Well, that's not quite true. I've never eaten downstairs before. The upstairs is the Chez Panisse Café, a more casual, though not itself casual, eating experience. There is a menu, and you have a number of choices for each course.
Not so the downstairs. There is a prix fixe menu. That is what is being served. This was in fact one impediment to us eating there for a while; until recently Melissa wouldn't eat mammals, and the hostess's response when I asked about this a year ago as I tried to book a reservation was unequivocal and speedy: "we suggest you eat upstairs". But as Melissa is now willing to eat food that has been raised and slaughtered correctly, Chez Panisse is the perfect place to go. (In truth, the restaurant will behave graciously if perhaps a bit coldly if you abruptly announce a food concern, but they'd prefer you don't, and really, why not just take the best efforts of the kitchen).
One can't help but feel elated as one walks into the downstairs dining room. This is where it all began, and it looks the part. Beautiful wood paneling covers all the walls, making the room feel cozy, and small copper lamps light up each table. Just past the door is a giant basket full of wild mushrooms. But the best part happens as you walk towards the back: the kitchen is in full view, a battalion of chefs scurrying about in the highly fluid environment of a top-notch kitchen.
After we sat, a server (I'm not sure we had one official server; a small squadron seems to serve everyone) brought us an aperitif, a little lemony drink that was the perfect starter. Melissa has suggested we start doing this at our own parties, and I'm beginning to see her point.
We looked at the menu, and then the wine list. Chez Panisse has a very nice wine list, with an emphasis on French, Californian, and Italian wines and a smattering of other wines (many of the entries show the stamp of Kermit Lynch, famous wine importer and close friend of Chef Waters). And while not an expert on wine prices, the prices seemed extremely reasonable. Of course, now that Melissa is taking a wine class and quickly approaching my limited knowledge on the subject, we both want to study the wine list extensively. Perhaps we should start asking for a second one. But Melissa ended up being the one to place the order, and thus the taster and bottle approver.
We decided to pair our first course with a half-bottle of Rausch's 2001 Riesling Kabinett from the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer ($18). Not the best of the 2001s I've tried, but quite good nonetheless (it lacked the telltale "Terry Theise Estate Selection" on the label that is an indicator for finding the very best of these wines). And the first course? Steamed Atlantic cod, little potatoes and chioggia beets with salsa verde.
Here is the thing about Chez Panisse. You won't find highly elegant presentations like you do at The French Laundry. Chef Waters's philosophy is that you should present fantastic ingredients with a minimum of fuss but prepared in such a way to let the produce shine in the best possible way. Melissa once heard her speak, and she talked about the fact that all the chefs deal with the produce from beginning to end, so that they can properly figure out how best to treat it. There's no early prep cook mindlessly chopping those beets into wedges so they can be tossed in the oven to roast. The chef instead must make the call about how best to spotlight them and do the prep work then.
After our delicious first course (which also included fennel, by the way, practically a signature California cuisine ingredient), we switched to a full bottle of the 2001 Chianti Classico La Pieve Podere Il Palazzino ($38). I'm not a huge Chianti fan. Ultra-tannic Sangiovese is hard to deal with when you've spent a lot of time drinking perfectly balanced Germans, but this was good nonetheless.
The next course was borage ravioli with lamb sweetbreads and marrow. Three ravioli only, but three very rich ravioli. We weren't unsatisfied in the least. But it was served in an interesting way: the ravioli were partially submerged in a rich broth with olive oil floated on top, swirling and pooling in interesting ways as we maneuvered our cutlery. Good thing we had plenty of bread (Acme Bread, one presumes, which was started by the former baker at Chez Panisse and is one of the Bay Area's absolute best bread makers).
Our final savory course was grilled James Ranch lamb chops with winter chanterelles (and black trumpet mushrooms, though these weren't listed). It's funny; I used to (years ago) really dislike rare meat; I wanted it well done. Now, there are few more blissful things than a just barely cooked, exquisitely juicy and perfectly seasoned piece of meat. It is one of those things that makes me realize how far I still have to go as an amateur cook. Needless to say, I liked the lamb.
Given Chez Panisse's distinctly French slant (California cuisine draws a lot from French influences), I was surprised that there was no cheese course. Especially with so many fantastic cheese makers close by. But, instead we went straight to dessert, a shaved chocolate meringue with hazelnut ice cream. (We opted not to go for a dessert wine). Very good.
And finally, our little mignardise, two candied orange peels and two tiny butter cookies with strained and reduced preserves on top.
Overall, I was very happy with our dining experience. It's not The French Laundry, undeniably. But it's very good nonetheless, and the prices are actually quite reasonable. The Saturday night prix fixe is $75, and the wine prices seemed quite appropriate. Monday nights are $45, but the food is "more rustic", whatever that means. Reservations were not difficult to get: I spent five minutes trying to get through precisely one month in advance. It lives up to its reputation, and while it's not cheap enough to eat at on a regular basis, it might well start figuring in our lives more.