Monday, May 16, 2005
You may know of the celebrated raw-food restaurant in Larkspur with its beautiful, blonde, yoga-practicing chef and her zillionaire eco-freak, electric car driving husband. He was her benefactor -- in fact, he admitted to keeping menu prices artificially low for the first few months in order to build up a fan base. Over time, the place got expensive, as you might expect.
It was a very labor-intensive restaurant. Imagine all the planning that goes into soaking nuts days in advance to make "cheese," the dehydrating of pretend crackers and miniature tortillas, the insane amount of extracting and sculpting and coaxing unusual ingredients into semi-realistic-looking replicas of sushi and lasagna (no fish! no cooked rice! no noodles!).
Come to think of it, imagine all the fingers touching your food -- stacking, squeezing, drizzling, twisting. The presentations were always fabulous, no question. And the food was actually quite delicious, even if everything on the plate was the same temperature. (Just how did they manage to get the dining room to smell so delicious? Was there somebody in the kitchen illicitly boiling a pot of broth and wafting aromas into the room?)
I couldn't afford to patronize the place, and yet it was such a mesmerizing concept, I thought about it often.
Then Mr. Roxanne pulled the plug. The scuttlebutt at one Mill Valley coffeehouse was that Mrs. Roxanne was having a dalliance with a busboy.
I'm so glad I don't have to think about Roxanne's anymore.
Posted by cookiecrumb at 11:22 AM