quislet

Still savoring the smoky pork and barbecue, you take a sip from the glass of throaty red wine before you. Caught in that breathless moment of tasting, a waiter arrives with yet another plate from the entree course.

Placed before you is a large, round plate. The presentation is an array of circles: white porcelain around a moat of pink creaminess around mounded slices of beef medallion.

The waiter explains to you that the beef is prepared in a method that dates back to the samurai of feudal Japan. A small cut of perfectly marbled beef tenderloin is briefly deep-fried, then plunged into sake to cool. After the sake, it goes back into the oil to heat, then into soy sauce to cool. This hot-cold process repeats over and over until the tenderloin has a thin crust of sweet-salty black surrounding a thin ring of brown, surrounding a buttery pink center. Four slices of this tenderloin have been laid in the center of the plate, wafer-thin half-dollars of domestic kobe. The taste is exquisite, the Platonic ideal of beef, fairly melting like butter on the tongue. The darkened edges of each slice linger for a moment on tongue and tooth, providing an accent in both taste and texture. The etching of blackness provides just the slightest resistance, a hint of gustatory color, gracing the beef like the beautiful but half-forgotten wrapping of a gift being opened.

Hiding beneath this treasure is something unexpected, a small heap of braised cabbage and caraway, a nod in the direction of sauerkraut, but without the bite of vinegar. As you wonder why the cabbage hides under this magical beef, you dip the next slice into the pink sauce that surrounds the center island. You take a chance and bring some cabbage along on the fork, thinking that the chef must have chosen this pairing for a reason. The unmistakable salt and smoke of kielbasa sausage slide across your tongue as foamy liquid, the flavor reaching out to find its beloved cabbage and dancing about your senses as you barely chew the next silky slice of beef.

With the way this chef plays with consistency, I probably should have expected liquid kielbasa, and it pairs marvelously with the cabbage. The slightly frothed liquid still retains some mouth-feel to remind you that it is sausage, and the cabbage makes sure to jog your memory. This liquid component was second only to the buttered popcorn in its surprise value and spot-on flavor. I never would have thought to pair kielbasa and cabbage with the delicate beef, but it definitely worked well.