Bestie NYC Trip - Day 7 - Four Horsemen - Brooklyn, NY

Last day, last restaurant. Rave review, no regrets. 

Ruby-red Yellowfin Tuna tops a pillow of air in the form of a cracker-like gnocco fritto. It's quite simple, a slick slice supplemented with a little garlic from the chives and a hit of acid from the jalapeno. 

A smooth glass of white wine pairs well with all the foods.

The crisp finish adds extra snap to the Sugar Snap Peas, vivacious pods painted with sesame oil, adorned by beautiful buds. It's just a plate of peas...with a flavor-profile so profound I still can't forget it. 

Surf Clam Skewers have soft flesh so supple and sweet, brushed with something soy, offset by pickled strawberries and an assertive aioli more mustard than mayo cream. 

The Sablefish is a beautiful dish, silky filets full of smoke and miso. Unfortunately the smoke and salinity stirs up the sensation of a sandwich so you feel like it belongs on a bagel.

Blue Crab comes to the rescue, soft-boiled egg seeping through the crevices of crustacean chunks. A divine dish. Be sure to drag the baguette through the chili brown butter on the bottom and soak up every drop. 

Seafood Rice is satisfying, more subtly savory with sweet shrimp and succulent scallops, razor clams with a hint of brine. It's an elegant plate but can be overshadowed by the other heavy-hitters.

At the pinnacle is the Pavlova, a flawless meringue with summer strawberries and bits of apple. 

The pavlova is perfection on a plate, but the Panna Cotta proves more interesting with the sour sakura, pickled blossoms both floral and tart, adding a summer breeze and a dash of pickle to perk up a flawless cream. 

If not for the sablefish and even with the sablefish, Four Horsemen, hands-down, serves my favorite food. It's undoubtedly fine dining, but the ambiance is a buzzy bar, with surprisingly straightforward flavors that only crazy-good cooking can concoct. I got up at 4 AM to get this reservation, and I would WILL do it again next time, every time. 

Cultured Café Chloe – San Diego

When I went to France I fell in love with the food, the wine, the sights, the sounds, the sophistication, and especially the people. Barely an hour in Paris and I was already scouting out my dream-chateau overlooking the Seine.

When in France, I spoke French. I spoke terribly but fluently, butchering the beautiful syllables of their beloved language, but my efforts didn't go unnoticed. My efforts were praised by many, lauded by all, and I returned to the US raving that I wanted to spend the rest of life in a cafe with any and all of these amazing people.

My friends did not agree. Those who had been remarked on the snooty, standoffish, nose-in-the-air Parisians who preferred not to acknowledge their presence, and those who had not been made it clear that they expected to be met with disdain for the tacky American tourists they were, the loud and proud as foreign affront to a country that prides itself in hushed refinement.

I want to say that the staff at Cafe Chloe were the people I met in France, not the people my friends describe, but I think I would have believed my friends if I didn't know better myself. Mon ami and I were completely ignored for at least 5 minutes upon entering and spent quite some time trying to get our orders in and the check out.

But all was worth enduring for the adorable alcove in which we were seated, a cozy little corner crook, looking down at the rest of the restaurant. And what experience could be more authentically French than sitting in a cafe surrounded by glossy gray scale photos featuring artful nudity?

The food was as beautiful as the seating, with all the togetherness and subtle beauty of a classic bistro-cafe. The Mushroom & Bleu D'auvergne Tarte was a seamless blend of soft, juicy mushrooms ensconced in a boldly balanced bleu. So smooth that you don't know where one leaves off and the other one starts, all on firmly flaky, crusty canvas. All the pastels of the entire Musee d'Orsay couldn't blend a scenery so seamless.

Impressionism was big in France, but the classics also prevail. And by classic I don't mean an overpriced piece of scaffolding, I mean the artistes who scribe, like Edmond Rostand and Victor Hugo. The Steak Frites are one such timeless classic. The herb-butter-infused, picture-perfect medium rare juices will roll off your tongue smoother than poetry from Cyrano de Bergerac.

But unlike the miserably bittersweet conclusion of Les Miserables, there was nothing bitter about the Pot de Creme that marked the end of my meal. Made of sugar and spice and everything nice, this dense, creamy concoction was le fin to le perfect meal.

Initial snobbery aside, I am in pure, true, unadulterated, shot-through-the-heart-by-cupid's-bow love with all that is French, and Cafe Chloe is no exception. The art, the literature, the history, everything about this culture pushes the boundaries of all that is beautiful and breathtaking, and Cafe Chloe was all those things...in edible form.