As we entered the restaurant’s private dinning room and took our seats, we were offered a flute of cranberry honey smash, a tasty mixture of Basil Hayden, macerated cranberries, honey, mint and ginger ale. Whilst sipping and waiting for the presentation to begin, like a kid eagerly awaiting Christmas morning, I wondered what other creative cocktails we had in store for us.
After executive chef Scott Miller and Jim Beam rep Marco Pelliccio introduced themselves and Pelliccio began to explain the legal requirements that qualify a bourbon, my eyes were continually drawn to the small table beside him that had previously housed our opening cocktails.
“Only whiskey produced in the United States can be called bourbon,” wow that tablecloth is really off center “and it must be made of a grain mixture that is at least 51 percent corn,” it needs to be straightened and pulled a little to the right. “Bourbon must also be distilled to no more than 160 proof,” And look at those creases! That’s like wearing a shirt right out of the package! “and must be aged in new, charred oak barrels.” *Gasp* They all have creases! “There is also never any coloring or flavoring added to bourbon,” I can't believe they don't iron their tablecloths. “And may be bottled at no less than 80 proof.”
I soon dragged my attention elsewhere and watched as our servers poured out a generous two fingers of Knob Creek while Chef Miller described our first course, a drunken crab bisque with bourbon poached king crab and small blue crab grilled cheese. Suddenly I could feel my head unconsciously cock to the side as our server mis en placed for the soup with a literal fist full of spoons. After shooting a perturbed glance at Adam, I knocked back a swig of Knob Creek and waited for our first course to arrive.
Once it did, I quickly had to move my bread plate and further space out my silverware in order to make room for the long, rectangular dish. When I leaned over to comment on the lack of proper planning in table setting and the inexplicable placing of a useless bread plate to Adam, he nodded and agreed that he was also struggling to ignore such minutiae that he and I have both been trained notice.
The bisque was deliciously rich and creamy and the large section of king crab afloat in the center was absolutely heavenly, even though I had to be that person who used their knife to eat their soup. The light sweetness of the crab paired perfectly with the subtle maple flavor of the Knob Creek and the “mini melt,” although nothing special on its own, was fun for dipping.
Fun Fact: Knob Creek is named after a small waterway that ran past Abraham Lincoln’s boyhood home and the KC label is reminiscent of the old custom of wrapping the bottles in newspaper at the distillery for distribution.
In preparation of our next course, our glasses were filled with another liberal helping, this time of Booker’s, neat of course. The only unfiltered bourbon bottled straight-from-the-barrel, Booker’s boasts a hefty 120+ proof yet remains remarkably smooth with soft oak and smoky vanilla notes. Pelliccio wisely urged the group to add ice to our glasses to tone down the potency and quipped that no one need try and be “a hero.” Touche, sir.
Although it was interesting to try the first two bourbons side by side, I was still hoping for some kind of ingenious mixed cocktail, something I would rush to write home about, rather than a straight-from-the-bottle pairing.
When our second course arrived, a Pekin duck breast and fois gras roulade served over mashed celery root with a pomegranate duck jus, that obsessive-compulsive part of me was dismayed yet again. Although the duck was plated somewhat uniformly, the obvious “front” of the dish was completely ignored when served, resulting in breasts pointing here and there and everywhere. Not to mention the au jus was a messy puddle that had been allowed to slop all over the plate and, SIN OF ALL SINS, onto the tablecloth AND MY CAMERA!
After taking a deep breath and making sure my electronics were still in working order, I poised my fork to dive in. And that’s when *cringe* I noticed that while Adam’s plate had three duck rolls, mine only had two. Looking around the table I found that everyone else’s plate also had three rolls. My shock at this discovery was not so much a result of feeling gypped, but of being appalled at this portioning fas paux. How was that plate even allowed to leave the kitchen?
Still, the duck I was able to enjoy was a tender delight, in spite of the fact that the pomegranate jus was too acidic and the celery root puree boring and bland.
Putting the duck behind me, it was now time for the very course I had been waiting for, the third course playfully called the Three Little Pigs. For those of you who aren’t aware, to me bacon is one of life’s blessings and I am a proponent of the belief that everything is better with it. Just call me the Big Bad Wolf. This belief, in all of its crispy, greasy incarnations, has never before let me down, that is until I tried the bacon infused Baker’s manhattan.
Finally here was one of those esoteric cocktails I had been so keen on but sadly I just didn’t get it. Instead of being smooth and savory and meaty, it simply tasted like a cup of liquid smoke. Still, I held out the hope that it would all make sense once paired with the smoked belly, confit shoulder and house-cured guanciale (pork cheek), that were on their way.
After shaking my head to another example of proportional disparity, I dived in to the piggy trio and quickly found that, no, unfortunately the manhattan was still repellent.
Once again, let me reiterate that bacon, and especially pork belly, is one of my favorite things in this world, but the sliced smoked belly with maple bourbon glaze was inexplicably dry and a plain disappointment. The confit shoulder topped with preserved tomatoes and Baconaisse had a decidedly better texture, but the fat to actual meat ratio was not working in my favor.
Lastly, I tried the guanciale. Made from the jowls, the richest and most tender part of the pig, guanciale is an Italian bacon that is silkier in texture and fuller in flavor than other bacon cuts and is typically dried over a three week period. Unfortunately, this last little piggy was anything but what I was expecting. Dried to the point of jerky, it was completely uncuttable and frankly inedible. The only part of the entire dish that I enjoyed was the butternut squash biscuit that accompanied the belly, and it is a sad day when on a plate of pig the only thing I like is the starch.
As our plates were cleared I crossed my fingers that the impending lamb loin would not be ruined for me as well.
Thankfully, the Oyster Bar kitchen managed to bring things back around with the following course of sous vide lamb loin with merguez-cranberry dressing and a cranberry sage vinaigrette. Although the vinaigrette had too much mustard for my liking, and the Baker’s bourbon pairing seemed a bit of a stretch, the lamb was perfectly prepared and simply melted with the moist, sweet dressing.
At this point I was all but bourboned out, which I’ll admit, for me is hard to do, but I managed a few sips of the Marker’s Mark dessert pairing as I sat in awe of the gigantic Maker’s bourbon ganache torte before me. Decadently rich and perfect washed down the sweeter-style bourbon, after a couple of bites I found I was no match for its sheer size.
The Maker’s Mark sorbet that accompanied the torte was also a delight. We were cautioned to eat carefully since the alcohol was frozen with liquid nitrogen, but this warning did nothing but make me wonder why it was already melting when it arrived at the table. Still, the sorbet was tasty and, as I keep trying to remind myself, nobody is perfect.
