Dining at Pearl Morissette is not a meal; it’s a performance of flavor, texture, and pure culinary mastery. Sharing my thoughts of this perfect evening and the perfection that reached our lips tonight x This food brought new words to my mind, a vocabulary only reached by such a tasteful and immersive experience. 

The first course, a Raspberry Point oyster with prickly ash pearls, an apple gelée, and a kohlrabi and lobster consommé was pure majesty—a bite of oceanic perfection that left me wishing for another, as if one could ever be enough.

The second course was a carrot crisp that was as hallowed as it was holy with a scallop roe crème and a dusted chilli exterior resting on top of a bed of chilies. Then came the warm sourdough bread: $30 for a single loaf? Scoff if you must—until you taste it. You’ve never had pain et beurre like this: perfectly salted that even the crumbs felt aristocratic.

The third course was a timeless plate that seemed to pause the universe: West Coast Dungeness crab, fried soybean, and whitefish roe, brought to life by the brightness of lemon verbena oil and the roasted leysa pepper vinaigrette. The pickled garlic emulsion tied it all together, harmonizing earth and sea in a way that felt almost spiritual.

By the fourth course, the lobster, pickled green peaches, and edible flowers had me giggling it was so good—or maybe it was the sip of Pearl Morissette wine shared from my mother-in-law’s glass. The dehydrated beet added the subtlest texture, a taste of earthiness at the lightest degree.

Fifth course: Have you ever heard of smoked egg? It’s not what you think. Paired with oat milk and ginger black tea, it was a revelation—exquisite and entirely… unexpected?

The sixth course was our collective favorite—a slow grilled striped bass from the Miramichi River floating in a sea of butter foam and divinity. Paired with a garden drink and a French wine—a pungent Alsace Riesling kissed by the cold air—it’s safe to say, it was MA-GN-I-FI-QUE.

The seventh course was the pinnacle: butter roasted duck, grilled mushroom, and a mysterious herb (lemon thyme) I’ll never forget. The beet juice pairing coaxed every ounce of depth from the au jus, squeezing the very essence of flavor onto the plate.

The seventh: lamb. Worthy, but divisive. At first, the oyster leaf spoke the loudest, then the spinach and fennel purée, before the hakurei turnip and braised hogget shoulder came alive. Together, they felt shy; apart, they had limitless potential.

Finally, dessert. I have no words, and yet, they spoke volumes: Rice Tartlet, Apple Mille Feuille, and a black koji ice cream sandwich. Creations that silenced the table, leaving me with nothing but awe.

Altogether, this was not a meal; it was an event, a moment—an experience that will live rent-free in my culinary memory forever.

Alas, I’m beyond words—dipped in a feeling of PURE gratitude for the evening, meal, and conversations we had. A night I will always remember.