It's rare to encounter anyone in this city, resident or visitor, who hasn't heard of Aqua. Hearing the restaurant's name, most nod their heads with enthusiasm, Aqua having made - and kept - a name for itself under chefs George Morrone, Michael Mina and, most recently, Laurent Manrique. Tucked away in the Financial District, Aqua is almost incognito, the only hints of its presence the valet sign out front and a dim glow that spills onto the sidewalk as people come and go. Encountering it is like noticing an underwater creature who blends into its environment so well that you don't sense it until it shifts.
When you step inside, you may find the din surprising. What was so hushed on the outside is alive and bubbling on the inside. On the right, comfy couches provide a resting place for those awaiting tables or, at night's end, a place to lounge over one last Bailey's on the rocks. The bar stretches along the right wall, square pillars gently separating it from the dining area. Gargantuan floral arrangements and similarly proportioned mirrors make diners feel almost Lilliputian in the main dining room, but if you're lucky enough to snag a seat near the window, the noise and grandeur fade into the background, and a table for two seems like just that.
Mr. Food Musings and I started with a rosé champagne from Bruno Paillard. Nearly bubbleless and the color of raspberries thinned with cream, it paired well with the amuse bouche, or as SF restaurants now call it, assuming a level of fine dining familiarity in their clientele, the amuse: a doll-sized teacup of potato parmesan soup, flush with the flavor of potato, and a tiny crabcake plopped in a squirt of lemony sauce. Our palates were tickled indeed.
We started with the chilled shellfish platter. Often served in a show-stopping three-tiered table topper, Aqua's version is elegant and understated, a simple metal bowl filled with crushed ice and delectable nibbles from the sea. Kumamoto and Malpeque oysters nestled in their icy beds next to Littleneck clams, cracked crab legs with a dusting of freshly ground pepper, and plump Gulf prawns; sherry mignonette, cocktail sauce, lemons and oh-so-cute miniature bottles of tabasco sauce were their stalwart companions. The plate was finished with a small bowl of ceviche, salsa-like in consistency and flavor, bits of corn and avocado swimming up from below; tortilla crisps proved handy replacements for fork and spoon. Just before the plate was cleared, one of the teeny tabasco bottles jumped into my bag! Mr. FM and I looked on in shock, but in the end decided we couldn't deny the little guy a home. He slept in the satiny folds of my clutch purse all night long and awoke ready for sentry duty in the kitchen cabinet.
Perhaps inspired by our recent bout with tartares, both tuna and ostrich, we moved on to the tuna and wild striped bass tartare. Tuna tartare is still one of the signature dishes at Aqua, and Manrique's touch brings a sense of the exotic: served on a wide white plate and topped with a quail egg, the tuna is mixed with sweet date paste, lemon confit, garlic and harissa, a spicy orangey-red Tunisian chili paste, then nudged into the shape of a triangle by the patient server. The portion was so grand that I let Mr. FM have three or four bites, and my generosity was rewarded with a bite of his wild striped bass. Molded into a circle and topped with caviar, the bass sat atop exquisitely thin slices of fresh, light cucumber, each bite a taste of Spring herself. The dry Riesling that I sipped with my tuna was, quite possibly, the best food and wine pairing I've ever had. Kudos to the sommelier.
Since Aqua is known as a seafood joint, I stuck with the theme and ordered John Dory for my entree. The chewy, mild white fish was emboldened by crispy bits of succulent pork belly, endive braised and tart with a touch of vinegar, and gnocchi so small they resembled mini-marshmallows. Mr. FM enjoyed his duck two ways, a rare seared breast and smattering of confit, as well as the smoky hash-like jamon. We toyed with ordering the Shea pinot noir we'd had at Tartare, but let the sommelier guide us to a fuller-bodied Penner-Ash. Unfortunately, we would have been happier with the Shea or something more restrained.
The cheese course was worth forsaking the sweets; I didn't write down our selections, but we ordered a firm cow's milk cheese, the only local cheese on the menu, then chose a bleu, whose hide was mottled with veins of ashy blue that suggested deep waters. Our server recommended a creamy Spanish that I believe was made from sheep's milk. All were so different and so elegant, none too big or overpowering. The server didn't explain the accompaniments, but if I had to guess I'd wager they may have included apricot preserves for the cow's milk, something figgy and a little date bar for the Spanish cheese and a mellow honey for the bleu. The little petit-fours that were served with the bill were cute, perhaps more so than they were good; the table next to ours left them wholly untouched. Though I can't vouch for the pastry chef on this visit beyond the warm olive-rich bread we enjoyed, past desserts have been stunning - chilled mango soup with scoops of housemade sorbet, and a chocolate espresso napoleon with overlapping layers of thinnest chocolate. Divine.
When we got home, Mr. Food Musings complained of having eaten too much. "But it was worth it," he sighed.
Aqua, San Francisco, 252 California Street, 415-956-9662
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