My Day at Murawai

As my small RV chugs into the sleepy Californian town of Yountville, my heart quickens. Tonight I am ditching my shoestring travelling ways. Digital moths are to be set free from my bank account. The word “budget” pushed deep into a dark corner of my mind.
I'm excited but slightly skeptical. Would reputation live up to expectation? Visions of slimy cold fish eggs on giant white plates tease my thoughts. It was to late to worry now. The French Laundry restaurant, with its three Michelin stars, is waiting for me.

Entering through its small blue door is like stepping into a film set. Strategically placed lights illuminate white tabletops with a warm heavenly glow. Dark wooden pillars and stone covered walls give its small interior a natural feel. The atmosphere inside is quietly alive with conversation. Well-dressed American’s sit excitedly, trying to act casual as waiters float around the room. Like smiling phantoms; appearing at tables only when needed and never longer.

Once seated at my table my first dish quickly arrives. Instantly my pre-conceived concerns evaporate. Smells are smile inducing and flavors eye widening. Caramelized sunchoke soup is liquid heaven. Charcoal-grilled spiny lobster with tomato confit dances happily from the plate to my pallet. At each bite of Japanese wagyu beef I stop, close my eyes, and savour every morsel. It ceases to be food and becomes art, a masterpiece on my tongue.

Then it arrives.

In my dish a small, golden, lightly fried brain. No bigger than a fig, sitting upon a yellow mound of scrambled bantam hen egg, in a puddle of jet-black truffle oil. I’m slightly taken back. I’m not too familiar with the taste of brain. I take my weapon of choice. A spoon. Slowly I apply equal amounts of each ingredient. Upon tasting my initial hesitation melts away into ecstasy. Its earthy and smoky, creamy and gamey yet subtly sweet. Only three components, but all working in perfect unison. It's the best dish I have ever eaten.

Upon leaving I can’t stop smiling. My funds were depleted but I didn't care. I had gone in expecting a fancy meal but came out enlightened, my perspective on food forever changed. Upon opening my RV door I stop and take one final look back at that small beautiful building. Famous to some; waiting to be discovered by most. Steeping inside my dark home on wheels I wonder where the other "French Laundry's" out there are? Quietly waiting to transport their next travelling victims away, into food paradise.