I am at Raincity Grill, eating the seasonal tomato tasting menu. Or at least that's what I thought I ordered.
A harried busboy delivers the fourth course and hurriedly explains its contents: roasted chicken breast, stuffed leg, carrots, corn sauce, potato-corn hash and red pepper purée.
"Where are the tomatoes?" I ask, wondering if the kitchen has sent out the wrong dish, again.
"I dunno, maybe they're in there," he says, pointing to the red pepper purée.
The purée is in fact a creamy tomato fondue. And yes, I do realize that good help is hard to find these days.
But what I don't understand is why the tomatoes on this feature menu all taste bland. And why is the food so mushy? Why are the water glasses spotted with dried orange juice pulp? Why does the dust-caked bathroom smell musty? And why are they hollering so loudly in the kitchen?
What happened?
Raincity Grill, a West End institution since 1992, is supposed to be one of Vancouver's top restaurants. I've always admired the many creative ways it has promoted the bounty of British Columbia (think the 100-mile menu or land-based farmed salmon) without mucking up fresh flavours or fussing too much on the plate. And over the years, I've enjoyed heaps of great meals here under several different chefs.
So I am truly sad to discover that the restaurant has gone downhill. And that Peter Robertson, the new chef de cuisine who was promoted from C Restaurant last winter, isn't meeting the same high standards as his talented predecessors, such as Andrea Carlson (who left last winter to become executive chef at Bishop's restaurant) and Sean Cousins. Certainly not with this five-course tomato tasting menu ($70, or $98 with wine pairings), which treats these lovely local gems like uninspired afterthoughts.
The dinner starts off on a weak note with tomato "tea," a washed out consommé that tastes only faintly of tomato. A dollop of basil hazelnut purée adds a bright surge of flavour, but it quickly breaks up into sludgy green specks that cloud the bowl and makes the soup look like dirty dishwater.
Flipping through the rest of the menu, I notice that most of these tomato dishes are offered as regular-sized appetizers and entrées. This is nice. It gives people the option of ordering the seasonal specials without committing to all five courses.
But I also notice a few tomato-less versions of the tasting menu specials, which makes them, well, not so special. It would appear that the chef has simply taken some of his regular dishes and thrown in a tomato fondue here or substituted a tomato jam there.
This is not nice. This is lazy. And it certainly doesn't help showcase the tomatoes, which should be the star ingredients.
Take the Bayne sound scallop, for instance. It's big, meaty, lightly seared and well complemented by a rich red wine glaze and pearl onion ragout. Where's the tomato? It's crushed into yet another purée and stirred with Israeli couscous that sits, sweet yet subtle, in the shadow of the plate's bolder ingredients.
Roast chicken is moist, the stuffing nicely herbed. But the meat is awash in a mushy pablum sea of tomato fondue, potato-corn hash and creamed corn sauce.
Pork belly is the only dish that gets a fresh tomato. It's a bright red, juicy, lusciously ripe fruit from Sapo Bravo Farm that is cut into a triple-layered terrine - and served chilled. The tomato is actually so cold it feels as though it just came out of the refrigerator, which is probably where most of its garden-fresh tang evaporated. Tomatoes should never be put in the fridge. It kills the flavour.
