The Restorative
4.5 out of 5 stars
420 Patricia Ave., Dunedin. Appetizers: $5-$11; entrees: $17-$19; desserts: $7-$8; brunch: $4-$15; beer and wine: $4-$9. [email protected]; restorativerestaurant.com.
You know the illusory, romanticized fantasy of wandering into a small village and finding a tiny mom-and-pop restaurant that takes your breath away? It’s usually somewhere in the south of France, or perhaps a playground for the rich and famous like Martha’s Vineyard.
The food is, in a word, poetic. For great poetry is selective, finding just the right mix of words to induce a sigh. In our fantasy, every plate begins with seduction. The carefully composed dishes look too good to eat — wondrous kaleidoscopes of color and texture. Their flavors explode in combinations that surprise or amaze.
But, like the search for the Holy Grail or waiting for Godot, it’s almost always a pipe dream of self-delusion. Thus, I’m overjoyed to report that I’ve found this mythical gastronomic unicorn, not in some far off Shangri-La, but across the street from Dunedin Lanes.
In a spare but welcoming 18-seat space, The Restorative chef-partners Erin “Cricket” Plunkett and Jason Borajkiewicz, who’ve worked together in kitchens since 2010 and started dating five years ago, create magic with an 11-plate menu that’s constantly morphing, changing two times a week on average.
The model so far is five smaller plates, three larger and three sweeter. The best strategy for your meal is to share, tapas style. You owe it to yourself to experience as many flavor combinations as possible. Two couples can easily (and happily) eat the entire lineup. While the food is sophisticated and the service spot on, the vibe is totally casual.
Smaller plates, in particular, are ripe for sharing. It’s a dizzying array of textures and flavors — eliciting sighs, gasps and tears of joy. They are wonders to behold, and the tastes are unexpected.
Large, beautiful cubes of barely seared sushi-grade tuna sit on squiggles of fennel purée that coat small potato squares alternating with ripe olive halves. Four toast fingers are spread with foie gras-enriched hummus, topped with crispy chickpeas and bits of watercress.
The restaurant’s refreshing take on escargot eschews garlic and instead delicately pairs each with a crunchy, craggy, indescribably delicious brown-butter crouton on a circle of goat cheese mousse tinged with lemon. It’s as though they are racing around the plate.
A bowl of farm-fresh creamed corn, tossed with crumbled cotija cheese, partners to great effect with thin slices of dry-cured Spanish serrano ham with seductive edges of luscious fat. Or how about carpaccio-thin slices of small heirloom tomatoes — bursting with the ripeness of summer — topped with a dollop of soft, fresh and spreadable house-made mozzarella and pieces of torn garden mint? Plus, a few cherry tomato halves for fun.
A great example of how The Restorative upends expectations is the onion soup — forget robust beef stock and strings of melted cheese. A bowl of garnishes arrives: Dark, sweet onion jam, small pickled pearl onions, tiny red onion slices, charred onion rounds and crisp mini crouton cubes. Then, the chef appears, pitcher in hand, to gently pour caramelized stock into the bowl, tableside. It’s the essence of onion, and a revelation.
Another startling dish is potato agnolotti, one of the endless pasta variations. Superstar chef Thomas Keller has a multi-page reverie on these inch-long stuffed pillows in his classic French Laundry Cookbook, so I’m surprised when what arrives looks like logs in a light sour cream sauce with smoked Cheddar. Hmmm. I take a bite. Are you fucking kidding me? Pasta stuffed with creamy mashed potatoes? What kind of crazy person would do that? My table is overwhelmed. Why is this the first time we’ve tasted this heavenly combo?
Eggplant pansotti is a thin, triangular stuffed pasta from the Italian Riviera. These tender bundles are on a swirl of thin, pure sauce that’s the absolute essence of tomato. The tastes are simple, clean and transporting.
Fork-tender squares of pork cheek bathed in a concentrated, silky glaze mingle with pickled plums, which brilliantly deliver sweetness and acidity to contrast the richness of the meat. Long wilted greens drape with Dali-esque grace, adding the perfect light bitter accent. I’m in heaven.
