.


I had soft shell crab, a food that has historically intimidated me like steak tartare did. Would it be like eating crab battered in egg shells? Like eating shrimp with the tails on? Would I have the same aggravation the remainder of the evening as I did when after a movie with stubborn popcorn hulls stuck in my teeth?

Apparently not: every part of the crab, from its spiny legs to its meaty body was rich in flavor and crunched delightfully and the tomatillo-based salad underneath cut the delicate sweetness of the crab. Ah well, better late than never.


Dessert was a bit of a disappointment, but after a few hours of rich conversation and a good bottle of red (from Virginia!) we didn't notice much. Andy had the pot de creme, a bit annoying in its trendy foam and missing a proper proportion of berries to cream. Kerry and I split the bread pudding. It was dense, as promised, but more like a very moist flourless cake than a homey, gooey bread pudding. The salted caramel ice cream was delicious, but wasn't salty or enough to match up bite-for-bite to the chocolate.

Dinner, as a whole, was tremendous and featured all the hallmarks of an Andy/Kerry dinner: good conversation, good food choices, good plate diversity, good food-observing, good plate-passing, and another good memory of dining together. The BocaSola and I will miss you.