Bar Tartine

Bar Tartine opened up a few months ago on Valencia between 16th and 17th, not too far away from its bakery namesake. For a while I wondered why the owners didn’t think of a name more clever, more creative. I wondered if it was the name, those seven letters that spell delectable treats, that was the draw and not the food. The restaurant hadn’t even opened yet and there was huge buzz, and I was eager to find out if it was because of the name or the food behind it.

Eleanor and I met Colin there after a reading at the public library, and their friend Alex joined us for a bit too. I have to admit that Colin and Eleanor are two are my favorite people to eat with. They know good food, they’re curious eaters and not afraid to ask questions, and they like to share.

After a little bit of a wait, we were seated under an antler chandelier at the large communal table where passersby saw us advertising what good fun could be had at Bar Tartine. The host was very friendly and graciously apologetic, and the waitress, who Colin says is one of the owners, was very knowledgeable and understanding (Jon and Jory walked by, saw us in the window having our fun, stopped in, and chatted with us just as she was about to take our order).

For starters, we ordered the stuffed pigs feet and baby octopus with chorizo in a tomato-based broth. (They had run out of our other two appetizer options.) The stuffed pigs feet were rich and gelatinous, a bit heavy for an appetizer though. It had the texture of “meatier” part of the chicken feet ordered at dim sum. The tomato sauce that the baby octopus floated in was delicious, tasting of a hearty tomato sauce with bits of tomato flesh. The chorizo seemed out of place, and I had forgotten that it was there until I came upon the tough chunk of meat and wondered why my fork couldn’t penetrate it. It seemed like there was too much happening on that little plate and the octopi were simply cute adornments.

We had plenty of options in terms of salads, and settled on the beet salad with gorgonzola, endive, and pear and the porcini frissee with poached egg and black lentils. The beet salad was artistically plated with mounds of bright red beet circling the dish as endive and pear lied below. In the center was a large dollop of gorgonzola that must have been mixed with a lighter cheese that I couldn’t quite figure out. It was a good beet salad, but beets aren’t that hard to do poorly. The porcini salad was interesting. A mix of warm mushroom and oozy egg coated the crisp, frayed frissee as lentils bedded the bottom. All tossed together, it was a fun experience for my mouth.

Our entrees were the cod with olive tapenade in a Meyer lemon sauce, the scallops with fennel and orange, and the guinea hen wrapped in cabbage. The cod was well cooked, crisp on top but flakey and moist within, although the olive topping was much too overpoweringly salty for the more delicate fish. The small bay scallops were floating in a pool of green that I found disconcerting. The green seemed too bright and I couldn’t distinguish what produced its flavor. The scallops were good though and the chunks of orange added a sweet zing, but the three elements weren’t working to enhance each other. Our best entrée by far was the guinea hen in cabbage. The guinea hen was meaty, tender, and succulently sweet. The chanterelles were heavenly. The presentation was lacking, but the food said it all.

We were stuffed to the gills at this point, but we couldn’t pass up dessert at a place that was founded by some of the best bakers in San Francisco. We ordered the gingerbread pudding cake with crème fraiche ice cream and poached pears and the flourless chocolate almond cake with cinnamon ice cream and candied kumquat. The gingerbread cake was a bit too spicy for my taste and heavy (it reminded me of a baking mistake I once made during a Thanksgiving trial run). The crème fraiche ice cream was amazing though, delicately sweet and smooth. The flourless chocolate cake was dense and rich, the kumquat a nice touch, but the ice cream not tasting too much of cinnamon.

All in all, it was a good meal, though not great, with good people. Perhaps my expectations were too high. But how could they not be? Bar Tartine shares the same name as the bakery that makes a bread pudding that stops me in the street with fork in mouth and that made my chocolate birthday cake that I saved in my freezer for well over a month, and I was expecting food that would make my knees buckle, my taste buds dance, and my belly sigh with happiness in the same way.