The drinks list is small, affordable and well-curated to take you through the evening. There are bubbles, sake, wine, beer and amazing house soda. The chefs create syrups with imaginative flavor combos that may be used in house-made sodas, or mimosas at brunch. Perhaps blackberry and lavender, watermelon-lime, or pineapple with tiny red dots of Espelette pepper that ride the bubbles to the top of a mimosa to nip at your tongue. French-press coffee during brunch is also superb.
Sweet plates shine brightly, too. One night it’s a molded blue cheese semifreddo pop that embraces a line of dots piped from thick red wine sauce. Chunks of sweet, glistening honeycomb balance perfect walnuts. And on another, it’s a turmeric semifreddo pop (subtle and creamy) with plump blackberries, Marcona almonds and a streak of sweet dulce de leche. Divine.
All sprinkled with coconut, a bowl with a small round tres leches cake sits on a bed of blueberry compote and sweet corn pudding. Chef Cricket pops over to the table and pours a warm “très leche” sauce over it all. C’est magnifique.
The left third of a bowl of rich butterscotch panna cotta is carefully piped with stars of tangy raspberry buttercream mingling with chocolate-raspberry cremeux, as well as sprinkled with coarsely chopped almonds. Plain yummy.
One gorgeous dessert plate features an off-center cylinder of feta cheesecake with distinct salt notes to enhance small cubes of bright red compressed watermelon. Van Gogh-like swirls of thick basil syrup snake around the plate, which is dotted with textured pebbles of white balsamic gelee. The flavors meld seamlessly for a mouthful of joy.
Then, there’s the Sunday brunch, a menu without usual suspects. No eggs Benedict. No waffles or bacon or sausage. Instead, we're treated to unicorn concoctions springing from the chefs’ fertile imaginations.
Like dinner, brunch is divided into three parts — sweeter, smaller and larger plates. We choose a quintet of warm, tender mini muffins bursting with blueberries accompanied by a schmear of soft chocolate butter sprinkled with sea salt. One small plate is medallions of blazing orange salmon tartare with a dill cream sauce and a garnish of ultra-thin everything bagel crisps. A bowl of skin-on diced potatoes is elevated to greatness with small cloves of soft, golden-brown roasted garlic tossed with (uncredited) meltingly soft buttered leeks, topped with finely grated smoked Cheddar. A companion of mine notes how well these complement a bit of the salmon terrine.
A beautiful indigo-glazed ceramic plate holds huge mounds of scrambled egg whites, which become the blank canvas for a study in green vegetables. Layers of crisp snap peas, tender asparagus tips, baby spinach and a sprinkling of fresh herbs top the eggs; a wall of lush, thinly sliced avocado hugs the side of the plate. It’s portrait of delicious healthy eating.
One brunch dish, pan-seared sea scallops, seems snatched from the dinner menu. They’re huge, tender and surrounded by forest mushrooms, including baby morels, and the aforementioned green veggies.
With a down-home feel, equally scrumptious is a bowl of soft, creamy polenta engulfing a perfect poached egg flecked with herbs and oozing yolk. To the left are five thin rectangles of pork loin — pink-tinged, juicy, and dusted with freshly ground pepper and flakes of coarse salt. It’s all surrounded by kick-ass serrano ham gravy dotted with diced onions and celery.
And the sloppy Joe? It’s a large piece of Texas toast topped with chunky beef in gravy (that bears no resemblance to the canned stuff whose name it shares). The garnish is a fried egg sprinkled with herbs. On the side, a perfect pair of bread-and-butter pickles provides a sweet-tart accent. It’s delish. My table is very happy.
There are no foams and few modernist tricks — just imaginative ingredients in perfect harmony to make you weak in the knees. It’s not about quantity, but rather freshness, balance and finesse. As I reflect on my visits to The Restorative, I can’t help but salivate. From the one-of-a-kind sodas to dishes that silence my companions and bring them to tears, I’ve run out of superlatives.
Who knows what creations might be on the menu the night of your visit? The restaurant does post teasers on its Facebook page. However, rest assured whatever is offered, you’re in good hands. I leave, not only restored, but bursting with the elation of discovery.
Unicorns are real. They are. I’ve found one, four minutes from the heart of delightful Dunedin.
Editor's note: Additional reporting for this story was done by Nicole Abbett.
CL Food Critic Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system, or email him at [email protected].