San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
Birdsong’s exquisite call of the wild
When Christopher Bleidorn stands behind the counter at Birdsong, surveying his crew at four other stations, you can sense his passion.
He gets downright giddy when he takes interested diners on a tour of the basement, where he has two private dining areas, including one in the shadows of a paned-glass meat locker.
The well-stocked cooler looks like a morgue for animals. There’s a side of water buffalo slowly aging, alongside whole muttons, more duck carcasses that you can count and a tray of fish fillets nestled on kelp, with a fan pointed their way to help dry and crisp the skin.
The cooler used to be a wine cellar when the restaurant was AQ, but Bleidorn reduced its size to add a dining counter that overlooks the floor-to-ceiling windows.
It feels very primal, a quality that informs many combinations on the fixed price menu, which features more than 10 courses for $168. Recently he also implemented an a la carte menu available Tuesday through Thursday.
The overriding theme in constructing the menu is to use centuries-old techniques of smoking, cooking over open fire, fermenting and dry-aging to produce food that has intense, earthy overtones.
In one dish, for example, Bleidorn pays tribute to the Napa fires using morels, explaining that mushrooms are one of the first signs of life that emerge from the singed earth. He stuffs the mushrooms with lamb, and to make the sauce he chars the tops of leeks, garlic and onions (nothing goes to waste in this kitchen) before turning them into a powder combined with activated charcoal. Then, along with other spices, the mixture is incorporated into brown butter.
Bleidorn and his wife, Aarti Shetty, oversaw every aspect of the remodel that opened up the interior and included a new kitchen with four working islands. The completely open kitchen is fenced in on two sides by a rippled-edged counter that seats 12, sliced from a single ash tree, making the work area feel like a stage.
Through the night as the staff falls into a rhythm, they seem to move to the beat of a blaring soundtrack that included “Mr. Jones” by Counting Crows, “The Look” by Roxette and “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me” by Billy Joel. The eclectic music reinforces the very personal nature of the food and supports the airy and relaxed feel of the interior, fitting nicely into its surroundings on Mission near Seventh streets. It attracts what appears to be a younger crowd than other fixed price restaurants. On one visit, for example, the man at the counter beside us was celebrating his 29th birthday with his girlfriend.
American chefs like Bleidorn have a different attitude than they did when I started reviewing restaurants more than 30 years ago, obsessing over details that were overlooked at even the best restaurants.
In the 1980s, chefs cared about quality products, but their focus was in using their skills to transform the raw products. Today it’s more the rule than the exception that chefs are taking an active part in what happens before the beef, lamb and asparagus get to their back door. Increasingly they are trying to control every aspect of the supply chain.
I was taken with how much Bleidorn’s huntsman style was like Josh Skenes’ at Saison, and it was only later I learned that Bleidorn worked three years there and at Atelier Crenn as well. He’s created an interesting amalgamation of styles that is continually evolving, feeling more integrated on each of my visits.
On the first visit in early June, for instance, waiters who seemed as enthusiastic about the food as the chef were emphasizing that the ingredients celebrated the Pacific Northwest. By the last visit that aspect was played down. Instead, the chef said they were sourcing ingredients from the Bay Area and up the coast to the Pacific Northwest.
Bleidorn, like many other chefs these days, uses every part of the animal. This idea is front and center on the tasting menu. Mount Lassen trout is aged up to five days to intensify its flavor and used in three courses: The first taste is delivered in a pine-lined dish. Diners unwrap the thin cedar paper to reveal two prime pieces of trout that have been cured, smoked and warmed in the cedar. Next comes a sandwich whose bread is replaced by two sheets of crispy trout skin, with the roe, cucumber and horseradish mayonnaise in between. Finally, diners are presented with a thick broth made from the bones that are hung to dry over the grill. It’s filled with scraps of belly and meat scraped from the spine of the fish.
Bleidorn ages duck for 30 days and serves a slice of rare breast with a piece of gizzard, liver and heart, covered with pieces of cured legs that have a quality similar to bacon.
Bold flavors are at the nexus of every dish, and the process to concentrate flavors can take days or weeks. In the course that leads from savory to dessert, Bleidorn serves carrots. They are first cooked in their own juices, and the liquid is reserved and reduced. He then dries the carrots and caramelizes them in butter before placing them on a shelf over the grill for four to five days, where they are reduced about 70 percent in size. He then takes the carrots, reserved juices and butter and places them in a vacuum-sealed bag. When they are ready to be served, he grills them for about 30 minutes, basting with a sauce of veal jus, tomato, fennel, cumin and coriander. The carrots are then finished with an infusion of madrone bark to add a pleasant bitterness to counteract the concentrated sweetness of the vegetable.
Every dish, even vegetables, seem to have the intensity of meat. Bleidorn caps sweet corn porridge with cured duck ham, a combination that creates a slick of grease over the top. Lardo adds an equally hearty element to grilled radicchio that is flavored with mustard.
His inspiration would make a dendrologist rejoice: Pine needles and eucalyptus impart complexity to wild boar rib, and spruce is mixed with yogurt for a sauce that enhances aged black cod.
Parker House rolls glisten in pork fat, and blue maize corn bread is cooked and presented in an iron skillet. On top is charcoal butter that melts, forming an even richer addition. There’s no flour in the mix, and when you bit through the crust, it’s like you’re pressing down on a sponge filled with custard.
His cuisine weaves together hearty farmhouse fare and delicate French preparations but at times it can seem a little too rich. If I had one suggestion it would be that he give the palate a break with a few lighter preparations.
Desserts don’t offer much relief. A slice of brioche is soaked in jasmineinfused custard, and then bruleed to form a crust. It’s plated with toasted milk ice cream. An intense chocolate mousse is made with 70 percent Dandelion chocolate and served with wafers and sorbet made with the same intense chocolate. The sorbet is cool, but has the texture of frosting.
From start to finish, Bleidorn and his crew are crafting a unique style that’s not easily forgotten; one that feels like a hike in the woods.