fresh meat: Fifth Floor

I know, I know, everyone is saying fine dining is over. While places with $21 entrées, communal tables, no tablecloths, open kitchens, and “nice jeans” as the dress code may the norm more and more, there’s something to be said for going to a restaurant with refined service, luxe ingredients, gorg stemware, and a fat wine list to boot. And whoa, table linens. And a cheese cart, thankyouverymuch.

Just last week I had a chance to check out the new ~FIFTH FLOOR~, and well, well, well, what a swell new thing that’s going on there. I dined at Fifth Floor during the Laurent Gras days, and when George Morrone was there, too, and Melissa Perello, and Charlie Kleinman and Jake Des Voignes. Suffice to say, the kitchen has had numerous masters of the house, but this new era with Aqua’s Laurent Manrique and chef de cuisine Jennie Lorenzo will be a uniquely notable one. The experience here is a new style of finer dining, with the cravat a little loosened, if not gone altogether.

The Puccini Group completely revamped the dining room—it’s elegant but not stuffy, rather clubby comfortable, styled with curving chic chairs the color of bone with a 30s glam shape and metal legs, upholstered walls to subtly help absorb the sound generated from the patterned hardwood floors, and dramatic red glass round overhead lights. You can actually look out a few windows onto the herb garden in the now-revealed hotel atrium (and perhaps catch a flash of some friskiness in the hotel rooms if someone didn't shut their curtains). The room is overall a bit minimalist, with mostly neutral tones, like it’s French Calvin Klein. I really liked the unexpected addition of the taupe runners on each table, and admired the new wine room, wine director Emily Wines’s new playpen.

When you first arrive, however, you pass through the revamped lounge, now the “café.” There were some ladies drinking wine and sharing some plates at a limestone and wood communal table, a few couples relaxing in club chairs, folks at the bar… would be a slick little space to meet up with someone for a bite and bubbles.

The dining room had more volume than I’d ever seen it have, less of a hushy hush/be on your better behavior vibe, and more about enjoyment while blowing a little cash. I did witness some tableside cart action, like the carving of the quick-smoked rib-eye for two. Oh, and wait until the bread cart wheels up (yup, you heard that right), with five breads to choose from (all from Bay Bread), including special regional breads from Manrique’s Gascony homeland, like a crusty one made with red wine, and another that was like an anise-flavored challah. You also get a cow’s milk butter, and a tangy goat’s milk butter, soft and light, almost like a butter sorbet. (And I tried another butter I was told I can’t write about just yet.) Yup, you’ve entered butter country.

The trio of amuses were a delight to start with: an herbed chickpea croquette, chilled golden beet yogurt with chermoula, and smoky shrimp with fennel puree—all three bites were like a study of the quality of creamy. (And delicious.)

The menu, well, let’s just say this. I really struggled over what to choose, especially from the entrées. We don’t encounter many Gascony-inspired dishes on our usual French bistro menus here in San Francisco—I was quite curious about almost all of the offerings. I can usually look at a menu and narrow it down quickly to what I want to try. That night, not so fast, tablehopper.

My guest and I started with the potage de laitue printemps ($12), one of the most beautiful soups I’ve had in a while, made from baby gem lettuce. The soup is poured tableside over a bowl of treasures: a slice of chicken galantine, the tiniest poached quail egg, a dollop of goat cheese, and carrot pearls, plus little hits of fresh herbs, like oregano, and the lemony tingle of rue, a new one for me. The soup was served room temperature, which allowed for all the flavors to really blossom.

The thon basquaise ($15) was full of bright flavor: three boulettes (“little balls”) of cold big eye tuna filled with piperade, plus salty house-made mojama tuna on top (it was like crisped tuna bresaola), and some tuna belly confit as well, with creamy sliced quail eggs, and hits of brightness and acidity from the sliced Lucques olives, basil seeds and oil, and arugula. It’s ultimately a variation of tuna tartare that even the most jaded diner can feel good about ordering.

