christina's

On our first evening in Eastsound, the crew decided that a trip to the legendary Christina’s would be in order.  This was another institution which had pioneered locavore cuisine in the region, and I was curious to see what the island equivalent of Seattle’s primary food trend would have on offer.  I was guessing mushrooms. 

Another steep flight of stairs later, and we entered the charming second-story dining room, all dark wood and white tablecloths and copper cookware.  The space was warm and empty, save for a large party which had rented out a side room for a birthday party.  I was unaware of this when we arrived, but apparently earlier this summer the eponymous Christina Orchid had actually sold her restaurant after 28 years and the kitchen was now under the direction of chef Maureen Mullen (of Coastal Kitchen, Dahlia Lounge and Lola).  As I had never dined at Christina’s prior to this transition, I had no expectations in either direction.

We started with a small chanterelle & matsutake mushroom pot pie with 6 lilies cream and a parsnip soup with pistachio and thyme.  The crust on the pot pie was flaky and delicious, and the creamy mushroom filling was blistering hot.  I burned my tongue rapidly spooning the intensely savory stew into my mouth.  The parsnip soup was equally successful – a beautiful light green purée, nutty and sweet.  A Belgian endive salad with grapefruit and crushed hazelnuts rounded out the first course.

As we transitioned to the main dishes, our server made a valiant effort to find a bottle of wine that would work for all of us – unfortunately, the Petite Sirah that we settled on wound up pairing pretty badly with nearly everything.  And so began a bizarre downward spiral with the meal.  After a very promising first course, we were all taken aback somewhat by the flaws in the main dishes.  To begin with, the prosciutto wrapped monkfish on a barley salad with dried fruits and preserved lemon vinaigrette had been swapped out with ling cod (and no prosciutto).  Perhaps the monkfish could have stood up to the sweetness and density of the cold barley grains, but the cod was far too delicate and was easily overwhelmed.

I ordered seared scallops and spot prawns with chorizo in a saffron broth.  The scallops were perfectly prepared, but the saffron was excessive and overpowering.  More annoying, the spot prawns were served in shell which caused me no small amount of grief and mess trying to remove the slippery carapaces with a fork and my now yellow-tinted fingers.  And finally, although some may count me lucky, I was completely taken aback (and somewhat squicked out) to discover as I peeled the legs off of the prawns that these particular crustaceans were bursting with roe.  I’d never encountered anything like that before, and wasn’t entirely sure what to think.  On top of all of this, an unnecessary side cup of red pepper rouille accompanied the already over-seasoned bouillabaisse.

Another garnish also served badly – this time a Moroccan spice butter melted over filet mignon, with an utterly superfluous poached duck egg.  At least I had the choice of skipping the rouille, but the spiced butter had completely suffused the steak and distracted from the flavor.  All of the main courses came with a sprinkling of tiny, colorful edible petals which I thought was a nice artistic touch, but a little bit futile in light of the overall execution.

Much better was an inspired slice of vanilla cheesecake with a fantastic sweet & sour crab apple compote that called to mind the earlier successes of the evening.  Some called for coffee, and we debated on an after dinner drink.  Our server (who throughout our meal had been at turns pushy and ingratiating) was adamant that we try a flight of Amaro, an Italian digestif that I’d never heard of before.  We hesitated, but decided to go for it.  And then, just as quickly as the evening had crashed, Christina’s was redeemed.  This was due entirely to the spontaneous tableside manifestation of chef Mullen, who came out from the kitchen to personally walk us through the flight.  She spoke passionately and with knowledge on the different varietals, spinning yarns of her studies in Italy and her quest to popularize this little-known after dinner drink.  The chef was charming and down-to-earth, and did a great job of repairing what otherwise would have been a pretty ambivalent experience.  For what it’s worth, the Amaro tasted like a cross between Chartreuse and Jägermeister, not unpleasant if you enjoy that kind of thing (I do).  It was a unique discovery, and a thought-provoking way to end the evening.

Overall, it was a pretty inconsistent meal, but there were enough highlights to warrant another visit.  Although, to be honest, I’m still trying to get over those prawns.