Abstract Table at Oakland’s The Gastropig is a dining experience like no other—the restaurant becomes a gallery, the dishes become exhibits, and the diner becomes an art critic. Abstract Table is an intensely visual and aesthetically oriented experience. It challenges traditional conceptions of fine dining as an inherently pretentious experience, leaving behind snooty, tuxedoed waiters and your grandmother’s fine china for friendly, tattooed servers and slabs of wood in place of plates.
The permanent pop-up is the brainchild of Andrew Greene and Duncan Kwitkor, former art school classmates who found themselves working together in kitchens around the Bay. They eventually opened Oakland’s The Gastropig, a popular brunch spot and home of the Abstract Table dinner series. Greene and Kwitkor’s artistic backgrounds inform the unconventionality of Abstract Table and make dining as much about the aesthetics and ambience as about the taste of a dish.
Last night, I had the pleasure of eating this spring’s exhibit, Atolls. Atolls is an ode to the untamed beauty of the ocean, a love letter to coral reefs teeming with life, and a dining experience that left me longing to be writing this article on a beach somewhere tropical instead of a dimly lit library in Berkeley. Each course represented a distinct aspect of the broader concept of Atolls and ultimately served as a celebration of the sea, island life, and the processes that create, maintain, and destroy those worlds.
Course 1
The experience began with a “volcanic reef”: an oyster perched atop a small pile of lava rocks, adorned with scallop, squid, mango, citrus, and leek. Fittingly, the flavor was explosive. Oysters have a way of distributing flavor like nothing else, and I found myself wanting more after downing mine. The brininess of the oyster was nicely balanced by the sweetness and acidity of the toppings, making for a dish that maintained the integrity of the typical, salty oyster experience while creating a refreshingly delicate flavor through the incorporation of lighter, sweeter elements.
Course 2
The second course was perhaps the most topical—shrimp and scallop dumplings swimming in a shallow pool of blue dashi. The tender dumpling skins were steamed to perfection, ensuring the filling was securely wrapped up but also that it only took a light bite to penetrate the little seafood pouches. The dumplings were sprinkled with earthy avocado powder, topped with seaweed caviar and sea grass, and sat in a small lagoon of blue dashi, a blue-hued version of the traditional Japanese broth that forms the basis of culinary basics like miso soup and udon broth. The dish was rich with umami flavor, the intensity of which was boosted by the saltiness and distinctly oceanic flavor of the seaweed caviar.
Course 3
The salad course was one of the highlights of the entire experience. The sea beans, aptly named for the briny taste packed into each, were lightly dressed with a punchy, mildly spicy chili-yuzu vinaigrette and were welcome accents to the salad. The centerpiece of the dish was a small mass of guava and pineapple chunks topped with a thin, crispy black sesame wafer. The wafer could be described as a sort of brittle derivative, and it provided a welcome crunch to a dish dominated by softer, chewier textures. Pineapple and guava are always delicious, and I thoroughly enjoyed eating them in a more mature context in tandem with the salty, earthy flavors of the sea beans and subtle sweetness of the sesame wafer.
Course 4
The next course took a darker turn in both concept and flavor. I never thought I’d get any pleasure out of the concept of a dead reef, but the fourth course of Atolls, inspired by that very phenomenon, was very enjoyable. More often found at a street stall than the table of a fine dining establishment, chicharrón held its own with fancier ingredients like ashen baby octopus and coconut pearls, and it provided the backbone for the dish. The crisp fattiness of the chicharrón contrasted the deep char of the ashen octopus nicely, providing a deep-hitting flavor that was rounded out by the sweetness of the passionfruit bits and coconut pearls. The octopus brought me back to the concept of a reef, adding a subtle but pleasant fishiness to each bite.
Course 5
When I saw the fifth course on the menu, frankly, I was intimidated. I couldn’t easily conceptualize what that combination of textures and flavors would taste like, but I was eager to try my hand at describing the unique synthesis of flavors present in the dish. The fat on the boar belly was perfectly rendered and caramelized, allowing it to almost melt on the tongue. The carrot retained some bite despite its time poaching in mango nectar, which I appreciated (because who actually likes a soft carrot?). I’ve been looking forward to trying jackfruit for ages, and it was delicious in kimchi form. Jackfruit is often served as a meat-substitute, so having it replace cabbage was an interesting, but wise decision. It lent the dish a meaty richness perforated with punches of acid and heat, the blows of which were nicely softened by the earthy sweetness of the plantain purée.
Course 6
The penultimate course represented both the volcanic processes that create island chains and traditional island farming processes that sustain life on them. A bed of pigeon peas cradled braised goat, wilted baby greens, curried kabocha squash, and a single smoked Thai chili. Every part of every course felt very intentional, but this course in particular seemed to be designed with great care and thought. The heat of the chili was intense but not overpowering, coming in slow waves to represent the creation of volcanic islands over thousands of years. I’d never eaten braised goat or pigeon peas prior to last night, and I was pleasantly surprised when the goat was tender in texture and multi-dimensional in flavor, instead of being gamey as I anticipated. The slight bitterness of the baby greens served as a perfect contrast to the mouth-filling sweetness and spice of the kabocha curry, making for an elegant, intelligently designed, and delicious course.
Course 7
By the time we reached the seventh and final course, I wasn’t sure my stomach could handle more. But I persevered and dove into the beautifully presented dessert in front of me (obviously so this article could be a complete account and definitely not because the food was irresistibly delicious and I have no self-control). The buckwheat cake was made with directly-sourced Hawaiian cinnamon, which has greater depth of flavor and more intense warmth than typical supermarket varieties. Usually, I’m not a huge proponent of citrus-chocolate crossovers, but the gentle sweetness of the white chocolate worked beautifully with the acidity of the lime to make a smooth, rich, and delicious mousse. The addition of chili-sesame sand was interesting, and it brought a welcome kick of umami to the dessert, as well as tying the dish back to the oceanic themes of the dinner.
In the end, Abstract Table accomplished exactly what Chefs Greene and Kwitkor wanted it to—I left full, happy, and meditating on the equally powerful aesthetic and culinary experiences I’d just had. Each course seemed very intentional in a way that I think is rare in modern culinary culture, which I find tends to focus on efficiency and speed rather than the care required to create a dining experience that will leave the diner full in both physical and metaphorical senses of the word. The Atolls exhibit was clearly crafted with meticulous care and attention to detail, and I appreciated knowing that the ingredients were sustainably sourced. Ultimately, I’d highly recommend Abstract Table as a relatively low-cost tasting menu experience and as a dinner that will engage your artistic sensibilities as much as it will your taste buds.