Healdsburg’s Single Thread is the Bay Area’s newest 4-star restaurant.
Single Thread in Healdsburg arrives with 4-star perfection
There’s a common thread that runs through every fourstar restaurant I’ve reviewed: None of them started out fully realized. Quince, Manresa, Benu, Saison and even the French Laundry were excellent when they opened, but as their chefs’ ambitions grew, the dining rooms became more luxurious and the techniques evolved until each perfected a unique vision.
What’s different about Single Thread is that in December, when Kyle and Katina Connaughton opened the doors in downtown Healdsburg, every aspect of the experience was buttoned down and polished.
I’ve never seen that before in a restaurant shooting for the stars. But then I’ve never seen a husband-and-wife team with such a focused and well-formed idea of what they wanted and how to get there.
What diners see on the elaborate $225 tasting menu, paid in advance with the addition of tax and 20 percent service charge, is a Japan-meets-Sonoma progression of 11 courses, starting with a magnificent presentation of wood covered in moss and delicate flowers that serves as a base for nine or 10 bite-size appetizers set on the table just before guests are seated. It might be crab and uni topped with the tip of the first asparagus of the season; nests of fried potatoes with an egg-shaped puree of green herbs; a pickled oyster with caviar; and thin slices of geoduck that have been blanched, lightly torched and glazed with makrut lime gelee.
Subsequent presentations are just as meticulously conceived, presented and served. Most plates, bowls and serving pieces are made for the restaurant by eight artists living in Japan.
The thread tying Japan to Sonoma is visible in every aspect of the restaurant.
No one is as obsessed with ingredients as the Connaughtons, backed by flawless technique. They use a Japanese almanac that lists 72 seasons, and they are keeping their own journal so in time they will understand how Sonoma’s seasons parallel those in Japan. Some products are at their peak for only a few days, and Katina keeps close watch on every aspect of their growth so they are served in their prime.
“I have to go to bed each night with my farmer,” is how Kyle describes his motivation and unwavering dedication to seasonality. The couple met in high school at a punk rock concert, and they’ve been together since.
The fruits of their partnership are evident on every plate. What many may not see are the years of work and planning that went into Single Thread.
Kyle has a storied background. He produced pastries at Spago Beverly Hills, made sushi at the famed Hama Sushi in Venice (Los Angeles County), and cooked at Lucques, AOC and Water Grill in Los Angeles. He also worked for Michel Bras at Toya in Japan for three years, and there honed his foraging, plating and cooking skills. At the same time, Katina focused on raising their two daughters and studying sustainable farming practices.
In 2006 Kyle was asked by famed English chef Heston Blumenthal to head up the Fat Duck’s experimental kitchen. He worked there for five years, learning and developing new equipment and techniques to showcase ingredients.
During that time the couple made frequent trips to Sonoma and Napa, becoming more and more beguiled by the potential. They moved permanently to Sonoma five years ago, spending the first two years trying to find the right venue. For the last three they’ve been working to open Single Thread, in a building that also allowed them to create an exclusive inn with five rooms, and to prepare the soil and plant ingredients on their 5-acre farm only a few miles from the restaurant.
There’s a kind of spiritual calmness that envelopes the 52-seat dining room, a striking setting for the Connaughtons’ unique cultural fusion. When diners enter the dark-walled lobby, eyes go to the opening in the back wall that frames the kitchen and reveals shelves filled with Fukkura-san donabe pots and other handmade pottery. The chefs go about their work intently, and diners are encouraged to observe.
Before diners are shown into the dining room they are escorted by elevator to the roof where they walk among the manicured beds of herbs, lettuces and other produce. They then relax in one of the cluster of seats around the expansive space, and sip a welcome glass of Champagne or other beverage. There’s always an introductory snack, such as house-made tapioca and rice crackers with truffled mascarpone.
After 10 to 15 minutes of forced decompression, guests are brought to dinner. The dining room is hidden behind a massive 11-foot door carved from a century-old redwood tree. When the door swings opens, it’s a big reveal. The first impression is dramatic, even
awe-inspiring.
Each element of the design, conceived by AvroKO, is as carefully thought out as the food: The barrier-less kitchen is at the center of three dining areas, and being able to see, or at least sense, the action in the kitchen keeps the mood from growing pretentious. A series of woven screens acts as a partition in strategic places and in front of some windows, giving a shadowy view of Center Street.
