Chapeau!
(French)
1408 Clement Street at 15th Avenue (Inner Richmond District)
San Francisco, California 94118
415 750 9787
MUNI BUS: 1, 1AX, 2

When reading previous reviews of the space that Chapeau! occupies, I imagined a dimly-lit, loud, tightly packed room. I was rather surprised when I slid the curtain at the entrance of the restaurant to the right and discovered a bright room, the shape of a perfect square, with colored walls reminiscent of a nursery school, and tables lined up in perfect rows with less than a foot separating adjacent tables. My friend and I shared conversation which toppled over our neighbors’ conversation and unconsciously, we found ourselves discussing topics that had been discussed by our neighbors moments prior.

Chapeau! was a bright, little surprise. It had all the components of a French, fine dining experience. The waiter offered us a glass of Champagne before dinner and poured two perfect flutes before us in almost royal fashion. The amuse bouche was minted melon soup, which was certainly a palate cleanser.

We started with sweetbreads and seared foie gras (if ordering the set menu, the foie gras sets you back an additional $9). The sweetbreads were a bit dry, yet tasty – nothing beyond my expectations while the foie gras stole the show. Rather than the plump sort I expect from seared foie gras, Chapeau! chose to prepare it thinly. Each bite was moist and buttery – so much so that the toast was a necessity even though I routinely ditch the toast for a more decadent bite. The foie gras was perfectly complemented by a glass of Sauterne which was offered to us by our waiter when we placed our order.

Slices of warm, unremarkable baguette were served with butter that was in no way superior to Land O’ Lakes. I digress for a bit. Perhaps I am spoiled from the finest of creamy French butters from some of my favorite French restaurants, but in my opinion, a French dining experience is lacking when the butter is not outstanding. I use Alain Ducasse in New York City as an example whenever I discuss my expectations with fellow diners. Each time I exit Alain Ducasse after a rich, decadent, intoxicating meal, I always say that my meal would have been simply divine even if I had stopped my meal after the bread and butter was served. The butters at Alain Ducasse make you imagine a dream life of sitting at your own kitchen table each and everyday with a baguette in hand and that delicious butter. And perhaps a glass of wine. Life could possibly be complete. In no way do I expect all French restaurants to serve butters that even rival the choices at Alain Ducasse but again, I do expect a mild amount of impression, maybe even a subconscious, “I wonder where they buy this butter?”

I had originally intended on ordering the filet mignon as my entrée but went with the Cassoulet à la Toulousaine instead when the waiter suggested that the cassoulet better accompanied my appetizer. It was a traditional cassoulet of three: braised lamb, sausage, and duck confit with white beans in a stew. My partner ordered the rack of lamb. While we waited for our meals, a cart not unlike one that advertises cheese selections, entered the tight-knit room. Chef Philippe Gardelle, 2 Wustof Trident knives, and a wooden cutting board were ready to tackle the prime rib entrée which two seated nearby us had ordered. As Chef Gardelle waited for the arrival of the prime rib, he chatted with us about mobile telephones, specifically RIM’s Blackberry versus the Palm Treo, after he saw my partner check a work message on his Blackberry. Chef Gardelle was extraordinarily friendly, and after preparing our neighbors’ (everyone in the restaurant is practically a neighbor) prime rib, he followed a customer, who appeared to be a frequent one, to bid her farewell outside.

The Cassoulet was reminiscent of your average tagine; however, the duck confit was special albeit salty. The duck delicately fell off the bone and was an unlikely yet tasty combination with the beans and braised lamb that occupied most of the casserole. Although the beans were a pleasant addition to my meal, my partner’s lamb came with fava beans that were hardly cooked and much too eager and hearty to be served with the lamb. The beans reminded me of an option from an organic market’s salad bar that was desperately trying to be the star of the entree, rather than an added flavor to a delicious rack of lamb.

For dessert, we shared Profiteroles as the dessert which sounded most outstanding, the warm chocolate cake, had to be ordered with 15 minutes to spare. Although we had time to spare, we knew it would take at least that long for us to find a taxi from the secluded, taxi-less neighborhood where Chapeau! calls home. Profiteroles were the least impressive part of the meal. I say this in all seriousness: once, my step-mother made me Profiteroles from a box out of the freezer which tasted just as good. Ouch.