Restaurant Week, Ho!

(That's the interjection, by the way, not the noun.)

Yes, it's that festively delusional time of year again, when Madison pretends to be San Diego, and diners can convince themselves that visiting five restaurants at $25 a pop is somehow more economical than spending $40 at one of them. And what's a bottle of wine on top of each visit?


This Sunday marks the beginning of Restaurant Week, and several of the city's best restaurants will be showcasing samples of their fare in 3-course menus for only $25 ("prix fixed [sic]," as Madison Magazine notes in what is no doubt a subtle postmodern wink at transatlantic gastro-linguistics).

This year's offerings look better than last, with less Nitty Gritty and more L'Etoile. And while L'Etoile's price fixe isn't the most exciting of the group, the appetizers look superb between bison involtini and incredible onion soup. Besides, their execution is consistently flawless, and when will your next chance be to eat at the best restaurant in Madison for less than the price of something at Red Lobster? (Hint: some time shortly after hell freezes over and I actually eat at Red Lobster.)

Speaking of seafood (after a fashion), Sushi Muramoto is the obvious favorite in the Totally Uncreative But Who Could Possibly Complain?^tm category . All you can eat sushi. $25. Nobody cares that it's probably laden with mercury. Just bring on the otoro. There's also, like, ice cream and chowder, since I guess there are supposed to be three courses or something. Did I mention the all you can eat sushi?

Harvest, too, is keeping things simple and comforting, with fixed prix offerings of house-made tagliatelle, roasted chicken breast, and roasted beef short ribs. (Anything properly roasted is definitionally comforting, in much the same way that anything properly braised is definitionally fucking awesome.) This is, I think, a wise move, and a happy showcase for both seasonally appropriate cooking and Madison's characteristically unvarnished high-end dining sensibility.

In the other direction, Fresco seems determined to impress, with three selections available for each course, more balsamic vinegar than Lombardino's and Osteria Papavero combined, and aspirational entrées like "Organic Norwegian Salmon - King crab and tomato mashed potato, oven dried shrimp crust, crispy leeks, balsamic [see?] reduction." Will their Jean-Georgian ambitions dazzle, or will they be outshone by the more straightforward fare of Harvest, Muramoto, and L'Etoile? My Magic 8-Ball has a snappish prediction, but only time and $25 will tell.

Rhône Wine and a Lyonnaise Message

Last Wednesday I had the pleasure of attending L'Etoile's Rhône Wine Dinner. Like one of Mrs. Lovett's meat pies, it proved an altogether delicious experience that was punctuated by a single moment of shocking horror.

My favorite course of the evening featured a classic onion soup paired with Domaine la Soumade's 2001 "Cuvée Confiance," an outstanding Rasteau. While I'm not terribly experienced with the AOC, this one has certainly piqued my interest in the region. The head was peppery and intense, and the flavors rich and complex, with good acid, but also fruit and berries. The finish was just insane; like the Longines Symphonette or the birdhouse in my soul, it didn't rest. Retailing for just under $50, this is far from a viable everyday wine, but I would happily drink it on a special occasion in the future, especially alongside another country soup or stew.

This particular soup was gratinéed with Uplands Cheese Company's 20-month Pleasant Ridge Reserve (an interesting local favorite made in Dodgeville), and the cheese's sharp complexity played incredibly with some of the darker notes in the Rasteau. From there, the flavors transitioned smoothly into sweet onion, making for a simple and elegant finish.

In other words, the pairing totally kicked ass.

Also excellent was the course of cassoulet and Châteauneuf-du-Pape, this time Domaine Marcoux's 2003. The combination is classic, but the individual components made this instance noteworthy. The wine opened with dark, jammy notes, and finished with nice fruit and pleasant mineral undertones--at $50 a bottle I may never taste this excellent Châteauneuf again, but I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone looking for a splurge.

