Bondir's Harvest Opera: Son et nourriture

I'm always interested when people pair food with something else. Wine, yes, obvs, but more than that: theater, music, story — a different aspect that brings an extra dimension, or context, to the act of eating.

So I was excited to learn about Sensing Terroir: A Food Opera (PDF), a collaboration between Bondir chef Jason Bond and Ben Houge, a digital audio artist. Their plan was to create a dining experience that paired each course of a meal with specific sounds, connecting dishes to the farmers and producers that contributed the ingredients.

To quote from Houge's Food Opera Manifesto:

I’ve long appreciated fine food, and somewhere along the line I realized that enjoying a well-crafted meal was an inherently time-based experience, akin to ballet, music, or film, but tailored to the sense of taste. This is true not only in the succession of courses, but in the way a course evolves, as flavors meld, textures break down, and hot and cold converge to room temperature. Even psychologically, our perception of a new dish changes as we become accustomed to it. Once I acknowledged this, the desire to compose music to accompany a meal, just like a dance or film score, followed naturally.

The idea was to synch the sounds to the dish each individual diner was eating, using video-game technology and tabletop speakers, so that the experience would be customized to each person, regardless of when they started eating or how long it took them to finish.

Brilliant, right?

When we arrived, the first thing we noticed was the drone. It filled the space, a low, electronic sound, gently rising and falling in intensity, with occasional accordion-like trills underneath. The sound came from speakers at ceiling level and large pods on wooden stands on the floor.

You can see one of the floor-pods just next to The Boy's hand (plus Houge talking to a table behind us):



Each table also had a set of these:



These smaller speakers were intended for the specific sounds that would accompany each dish.

The low drone continued throughout the evening. And while we looked over the menu, we heard this from the tabletop speakers:



(Water? Traffic? Fryolator? Not sure.)

One of the waitstaff came over to check in. "You've been here before, haven't you?" she said. "You sat over there." She pointed to the table we had last time.

Wow. We were last at Bondir three months ago.

"How could you remember that?" I asked.

"You had blue and green nail polish," she said, smiling.

Maybe it's just that I have the world's worst memory for faces. But that was scarily impressive.

The first course was a poached egg, warm and soft, with beets in solid and sauce formats and a ginger-sesame foam. The sweetness of the beets, the spicy-sweet foam and the richness of the yolk were a lovely combination.



This was served with Pu-Erh tea in the world's daintiest cup:



Interesting idea, to start with tea, and it marked the first of five excellent beverage pairings. The next course came with a hot spiced chianti that was more delicate and streamlined than the usual mulled wine. It was a great accompaniment for the pig's ear terrine.



I've only had pig's ear in crispy form, so this was new. It was tender and delicious — not chewy, not over-salted. It came with Roxbury Russet apple (which made me excited, as I'd learned from Amy Traverso's The Apple Lover's Cookbook that it's the oldest variety of apple in the US, bred in what is now part of Boston).

For the next course, The Boy and I went different ways, as he can't do anything that wears its skeleton on the outside. I had lobster (from Scituate) on top of a baby pumpkin stuffed with creamy, rich, delicious grits and a garnish of caramelized seaweed.



(BTW, I realize the photos aren't great; the light wasn't quite strong enough for my little camera.)

The Boy had the other option, a sweet potato tart. Which had spent, unfortunately, a couple of minutes too long in the oven.



It was good, apart from the very burnt bits.

Somewhere around here we realized we weren't getting the full son et nourriture experience. Apparently the system had crashed (ah, techmologee!) and after the reboot it wasn't reaching all the tables.

Part of the reason it had taken us so long to notice was that the whole room was so loud. If there had been any customized sound, it had to compete with this:



The system was soon back up, but it was still hard to hear anything from our tabletop speakers. There was occasional dialog (Houge had interviewed some of the farmers whose produce we were eating) but much of it was washed away in the sea of room noise. I heard something about growing butternut squash, but that was about it.

Oh well, more food. We diverged again for the next course: The Boy chose chicken with bacon, chestnuts and turnip, the meat juicy and tender.



I had a fennel gratin with assorted fall veggies and a cube of teff polenta. I think that was my first time with teff — would def do again.



And then dessert. There were two choices, so we got one of each and shared.

Chocolate "enlightenment," a dense, rich mousse that came with, among other things, a parsnip purée that worked surprisingly well:



And angel-food cake with a lovely black walnut ice cream and a deep, fruity swirl of huckleberry sauce.



Dessert came with a glass of Dolin red vermouth. More restaurants should serve tea to start and vermouth to finish. Just sayin'.

So, was this a successful experiment? From our perspective ... almost. The concept was great, but the setting was, I think, an obstacle.

