Dallas Food - One Week, Dos Brisas, Three Meals (Part 1)

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One Week, Dos Brisas, Three Meals (Part 1)
Posted on Monday, July 21 @ 19:49:08 PDT
Topic: Non-DallasFood

In late January, the Mobil Travel Guide announced seventeen five-star restaurants for 2008. The list included many familiar, expected names, such as the French Laundry, per se, Alinea, Charlie Trotter's, Jean Georges, Le Bernardin, Masa, et al. Patrick O'Connell's Inn at Little Washington made the cut for the eighteenth consecutive time. But, in what came as a surprise to most local food-lovers, another inn in another Washington also made the list--the Inn at Dos Brisas, in Washington, Texas. On to the food...

I confess that, prior to reading the Mobil list, I had never even heard of the Inn at Dos Brisas or its restaurant. Chef Jason Robinson's name didn't ring a bell (though, in looking over his bio, it's likely that I saw his work at Tru years ago). Six months have passed since the restaurant received the honor, yet there's almost complete Internet silence about the place. No full reviews at the major publications. No blow-by-blow meal reports on Chowhound or any Houston-based blog. So, when business (and birds) brought me to the Houston area, I decided I'd give it a shot. The restaurant only serves dinner from Thursday through Saturday, so I made reservations for the three-peat and headed south.

On my first visit, the GPS brought me to the service entrance of the ranch, after leading me down a gravel road past alternating fields of thicket, wildflowers, watermelon, and cattle. I zipped through the security gate as a truck was leaving and eventually found my way to the building housing the restaurant.

Since I arrived early, I decided to poke around the restaurant's garden. The hostess led me outside, pointed out the rose garden, herb garden, orchard, berry patch, and the smaller of two vegetable gardens, offering to chauffer me to them in a golf cart. I told her I'd just walk around on my own (which, in retrospect, was stupid, given the July heat and humidity).

The herb garden was as attractively designed and manicured as the rose garden, fringed with thriving rosemary bushes and bay laurels and crisscrossed with paths leading past a wide variety of herbs, from the common to the more unexpected (e.g., echinacea, lovage, shiso, several varieties of chicory and dandelion, et al.). The berry patch, though producing little at the time, had boysenberry, raspberry, blackberry, and strawberry. The orchard was mostly stone fruit (with some citrus and even guava), with a varied selection of cultivars. The smaller garden patch had some corn, potatoes, squash, and asparagus, though little appeared to be producing.

Returning from the garden walk, I washed up and took my seat in the small, nearly empty dining room. Since I'd previously told the hostess I'd be having the "Grand Collection" tasting menu, things got rolling at once.

The first bite was a warm gougère filled with a salted cream cheese. The texture of the choux fell a little short of "just baked" perfection, but it still worked well enough.

Next came a baby squash, fresh from the garden, with the attached blossom filled with foie gras mousse and garnished with a Port reduction. In one piece of finger food, Robinson presented two contrasting, but complementary bites. Soft, warm, creamy, rich, and a little salty, as you bite off the filled blossom. Cool, crisp, vegetal, and mildly sweet, as you pop the squash in your mouth. Simple, yet delicious and memorable.

Two breads were served--a knot of organic wheat bread and a simple white roll. A rich, golden butter (from Lucky Layla) sprinkled with fleur de sel, was served at an appropriate temperature for spreading.

Thin slices of ahi sashimi were dressed with minced ginger, cucumber, wasabi, flying fish roe, chile oil, and a touch of ponzu. Robinson maintained a delicate balance of complex salty and spicy flavors, using the garden cuke for textural contrast, as well as a cool undertone that complemented the fish. Though the excellent ahi became part of an ensemble, rather than the star, the dish came together so gracefully that I can't find fault with that.

I suppressed the desire to roll my eyes as the next dish arrived at the table. Seared foie gras served over pain perdu, topped with bruleed banana, and garnished with dark chocolate ganache. I expected this oddball combination to fall flat. As I cut into it, I was a little impressed at how I could cut through the sugar, banana, foie, and toast, without squishing it in all directions. With my first bite of the stacked ingredients, I thought, "This could be a dessert!" Sweetness from the banana, creaminess from the foie, and a rich, almost bread pudding quality to the pain perdu, as it absorbed the juices from the foie. Ironically, it was the most traditional dessert ingredient--chocolate--that provided a strong, bitter counterpoint to pull the whole dish back onto the savory map. Despite my certainty that I wouldn't like the course, it won me over.

Next was another "look what I found in my organic garden" course--a white tomato soup garnished simply with a chiffonade of purple basil. No bells or whistles. Just perfectly ripe tomatoes picked a few hundred yards from the pot in which they were cooked. Using white tomatoes, though, had an intriguing effect. The tomato flavor was subtler, with a cleaner sweetness, devoid of acidity or bitterness. (The culinary analogy that came to mind was tupelo honey to chestnut.) A pleasure to eat.

