What We're Doing Here

n the spring of 2009, a friend introduced me to chardonnay from California's Russian River Valley. I immediately had a favorite new beverage. I can only liken its buttery flavor to Rat's description of Bean's Apple Cider from The Fantastic Mr Fox as "liquid gold." Shortly thereafter, an adamant East Coaster began planning my his first trip to the West Coast.

A month before the trip, almost exactly a year later, I asked friends in the NYC fine dining world where to eat. Everyone had their favorite spots and old haunts. Cyrus, a contemporary French restaurant in Healdsburg, California, came up more than once. I made the reservation and thought nothing more of it.

Coming from NYC and from what was at the time the Best New Restaurant in America (Marea) according to James Beard, I thought I knew what fine dining was. I thought I had been to the top of that mountain. Thankfully, I was very wrong.

My three hour, 17 course meal at Cyrus was the greatest dining experience of my life. It was such a complete experience (they even gave me a copy of my menu as a memento), that I sent them a handwritten thank you note when I returned home.

To my friends from the Michael White days, no disrespect. My meals at Alto, Convivio, Marea, Osteria Morini and Ai Fiori were akin to eating with family and as such, hold a very special place.

Cyrus made their intentions crystal clear from the moment I sat down. Repeatedly, throughout the course of the evening, servers, sommeliers et al would bring me something and say, "We want to show you what we're doing here." Through a 17 course charm offensive, they quite effectively put me in my place.

In San Francisco days before, I had learned that city chefs liked to put fresh, local, organic produce on one's plate quite satisfied with themselves. That wasn't enough at Cyrus. At Cyrus, that's where the dish began. Then they showed you what they could do with that fresh, local, organic produce. Course after course after course.

For far too long my rule was: The only greens I eat are M&Ms. To be fair, they knew I was coming in and where I was coming from. It would have been very poor form not to clean my plate. But at Cyrus, Chef Douglas Keane got me to eat things I would have never tried otherwise. Chef Keane could have told me it was car tire reduced in Drano and I would have lapped it up.

Sadly, Cyrus is closing its doors on October 29th. Not only are we losing a great restaurant led by a great chef, but we're losing Nick Peyton, Cyrus' co-owner (with Chef Keane) and de facto maître d' par excellence. The man should run a school on how to run a joint. He makes Rick Blaine look like a bumbling amateur.

Before I even left the table that night I had learned something important: I had learned how far I had come as a cook at Marea, but I also knew how much further Marea and I had to go to reach Cyrus' level. I may no longer cook professionally, but I can appreciate majestic mountains such as Cyrus and the challenge of climbing to their peak.