The tables, made of South American walnut with an embedded brushed metal stripe down the center, are as soft and powdery as the sushi bar at Masa in New York. Edges are beveled and corners are rounded so the hand feels like it’s gliding on calm seas. These elements carry through with the carpeted dining room. The wood backs of the chairs are covered in nubby beige fabric and are slightly curved so the body feels protected. Vases of flowering branches are arranged by Katina and follow Japanese form with their spare, elegant presence. It makes for a magnificent dining room, with equal parts luxury and comfort, a balance that’s rarely achieved.
Once at the table, the focus is squarely on what’s in front of you. Each place setting is decorated with small bouquets of branches, leaves and flowers, which are removed as service begins. The preset collection of bites looks like a fantastical, miniature meadow in the center of the table.
Waiters come from all the best places — some started several months before the restaurant opened so they could work in the garden and learn different aspects of the restaurant. Katina spent the first month washing dishes, to learn how to handle the often delicate one-of-a kind pieces.
Every detail has been rigorously considered. The staff, dressed in gray suits, move around the room in one direction in an almost choreographed style. When they pour water into the delicate metallic ceramic glasses, diners may notice a small log of charcoal used to purify the contents in the crystal carafe.
Before sake is poured, diners are presented with a basket of pottery cups, to choose one that speaks to them. The sake is then poured from a special pottery pitcher surrounded by ice with a bouquet of flowers sprouting from the top. The wine list is a thoughtful blend of Sonoma and old world selections.
It’s hard to understand the complex interweaving of flavors, even in what appears to be the simplest dish. While the cuisine’s style was consistent on all three visits, the ingredients were different — even more remarkable in winter when options are limited.
Initially, on the first visit, I could see how skeptics could translate aspects of the experience as precious and pretentious, but before long I drank the matcha ($12) and was a convert. By the third dinner I realized I had only glimpsed what the Connaughtons and their crew can do. I can’t wait to see what inspires them in spring, summer and fall.
After diners consume the preset appetizers, three more hot dishes come in rapid succession. A delicate black bowl contains an aerated cloud of malted potatoes with flakes of black cod; a shell from the farm is filled with a whip of eggs with pureed spinach at the bottom. There’s also a small stack of artichoke hearts simmered in dashi, olive oil and citrus, with textural contrast added by crisply frying the feathery center of the choke — an element that is often discarded.
The waiter explained that this was the first night they were able to serve the chokes, and the fact that there were not enough for all the patrons didn’t dissuade the kitchen. That’s the way it is with peak produce: not everything is at its best at the same time. The kitchen is nimble and adapts as it goes.
The starting courses were quickly followed by wild yellowtail sashimi with barrelaged ponzu, delicate pieces of Japanese mustard spinach and frozen pellets of cara cara orange curd that melted on the tongue and coolly jolted the palate.
First-of-the-season peas were paired with warm tofu skins and salsify. Dishes may appear straightforward, but the techniques that bring them to the plate are complex.
Every menu contains a fish cooked in a donabe, a Japanese ceramic pot, which is presented table side before being taken back to the kitchen for plating. On one visit the donabe contained black cod and chanterelle with shaved radishes, carrots, lacy greens, miners lettuce and flower petals that replicated an early spring hillside in bloom.
When it’s time for the meat course, the waiter opens a box holding six hand-forged steak knives, and diners choose the one they want. It was an impressive flourish, but the knives really weren’t needed for the perfectly round slice of leg and loin of lamb accompanied by white and purple asparagus and morel mushrooms.
A grain dish that immediately follows is designed to be an extension of the main course, playing off the Japanese tradition of ending the meal with rice. The Connaughtons are beginning to experiment and grow grains, including purple barley and farro verde.
In fact the entire menu follows a similar flow of a kaiseki meal with carefully orchestrated waves of subtle and bold offerings.
Desserts are as complex as the savory courses. Juice from rhubarb is aerated and caps layers of shiso granita and a warm rhubarb compote. It’s like spooning through a cloud into an ice storm and, finding the rhubarb compote at the bottom, ending up in a warm room. An entire winter scenario plays out in that one dish created by pastry chef Matthew Siciliano.
After a second dessert of parsnips fried in brown butter, arranged around a bay laurel sorbet on crème fraiche, the waiter presents a double-decker tray with chocolates shaped like a robin’s egg and flavored with blood orange. On the bottom tray is a tonka bean and oro blanco custard and a smoked date.
The dinner is orchestrated to take less than three hours, yet it feels relaxed and restorative.
As diners walk into the lobby at the end of dinner, the small bouquet at their plate on arrival is tied to a copy of the detailed menu, along with a parting gift of a small box of chocolates.
It’s the final flourish to a flawless four-star experience.
There’s a kind of spiritual calmness that envelopes the 52-seat dining room, a striking setting for the Connaughtons’ unique cultural fusion. Michael Bauer