Dinner at the museum

San Francisco, August 26, 2010 —

TO THE CITY, as all Berkeleyans used to call San Francisco, to see the vaunted Impressionist show of paintings on loan from the Musée d'Orsay, and to have the special three-course prix-fixe dinner offered in a Parisian spirit, I suppose, by the cafeteria at the De Young Museum. I won't discuss the paintings, other than to note that it was a pleasure to see so many old friends in a nicely hung, decently lit, evocatively presented installation.
What interested me nearly as much was the prospect of dinner. The cafeteria must serve nearly a thousand of these dinners each Thursday night during the run of the exhibition, which closes September 6. First and third courses were fixed on this menu, but we had a choice of three plats principaux: L. and our guest Linda had salmon, I had beef. (We passed on the tortellini, whose description was however attractive.)

This was billed as a Paris Bistro menu, and while both salmon and tortellini seem a little foreign to that theme, my own supper wasn't far off the mark. First course was a small salad with frisée among the greens, a bowl of mushroom soup ornamented with a drizzle of good green olive oil, and a tiny but very nice grilled mushroom sandwich — a fine balance of textures, colors, and flavors.

The beef was cut off the short ribs, I think, nicely braised, and served in its sauce, flavored with tomato, carrot, onion, celery, thyme, and beef stock, garnished with gently cooked peas — not your tiny petits poix, but good big honest English peas. And dessert was a small square of strawberry mousse on a thin pastry base, garnished with pistachios, and accompanied by a puff-paste cookie.

I asked the cashier if the food were trucked in from some huge commercial kitchen in South San Francisco, and was met with surprise. No: we've been working all day on this right here in our kitchen, the young woman assured me. I asked a waiter — yes, we were served at table — how such a huge operation was managed. Waiters, bussers, runners, floor managers, he said, knowledgeably and with a smile. Everyone knew what he was doing; everyone seemed competent and enthusiastic. The crowd was lively and in a good mood.

I don't think our standards have slipped, Lindsey's and mine I mean; I think we're still pretty discerning. But I've been delighted in the past few years by the improvements we've seen in public dining, whether on the road or in venues like this. Things used to be much worse. And lest you think there's something elitist about eating at an Impressionist exhibition, dinner was fifteen bucks, plus seven for a 25cl carafe of decent

Pinot noir, 2008 (France)