Even if, as Houge's manifesto notes, "the awareness and appreciation of food happens intermittently, during pauses in the conversation," there's an assumption that those pauses will allow for an aural experience because people are quietly eating. In a busy restaurant, however, any pause in one table's conversation is filled by laughter and conversation from surrounding diners.

So, for instance, I wasn't able to hear the farmers talk about their work, but I did get to hear all about Montessori schools from the next table, whether I wanted to or not.

I'd be interested to see how this concept develops, and whether the answer involves more specific targeting of directional sound. Or smaller audiences. Or having someone stand over every table like this:



(Actually, Cusack? Definitely count me in.)

Espresso Express: The Harvest Review

Wow, it's been a while since I posted, hasn't it? Time flies when you're, I dunno, doing other stuff.

There's still been plenty of eating and cooking and baking, but somehow I didn't feel as though it was worth sharing. Which is silly, really.

This week, however, included something worth reporting: the latest Harvest Review dinner. We've previously been to the Harvest Review Taza Chocolate dinner and the apples and oysters dinner, both of which were inventive, creative, and delicious.

This one was hosted by Espresso Express, a Brighton-based coffee supplier that provides Harvest with their brews.

Was it possible to do a four-course meal around coffee? If it could be done with chocolate, why not?

We started with dirty vegetables.



Okay, not exactly; these were baby veggies, lightly steamed, and served in a "soil" of brown breadcrumbs, blended nuts, and coffee grounds.



I dare you to find me a cuter appetizer.



Next up, coffee soup. Or, more accurately, espresso consommé, a light broth with a satisfying mouthfeel, seasoned with lemongrass, in which sat agnolotti stuffed with carrot and ginger.



At the start of the evening, chef Mary Dumont noted this was a tricky one to pull off: How do you maintain the positive characteristics of coffee without overplaying its bitter aspects? Lemon and ginger seemed to be the answer. And coffee works well with parsley; who knew?

For the main course, there was rare-roasted lamb loin with a coffee rub. Coffee goes well with roast beast, so this worked: strong, dark, earthy. Alongside were sweet parsnips, a schmear of yogurt, and a garnish of bee pollen, the flavors giving the whole dish a slightly Middle Eastern tone.



And then, dessert. Ohhhh, dessert. Pastry chef Brian Mercury, whom I have decided is a genius, went with a coffee-and-doughnuts theme that involved a sugar-coated doughnut, cream and cashew sauces, and (this is the genius part) a doughnut mousse. Which means he made doughnuts, and then used the doughnuts to make a fluffy-but-substantial cream.



Freakin' geee-nee-uss.

Taza chocolate: The Harvest Review

After the deliciousness that was last month's Harvest Review dinner — not to mention the painful realization that these dinners have been happening at Harvest, without me, for eight years — there was really no question about whether or not we'd return for February's themed dinner.

This time, perhaps because it was the day after Valentine's Day, the not-so-secret ingredient came from fabulous local purveyor Taza Chocolate.

Taza co-founder Alex Whitmore was in attendance to give us an overview of the company — as he puts it, they take the cacao "from bean to bar" — and to answer questions about their sources (mostly growers in the Dominican Republic), their process (they roast and stone-grind the beans in Somerville), and their factory tours (which we need to do at some point).

And then, to eat!

To begin, "Hot Dates," stuffed with a mild, sweet gorgozola, studded with bacon, served on a swoosh of balsamic bittersweet chocolate. This was an appetizer I would have welcomed back for dessert.



Imagine warm, sweet dates; soft, creamy cheese; a salty, smoky crunch from the bacon; a rich, dark sauce. Such an amazing combination.

I scooped the first one up with my fingers and was about to wolf my second before I realized everyone else was being knife-and-forky. Oops, manners.



Next up, an amazingly tender Berkshire pork belly on a bed of puréed parsnip, with candied kumquats and pickled jalapeño. Oh, and 80 percent chocolate.





Parsnips and chocolate: Who knew? Pork and chocolate: Who knew? I mean, yes, bacon chocolate makes perfect sense. But I was surprised by how well pork fat (less intense, though still sweet and salty) paired.

Then we moved to dessert (wasn't it all dessert?): a 60 percent chocolate with Nutella mousse,



a 70 percent chocolate with tiny strawberry-yogurt puddings and — be still, my heart — strawberry cotton candy,



and an 80 percent chocolate with salted caramel sauce.



Each was richer, and more intense, than the last.

And it was around this point that I realized I'm not the chocoholic I thought I was.

Don't get me wrong, it was all fantastic. But my choco-meter was reaching its limit.

But wait: more chocolate!



A thick, creamy 60 percent chai hot chocolate, with a piece of fresh biscotti. With chocolate-covered cocoa nibs.

The chocolate was too thick for sipping, so we used the biscotti as a spoon. Sophisticated animals we are with our improvised tools.



