A Legend in the Making (Myth -- San Francisco, CA)
No, I'm not dead, just busy. Sorry to disappoint.
"New York?" "No." "Boston?" "No." "Definitely NOT LA..." "Hell NO!" Thus went our recent opening conversation when we dined at Myth. The hip, but comfortable dining room reminded us of somewhere other than SF, but we couldn't place where. We ultimately agreed that it had a New York vibe, without the jagged New York edge. It's like a comfy NYC.
Myth is one of those places that we went to with an understanding that we might be disappointed, or at the very least underwhelmed. After all, the Chronicle review glowed so much that it was radioactive. That's a hard thing to live up to. Plus, there were a myriad of complaints about the hostess on citysearch. I went into it with hopes higher than a dirty hippie, though, because everyone knows that people only post shit on citysearch when they're pissed off. Plus, I had read that they give you the option of ordering half portions of things which is so freakin' genius that I almost peed my pants with excitement.
I don't know what those citysearch sluts are talking about because the hostess AND the general manager gave us a welcome so warm that I almost broke out into a rendition of "It's getting hot in here". That song sucks. But I digress. The point is that they rocked.
The seating is super cool because almost everyone gets to sit on a comfy banquette or in a sexy booth. There are a few traditional tables, but for the most part, it's just a bunch of seating that is fun and nice on your behind.
Our waiter, who was French, was funny, informed and he made us feel like we were his best friends in the whole world (BFF always! Luv ya!). When we found out that he was not only French, but Parisian, we knew the apocalypse was coming because no Parisian is that nice.
Onto Alex, the sommelier, who was equally amazing. This man was practically jumping up and down because he was so excited by his own wine list. There is nothing I love more than seeing someone thrilled by what they do and it makes me all hot and wet, too. So we followed his recommendations and were very happy for the entire night. My personal favorite was a German Reisling that I was not familiar with up until that point (despite my affinity for German Reislings in general). I'd go back to the restaurant just for some more of the wine. And to find out what it was since I didn't write it down. But I'd recognize it if I saw it. Pinky swear.
So after much debate, we asked our garcon -- oysters or snails? He said oysters so we rattled off our order and it went a little somethin' like this:
Oysters marinated in cilantro and lime with yuzu caviar. These were so fucking fantastic. The combination was perfect and I felt like the inside of my mouth had had a shower after we were through (without the bad soapy aftertaste). I think we might need two orders next time.
Then Jon had the sweetbreads salad. He said he usually has a dirty aftertaste when he eats sweetbreads, but that these were clean and satisfying. I had the tuna poke special with microgreens and ate it in about five seconds. And it was great. I love raw tuna, but it can be shitty. This was not shitty. And we got some fries, which were so good that it pretty much insured that I won't be putting on a bathing suit anytime soon.
Main courses. Jon had a half order of the gemelli with foie gras reduction and pomegranate seeds which he burst with his fork, thus guaranteeing that he would get them all over his new shirt. Despite this, he liked his pasta.
Now here comes the moment in the date when you realize s/he's perfect but a bad kisser. But don't worry, with a little work, it'll be all good. I had a half order of the mushroom crusted scallops, having read great things. I need some "Jaws" theme music in here because...they were presented perfectly, the potato puree and veggies that came with were perfect, they were prepared perfectly... BUT. BUT. BUT. Oh, Christ, everything else was so good that I can hardly say it, BUT....the scallops themselves were just plain crappy. They had that metallic taste that scallops of flagging quality get. No sweetness. And everything else about the dish (and the meal) was fantastic so this was a huge disappointment. So while the execution was perfect, it was a poor quality ingredient. Someone should bitchslap the purveyor that's selling them that shit. And of course, the rest of the experience was so magical that I didn't want to say anything. So I cried into my napkin and vowed to come back, but not order the scallops. Poor Jon took one for the team and ate most of my scallops, despite the fact that the metallic (what he sometimes calls gritty) taste bothers him like that gonorrhea you got from your no-good cheatin' baby daddy.
I dried my tears and we ordered some dessert -- a Meyer lemon Napoleon that was not overly sweet or cloying, but rather tangy and tasty (hooray!) and the phyllo was light and flaky. So glad about this since I'd read not so great things about the desserts. Fuck those bitches, I loved it!
So overall, I'd go back. And maybe I'd ask about the scallops and where they're getting them and how they're caught and try to figure out why they were the only shitty thing. Because otherwise, Myth is a rock star.
"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."