Dreaming of Strudel

La Mer's nine-course tasting menu is an otherworldly, culinary journey

I’ve been to the Halekulani dozens of times, but, until recently, I’d never visited the hotel’s fine-dining room, La Mer.

LA MER • Halekulani • 2199 Kalia Road • Open 6 p.m.to 10 p.m. • 923-2311

The French restaurant had always been an abstraction to me, some light, bright space in my mind’s eye, where white-jacketed waiters folded and unfolded frilly tablecloths. So when my wife and I arrived at the Halekulani, we had to ask for directions to the restaurant.

It turns out that La Mer isn’t in a light and bright space. It actually occupies a large room on the second floor of the hotel’s original main building. The eatery is dressed in warm hardwoods, painted rattan and copper-colored materials. It is moody and elegant, with distinct Asian touches.

We were quickly seated at an interior table, one row away from the open air. From one window, we could hear the crashing surf at nearby Gray’s Beach and from the other, the hapa haole music from The House Without a Key, the hotel’s outdoor gathering spot. All those soothing sounds came in gentle waves, as if they were emanating from some fabulous, far-off stereo.

Since we didn’t know when we’d ever return to La Mer, we quickly decided on the Menu Degustation ($128.00 per person, minimum of two guests), a “gastronomical tour through the award-wining cuisine of La Mer.” There were nine courses in all.

TOWER OF POWER: La Mer's Sauteed Scallop on a Mango-Ginger Confit. photo: Jimmy Forrest

We started the meal off with an appetizer of goat cheese filled with small chunks of smoked salmon. The cheese was accompanied by a petite sour pickle and a couple of squeezes of a sweet dressing. Both had pungent flavors, but the cheese was surprisingly smooth, without any of the mustiness I normally associate with goat cheese. Next was Sautéed Foie Gras with Yukon Potato Gnocchi, which was served with a tomato-y, beefy broth. The foie gras was buttery, yet firm, and had a rich, yet clean flavor. However, my wife preferred the gnocchi, which was perfectly cooked — tender throughout.

Smoked Salmon and Salmon Tartare were next (I loved the bits of zucchini in the mixture), followed by the Vegetable Strudel, which was delicate and flaky. I can’t recall what vegetables were wrapped in the tender, crunchy puff pastry. I just remember all the wonderful textures and the savory, buttery flavors. My wife declared that it was her favorite dish of the night. “And I hate vegetables,” she said.

The dishes came one after another, and I started to feel like a woozy judge on “Iron Chef”: A Sautéed Scallop on a Mango-Ginger Confit that was a nice balance of salty and sweet, a Roasted Chilean Sea Bass, which was crunchy on the outside and tender and gelatinous on the inside and an intermezzo of Pineapple-Rosemary Sorbet that quietly and cleanly reset my palette.

Our final entrée was Roasted Kurobuta Pork with Brussel Sprouts (which my vegetable-hating wife loved) and a Dijon Mustard Jus. The famed Japanese pork was like a flavor firecracker, exploding with salty goodness with every bite. Finally, we ended the evening with a selection of French cheeses, which could have been a hearty lunch in itself.

Our dessert was a trio of dishes: lychee in a berry soup, a scrumptious chocolate cake and a mango sorbet that tasted like a fragrant flower.

When we finally put our forks down, my wife and I were both spent, physically and spiritually. It had been three hours of “Oh, my God.” “No way.” “You’re not going to believe this.”

As the days pass since that evening, our meal at La Mer is slowly becoming a fading mélange of sights, sounds, smells and tastes in my mind. La Mer seems like a dream, an abstraction once again. However, the next time we visit, we won’t need to ask for directions.

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