Rivera's estudio en flan serves up three incarnations of the classic… (Ringo H.W. Chiu / For The…)
Last week, chef John Sedlar celebrated the 30th anniversary of his seminal, erstwhile restaurant Saint Estèphe with a sparkly cocktail party and an elaborate tasting menu for a select group of admirers who remember the go-go '80s and his particular mark on American cuisine — the birth of modern Southwest cooking. As Sedlar recalls the era, "It was a time!"
A time when goat cheese just started showing up on menus, fusion wasn't considered an "f word" and Sedlar's plating was as iconic as a Factory Records album sleeve. "He was practically the first guy to do the drizzle on a plate!" says designer Eddie Sotto, one of Sedlar's business partners, who attended the Gruet-fueled fête.
But the party at Rivera, Sedlar's 2-year-old downtown Latin restaurant, commemorated another return for the man of the hour: the rare chef comeback. In his case, after a few long-gone restaurants and a hiatus that lasted a decade and a half.
Times restaurant critic S. Irene Virbila gave Rivera 31/2 stars and called it "one of the most exciting restaurants to debut in L.A. in the last few years" from a "hyper-talented chef [who] nailed it every time." (Only two restaurants in Los Angeles, including Rivera, have earned that rank.)
"There aren't a lot of chefs who could drop out for such a long time and then come back with such force," says Mary Sue Milliken, who with Susan Feniger opened City Café (later it would become Border Grill) on Melrose Avenue at about the same time that Sedlar opened Saint Estèphe in Manhattan Beach. "This industry is so competitive and so hard…. John's one of those people who has a contagious passion and persistence."
And Rivera was just the start. This year, Sedlar, 56, opened another restaurant, Playa on Beverly Boulevard, and still pursues a decades-long dream to build a museum dedicated to Latin cuisine — an obsession partly inspired by a Day of the Dead tamal he tried on a trip to Lake Pàtzcuaro in Mexico.
"I was terrified," says Sedlar of opening Rivera. "It was very, very scary. Why would I try to do a restaurant again and compete with all the talent in this city? …. I was scared my food would be dated."
Before blue corn tortilla chips and chile-infused chocolate were ubiquitous, Sedlar was serving blue corn tortillas with caviar and chocolate chile relleno at Saint Estèphe. "No one had ever seen a tortilla in a white tablecloth setting," says Sedlar, who was born in Santa Fe, N.M., moved to Los Angeles in 1973 and cooked with legendary chef Jean Bertranou at the French dining institution l'Ermitage.
Sedlar, along with chefs such as Mark Miller of Coyote Cafe in Santa Fe and Stephen Pyles in Dallas, was at the forefront of a movement to embrace regional American cuisine. Other chefs in their circle included Robert Del Grande and Dean Fearing. "The five of us built this game," Sedlar says. "We'd started to ask ourselves, what is American food? Why are we such Europhiles?"
He and his then business partner Steve Garcia had opened Saint Estèphe in a South Bay mall next to a dry cleaner in late 1980, "a nice French restaurant" (named after a celebratory bottle of 1953 Cos d'Estournel from the Saint-Estephe region in Bordeaux). But "it needed a bit of a spark," Sedlar says. After a visit home to New Mexico, he returned to L.A. with 15 cases of red Chimayo chiles and started experimenting. "I integrated them in every item on the menu. Ice cream, pickles, chutneys, sauces, apps, entrees, all courses of the menu.
"I worked with my grandmother in search of the perfect tortilla. We held them up in our hands, took pictures, studied the shape of them, the char marks."
The chiles, beans, spices, herbs, seeds, pine nuts, squashes and corn of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains worked their way into French dishes such as salmon mousse tamale, duck liver mousse with pickled chiles in aspic, posole consommé with foie gras and truffle. The menu was written entirely in French: tamale de mousse de saumon, cuit à la vapeur dans une gousse de maïs, nixtamal, beurre au cilantro; soufflé aux chiles verts; crêpes de maïs bleu. Who knew the French word for tumbleweed? (It's "squelette," according to a menu.)
"When he first put dishes such as ravioli stuffed with carne adobada in a chevre sauce on his menu, most of his customers thought he was insane," wrote then L.A. Times restaurant critic Ruth Reichl in 1991. "Ten years later his French-inflected Southwestern menu seems not only sane but downright sensible: Sedlar's dishes are uniquely his own…. I am particularly fond of this gorgeously simple slice of steamed salmon in three sauces that looks like a Navaho sand painting."
The way Sedlar sees it, he didn't change as a chef from Saint Estèphe to Rivera. "The customers changed; they want to be challenged. They became flavor seekers … grab-you-by-the-throat flavors — sharp chiles, deep herbaceousness, bright citrus hits. Latin dining rose to the occasion."