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The Night I Ate Quail and Learned to Like Pinot Noir

I recently met a very sexy friend of mine for dinner.

(Okay, that linkage was mean. This is more like it.)

Anyway, we went to bc in Syracuse’s Armory Square for some great food and conversation. I love bc, and have been there many a time; it’s a nice meeting spot for old friends, first dates, and celebration meals. It’s a bit pricey – by Syracuse standards, I guess – but it does tout itself as one of the area’s best restaurants, and it definitely delivers. One of the owners, Sara Collins, managed Nobu for some time, and we’re quite lucky that she decided to devote her attention to Syracuse’s dining scene.

My only gripe with the assessment of bc as a prestigious restaurant is a personal one; fine dining establishments should, of course, maintain a certain level of professionalism, and while bc absolutely does, I can’t ignore the fact that one of their servers is a girl I went to high school with. It’s a bit odd, being waited on by a former classmate – and I assume she feels similarly, because I can usually sense a level of discomfort on her part.

At any rate, she wasn’t present during my recent visit, and our server was a lively, clever man named Adam who maintained a clear level of professionalism while making us feel comfortable and at ease. (He even punned about my beet salad; a man after my own heart!)

The last time I’d been to bc was this summer, and so I hadn’t had a chance to acquaint myself with the fall menu. When Geoff, my dining partner, suggested we go, I scrambled to familiarize myself with their offerings, via online menu. Before my eyes skimmed over the seafood risotto, the braised veal, the miso seabass, I honed in on the grilled quail. Hel-lo, who wouldn’t be dying to dig into that on a blustery autumn day? I hadn’t yet tried quail; since leaving vegetarianism in the dust, I’ve done pig in its many varieties, beef, chicken, lamb .. but no quail. And so I knew what I’d be ordering.

We found curbside parking not too far from the restaurant, though I will admit that I’d been hoping he’d drop me off at the door because I am a brat. Just being honest. But the walk was good. Brisk. Invigorating.

We blew into the restaurant, me frantically smoothing my hair (I am sensing a pattern in my restaurant behavior), and we were greeted by a smiling and welcoming staff. The dining room was relatively quiet – not surprsing, considering it was the middle of the week. I was seated at the banquette, and we settled in.

I do love the decor; the whole place is very clean and classy, sophisticated and yet so warm. I think the lighting has a lot to do with that. Indeed, each table houses a small votive. Admittedly, I hate the mirror along the banquette – as I hate any mirror along a banquette. I don’t want to look at myself when I’m eating. It stresses me out. I’d rather get pleasantly drunk and forget that I care about making my hair fall in my eyes just so.

But that’s not important.

Our lovely waiter recited the specials for us, and I was very, very tempted by a soup made with crab meat and root vegetables. While I pondered throwing off my entire plan for the soup, Geoff and I discussed wines. He’s not a big wine drinker – in fact, I think he kind of hates it. But I’m bossy. You know this. He always ends up ordering wine when we eat together, no doubt because I talk it up and make him think, for a moment, that he wants it. Haha, I’m so mean.

He mentioned that he would probably order the herb roasted boneless chicken, and I suggested a chardonnay. I should have mentioned that he didn’t have to order it, but .. well .. I just get excited about food and wine sometimes. I apologize for peer pressuring you, Geoff. Anyway, he went with a California chardonnay.

I don’t typically like pinot noir – it pales in comparison to my favorite merlots and cabernets – but I did know that it’d be yummy with quail (or any wild game, really), so I figured I’d give it another shot. I did some research and decided that I wanted to try the Cartlidge & Browne 2007 pinot – but unfortunately, it’s only offered by the bottle. Our server suggested a different variety though, keeping my desire for more earthy flavors in mind. I’m angry now, because I can’t remember what it was. Help? It started with an “E.” It was nice. Really nice. The first sip actually surprised me, because it was stronger and more assertive than I’d been preparing myself for. So maybe I don’t hate pinot noir. Maybe.

I also badgered Geoff into ordering a first course. He asked for a house salad, and I forewent the soup special in favor of my pre-determined plan. I’d thought that the roasted beet and spinach salad would be a nice complement to my entree. It really was. The spinach was fresh and strong, and the beets were so rich. The sprinkling of gorgonzola and walnuts was just enough to add special flavor notes without tacking on dead weight, and the honey-bacon vinaigrette was hearty without being stereotypical. I really liked it.

I had a bite or three of the house salad, and it was .. nice. It was a salad. Nothing super special, but that’s why I’ve been trying to order more adventurous things when dining out. I can toss together baby greens, tomato, cucumber and red onion any day in my own kitchen; I’d rather not pay $10ish for someone else to make one. But for what it was, it was executed skillfully. The dressing danced on each leaf without weighing it down, and the onions were sweet.

When our entrees arrived, I just wanted to squeal. (And so I did. Self restraint is so hard for me sometimes). The quail .. oh, oh, oh .. Two tiny and plump, tender whole birds were stacked on my plate, teetering above a bed of chard and truffle roasted squash. The quail (quails? no .. quail ..) were branded by delicate grill marks, and their cute little legs were splayed out at such funny angles. They really were precious.

The meat was dark and earthy. It wasn’t as juicy as, say, Geoff’s chicken, but it was more complex and hearty, which I really enjoyed. The skin was amazing – though isn’t it always? – fatty and slick with oils. Mm ..

The chard was acidic and zingy, while the squash was warm and soft. A very nice combination. And even nicer with the pinot noir, which was, admittedly almost gone from my glass at that point. Our water glasses were refilled at regular intervals, though, so I didn’t go thirsty.

I did sneak a bit of the chicken, and while it was oozing with natural juices, it just didn’t compare with the autumnal, robust flavor of the quail. I was quite proud of myself for ordering it.

After all that remained on my plate were a few sparse quail legs and my fork, our waiter offered to list desserts. I may or may not have consumed a cookie the size of my head that afternoon, though, and wasn’t planning on indulging. That didn’t mean, though, that I couldn’t daydream about the apple cider ice cream and sweet brioche ..

I instead opted for a specialty coffee. “Last time I was here I had something .. with .. coffee .. and alcohol ..” I trailed off, leaving the waiter at a loss. We finally decided that I’d had a nutty Irish coffee, and I ordered that again. It came topped with a dollop of whipped cream and shaved chocolate, and was just a bit sinful. My cup was warmed with an extra shot of coffee halfway through, which was nice, unexpected.

The final tally wasn’t outrageous – in part because we’d each only enjoyed one glass of wine, and because our entrees were both under $25 (a great deal, if you ask me.)

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Final thoughts: Great food, thoughtful service each time I come. Should really look into acquiring more money and becoming a regular.

… say, is anyone interested in purchasing a collection of 8 pairs of ballet slippers, all 7 Harry Potter books, or a silver Honda Civic?