Prince Gastronome

Talk about imprudent timing, opening at the sunrise of the pandemic, and having to writhe and wriggle from the gate. Thankfully, the Firm did so within the hull of a sunken juggernaut, the revered Copper Pig. Alas, schedules and the aforementioned writing career prevented me from visiting The Firm until now, a fact I now regret, as it impeded my efforts to ridicule and oversexualize its name. That being said, it was a great film with Tom Cruise.

Where was I?

Erections?

No. The Firm, right. No sex jokes.

The first real surprise upon entering was how much they adopted their own personality within the old location. I was half expecting the often used Hannibal Lecter metaphor of walking around in another restaurant's skin, but they really took the effort to stamp their own identity, with the only fragment of the previous Pig being the exposed wood of the ceiling. And while the tables are in the exact location, it feels entirely new, dominated by that bright blue underlit sign slapped under the bar. Patrons even enter through a different door. The booths are generous, shockingly to the point that the more rotund members of our party had no issue wedging ourselves into place around a table that could easily hold eight.

And for some reason, we decided to spend a week's wages here. Not sure why…maybe it had been a while since we'd all been out together and ended up throwing caution to the wind. The alcohol flowed quickly and consistently, not in any way prompted by the unforeseen reunion of my wife with an old friend she hadn't seen since my wife's breakup with her ex.

Not. Awkward. At all.

I'm sure the sudden ordering of a double shot rum and coke was not at all a consequence of that encounter. It prompted a round of fruity and convoluted concoctions mixing bumu, triple sec, empress, mirtillo, vodka, and various berries (not all in one drink; who do think I am, David Hasselhoff?)

After ordering the full order charcuterie, I had considered that we would follow that with a series of smaller appetizers, which I assumed after the wife ordered both the bruschetta and the elk carpaccio. A friend tackled the stuffed yorkie (the pastry, not the dog) while another accepted the hot wings challenge.

Ordering just appetizers is a practice I enjoy as it really shows off the talent of the resident—

--Oh, we're all still ordering mains?

…Okay, I didn't see that one coming.

I guess that means buffalo chicken pasta for me, top sirloin for the wife (not sure where she's gonna pack that), and a pair of Wagyu beef steaks for my two friends.

It's shocking how much different a Wagyu tastes compared to top sirloin. They were both fantastic but in different ways. Both the elk carpaccio and the bruschetta were, admittedly, conventional but a perfect encapsulation to why those two dishes are popular in the first place.

If there was any criticism to be had, it laid with the charcuterie. There were two options, a single and a group, but I felt the selection was lacking with the latter with only two meats, two cheese, and a trio of sauces with other condiments. If ordering a group charcuterie, I'd want a few more options. What we got was great; I was just expecting a bit more selection; that's selection, not quantity. I'd have taken a reduction in each if it meant more variety.

And that was it, a fantastic—oh wait, dessert?

You can't seriously…fine, I guess we're ordering dessert. I could say no, but…of course, I didn't, and there arrived a warm chocolate brownie and a pair of fried ice-cream dishes dusted with cinnamon sugar and resting on a fried bowl sitting on whipped cream.

We shared, just FYI, but thank god I wore the big pants.

I admit that The Firm is conventional, if not a little predictable. But it's far from humdrum, banal, or lethargic. It plays the notes to perfection, a situation where they play a cover song and end up making it better.

The Firm is…well… It's like that song, "Nothing Compares 2U". It's a Prince tune, but it was Sinéad O'Connor that made the song a legend. It's not about who does it first, but who does it better.

It's important to note that Row Fourteen is astounding…even considering the hype built up before our arrival.  My friend and I were visiting numerous wineries throughout the day, and from the start, the recommendations flowed.

"Have you heard of Row Fourteen?"

"Do you have a reservation for Row Fourteen?"

"Are you going to Row Fourteen?

"Why aren't you at Row Fourteen now?

And so on…

After seven hours in Keremeos Wine Country, we finally reached the climax of our day. We sat down and were presented with the smallest menu in the history of menus.  Okay, that's hyperbolic, but the options ultimately came down to only two—a tasting menu with or without protein. Like many top-end restaurants, at least the new ones, Row Fourteen takes pride in being farm-to-table, gleaning produce from around the province. Initial courses proved impressive, from the buttery chicken pate to the pea carpaccio.  

However, the meal took an unfortunate turn when the protein arrived….but that requires a disclaimer….which will probably discredit my opinion, but here it goes. I know I'm open to a lot of cuisines. But I don't think it's wrong to say certain foods are disliked.  I mean, it's not from the lack of trying.  So, when I get a tasting menu like this, I want to say that I will eat anything...and I will. I'm allergic to kiwis and related foods, but I have never seen a tasting menu feature them in my life. But apparently I need to add the caveat, "If you bring me whole fish or shellfish, I will eat it, but I will not enjoy it."

I mean, I try to be a good foodie; I try. And I get egotistical people saying, "well, you just haven't tried it my way," and I become an optimist and want to be proven wrong.  

And I never am.

I don't enjoy it, and I feel it's my fault for not stressing my tastes. And I dove into that fish like a champ, and the first few bites were terrific...but halfway through, the texture threw me off and it became inedible. I spat out a piece, and I threw in the towel.  It sullied the sumptuous meal, and I feel I have no one else to blame but myself for not being honest.

It's not a complete hatred of seafood. I love sushi in almost every capacity.  But I dislike almost all shellfish, especially when it's still in a shell. I have a severe aversion to eating meat off bones, including if it's a whole fish, and if a head is included, I check out.

And there it was that day, a whole fish with the head staring up at me.   But ignoring my aversion to the look of the dish, with this fish, halfway through, the texture and the flavor completely turned me off. Row Fourteen did show me that I can no longer be silent when it comes to tasting menus, which I believe will probably upset chefs when given that sort of provision. I feel the need to make that disclaimer because if I am paying for a meal, I think I get to say, even if a tasting menu. Yes, some chefs may take that as a challenge.  And I am okay with that but know that you may and will likely fail.

That's why I will from now on state very specifically: "I have no dietary restrictions and will try everything you present before me, but just so you know, if you give me seafood, especially shellfish or whole fish, I will not enjoy it." And before you criticize my score, let me also talk about the beet dish. While it appeared appetizing and offered the promise of being transcendent, it was nothing of the sort. The problem with beets is that you have to overcome the impediment…that you're serving beets.

Beets… aren't very good.  Just on their own…they don't offer much complexity because of the overpowering flavor of it. They're fine in salads, but even borscht is an acquired taste. And, alas, this dish felt like a chef trying to make a point and failing to do so. You can accent a beet dish with cherries and nuts, but in the end, I'm tasting nothing but cooked beets.

So, that's Row Fourteen… undoubtedly good, but also disappointing at the same time.