On September 12, 2001, we expected to be eating at Farallon
to
celebrate a milestone birthday. Events prior to departure thwarted our plans, so it was with heightened anticipation that we rescheduled during our visit to San Francisco in February, 2003.
Alas, the dual holidays of Chinese New Year and Valentine’s Day found tables at the eatery already booked months in advance. Undaunted, I sent a last-ditch request to Farallon’s reservation manager, pleading my case with desperate determination.
To my delight, an email response announced, "Great sob story. We have reserved a table for two on Saturday night at 7:30 p.m." I was thrilled, but there existed a possibility, considering the expectations surrounding this dinner, that it could never quite live up to our exaggerated hopes.
After a post-parade, pre-dinner drink at the St. Frances, we sashayed down the side street off Union Square and caught site of the twinkling windows fronting the restaurant. In the otherwise rain-soaked darkness, Farallon appeared as an inhabited island settled in a desolate sea. Once inside, we were immediately enchanted by an ephemeral collection of glowing jellyfish suspended from the ceiling in the anteroom bar. When the hostess approached, I had almost forgotten why we‘d come, content to soak in the sea-inspired art and mesmerizing fixtures of this modern day Atlantis. Shell-shaped wall sconces, elaborate Gaudi like tile works and a copper fish-scale canopy covering the prep area set the stage for the works of seafood art that would later emerge from the kitchen.
We sat ring-side of the bustling demonstration kitchen where servers and chefs were given marching orders from an ever-present master of cuisine. A unique wood fire range emitted a subtle campfire aroma, adding to the romantic ambiance. Overhead, back-lit frescoes of mythical, whimsical sea creatures supervised the action below as servers and patrons wove their way through the semi-circular booths that swirl through the large dining room.
My husband started dinner with a selection of oysters gathered from North America’s finest nesting grounds. I chose a braised endive salad with blue cheese, watercress and walnuts. Although I didn’t require an added impetus to eat, given the heavenly aromas emanating from the cook top, the first course was an effective digestif with its tangy, tart flavors, suggesting I may have been able to handle the multi-course tasting menu after all.
Hoping instead to hook the freshest of the seafood options, I chose the Roasted Local Halibut with no regrets. Expertly prepared, the meaty fish was set atop a pureed artichoke chowder that complimented the dish with a precision born only in the hands of a fine chef. French press coffee served with passion fruit cake with ginger sabayon, the lusciously sinful Italian concoction of eggs and brandy, was the finale for our long-awaited dining experience.
And then, as the candle flickered at the bottom of the votive glass, it was over.
Thankfully, there was no anti-climax. Farallon had proven decidedly more memorable for the waiting.