At this point, the meal took a turn for the worse. "Worse" probably isn't the right word, since nothing was bad. But, after such a strong start, some of the latter courses just felt a little ordinary.

Case in point, sautéed California halibut served over a pea puree, with gold chanterelles, squat baby carrots, and a red wine reduction. The peas and carrots (fresh from the garden), though very tasty, were just peas and carrots. The halibut, just a nice piece of mildly flavored fish. Nothing dramatic, transformative, or transcendent. It felt safe or even inhibited. So carefully inoffensive, it was like a fine dining equivalent of Muzak.

Though I could be wrong, I don't think it's Robinson's preference to do a dish like this. I suspect it's seen as a necessity--responding to the perhaps conservative palates of those who trek out to the Inn at Dos Brisas to celebrate an anniversary or whatever. At the point when the restaurant's customer base tilts towards those who visit primarily or exclusively for the food, I imagine Robinson will be at greater liberty to take risks with entrée courses.

The roasted rack of lamb was a little better, not because of the lamb (which was good, but no one needs to drive 1, 2, or 4 hours for a good lamb chop), but because of the garden bomb napoleon. The veggie cube consisted of layers of grilled eggplant, tomato, yellow squash, zucchini, and potato, all from the garden. Though a little chaotic with all the flavors, it held together well enough. Still, this entrée course had a similarly generic feel as the one that preceded it. Though it won't alienate the "meat and potatoes" customers whose choice to eat at the restaurant is incidental to their stay at the ranch, it's not distinctive enough to persuade foodies in Houston, Dallas, or beyond to consider this a "destination restaurant."

The cheese course recaptured the earlier excellence of the meal. A housemade, washed rind, aged chèvre was plated with a quartered Turkish brown fig from the orchard. Even more impressive than the ambition evidenced in making their own chèvre (let alone an aged one) is the fact that it was pretty damned good. In a state overrun with small goat cheese makers, I can only think of a handful of Texas goat cheeses that I've liked better. The paste was beautifully creamy, opening with a clean, milky flavor, then blossoming into a biting tanginess. A very good and interesting cheese, tastefully presented.

Dessert consisted of fried banana, vanilla pound cake, strawberries, meringue, and dark chocolate ganache. I'm not sure if the banana/chocolate combo was intended to echo the earlier foie course, though it had that effect. This was a decent dessert that would've been better without some of the complications. The pound cake was somewhat dry and, though it paired well enough with the strawberries, meringue, and chocolate, the combination kind of stranded the bananas. But the bananas were the best part of the dish. Fried perfectly, the thin crisp shell broke to reveal warm, almost liquid banana. Clear away the clutter and serve those with a warm Manjari ganache and, though simple, it would have been more focused and delicious.

The parting bites were a chocolate dipped cherry and cookie. The chocolate was still wet and untempered, yet no utensils were provided. Not worth eating, which I can't say of most of what I was served at the Inn at Dos Brisas. As I pushed the plate away, I realized that the restaurant, given its size, may not have a dedicated pastry chef. That suspicion was confirmed in a subsequent conversation with the hostess. Lack of a pastry chef is a liability few, if any, of the other five-star restaurants in the country share.

As I left the restaurant, the valet had the car waiting for me. She handed me a copy of the menu (without my asking) on embossed cardstock and told me she left a bottle of water (Voss) in the cup holder, in case I needed something to drink on the drive back to Houston. Nice service touches.

She also left a box with two molded chocolates. Shells were unacceptably thick (over a quarter inch in places), untempered, and with gaping air holes, which made consideration of the fillings moot. I've gotten (and been disappointed by) mediocre chocolates at five-star restaurants before, but these were truly amateurish. Though I appreciate the gesture, it would be better to send guests home empty-handed than with chocolates like these.

As I drove back to Houston, I reflected on the strengths and weaknesses of the meal. Two strengths were preeminent: the incredible quality of the produce and the subtlety of Robinson's palate in both simple and more complex dishes. The only real weakness of the meal came with the underperforming dessert and mignardises. Robinson's conservative approach to the entrée courses might disappoint some serious destination diners (with whom I sympathize), though most customers would probably be perfectly content with it.

Service was, on the whole, excellent. Hostesses and waiters were thoughtful, polite, and attentive. The usual "five-star" formalities were attended to, with only occasional lapses (e.g., a coat that I checked wasn't returned to me on departure; good thing I was coming back the next day). The dining room and bar area are attractive, with an open, lodge-like feel. Large windows provide views of horses in pasture and mature oak and pecan trees. It really is a lovely place to enjoy a meal.

Since the Inn at Dos Brisas is the only Mobil five-star restaurant in Texas, it's natural to ask, "Does it really deserve five stars? Does that mean it's the best restaurant in Texas?" I'll have to wait till I've had all three meals before offering any kind of opinion on that.

Links to: Inn at Dos Brisas Report (Part 1); Inn at Dos Brisas Report (Part 2); Inn at Dos Brisas Report (Part 3).