The title is erroneous right off the bat, but Clippertrip just doesn’t have the same ring to it as roadtrip.  The Clipper is the nautical vessel one takes from Seattle to Victoria. It is essentially a high-speed shrunken version of a ferry, though it feels eerily like an airplane inside.  In any case, the whole fam hopped the Clipper for the two hour jaunt up to Victoria for the weekend as I had a half marathon to run on Sunday.  We spent Saturday tooling around Victoria- this is a city I could really get into.  I pictured it as a quaint little burg lost in time. It actually was very cosmopolitan and wore the inevitable rustic charm that comes with being a seaside tourist town known for High Tea with understated cool.  Off the main drag, the shops were edgy and on-trend and the locals could not have been nicer. 

There were no dearth of dining options; however it being marathon weekend I knew I wanted to steer clear of the herds clamoring for plates of linguine in all the Italian joints, so I chose French.  This may not have been the wisest meal to consume the night before running 13.1 miles, but I was very happy with my time so I’ll leave carbo-loading to those who wish to indulge in bland potatoes and limp noodles.  We selected Matisse based on its reputation as one of the finer French restaurants in town, and we came away quite pleased. 

The first thing you need to know about Matisse is that John Phillips is the heart and soul of the place.  From the moment you walk in the door and he personally removes your jacket, it is obvious he is not a lackluster waiter whittling down the hours until his shift ends.  Despite the fact that he owns the place and has plenty of laurels to rest on (Exxon Mobil 4 star rating, et cetera), he works the room like a new president on his first day in office.  No detail is too small, and his perfectionist tendencies translate to an unbeatable meal you’re not likely to come by easily elsewhere.  He started us off unprompted with an aperitif called Pineau; if you have not had this amazing drink, go out and find it!!! Pineau accidentally originated in the sixteenth century when some daft servant wrongfully put grape juice in some old Cognac barrels.  The grape juice fermented, became naturally fortified from the cognac, and ultimately went on to be one of the most popular aperitifs from the Charentes region in Southwest France.  It comes in both a white and a red version, and oddly enough I preferred the white, which NEVER happens.  I should clarify that the “white” is actually a lovely caramel color, and the taste is like a perfect blend of passito, vin santo and amontillado thrown in for good measure.  What a scrummy way to start a meal!

Next off was a delectable amuse bouche of smoked albacore tuna with tobiko roe and crème fraiche- Damn the size of these amuse bouches, give me a tray of these babies to nosh on, already.  Because John had proven to “get” us wine-wise when he brought out the Pineau, we let him pair wines for the rest of the meal.  I rarely if ever relinquish my wine-rights, especially after having known someone for five minutes, but the man is solid.  He kept the white stuff away (I hate it when you say you don’t like white wine and someone spends the rest of the night trying to prove that there is a decent white out there!) and the red flowing freely, nailing nearly every course.  At this point my tasting notes falter in terms of wine- everything was just so good I had to stop madly pecking into my iPhone and sit back and enjoy what was in front of me.

Next up, elegant escargots presented beautifully in a small Le Creuset Cocotte.  They were divine, in a shallot-y, herbed buttery smooth sauce that I plan to recreate at home. 

The only course that was just so/so was the lobster bisque I had next.  I was oscillating between that and some greens, so perhaps I was latently craving roughage, but the soup did not blow me away.  The filet mignon erased any hint of a misstep, however; one bite and I was back in Matisse bliss.  Jonas had venison and he could not stop talking about how melt-in-your-mouth tasty it was.  He offered me a nibble toward the beginning and I’m glad I got in while I did because his plate disappeared in a few short and satisfied moments. 

At that point no dessert was really necessary and I was starting to think about all those kilometers I’d be running the next day- 21, whew.  John would not have any of our hemming and hawing, however, and he brought us out the two specialties of the house, mousse au chocolat and crème brulee. 

 Classic, yes, but presentation and execution are what matters and Matisse certainly did not disappoint.  Fresh, amusing, lovely on the plate and palate, both takes on French tradition soared.  I do hate to cut a good evening short, but alas, dear readers, 5 am comes rather too early for me, so we rolled out of Matisse fat, happy and ready for bed.