When we left home this morning it was snowing. Great swirling clouds of flakes threatened our departure and the de-icing of the commercial aircraft the humans insisted on using, caused giant orange liquid cascades outside the windows. Our departure was less than an hour behind schedule, and our arrival in the Magic Kingdom was scarcely more than 4 hours after departing the comfort and safety of the nest. The weather in Orlando was a balmy 80+ with a medium overcast and semi-tropical heaviness to the atmosphere. Traveling such a short distance, both temporally and latitudinally normally doesn’t induce the same feelings of displacement I experienced today, though perhaps they presaged my feelings about tonight’s dinner.
Wolfgang Puck is a culinary icon. His emphasis on local ingredients, without the stridency of being a contemporary locavore, and preparation, without being a martinet to tradition, always struck me as exemplary, and I was thrilled when the humans made reservations for dinner at the Dining Table in Downtown Disney. Surely the experience would be memorable and the titillations of my palate exquisite – and they were, though not exactly congruent with my expectations.
Let me start by saying that everything here is LOUD. From the crowds on the buses (and I’m not referring solely to their habilments) to the ambient noise level in a well-designed, nicely appointed (and not inexpensive) venue, it was as if someone left the volume knob slightly right of center, and then left the room in search of something a bit more refined. Or, perhaps my ears were still ringing with the roar of the jet engines which brought us here. (Murghk, let this go down as yet another reason for traveling by TARDIS whenever feasible.) The Dining Table is one flight up from the Cafe on Pleasure Island, and has a lovely view out across the bay(?). The staff is, excuse the expression, “perky”, courteous and cheerful to a fault. The menu is relatively simple and completely in keeping with my perception Puck’s iconic repetoire.
Having been in-transit for the better part of the day, we had dispensed with lunch, eating only a small container of hummus and pretzel chips and a liter of water during our travels. Naturally we required a stronger libation to consume while we perused the menu, but the establishment lacked a written carte des ecosses (a list of single malts). Our waiter did make a list of the offerings from behind the bar, and we chose our favorite 12 year old Glenfiddich (there being no 15 year old available) as a point of departure for the evening. The accompanying rosemary foccacia was mildly disappointing, being slightly cooler than the scotch, though the flavors of both deepened nicely as they warmed to room temperature…
A fine kale salad, large enough to be comfortably shared, as a starter was enjoyable. It was presented beautifully, the kale mounded into a light green haystack with nifty little dribbles of dressing delineating its edges. We particularly liked the small cubes of polenta which replaced traditional croutons, and the balsamic vinegar dressing which served to wake up the tastebuds so that they could appreciate the kale. Most satisfactory.
The wine list was modest – a thoughtful, though restrained selection with few bottles outside the chardonnay, chablis, pinot grigio, pinot noir, merlot, cabernet universe. The offerings were not inexpensive, but not grotesquely overpriced either. We chose a Simi Alexander Valley 2010 cabernet in the middle of the price range, and enjoyed it without being overcome with ecstasy. It was good and worked well with our chosen entrees.
MiLady ordered the miso-glazed salmon, and was not disappointed. A proper filet, cooked to a glorious pale pink was proffered atop a hillock of lightly sauteed green vegetables. It was pleasing to both the eye and the palate. Wolfgang Puck’s variation of classic steak au poivre was intriguing. Instead of French green peppercorns and a cognac-based brown sauce, the kitchen employs Sichuan peppercorns in a sauce which bore more resemblance to a good red wine reduction than a “cognac with a touch of cream” sauce. It was interesting, and something I would happily sample again. Sadly, the New York strip on which it resided was a disappointment. Ordered medium rare, it arrived medium rare – but with a soft outer finish indicating it was neither grilled on a hot enough iron, nor pan-sauteed over a hot enough burner – it may have been broiled, but too far from the flame to acquire a proper crust. Too bad, because the quality seemed reasonable, the sauce quite flavorful, but the ensemble fell short of iconic status. The roasted red potatoes accompanying the steak also suffered from insufficient cooking heat, they were completely cooked through, but the skins were moist and limp when they should have been a crusty contrast to their soft, creamy centers.
Desserts were a high point. The keylime pie, served as an individual tartlet, was really outstanding – and the meringue twirled on it was perfect – light and just browned at its edges. I did a major calorie splurge and ordered the bittersweet chocolate ganache. Two kindling sticks of ganache served with small chunks of nut brittle and a dollop of maple ice cream were delicious – and probably provided sufficient calories to offset a full week of serious exercise.
I’ll close by noting the food was good – but not as transcendent as I had dreamed it would be, given the level I had expected.