So yeah, we went to Quince for a Valentine's Day date. It was underwhelming. One might even say disappointing. We were seated quickly, which was nice. It took a long while - ten, fifteen minutes? - for the waiter to come by and take our orders, but when he did he was fairly helpful, helping me choose a couple of glasses of wine to go with the meal.
The E-i-C had a Japanese octopus dish - recommended by the waiter - for her first course, which was incredibly succulent and not chewy in the least - probably the best octopus I've ever tasted. She said the soy sauce, though, made it a bit too salty by the end. I had smoked sablefish, which was mild but good, though I expected it to be a bit richer. The accompanying cauliflower puree was actually even better.
For the second course, I had tortelloni filled with a very mild cheese which I have forgotten; it was good in that the tortelloni pasta was delicate and the cheese was creamy, but one likes to have flavor accompanying the nice texture. The E-i-C had a tagliatelle with minced sweetbread; when it was served, a moment of recognition dawned upon her and she said to me, "Do not remind me what sweetbread is." I did not. It was again fairly tasty, but not of any particular savoriness or complexity. What's the point of eating something so exotic when the taste barely registers?
The main course arrived just as they cleared the plates from the pasta course. The waiter had apparently forgotten to bring my second glass of wine. We had to get the attention of one of the bussers to ask for it, and by the time it arrived (sans apology), the E-i-C had finished her dish and I had eaten half of mine (trying to take it slow to wait for the wine). I had pork loin, which was, again, good but not particularly flavorful. It was served without sauce (that I could taste), and so the meat had to stand on its own. It was capable of doing so, but was limited to that single note, a little disappointing for what one would expect to be the highlight of the meal. Again, the accompaniment (which I've now forgotten) was needed to bring some intrigue to the plate. The E-i-C had a salted sea bass with artichoke puree. It was nicely cooked, but nothing to write home about. This seemed to be the tenor of the entire meal.
Dessert was by far the best course - my hat is off to the pastry chef. The E-i-C had a vanilla souffle with chocolate sauce, which was colorfully served: at the table, the waiter poked a hole in the top of the souffle and poured the sauce into it. I had a trio of frozen citrus desserts - grapefruit granite, blood orange sorbet, and, if I remember correctly, a lime gelato. Fantastic! Just the thing to finish off a meal.
The waiter came around once more to ask if we were interested in coffee or tea. The E-i-C ordered tea, and I... watched as the waiter turned on his heel and walked off. A couple of minutes later we grabbed him as he sashayed past the table and I asked him for a cup of decaf. Again, no apology was apparently necessary. The coffee, served in a french press, was merely acceptable, but it was decaf after all. The E-i-C said her tea was weak and unimpressive.
All told, including valet parking, the check came to somewhere over $200.
The valet, who (the E-i-C observed) did not appear to be of an ethnicity that might be accustomed to standing out in the damp cold all night, had the E-i-C's beat-up Golf ready for us when we walked out the door, and gave us a brilliant and very friendly smile as he opened the car doors for us. It was the best part of the night. Keep that guy!
My impression is that Quince attempts to straddle the line between European haute cuisine and California slow food, but doesn't really succeed at either. The SF Ritz-Carlton Dining Room is still our favored place for elegant dining, after several impeccable visits. And for savoring the true taste of local, seasonal, wild or organic fare, we'd rather go to Manka's Inverness Lodge, the Olema Inn, or Chez Panisse. We had read good things about Quince's service, but we were unimpressed not only by the mistakes the waiter made, but by his unapologetic attitude. The restaurant was loud; they do a reasonably good job of aligning the tables so that they do not seem too cramped, but we did spend some time eavesdropping on the table of French Canadians next to us, and the atmosphere did not feel particularly romantic. Long and short: for dropping the big bucks like this, I'd like to have had a more memorable experience. The food, service, and ambience all left us feeling disappointed.
But that's OK! At least we could drive home feeling the warm glow of smugness at having had better dining experiences at less trendy restaurants.
On the way home, we fearfully envisioned the Spawn at her babysitter's, bawling all night, waking up the babysitter's kids and husband, inconsolable. When we arrived, she was cheerfully sitting in a sling slung from the babysitter's shoulder - our Spawn, who refused from birth to be slung! She had only been awake for a half hour or so, and had just happily finished an ice-cold bottle of formula (the babysitter breastfed her kids, and wasn't sure what to do about warming up the bottle). All's well that ends well.
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