Cassoulet, meanwhile, enjoys near legendary status, but I find that in practice it almost always disappoints. (Campagne, I'm looking at you.) I can say without hesitation that this was the best I've ever tasted. The house made Saucisse de Toulouse was a refined example of the traditional sausage , the Blue Valley Garden confit reaffirmed my love of duck, and the incredibly tender Grass is Greener shouder of lamb was a credit to the art of braising. Together, they made for a superlative cassoulet.

Unfortunately, there was a darker side to the meal. Upon taking my seat, I was presented not only with a glass of rosé, but also with this:

Beignet de Fromage

Warm Roth Käse Private Reserve Cheese Pâte à Choux

What could this mean? A week earlier I had posted a recipe for the very same dish, less only the 350 degree oil.

Then it dawned on me. Just the previous day, The Isthmus had linked to my hard-hitting exposé on the gross iniquities in the Wisconsin cattle markets--an exposé that also alluded to the very Rhône Wine dinner I was attending.

Innocuous coincidence, or nefarious conspiracy to maintain, through fear, their stranglehold on local ribeye futures? You be the judge, but I'm not taking any chances. For me, it wouldn't have been clearer had each beignet been a fish wrapped in newspaper.

This was an Alice Waters-inspired, locally produced, Lyonnaise Message. I won't be silenced, but I will be watching my back when I'm at the market shopping for gruyère or oranges. Thank God the cassoulet was so good.

"Sorry. Those all go to L'Etoile."

That's the answer I got this weekend when I asked if it would be possible to get any bone-in ribeye from Fountain Praire Farms. "All of our best cuts go to L'Etoile."

Like Jessica Simpson faced by some particularly complex long division, my initial reaction was one of terror and panic. How could this be? Where else could I get such an incredibly perfect steak? Would I be forced to happily throw away my apartment and life savings due to more trips to L'Etoile than I could possibly afford? Most importantly: why did I not know this already?

As is so often the case, my horror quickly turned to outrage.

What the hell, Fountain Prairie Farms? A little praise from the New York Times, and three years later you're too good for your adoring fans, the teeming, unwashed masses of steak-purchasing humanity? Did you think that we wouldn't notice? That we wouldn't want the best cuts from the best producers (i.e. you)? That we would assume your cattle were mysteriously born without longissimus dorsi muscles? Sure, you can try to placate us with flank steak. And it's true that the outside skirt I bought (prepared in a slight variant of this recipe I stole from Bouchon) was good--superb, even--but it wasn't the same.

Et tu, Tory Miller? It's not enough that you cook better than me, have more awards, and run what is quite possibly the best kicthen in the state. Now you have to take all of the best steak, too? Steak is the last bastion of the lazy home cook. It's a safe haven for us, when we don't have time to make Cassoulet, when we don't have three varieties of Hen-of-the-Woods for a wild mushroom salad, when we don't have the skill to make poached lobster with saffron tapioca and Gewürztraminer foam. A quick sear over a high flame, maybe a little Béarnaise sauce or compund butter, and even Thomas Keller couldn't complain (well, at least unless you were trying to serve it in one of his restaurants). And now, Chef, you take our steak frites? For shame, sir.

But, like an aging Marlon Brando on a private Tahitian island, I am a reasonable man. There will be no retaliation. I do, however, require justice. From Fountain Prairie, I demand but a single steer. If the National Geographic Channel is to be believed, this is a mere pittance, and a generous offer as recompense for my slighted honor. (And make sure he likes chickens; the balcony's pretty small.)

L'Etoile, meanwhile--no doubt anticipating a backlash against their loathsome scrumptiousness hoarding--has already scheduled a Rhône wine dinner featuring Châteauneuf-du-Pape for my birthday on December 12. And that's a good first step. A lifetime supply of Katie's ambrosius pastries from Café Soleil should round out the deal nicely.

In the meantime? Oh, I'll still buy Fountain Prairie's beef. I'll still visit L'Etoile. And I'll still take advantage of their $35 early week tasting menu. But each bite will taste like ashes. Delicious, delicious ashes.