My dining partner indulged in the foie gras ($21), cool slices of foie poached for two days, sporting a good smattering of salt from its subsequent eight-hour curing, paired with a slice of lightly grilled rustic bread topped with thinly sliced grapes, plus artichoke and black truffle salad. The bread execution was a touch awkward to eat, like, do you pick it up (we did) or fork and knife it? It was a good partner nonetheless. It kind of embodies the play of the food here: a style that is trying to balance rusticity with elegance.

The appetizer of la cruchade au civet ($17) told me to hurry back for next time (corn polenta with ossau-Iraty cheese, rabbit civet, and roasted hazelnuts, uh, where do I sign?), and I can imagine how scrumptious the poulpe ($13) is: grilled “tako” salad, with potato fondue, and Berber spice vinaigrette.

Do these dishes this sound as savory and hunger-inducing to you as they did to me?

Mains are firmly seated in the $30s, so prepare your wallet beforehand (slap slap!). I’ve been longing to try the matelote d’anguille ($32) since I first had a preliminary peek at the menu. It’s a deep and rich dish of oxtail ragout braised for hours, and luxurious braised Japanese eel on a plate adorned with heavy swirls of bordelaise sauce. Man, what a dish. Like, give me a spoon. Except for the poached stalk of leek in the middle that was too fibrous, especially next to the tender and meaty porcini mushrooms—you definitely needed a sharp knife for the leek.

My friend had the cochon au lait entier ($34), roasted pork shoulder with house-made boudin noir, apples, and wilted spinach, with a reduction of milk bouillon. Stupendous dish—the boudin noir especially—so luscious, tasting more of pork than a traditional execution tasting more of, well, blood; the anise foam added a fresh note.

There is also roasted lamb loin with olive tapenade ($39), squab crusted with sugared onions ($37), slow-cooked veal short rib in Jurançon wine ($37)… all quite appealing, non? Unless you’re a vegetarian—I didn’t see a single vegetarian dish on the menu, but I am sure the kitchen would accommodate.

Another option is the sommelier tasting menu, six courses for $95, and in honor of Emily Wines recently earning her Master Sommelier diploma—one of only 13 people to do so in the world on their first try, hello!—the menu is structured around the wines she has chosen, and the dishes are matched to them.

Wines did some fab pairings with our dinner, and we really dug the trio of Armagnac drinks we sampled, starting with a traditional Pousse Rapier (Armagnac that’s infused with citrus, caramel, vanilla, and prune, added to Champagne), the delightful Armagnac Blanc shaken with cucumber (I could drink this all summer), and the Gascon coffee at the end, with Armagnac, sugar, espresso, and crème chantilly.

The cheese cart will wheel on up, and is then unfolded at the table like a magician’s box—but instead of a scantily clad and squirming young woman getting bisected, you’ll be requesting a cut of St. Nectaire instead, or perhaps some Bucheron, accompanied by Marcona almonds, little fig cakes, and membrillo (quince paste).

Ahhhh, dessert. Aqua’s executive pastry chef, Lionel Walter, is the consulting pastry chef, working closely with pastry chef Ricardo Gamalong, who is the bomb. The desserts were all about a light hand—nothing was heavy or cloying.

Why yes, let’s do more Armagnac! The baba ($12) wasn’t too boozy at all, just lovely, with crème chantilly, strawberry rhubarb, and candied violet, like a French strawberry shortcake! The chocolate macaroons ($12) were little creamy sweet cookie mini-hamburgers, but the show stealer was the gateau basque ($12); a downright perfect almond cake with a creamy filling is presented with a little wedge already cut out—cute. It’s the kind of dessert you won’t want to share. The black cherry marmalade was also dreamy.

Actually, black cherry is a fitting feeling for the room and experience here—a bit sexy, swanky, uncommon, and the kind of phone number you want to write down in your little black book.

Fifth Floor
(Hotel Palomar)
12 4th St.
Cross: Market St.
San Francisco, CA 94103

415-348-1555
website

Mon–Thu 5:30pm–10pm
Fri–Sat 5:30pm–11pm
Bar open at 4pm daily

Apps $12–$22
Entrées $29–$45
Desserts $11–$14