With Picco, Marin Restaurant Scene Begins to Rise to Expectations

My old friend Keith, from my Mill Valley daze, and I have a birthday tradition. We celebrate by taking each other out for lavishly indulgent meals and have been doing so for nearly 25 years. These amazing culinary forays have ranged from an all-white truffle menu at French Laundry (back in the day when that was only around $120 each) to most recently an elegant repast at the underappreciated Silks at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in San Francisco. The generous guy that he is, those two particularly posh experiences were on Keith’s tab, I have to say.

We usually venture into San Francisco for our biannual fête, mainly because food in Marin consistently disappoints. It’s not all bad, but it is disproportionate to the amount of wealth, talent of the resident chefs, and access to good ingredients. Sure, there are exceptions: Fork and Insalata’s in San Anselmo, the Buckeye Roadhouse and Bungalow 44 in Mill Valley, but there is a wide and bleak swath of mediocrity (and pretension) littering the north-south Highway 101 corridor.

Somewhere in between, there was Roxanne’s, the short-lived vegan phenom in Larkspur. As Roxanne’s fades into the haze of caloric indulgence, I do remember relishing its demise. In spite of all the hype (at least three New York Times articles about it, in addition to the local accolades), I wasn’t surprised to see it come crashing down under the weight of its own pretense (or was it the affair that owner Roxanne was discovered having with the hired help?). Feeling compelled to check out whether it would live up to all the hype, Keith and I chose it for one of our rare Marin restaurant birthday selections. Sitting there, under-whelmed by the tepid cuisine, I remember telling Keith, “a year from now this place is going to be a steakhouse.”

You may recall the hook at Roxanne’s—besides priding themselves on their meatless, dairy-less offerings, nothing was heated above 118 degrees Fahrenheit (or was it 112, I can’t remember), which was the point (that I remember Roxanne contending) that proteins begin to denature, which somehow was supposed to be bad for you (they didn’t present any of the supporting scientific literature). I would agree that if our very own proteins began to denature, well, then I would agree, but I tend (with the exception of sushi), to like the proteins I consume heated to at least 120 degrees—pork and chicken may benefit (or at least might prove less life-threatening) by being brought to 130 or so.

The food at Roxanne’s was a bit too precious for me (and would have been inedible/hazardous for anyone with nut allergies because the place depended heavily on nut “milks” as sauces). I admired their bold concept, but in practice what particularly soured me on the experience was watching Roxanne, with daughter in tow, spending the majority of the evening floating table to table soaking in her celebrity. I kept fuming to Keith “get back in the kitchen, lady, and cook something!”

To make a long story shorter, Roxanne’s closed, but while what replaced it wasn’t a steakhouse, it serves a great burger (mini-burgers, actually) and easily ranks, in my estimation, as one of the top five restaurants in Marin County.

Picco resides on Magnolia Avenue in Larkspur in a three-block stretch that is home to some of the county’s best dining establishments, from Roland Passot’s “cuisine de grand-mere” served at Left Bank, to Fabrizio Ristorante (where I had the best, most succulent, brined veal chop ever) to Bradley Ogden’s Yankee Pier and his venerable Lark Creek Inn.

I admit that first thing that caught my eye on the menu were those “mini burgers.” I have never been to a White Castle for sliders, the burgers that the oldest American fast-food chain offered that were small enough to be consumed in fours. My mini-burger epiphany took place at the old Nut Tree in Vacaville in the late 1960s and I have been searching in vain for mini-burger satisfaction ever since. It’s not that I am a big burger eater (while I do eat big burgers, just not very often, maybe once every couple of months) there was just something about those nostalgic Nut Tree nuggets.

My mini-burger allegiance has now been pledged to Picco. Served perfectly medium rare (something increasingly difficult to find—properly cooked beef), the trio were further enriched with caramelized onions, sautéed crimini mushrooms, and ever-so-rich Pt. Reyes blue cheese for $9.95—a bargain.

Dining at Picco feels like being in an upscale lodge, in say, in Big Sur. We arrived ten minutes early for our 7:30pm Sunday reservation and were seated immediately. While rather cozy, with tables fairly well packed together, I didn’t feel particularly claustrophobic.

“Where great food is shared among friends,” is Picco’s mission—one that it delivers on. The server, while avoiding being too pedantic, gave a brief introduction about the restaurant’s approach—little plates (the continuing proliferation of “tapas” trend) meant to be shared and designed to complement wine.

What drives Picco is the passion of chef Bruce Hill. Before I even knew they served mini-burgers, I drove out of the way to Picco because of the experiences I have had at restaurants where he had been at the helm, particularly Oritalia and The Waterfront in San Francisco.

While dining in California, I tend to forego the local fruit-of-the-vine in favor of wines from Spain and France—not only because they tend to work better with food (more acid, more sense of place/grape, less bludgeoning oak) but they also often represent a much better value. I appreciated that Picco had several good values, including a crisp Ballentine Napa Valley Chenin Blanc on the well-chosen list ($28). It worked wonders with the skewers of Hamachi (yellow tail) with avocado and pomelo. The dishes that followed continued to inspire interest: a braised duck pappardelle with roasted parsnips—gotta love those root vegetables; ($12.95) a warm salad of grilled shreaded Brussels sprouts tossed with comice pears, walnuts and a decadent bacon-infused cream ($7.25). The Kennebec fries with a garlic-forward aioli (as aioli should be) and romesco ($6.50) were worthy of that particular variety of potato.

As we are likely to order risotto when offered it on any menu, we had to try Picco’s take ($9.50). The server had told us that they make a fresh batch on the half-hour and warned that our appointed time was rapidly approaching. We weren’t about to miss out. While the rice was still a bit crunchy, it was otherwise unremarkable—but then Kimi, my dining and life partner, makes the best risotto ever, so they had elevated expectations to overcome. Nevertheless, we keep looking.

The other dish that sounded better than it was (although there wasn’t anything wrong with it per se) was the sautéed dayboat scallops. At $22.50, it was the priciest thing on the menu. The scallops were succulent, delightfully fresh, and beyond reproach. In truth, it was the Himalayan truffles that intrigued me (which were added to cauliflower and red wine). Himalayan and Chinese truffles tend to be more affordable, but also tend to be so subtle in flavor that they are hardly worth the investment. This proved to be the case again.

Desserts were nothing short of extraordinary. Like the mini-burgers, the multi-component theme is perpetuated for the pudding course. The Chocolate Madelaines arrived to table hot from the over with molten Chocolate centers, complement by a tiny chilled porcelain tumbler of rich and frothy hazelnut milkshake ($9.50). The butternut squash cake were in fact a generous assemblage of four separate moist timbales, not overly sweet, with a dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce ($8.50). We couldn’t resist a little demitasse of thick hot chocolate (reminiscent of La Maison du Chocolat in Paris, London and New York). Yum. I would have appreciated another couple of the tiny, fingernail-sized cinnamon marshmallows—but by then, we had already far-exceeded our caloric allotment.

All in all, Picco provided a thoroughly satisfying dining experience—one that furthers my hopes that Marin may soon emerge from the large culinary shadows cast traditionally from San Francisco and most recently Sonoma. I may well have to bring Keith here for his birthday.