Stopped by Amélie in San Francisco with my parents, and I can confidently say this was one of the most inconsistent performances in culinary history.
They had a fixed menu with three appetizers, three entrées, and dessert. Since there were three of us, we ordered one of everything. The appetizers arrived, and I'll say this: they were definitely designed for a more sophisticated palate. Unfortunately, none of the three palates present at our table had received the necessary training.
We somehow managed to go 0-3.
Meanwhile, my mom asked for a lemonade.They didn't have lemonade. Fair enough.
But our waiter, apparently unwilling to accept defeat, took it upon himself to open diplomatic negotiations with the bartender. Minutes later, he returned: an agreement had been reached. A lemonade could be produced.
I don't know what concessions were made behind that bar, or how many international treaties had to be signed, but I commend this man's dedication to foreign relations.
At this point, the only thing with a perfect record was a beverage that wasn't even on the menu.
Then came the entrées: ravioli, chicken, and beef. Unfortunately, our waiter returned with breaking news...The beef had withdrawn from the competition.
We'd have to double up on either the chicken or the ravioli. Our mission to try the entire menu was being sabotaged by the menu itself.
But then came the ravioli. Ladies and gentlemen, that ravioli.
I don't know who was back there folding those little pasta envelopes, but somebody needs to check on their grandmother because there's clearly a family recipe being used without supervision. Easily the best ravioli I've ever had in my life.
The chicken, however, appeared to have been seasoned with positive thoughts and good intentions. Somewhere along the way, flavor was apparently deemed optional. I was convinced the kitchen had two chefs. One was pursuing culinary greatness. The other was fulfilling a community service requirement.
Now, this is where things got interesting.
There was a chef working near our table. A shorter gentleman who, from what I could tell, had never once felt the need to shift out of first gear.
Since we'd ordered the fixed menu, he was already preparing our desserts. Unfortunately for him, that ravioli was so good we ordered another.
We watched our waiter deliver the news.
The chef looked at him.
Looked at us.
Then slowly made his way back to the kitchen.
I've seen people receive bad news before, but never at that frame rate.
Eventually, the ravioli arrived. Absolutely worth it. And credit where it's due, the staff kept bringing us bread. I was beginning to think we'd been enrolled in some sort of unlimited bread program. My mom even ordered a second lemonade, just as good as the first. At this point, the bartender was undefeated.
Then came dessert.
Our chef returned to his station, still operating comfortably in first gear.
I've seen people work under pressure. This man appeared to have never been introduced to the concept.
I genuinely believe the person responsible for designing the Japanese flag experienced more stress than this chef did preparing our desserts.
He moved with the urgency of a sloth who had just been informed that the deadline was optional.
Seriously, I'd love to see how much this guy could hold up the line at the DMV.
At one point I stopped wondering when dessert would arrive and started wondering whether this man experienced time the same way the rest of us did.
The crème brûlée, however, was excellent.
As inconsistent as the food was, the experience was genuinely enjoyable. The service was great, the bread kept coming, the ravioli was phenomenal, and the bartender was performing miracles with beverages that didn't officially exist.
But please, whatever you do, keep that chef forever.
That man has achieved a level of inner peace the rest of us spend our lives searching for. No urgency. No stress. Just a man and his ingredients, existing peacefully in the present moment.
Honestly, we should all aspire to live like that.
Then we paid and started walking out.
That's when I noticed something.
Our chef was now behind the bar.
Apparently, he had switched careers during the final act.
And all I could think was...
This man? Making cocktails?
I would pay good money to watch him shake a martini.
I imagine the ice would have enough time to melt, refreeze, and reconsider its career choices before that cocktail was finished.
Overall, Amélie is fascinating. Some dishes were incredible, others forgettable, but the experience was worth it.
Would definitely come back.
Preferably when I'm not in a hurry. read more