http://www.alibi.com Food from the Alibi en-us http://www.alibi.com/rss PHP webmonkeys@alibi.com http://alibi.com/index.php?story=31045&scn=food Because I had to be out the door in 45 minutes, the hostess at Seasons recommended I sit at the dining room bar, where I took the bartender’s recommendation on a Silver Coin margarita, and focused on the menu. It helps to have a drink when looking at the Seasons menu — so you can adjust to the fact that, price-wise, this ain’t no taco truck. And it’s fun to sip something good while you read something interesting, and the Seasons menu is definitely that. Truffle-potato pie, bacon-walnut Brussels sprouts, roasted-garlic-port glaze—and that’s just what comes with the blue-cheese crusted beef filet entrée. I settled on a seared yellowfin tuna salad for starters and, remembering the oak-fired grill that had mesmerized me on my last visit, a dry-aged New York strip steak that I ordered rare, citing my tight schedule. The bartender suggested that the kitchen do both orders together. Despite the hurry I was imposing on the scene, everything was chill. The dining room was full of flowers and happy people, several of whom briefly joined me at the bar while waiting for their tables. A couple celebrating their anniversary seemed disappointed that their only option was at the exhibition table, which faces the kitchen. “The exhibition table is awesome,” I assured them as I munched on crusty bread with a bowl of herbed vinaigrette. Last visit, Shorty and I sat at the exhibition table with our backs to the bustling dining room. We watched as the pantry chef whipped out dish after dish of artistically plated appetizers, salads and desserts. Behind him flames flared up from a wood-fired grill where sizzling slabs of meat shared the hot grate with dented sauté pans. Perhaps the most striking thing about the view from the exhibition table was the fluid teamwork of the staff. Information passed through the extended kitchen area via shouts and repeats like synapses between neurons, and the entire staff, including the servers, moved as one. As the different stages of our meal exited the kitchen, they were delivered by several servers, ensuring we never had to wait for anything. The highlight from the exhibition table was a foie gras special served with mustard greens, cherries, aged balsamic and coarse salt. The component flavors could not have been more different, and the harmonic dissonance of their fatty, fruity, spicy and acidic juxtaposition was moving and new. Also memorable, if rich for my taste, was the three-cheese pecan-crusted relleno. I’m always interested in dishes that creatively use New Mexican ingredients, and restaurant kitchens would benefit from more New Mexico-grown pecans. Another highlight was the pile of mushrooms that came alongside Shorty’s juicy sea scallops. Daringly large chunks of several varieties—including oyster, shiitake and chanterelles—were arranged into a pile of artful dishevelment. I didn’t have long to reminisce about that meal before my seared tuna arrived at the bar. Three pieces of flash-seared fish the size of large tomato slices lay alongside a perky salad—frisée, endive and other fancy greens, blood orange segments, crispy beet shards, and fennel slices—drizzled in a citrus-soy glaze. A bundle of sprouts on the salad was ribbon-tied by a thin curl of carrot. The fish had a Chinese five-spice rub, giving it a sweet and faintly exotic aroma. As with that foie gras, the hum of contrasts was striking. When you order something rare at Seasons, be prepared for the consequences. My New York strip looked similar to my seared tuna in terms of the proportion of raw to cooked. A puddle of black pepper demi-glace and a pat of Worcestershire butter on top extended the tender meat’s flavor in some nice, smoky directions, and the whole thing played off well with the velvety smooth Sterling Cabernet I was sipping. Roasted-garlic mashed potatoes and a skewer of perfectly al dente vegetables rounded out the mammoth plate, much of which I had to bring home in a box. “Seven fifteen,” cautioned the bartender as I ordered a slice of triple chocolate espresso cake—I had to be out the door in 10 minutes. “Seven twenty-one,” said the bartender as he handed me my check: $69. For the price, Seasons is a place that most of us would reserve for special occasions. And when those occasions arise, you'll get your money's worth. Ari LeVaux 35.0984385 -106.6684521 http://alibi.com/index.php?story=31047&scn=food Not with a bang, not with a whimper, not even with your favorite local beer blogger (yes, me) writing for the Alibi. No, there is an even surer sign of the end times than boiling seas and Sarah Palin: Golfer John Daly has all but given up beer. The man who made it cool to be a golfer has found religion, sobriety and a slimmer figure, after Lap-Band surgery allowed him to shed 115 pounds. The surgery makes it difficult to ingest carbonated drinks, and Daly says it takes him an hour to finish a beer, which he rarely craves anymore. How could a man who named one of his children after a rehab center he attended reject the liquid that greets me in the morning and tucks me into bed at night? A man who once used a beer can as a golf tee, who was arrested for being passed out at Hooters, who sported a mullet before some hipsters tried to make them ironically cool, though still hideous? (What makes Daly’s mullet cool is the fact that he rocked one while playing professional golf alongside robotic stuffed shirts.) What makes the man who missed the cut at a major tournament and then got drunk in the hospitality tent with spectators so willing to give up the lifestyle that made him heroic to functioning alcoholic athletes everywhere? My scientific studies have led me to this: He has been habitually drinking fizzy, watery beer and has missed the craft beer evolution. Perhaps if Daly had been introduced to a beer like Stone's Old Guardian (available for a limited time for $6.49 at local liquor stores) , he would more reluctant to change his ways. Old Guardian is a Barley Wine Ale, the bad-boy style of beer, befitting of the original bad boy of golf. Massive quantities of both malts and hops combine to create an 11.1 percent Alcohol by Volume (Miller Lite is 4.2 percent) behemoth that invites a hangover breakfast at Frontier. An annual release, Old Guardian changes ingredients slightly each year. Stone has made a major change this year, adding a strain of British Maris Otter malt. This gives the beer more of an English Barley Wine feel, as that style favors a balanced flavor that leans towards the malty side. American Barley Wine, by contrast, has a much more noticeable hop-forward bitterness. Hop lovers out there shouldn't shy away from this beer, as it still has 90 International Bitterness Units (Budweiser has 11). If Daly had sampled a beer like this, he wouldn't have traded happiness for a flat stomach. Or he could have gone sober, but in a legendary way. Imagine: He has a big party in Vegas for a last hurrah where he drinks an entire case of Old Guardian. Then he climbs to the top of the Stratosphere, pees off the roof, and jumps off to see if he can beat his pee to the bottom. Or maybe he’d just quietly enjoy this sipper, as you can, too. Share with a friend, as this high alcohol beer only comes in 22-ounce bottles. ABQ Beer Geek http://alibi.com/index.php?story=31045&scn=food The Alibi recommends: • Seared ahi tuna salad • Foie gras, when available • Pan-seared sea scallops • The upstairs Rooftop Cantina for less expensive meal options