According to the Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Western North America, the snowy egret, Egretta thula, "forages for small fish in shallow water." One can see this behavior on display in any number of wetlands in the Bay Area, perhaps nowhere more scenically than the shallows of Bolinas Lagoon, some 20 miles north of San Francisco.
This past weekend, however, in Santa Cruz, I observed a lone E. thula feeding in water that must have been 60 or 70 feet deep by tiptoeing gingerly across a canopy of bull kelp undulating in the low swells offshore. What new delicacies might it be enjoying, I wondered, by venturing beyond its traditional comfort zone? And more to the point, what might an egret reared on shallow-water staples like the threespine stickleback and the staghorn sculpin, make of the pelagic flavors of the Pacific sardine and the Northern anchovy? I'd been thinking a lot about questions of this sort. Not about the dietary habits of birds, per se, but about taste in general, about comfort zones and familiarity, and conversely, about the sorts of things we open ourselves up to when we venture, as it were, into less familiar waters.
Like many trains of thought, this one had begun with a glass of wine, the first of several in a pairing that accompanied a tasting menu at Commonwealth, the eight-year-old Mission district restaurant whose rather particular interpretation of California cuisine has garnered an enthusiastic following, and since 2016, a Michelin star. Ever so slightly pink, with a fine, persistent sparkle, I mistook it for Champagne, but while it had been vinified using the Méthode Traditionnelle, it was in fact the work of Lelièvre, a small, family-owned winery in the Côtes de Toul, an appellation not known for its bubbles. Mostly gamay gris with a splash of pinot noir, it spoke dryly of lemon, butterscotch, and tangerine, and to the sensibility of Commonwealth's new wine director, Sarah Snyder.
When Commonwealth announced the new addition to their team this June, Snyder had already been at work for several months, studying the idiosyncratic style of the restaurant's chef, Jason Fox, while pondering the kinds of wines that would complement it.
"It definitely took time," said Snyder, reflecting on her initiation. "When I started, I remember sitting down with Jason and him handing me a menu, because things were about to change. The menu was basically just ingredients at that point. There was lamb, and dates, and this and that. I didn't see how the symphony was going to work. It was exciting but a little scary—learning the cuisine, learning the textures, the weight of the food, if they're going to add smoke or acid or a wavering of sweetness or spice. And then he'll throw you a curve ball."
