Dish 232: Surf and turf at Blackfish, Conshohocken
Okie-dokie, business first: I’m extending “game time” by a week due to wintry conditions. Yes, Mom, I had a whole year to do this and I procrastinated anyway. Also, the surf and turf was not available last night, so we had to make do and order some other dishes. Le sigh. Life is so hard.
So, Blackfish, you really nailed it last night! Nice job!
It certainly seemed like Blackfish was cursed. First, I went with friends and it was closed. The next time, the maitre d’ canceled my reservation (wtf). Then I went with Colleen and the bouillabaisse was “eh”. Tim and I made approximately three attempts to visit, foiled by fate on each occasion, and FINALLY, last night, we actually made it there, and I have to say, it could not have been better. It was just. Fabulous.
Where to begin? The place is gorgeous, dove gray walls with high white wainscoting, and a tiled ceiling the color of the sky before a summer storm. The clientele is so happy– their stories, smiles and laughs spill from each tableclothed table. The waitstaff is unnaturally good looking. (I’m not kidding.) The montepulciano we brought turned out to have rich blackberry undertones. Oh, and the food- indescribable.
It began with shot glasses filled with savory-smooth celery puree; followed by its butternut cousin, which we attempted to consume as slowly as possible, to do right by its sweet-hearty-buttery self. The sashimi-style hiramasa is served with cilantro and yuzu kosho, which is like an Asian orange; it is crisp and light and just beautiful. Tim had the salmon, served with half-spheres of beets and circles of beet puree like an abstract painting. As if I could eat any more—it seemed an insult to the first course to dilute the meal with another round—the carnaroli risotto with syrupy beef jus rose above every thin, watery jus I have thus far tasted.