To get us out of the house, we need more than the promise of comfort food. We have all the comfort we want at home, what with running water and in-house sanitation. We can cook up a comfort storm in our kitchen, should we want boeuf bourguignon or coq au vin or mac&fromage. We'll make exception to any rule, of course, but to get our little tushes in a seat in a restaurant, we require something a bit more appealing. It could be something exotic, our pantry is bare of ethnic spices and rubs, or it could be something exciting: Winterland.

Chef Daniel Patterson -- whose new restaurant Coi is about to open downtown -- wrote an op-ed in the New York Times, pointing out the influence of Alice Waters of Chez Panisse. Hers is an overpowering dogma to which most chefs in the city must abide, kneeling in front of the Goddess of the superior and sustainable ingredients prepared with minimal affectation as to let the natural flavors shine. Patterson lamented the dearth of chefs willing to take these great California ingredients and do something with them which reflect their own personality, not Alice Waters', no matter how great she is. Winterland is the exception to this dogma, maybe the only place in the city proper, (now that Campton Place's Daniel Humm has moved to New York) willing to take chances with highly inventive dishes. If Winterland is the benchmark, we need more places like this, we tell you.

Picture courtesy of Winterland restaurant

Winterland's chef, Vernon Morales, was friendly but a little bit reserved in the short interactions we had with him. Reserved does not apply to his food, it is daring and challenging and rewarding. The brash orange awnings outside are somewhat misleading: the inside is quietly understated, and while sophisticated, the dining room does not steer the attention away from the kitchen's creations. The service flows smoothly as well, unobtrusive and competent. The only faux-pas came from a waiter/bus boy who brought an amuse of a carrot mousse, sesame oil paste and cucumber "radjeeta." Cucumber what, we said? Radjeeta? And in a somewhat defensive tone, he told us to ask our dining partner to whom we had our back turned to at the moment, as "he got it," and ran away when we looked the other way. Our head waitress explained the confusion: it was an Indian-inspired raita providing a yogurty base to the light mousse.

But who cares about the decor and the service when you get a silky Jerusalem artichoke soup ($9) served table side with shreds of duck confit, a luscious and glorious bisque; when you get an oxtail ravioli ($14) covered with bits of spaghetti squash and a horseradish emulsion. The meat in the large pasta pocket slowly braised to melting perfection, and the bubbly horseradish emulsion adding the hint of a nose clearing kick. You can get a dish of bay scallop and crispy duck tongue ($13), and we wanted to say "thank you, Vernon," as we had never tried, we had never even thought of trying duck tongue, despite those being little nuggets of tender meat perfectly crisped. A sea urchin emulsion provides a briny counterpoint, which gives the long oblong plate some unity. The squab breast and foie gras terrine ($17) served with a cherry chutney, a few leaves of frisee, and a wine gelee, is a surprisingly large slice of the bi-color terrine, with both breast and foie pressed together, and a few grains of sea salt. The frisee and a golden piece of squab with the skin on provides the textural crunch. This is the least surprising preparation, and while it was excellent, the memory of it, two months later, has faded more than for the other appetizers.

In many places, entrees are a let down from the appetizers: what is fun for a few bites become cloying in larger scale, and chefs play it safer. Not Vernon: he goes all out. We had a pork duo ($24) composed of a belly with a melting fatty layer protected with a crisp skin and topped with a praline emulsion, alongside a sizeable chunk of loin paired with a quince puree. Our tastebuds were surprised: isn't this praline flavor supposed to be associated with some bite, isn't that same bite coming from the pork skin? The balance of the textures and flavors was there, but just not delivered in the same order, keeping us from munching like cows, but paying attention to the equilibrium of the dish. A seared venison loin ($31) came in two part: a piece of steak on a main plate with three squares of daikon and a side bowl of chestnut puree, covering more of the braised venison. The side bowl outdid the main plate with its smooth chestnut puree and the shreds of meat below. A sirloin strip and braised short ribs ($29) was the simplest entree we sampled, a cheese potato gratin topped with chanterelle mushrooms and two heaps of meat: the richer ribs and the leaner sirloin. Even this relatively straightforward preparation carried levels of depth, in the flavored potato and the rich Chimay beer sauce swirled around the steak.

After a complimentary palate-cleanser which looked like the amuse only with different colors, desserts took blazing new paths to the next level: a caramelized brioche served alongside olive oil ice cream; a curried banana foster with a bacon and peanut napoleon; a lavender mousse alongside the chocolate cake. It all sounds so weird and yet, we licked them all clean. That may be Winterland's main issue, both as a restaurant and for the reviewer: how to convince people that all these strange sounding recipes are not gratuitous whims of a demented chef, but delicious creations of an artist with a deep love for the food. We experienced it first hand there, when trying to coax our mother to order something a bit less conservative. She ended up rewarded for it, and we urge you to do the same. In its price range, Winterland has no peer in this city.

Winterland
2101 Sutter St @ Steiner
(415) 563-5025