Eating with Art (and Mary and Bill)

by Chris Becicka

September in Kansas City typically brings relief from the heat, the early blooming of the fall chrysanthemums, and the Plaza Art Fair (September 22-24). We recently decided to take the art of dining from the coming fair and turn it into the inspiration for eating artfully all year long. 

We were inspired recently by “Capturing Nureyev: James Wyeth Paints the Dancer,” to stay for dinner in the art-saturated Café Sebastienne at the Kemper Museum.  We often go there for lunch (with business acquaintances) or their wonderful brunch on Sundays, but this is only the second dinner I’ve had there. My loss.

It’s difficult not to stare at the walls for a while rather than the menu. Back in 1996, artist Frederick James Brown covered the walls with 110 paintings representing different artists, styles and movements and created an entirely new visual experience. At the same time, Chef Jennifer Maloney started cooking there—much to every local restaurant foodie’s delight. 

The wine listing is a brief pleasure. Given what’s happened to wine lists in the last few years, where as near as I can tell, the wine alone is responsible for a restaurant’s entire profit margin, this one was reasonable and varied enough. There were 11 on the “Reserve” list, ranging from $35 to $120. The other list had 17 whites ($18 - $46), 16 reds ($20 - $42) and 4 sparklings ($22 - $93).   Sixteen wines by the glass ranged from $5 (hallelujah, mama) to $12. We picked a nice Shiraz from Australia in the mid-$20s and were perfectly happy with it.

Here even the table settings are interesting. The square white starched napkins are set (like a placemat) on the black-top tables with your breadplate and silverware on top. You desconstruct and recreate before the bread and tasty olives with Moroccan spices appear.

I started with the ever-changing soup, this one a baby yellow watermelon concoction. Cool, with a hint of mint and the very softest whisper of spice, it was the liquid essence of summer. Friend Mary commented it would make a great vodka slurpee . . .  or martini.  For the three of us with spoons, it was just a great starter.

It went well with the warm goat cheese topped by tartish cherry chutney and (real) baked crostini. My portly companion said he’d share his warm spinach salad with pancetta, roasted potatoes, poached egg, and warm balsamic vinaigrette, and I’m sure I would have gotten more than just a bite if he hadn’t liked it ever so well. The fact it was almost its own meal didn’t stop him from ordering a tenderloin with a huge mound of “potato purée”—what you and I would normally call whipped potatoes. They were very creamy, very light. The Roquefort butter and port-shallot reduction on the beef was perfect—and the meat was perfectly grilled and almost fork-cuttable. One of the best filets I’ve ever tasted.

The grilled lamb chops with roasted garlic jus were ideal—little duo and trio riblets, exactly medium rare as ordered, along with roasted potatoes with olives and rosemary, all highlighted with a summer tomato gratin. The lump crab cakes and remoulade were served on a huge bed of mayo-based slaw that was more fresh red and yellow peppers than cabbage and was accompanied by sliced heirloom tomatoes. With three of the six entrées under our belts this evening, it became even clearer why this café is so beloved.

The slippery white sculpted chairs here do not inspire lingering, which was just as well. Although the chocolote budino with whipped cream is an indulgent ecstasy, the bread pudding sublime, the fruit crisps only superb, we decided to dance away, okay maybe not exactly like Nureyev, whilst we could still move. It was definitely an intriguingly artful evening, one we plan to repeat.