The scrutiny of sophomore efforts can be debilitating: Was the debut a flash in the pan, or is the magic real? Into that interrogation room lamp light steps The Advocate, owned by the same team as Berkeley's three-year-old Comal, which arguably made the biggest splash on that city's scene since Chez Panisse. Compared to Chef Matt Gandin's Mexican-inflected menu at Comal, The Advocate's Moroccan influences are more diffuse; Chef John Griffiths brings ambition aplenty, along with pastas and even an Asian pear salad.
Prior to opening, The Advocate needed advocates of its own, as some nattering NIMBYs fought against it going into a building that dated to 1918 (but which already housed a Dailey Method). I want to love any endeavor that triumphs over such nonsense, and while The Advocate serves many lovely dishes, a few basic errors (most dealing with temperature) made it hard to justify the price.
Still, there were standouts. Right off the bat, the chickpea fries with Manila clams, grilled celery heart salsa verde, and aioli ($12) were unlike any chickpea preparation I've ever had. The texture was almost like silken tofu, and the clams were a stroke of genius. The chicken liver, too, was outrageously good, frosted with whipped pate to the point of overload (and only $8!). It came with "Bronx grapes," which sound like a euphemism a la "prairie oyster," but which are actually a rare, too-fragile-to-ship, seedless cultivar flavorful enough to take on the liver. They're at the tail end of their season, too, so you'd better hustle if you want some.
But the heirloom tomato and cucumber salad ($13) was a wash. By ordering it in a shared-plates restaurant — which, if you're like me, you do to balance the other, heavier dishes — you hope the kitchen has a direct line to the most ethereal heirlooms on Earth, but these were sad. (It was especially frustrating because this is a dish everyone can make at home.) The garlicky, dill-slathered cucumbers were better, but there were too few of them to redeem the salad.
Worse, the pork loin (with grilled treviso, roasted plums, forono beets, and quince saba, $25) was straight-up baffling. Although the fatty cut of pork was cooked right, it was smallish — and to say it was lukewarm would be generous, because it was practically room temperature. The roasted plums were undercooked and insufficiently acidic to balance out anything. It was an underdone dish in terms of concept and execution, and for that price, unacceptable. It was around then I started getting antsy because I was ladling dish after dish onto the same plate. If a table orders six or eight dishes and shares them, I'd prefer to have the plates swapped out for fresh ones once or twice.
Things improved after that. The slow-roasted lamb sugo that accompanied the pappardelle ($18) was a dream, with pasta that, if not house-made,tasted as if it were. The sugo seemed as though it had simmered for a week, redoubling in intensity. Cannelloni, oozing ricotta and dotted with chanterelles, was wonderful even if it had a strong lemon note (an ingredient not listed on the menu).
A side dish of roasted cauliflower with green harissa ($8) came in fat, quartered chunks. There were filaments of ginger root fried past the point where they could add any taste, but at least they provided texture and a visual. And the tagine was a mystery: It didn't look like any tagine I'd ever had, and it wasn't served as a true stew. Every ingredient was identifiable, and the labneh base was terrific, but like the pork, it was presented at a curiously cool temperature, and it's pretty pricey at $20. Heated up, it would be near-flawless. And dessert, a dish of honey-roasted figs with crème fraîche, cocoa nib phyllo crisps, and sumac ($9), was more than satisfying.
Society's move away from tipping is evident in The Advocate's automatic 20 percent service charge. Although I have no problem with mandatory gratuities, it's the kind of high-handed move that drives one in 10 people bonkers. I get that it's the management, um, advocating for their employees' interests, but why not just add 20 percent to the listed price of every dish instead of hitting people with a separate charge at the end, potentially alienating a not-inconsiderable fraction of them? The world is still figuring out this one.
The surest signs that The Advocate is a descendant of Comal are the acoustics — it was jammed when we arrived, but you could still have a conversation — and the cocktail list. The best of the four drinks we tried was the Dust Jacket (Advocate botanical spirit no. 1, Cappelletti aperitivo, Alessio chinato, and bergamot, $12). It was a dark abyss of flavor, largely owing to the chinato. The Pablo Honey (Cimarron blanco tequila, lime, grapefruit, chamomile honey, and chile arbol, $11) was pretty damn good, too: definitely less tart than it sounds and hey, thanks for naming your drink after an underappreciated, 22-year-old Radiohead album.
While Comal is the mothership, The Advocate is inevitably going to draw comparisons to the similarly rustic Wood Tavern a few blocks away. It churns out similar fare at a price point so close you'd think The Advocate's principals studied it like the Dead Sea scrolls, hoping to come in beneath by the narrowest margin. As Berkeley's median home price just edged past $1 million, that might be fine, but as it stands, this isn't quite enough Moroccan bang for the buck.
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