I’m looking at a dish, and I’m not at all sure how to eat it. I’m sitting at a sunny table at The Mulholland, a former wine shop that’s expanded in a multitude of directions into what may be the most pleasant spot in downtown Calabasas in which to bend an elbow, and munch on a wide variety of decidedly quirky dishes — at least one of which leaves me a tad befuddled.
It’s listed on the menu under the heading “Raw Bar,” a combination of dishes like kusshi oysters, scallops crudo, hamachi crudo and a tasting of Beluga caviar. Those, I know how to eat. But it’s the crab salad that leaves me somewhat perplexed. It consists of a small forest of Little Gem lettuce leaves, seemingly growing out of a bowl of ice. In one corner of the bowl is a bowl of lump crab, lightly mixed with crème fraîche — but far too lightly to be a dip.
So, how to eat this creation, a relic of the great deconstructed salad fad of a decade ago. Do you scoop the crab up in the leaves, like guacamole on a taco chip? Not easy to do, because the texture isn’t dippish enough. Should I ask for another plate, rip the leaves into shards, and toss them with the crab meat and a squeeze of lemon? Or simply do what I did: Chew on a lettuce leaf, nice and crunchy … and then eat a spoonful of the crab meat. It was very tasty, no question about that. Just … confusing.
Chris Flint, chef at The Mulholland, has a decided penchant for creating dishes that aren’t quite as you expect them to be. Which matches with the list of Signature Cocktails, made in some cases with ingredients that seem … curious. Like the snap peas and pistachio in the Mothership Cocktail. The carrot curry in the Silly Rabbit. And the rhubarb in the Metropolitan.
What we have when we turn to the food are creations like the strikingly thick focaccia bread served with a “pizza butter.” Which I had guessed would be a butter flavored with marinara, perhaps even pepperoni. Rather, it was a crock of an orange spread topped with shaved parmesan, which tasted both peppery and sweet at the same time. It didn’t taste like pizza. But it was soft enough to use as a dip for the crusts of bread. Like the crab salad, tasty … and unexpected.
There’s a long and honorable tradition of chefs pushing the edge with their cooking — essentially having fun with food. It’s what Wolfgang Puck did with smoked salmon and crème fraîche pizzas. The great John Sedlar was a master of serving dishes that left you dizzy with his craft. José Andrés has done it more often than not. And Flint certainly seems to be having fun in the kitchen.
At The Mulholland, his Caesar salad is made with potato chips — which seems obvious, yet I’ve never seen it before. His beet salad with goat cheese is a wonder — thanks not just to the yum of the melting, aromatic goat cheese, but also to the pistachio rye crumbles, which play counterpoint to all that softness. There are pickled raisins in the cauliflower agnolotti. Pickled raisins? A wonderful concept. Where have they been my whole life?
This isn’t to say that the edge is pushed in every dish; actually, it’s a minority among a plethora of choices. There’s a terrific hamburger, topped with raclette cheese, with some properly crispy french fries on the side. There’s a roasted chicken breast with a silky smooth potato purée — just like mom would have made, if she wasn’t committed to the lumps in her mashed potatoes. The green salad is just that — a green salad, with Green Goddess dressing. And to go back to the beginning, I’ll never tire of hamachi crudo.
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But for me, most of all, there’s the great space that’s home to The Mulholland — from the open patio in the front, to the bar room (which I liked sitting in even if there wasn’t a big screen!), to the sprawling back garden with its blazing fireplace. There’s a quiet elegance to The Mulholland that might have puzzled William Mulholland, who built LA’s water system. He thought it was an overstatement. The Mulholland is an exercise in understatement.
Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.
