With a soft Winter sun lighting the normally gray Avenues of the Inner Sunset, we sat to enjoy a bit of duck weekend before last. Tucked into a side street just beside Golden Gate Park, the Everybody Bikes + Art Gallery was our home for the afternoon; an eclectic mix of art and bicycles created by Michael Penza, who also owns the bustling bike shop around the corner on Irving. With a rack of the two wheeled beauties running the length of one wall and the canvas of fashion photographer/film maker Daniel O'Neill set upon the other, tables stretched out before a wall of old windows rimmed in Christmas tree lights, the conversation bouncing from stained cement floors to the soaring ceiling above.
Duck was the focus, but shared the stage. As guests assembled, Katie pulled hot
gougieres from the oven in welcome, little puffs of pastry rich with gruyère. She then proceeded with a fennel soup prurée topped in crab meat, a tartine smeared with a blood orange butter for dipping. An Aligoté from Bruno Clavelier, cool and "minerally", was used to pair. Next began the duck, as a salad of endive, escarole, and radicchio was tossed in a warm wild honied vinaigrette, to which was added tender sautéed duck livers along with crispy, salty strips of
lardon. With this was poured a Cabernet Franc from Phillipe and George Vatan of Chateau du Hureau. The "Tuffe", named for the local limestone of Saumur-Champigny in which the vines grow, was more rich and round than it's Loire Valley brethren of Chinon to better handle the livers, but finished with distinct tannins as not to overwhelm with fruit.
Then it was time to get serious as
confit cuisse de canard were plated with a gratin of cauliflower, a bit of lightly tossed pepper cress littered about the plate to ease the richness of the dish. In an effort to finesse the succulent, fall-off-the-bone duck, a Mercury 1er Cru from Patrick Size was needed. New blood in an old growing family. The product: elegance in the glass. Tossed wild arugula came next, along with a trio of cow's milk cheeses: a firm Morbier, a sharp and pungent Camembert, and a bright and salty Vendéen Bichoné. Opened some Santenay by Domaine Jessiaume for this, full yet floral with just a hint of annis; added depth to handle the varying flavors of the cheese. For desert, Katie went subtle on the sugar in the form of a goat cheese pot de crême, topped by a few strands of candied grapefruit. Having said that, she did slide onto the plates some layered cookies of caramel, chocolate, and shortbread, in honor of a good friend's beloved Brittany.
With dusk settling, muting the warmth of the brick building that had filled our view across the way, candles and track lights filled the room. Coffees were served, cognac poured; a Gilles Gautret, old school in deep , rich caramel, a hint of smoke. Too soon it was time to head on, another afternoon well spent.
In the failing light, with the strings of white holiday lights that wrap the trees of Washington Street having come into focus, the smell of sugar and butter announced the tarte tatins coming from the oven; a bit of whipped cream soon added. As coffee and cognac followed, a calm took easy hold of the room. Content to let the herb and apricot of the medium weight Park Borderies (Single Vineyard) play about my mouth, acting as if the room would clean itself (It never does!), we spoke of it's origins, the smallest of cognacs six growing segments. Ben Webster was blowing a soft sax accompanied by strings, when we reluctantly began our goodbyes.
