Tavern

To spend time at Tavern is to indulge in a trip down the rabbit hole. Inside the latest addition of Suzanne Goin and Caroline Styne’s dining empire lies a world all its own, a restaurant and adjoining larder that seem culled from the pages of Lewis Carroll’s beloved Alice in Wonderland with a 21st century twist. It’s hard to find fault with this food oasis, a delight for every occasion. The front entrance leads you into the bar, a dark, mysterious room, bisected by comically oversized chairs, a place like some historic gentleman’s club, where secrets are told, fates dealt. Not your cup of tea? Fear not. Soft glowing light beckons you into the dining room, a most extraordinary space for day or night. The room literally glows with a perfect blend of natural (full skylights fill the roof!) and artificial light, at once both intimate and vibrant. I felt simultaneously out in the open countryside and nestled inside an elegant estate. The architecture is seamless. Wait staff get to the kitchen through a trick door with no knob. Living olive trees recede into the ground through subtle grates. Couches connect tables. If ever a room radiated quiet, casual elegance, this is it. Another glass of wine and my imagination may have easily transformed the Brentwood crowd into dapper animals in formal attire. The place is enchanted.

If you know Goin’s cooking, then the impeccably seasonal menu will be no surprise. Our dinner last week, for example, felt perfectly situated in time, stone fruit highlights echoed the end of summer and robust meats and root vegetables heralded an earthy transition to autumn. I have to say our appetizers were the stars of the evening. Lamb merguez with couscous, almonds, and roasted apricots. Soft shell crab with sweet corn salad and green harissa. Each dish a symphonic dance for the palate. What makes Goin’s cooking so special is the way she plays with contrasts. She marries bold exotic flavors with pure, fine ingredients so that what surprises also strikes a comforting familiarity. She privileges her patrons to eat from the world’s garden.

Our main courses included: Grilled halibut with wild chantrelles, pancetta and figs. Sea bass with yellow tomato confit, cucumbers and labne, a most delightful yogurt variety. Duck confit with black rice, pistachios and local plums. And rounding it off, beef cheeks with ricotta gnocchi and cherry tomato-brown butter. I don’t tend to favor rich, thick dishes. In fact, I’m not a particularly avid meat eater. So the entrees were a bit heavy for me. That said, everything, and I mean everything, was cooked to perfection, an impressive feat for such a bustling kitchen. I appreciated such brave parings of sweet with salty, tart with creamy, and sharp with nutty.

The ricotta cheesecake with black mission figs and abbamele that we had for dessert was fit for the Gods. I wouldn’t be surprised if it functions as an aphrodisiac. By then, my tummy full, my senses overwhelmed, my eyes dozing, I wondered if the Italian honey was in fact some tincture to send me through a new portal of bliss. I couldn’t tell if I was shrinking or growing. Would I be able to stand up and walk out of the room to my car?

As I headed out the door, a sharp rattle on the window glass spun me around, and a boisterous group of Italian men beckoned me back inside with raised arms. Surely I didn’t want to leave either, wanted the dream to continue on forever. But even Alice needs her sleep. After such an enchanting evening, I’m under Tavern’s spell.

- Sascha