Redwoods has survived on Central Avenue in downtown St. Petersburg through two changes in cuisine. Lesser places would have crumbled under the pressure of even one major change, let alone two in six years. Originally Hawaiian/Pacific rim fusion, then briefly nuevo Latino, Redwoods hired Jason Orchard to bring some identity and closure to this culinary revolving door. Over a year later, Chef Orchard has firmly stamped his eclectic American sensibilities onto the Redwoods kitchen.
The atmosphere at Redwoods is a fairly generic backdrop that would fit with any number of culinary themes. Buttery, textured walls, wood-beamed ceiling and minimal artwork create a blank canvas for the food. Simple cane-backed chairs front white-clothed tables, and the servers are friendly, knowledgeable and efficient.
Chef Jason Orchard's menu seemed at first glance to be rather verbose. Each entry consisted of a laundry list of ingredients, some straightforward – sherry, fennel salad and merlot reduction – some obscure – red oak, Humboldt fog, rattlesnake beans. I've seen this before, usually a chef impressed with his clever combinations and unique ingredients.
In this case, though, it isn't just the chef declaiming his culinary superiority: "Look at me, I paired duck with calabaza and you don't even have a clue what that is!" Rather, it reflects this chef's desire for precision. The menu description is the dish, with no extra ingredients or flavors that are not part of this list. This meticulous nature turned out to be the hallmark of Chef Orchard's cuisine.
When the appetizer plates arrived, we marveled at the sparse presentation. Everything was extremely neat and scrupulously arranged, with a marked attention to detail. The Cretan bread salad ($12) was more artwork than food, mixed media on a plate. Four large golden croutons were placed next to a few small piles of greens and a dainty scattering of lightly grilled shrimp, octopus and bits of crab. Everything was sparsely dressed with tart lemon juice and fruity olive oil, the only jarring note the rock-hard texture of the seasoned croutons, too crisp to do anything but shatter.
A sauté of wild mushrooms ($9) was equally painstakingly constructed, piece by piece, layers of ingredients prepared separately and brought together at the last minute. The namesake mushrooms were ideal, barely seasoned with salt, pepper and a hint of thyme. They were scattered atop creamy mashed potatoes redolent with the unctuous, decadent, earthy aroma that can only come from truffles, in this case truffle oil. Sweet whole-clove garlic confit – blistered golden brown with heat – and tiny pearl onions accented the fresh-from-the-earth character of this fantastic dish without pushing it into the barnyard. Delicate slices of pungent gruyere were used as garnish, a bit overpowering for the restrained mushrooms.
Another salad ($7) consisted of large leaves of red oak leaf lettuce arranged in a tower atop a single slice of heirloom tomato. Dressed in a thick and eggy sweet roasted garlic dressing, it was a fine salad, more straightforward than the previous two starters. The pommes frites listed in the menu description turned out to be a disappointingly meager bit of fried garnish.
Our chirpy server cleared some of our plates while one of us was still obviously eating, placing unnecessary pressure and creating the brief feeling that we were going to be "turned and burned." The pace of the rest of our meal was fine, however, so maybe she was just being a little overly efficient.
We had a contest to see who had the highest tower of food when the entrees were set down. Chef Orchard obviously enjoys stacking his food, understandable considering his tendency to layer flavors together. The winner also turned out to be our favorite entree, though I doubt that it had anything to do with its majestic stature.
A large grilled pork chop ($20) balanced delicately atop thick stalks of white asparagus and more truffle mashed potatoes. The chop was smoked in-house before grilling, a masterful touch that added an ocean of smoky, meaty flavor to a cut of pork that is often given interest only by heavy seasoning. A dark brown seared crust, crisped rind of fat (essentially bacon after the chop was smoked), and light pink interior made this the best restaurant chop you're likely to get. An almost unnecessary merlot reduction, with subtle dark cherry notes, completed this masterful dish.
Although somewhat overcooked, the grilled sturgeon ($23) still showed Orchard's attention to detail. The fish was simply seasoned and very mild, while tiny cubes of tart tomato, dressed with powerful olive oil, salt and herbs added a big punch of flavor, and a basil-infused buerre blanc added richness and depth. There was another ladleful of the now ubiquitous truffle mash, but it's hard to criticize because the potatoes worked in different ways with all of the dishes he paired them with. Besides, they were damn good.
Our simplest entrée was Colorado bison "2 ways" ($26). Slices of tender, medium-rare grilled skirt steak were paired with a pile of minimalist ropa vieja, barely seasoned with smoky cumin, garlic and a bit of heat. The risotto underneath, straw-colored and aromatic due to saffron, lacked an essential creaminess surrounding the al dente grains. Another subdued sauce, this time a smoky tomato-coriander puree, hit just the right notes with the meat.
Keep an eye out for Orchard's sauces. Though they are small in volume, easily overlooked as mere colorful garnish, they are often the key to these dishes. The chef tightly controls every facet of this food, everything on the plate a necessary component, every flavor needed to get the full impact of his restrained cuisine.
After an otherwise excellent meal, the desserts were thoroughly disappointing. The strawberry "tart" ($9) was merely barely-ripe sliced berries atop sections of baked puff pastry, with a bit of vanilla-flavored sauce. The crème brulee ($7) was a tasteless bit of custard.
Much better than both was the tall slice of chocolate torte ($9), essentially rich fudge with an artful spiral of white chocolate crème. Still, I wanted more of the elegant, subdued, layered flavors we had enjoyed earlier instead of desserts I could find at a dozen restaurants within blocks of Redwoods. The situation was not helped by our friendly server, chatty earlier but avoiding us like the plague now that dinner was done. Water glasses and coffee cups went empty. I guess she wanted to go home.
Precise, restrained and elegant, Chef Jason Orchard's food is often masterful. Occasionally, though, it is so meticulously constructed that it becomes uptight, needing to be studied and understood before its full impact can be felt. Too much yin, not enough yang. In any case, it is refreshing to go through an entire meal where nothing is obvious, nothing can be taken for granted.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Apr 13-19, 2005.