Dinner at Lord Stanley
Welp. We’re officially through our June travel/wedding gauntlet and oohwee it’s been a blast.
I spent the week before last in San Francisco, training for work, and met all of the people and ate all of the things. I think so far I’ve gained about four pounds, but maybe that’s just standard practice for a new job that feeds you at every meal and offers todos de los snackos.
Whenever I’m in SF (pro tip: I was instructed that it’s not cool to call it San Fran so at risk of someone reading this and shouting, “NERD!” I’m going to refer to it by those initials instead), I always wish *just a little bit* that I lived there. Stunning scenery, architecture, proximity to lots of outdoorsy activities, wine and killer eats.
I pulled out Google maps to see where I was headed. 0.8 miles to the office in SOMA from my hotel here in Union Square? DONE! I crush miles-long walks at home in Chicago. Bring it. I stepped outside of my hotel, enchanted, the whole city my oyster...
But what I always forget is that 0.8 miles in Chicago is actually 14 miles through rivers of pee and broken glass and mountains and valleys in SF.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, ten minutes on the Stairmaster is not the same as ten minutes of real life. SF is the city-version of the Stairmaster. Never have more blisters been formed on a pair of feet in the U.S. than were formed on mine the day I tried to walk 0.8 miles to the Pinterest office.
But, I digress. You don’t come here to read about my feet and I don’t come here to write about ‘em.
While I was there, I had the chance to meet an old college friend, Liz, for dinner, and knock a Michelin-starred joint off my list. I’d been itching to go to Lord Stanley for the last couple years after it was featured on Bon Appétit’s list of Best New Restaurants in America in 2016. If you’re the best new anything in America, I’m interested.
I didn’t know a ton about the joint before getting there, except that they serve “California” cuisine, have won a Michelin star every year since 2016, only have a few options on the menu, and it ain’t cheap. But the good news is, we are resourceful gals and we scoured the wine offerings and located a bottle under $50, which our server referred to as “party wine.” Easily the best description for wine I’ve ever heard. Notes of tobacco and cherry and amaranth? Nah. PARTY WINE. Notes of self tanner and Fruit Stripe Gum. Honestly, it tasted like Capri Sun and we loved it.
Our server was an absolute peach. His descriptions of the food sounded like poetry. We bought all of the goods he sold us, starting with salt cod beignets that were fresh out of the fryer and so delicious. They looked like McDonald’s chicken nuggets (side note: also delicious) but tasted like fried heaven. In hindsight, I wish we would have just ordered twelve more of these and uncorked another bottle of party wine and called it a night.
Now, I don’t want to say it was all downhill from here... because there were a few other bright spots... but, we peaked early.
The next delivery to our table was two little (like, large olive sized) Gouda puffs. They were almost too pretty to eat. But then, when I ate mine, I felt sad inside. It tasted like regular puff pastry dough and mustard. You could make this at home. You = anyone with hands, a roll of Pillsbury, and some French’s original yellow. Sad trombone.
Up next was a course that I felt personally offended by. Because it took two of my favorite things, scallops and onions, and ruined them. Our sweet server sold this course to us like it was going to be the most incredible thing we had ever tasted. We were BAMBOOZLED.
Slices of smoked scallop were served atop a nearly-raw onion. And then draped with something referred to as “mermaid hair” on the menu. I mean, just look at the picture. It tasted about as appetizing as it looked. And it looks like varicose veins outside of a human body. [insert green nauseous emoji here].
We needed something to redeem our faith in humanity, STAT. And thank heavens the next course did so or I would be in a very dark place right now. To be fair, lamb chops are an almost always a guaranteed home run... but this preparation was pretty damn good since it came with lamb belly. Turns out, lamb belly and pork belly are extremely similar; it tastes like buttery lamb bacon.
The potatoes, the sauce, everything was perfect. I would order this again in a heartbeat.
Our second entree, sea bass and sea beans and other sea-items (I made that up), was equally delicious. The fish was perfectly crisp on the outside and melted in your mouth.
Side note: is fish “melting in your mouth” a descriptor that people actually find appealing? Too soon to tell.
But right as we were starting to turn the corner and recover from the trauma of the onion/hair, our server made his final recommendation which was the nail in the coffin. Dessert.
Now usually, any and all desserts are friend, not foe.
Until the dessert you order is construction paper and fruit. Which is essentially what this was. Both Liz and I had no idea what this was, whether or not it was food, and why this would ever be the dessert you would recommend to two nice ladies. Maybe it’s because we ordered the party wine. He was probably like, obviously these girls don’t give a hoot about decent anything so I will sell them the fake crispy paper dessert that we keep on tap as a joke.
Needless to say, it tasted like it looked. And you can tell by looking at it that it tasted like a shale patio tile.
No amount of party wine could fix this. And thus, the Forkling has to give this 6.2 forks out of 10.
But my date, Liz, she scored a 9.8. I’ll keep her around.
At some point, when I become an acclaimed food critic for The NY Times (lol), I will create my own Michelin starring system. And when that day comes, I will not give this place a star. But until my next trip to SF, I will be daydreaming of all the places I can’t wait to eat at next.
More to come this week, but for now, there’s a dog show on TV and there’s no way I’m missing a second of the komondor’s (google it) dreadlocks.
Besos!