The menu said “23 Years of Quince,” but the dish I kept thinking about wasn’t on it: four ravioli that looked like sunflowers weathered by a summer without rain, sitting in a shallow but potent pool of corn jus, with its foam gathered around them. Then the chef Michael Tusk lays a flattened husk over the pasta, christening it with one last charge... More
The menu said “23 Years of Quince,” but the dish I kept thinking about wasn’t on it: four ravioli that looked like sunflowers weathered by a summer without rain, sitting in a shallow but potent pool of corn jus, with its foam gathered around them. Then the chef Michael Tusk lays a flattened husk over the pasta, christening it with one last charge of corn.
The ceremony of it all might have seemed a bit much if the ravioli hadn’t been so good.
But they were. Their flavors built steadily: dark caramel first, then something toastier — likely the browned edge of a cob — before settling into the milky sweetness of raw kernels followed by aroma so relentlessly buttery it recalled the popcorn stand at a state fair.
I can count on one hand the corn dishes that have moved me as a food writer. The first cob I ate in Hokkaido, hot enough to melt the cold butter I kept pressing onto it; Cosme’s corn-husk meringue; Jean-Georges’s sweet-corn ravioli in basil fondue; and now these four, which evaded both the printed menu and my camera as I ate them quickly, without ceremony.
My dinner that began in their renovated dining room before it moved to the kitchen felt at times like a brisk overture of their greatest hits, including the (rightfully) vaunted beetroot spaghetti, stained red to its core and carrying a generous mound of caviar. It’s through this sequence that the prologues, a smoked almond custard brightened with slivered coins of kumquat and geoduck clam crowned over a mound of carosello melon — the cleanest and most precious of the dishes — stand in contrast with the later dishes, which more loudly trumpet Tusk’s style. Because as dinner progressed, so too did his rustic instincts, deepening into dishes like asparagus fished tableside from a cauldron of herbed bouillon (a revelation) and that hypnotically aromatic Watson Farm lamb, cooked at the hearth.
Yes, old signatures will always arrive with their reputations intact, but the better news is that Tusk does not seem especially interested in dining out on them.
Thank you @theandrewcheng for paving the way, @michaeltusk for the meal (to remember), and @davidefra86 for the hospitality.
📍@quince_sf
🍽️ June ‘26 Less