Despite the fact that I was completely chocked-out by the end, it was another incredible meal. The wine pairings were, again, so well chosen, especially the dessert wine, Malvira "Birbet" Brachetto, a red, spakling Italian that I may start stalking.

And to think it all starts here:

Apples and oysters: The Harvest Review

Um, why did nobody tell me about Harvest's monthly dinner series? Seriously, don't pretend to be interested in my blogroll all of a sudden; look at me. I want answers!

Turns out Harvest in Harvard Square presents a dinner once a month called The Harvest Review. Each dinner is based around a theme: food, mostly (I'm guessing, as no one told me), though chef Mary Dumont did mention a Bob Slate-themed event that somehow involved, yes, pens, ink and paper.

Did I mention that's it's four courses with wine?

Did I mention that it's $39 a person??

So, to recap: A unique meal. At one of the best restaurants in Cambridge. For FORTY BUCKS.

See why I'm miffed to have missed out?

When I heard about January's dinner, I may have squeaked a little: a menu of apples and oysters, hosted by two authors I like: Erin Byers Murray, whose Shucked describes her year working at Island Creek Oysters; and Amy Traverso, whose The Apple Lover's Cookbook makes me want to lick the pages.

So, yeah. We were going.

I'd assumed the event would take over the whole of Harvest; instead, it was in the smaller, separate dining room, with seating for about 40 people. Which meant the kitchen was turning out two separate menus — one for us, one for the main restaurant — and ours had to be coordinated so that everyone was served at the same time. That takes skill.

The dinner was supposed to start at 6pm, but because they were doing synchronized service, we had to wait until the last stragglers showed up. (And that is why you should always be on time, people!)

But it was okay, really, because we were able to quell our hunger with finger sandwiches of cheddar, apple and whole-grain mustard, grilled in butter. Very simple, very sinful.



Once everyone had arrived, Chef Dumont gave a brief introduction, and then both Amy and Erin talked about their books. I felt quite envious, as I always do around people who get to write about food for a living.

And then we began. First, Island Creek oysters two ways: raw, with quick bread-and-butter apple pickles from Amy's book, and pan-fried with a piment d'Espelette sauce.





The first was briny, chilled, with the pickled apple providing just an edge of vinegary sweetness. The second was warm, a little oily, with a slight crunch from the breading, the sauce adding a creamy smokiness. They were almost each other's opposite; I could almost imagine one with wings and a harp, and the other with little horns. Good and evil, both delicious.

Next up, oyster stew, creamy and fragrant with fennel and Pernod. The stew itself was great, but what made the dish, for me, was the squid-ink tagliatelle, deeply flavored but light as a feather, and the single slice of pancetta so thin you could see through it. For real, check it out:





For the third course, we moved back to apples, which came braised with cabbage with a hint of caraway. There might have been something else on the plate ...



Well, hello there ...

That would be the pork shoulder sausage, almost boudin blanc-like in texture, dense and delicious.



We were pretty full by this point. Too full for dessert? Ha! Especially not this: warm apple brownies with caramel ice cream and walnut brittle. A perfect end to the meal.





What do you mean, there's more? Apple donuts, you say? Served warm, coated with sugar? Well, all right, if they're small. Just a couple. After all, apples are good for you.



At the end of the dinner, Erin and Amy stuck around to chat and sign copies of their work, so I'm now the proud owner of both books. Perfect reading (and experimenting) for chilly winter days.

And because I'm nice, I'll mention that upcoming Harvest Review dinners highlight local businesses that work with Harvest: Taza Chocolate (February 15), Hearth Wood-Fired Bread (March 14), and Espresso Express coffee (April 11).

You're welcome.

Eric and Nicki's wedding; an Oleana reception

Today our friends Eric and Nicki were married in a beautiful, simple ceremony in the rose garden in the Fens.



Nicki's brother read an e.e. cummings poem; the vows made everyone cry; the unexpected ice-cream truck musical accompaniment (with this tune) made everyone laugh.



And then we headed to Cambridge for the reception at Oleana.

Though the sky threatened rain, we didn't get a drop, so we could sit among the fruit trees and herbs on the patio.







Lunch was served family-style, which meant we got to pass around plates and share with new friends.

The appetizers included spinach falafel with tahini, yogurt, and a creamy beet sauce:



Lamejun (think Middle Eastern pizza) with haloumi and grilled peaches:



and an amazing, airy buttered hummus wrapped in something I'd never had before: basturma, a paper-thin slice of air-dried beef. It was fantastic.



And then the mains, also served on sharing plates: salmon roasted in fig leaves with plums,



Beautifully pink, tender lamb,



and simple, delicious sides.





For dessert, there was plum tart in a buttery crust with a lovely almond-milk ice cream.



By the end of the meal, I was running out of steam, so we headed home, happy with thoughts of amazing food, great company, and true love.



Oh, and the realization that we really, really need to eat at Oleana again soon.