Lazy Bear review: A rarefied feast if you can get in the door

Chef-owner David Barzelay started his concept in 2009 as an underground venue; this year it became a brick-and-mortar business, taking over the Hi Lo BBQ space in the Mission. Guests sit on couches or stand at bar tables overlooking the two long elm tables downstairs as waiters circulate with glasses of punch. The design is for diners to mingle as if they were at a cocktail party at a private home. The medley of cocktail dishes begins with a whipped scrambled egg served in a shot glass, layered with bacon, maple syrup and house-made hot sauce. The final taste is a tangy blue- cheese custard topped with shavings of confit carrots designed to replicate ham. Seats are preassigned, so you might want to dust off your copy of Amy Vanderbilt’s etiquette guide and have a couple of safe topics tucked away as conversation starters. The dining room is rustic but minimal, with dark wood floors, handsome charred-wood walls left over from the barbecue restaurant, and newly added stone walls with ledges that hold votive candles. Soon after diners introduce themselves to those on either side, bread arrives — house-baked sourdough with a Dutch crunch topping on one visit, and brown butter brioche on two others. What follow are seven more courses, culminating in a final flourish — a slate tile lined with little candies and cookies. Practically in unison, the kitchen crew and waiters bring the first course — a glazed white pottery plate with curls of smoked trout, beads of salmon roe, shavings of cauliflower, piles of coarse rye and caraway bread crumbs, balls of melon, puddles of apple-flavored foam, and tiny springs of parsley and dill. Each course seems familiar — with just one menu a night, Barzelay can’t get too adventurous — but each dish has unexpected elements that make diners sit up and take notice. The next course is a crisply seared scallop flanked by bright yellow sunflower petals, a hint of persimmon, brown butter and crisp sunchoke chips. The crew then brings out matsutake soup, an intense mushroom broth infused with Douglas fir that tastes the way a fresh-cut tree smells. A study in pork comes next, with a perfect medallion of loin in the center and slices of jowl on either side, set in kuri squash puree embellished with Asian pears, pepitas and spidery red mustard greens. The game course is a thick slice of rosy duck breast in a deeply flavored sauce, served with chanterelles, cracklings, barley and buckwheat, all demurely covered with three crisp fried cabbage leaves. Pastry chef Maya Erickson shyly describes the desserts: first, a take on rice pudding with huckleberries, matcha chips and a dusting of matcha powder, followed by a combination that sounds as if it would fail but doesn’t — pumpkin ice cream on cocoa nibs, cubes of coffee and chicory gelee, and a hint of tobacco. Throughout the evening, waiters casually dressed in plaid shirts describe the wine and other beverages, and act as facilitators rather than servers. Even if you don’t like communal tables, you can’t help but participate, because the meal really does feel like a dinner party. Subsequent visits, orchestrated in the exact same way, also brought dishes that I loved: short ribs poached for days in beef fat, as rich as Wagyu beef, with confit carrots in fat; Brussels sprouts in brown butter; and black trumpet mushrooms. Another memorable dish featured chunks of crab in a light seafood broth flavored with persimmon and brown butter, with little chips of the dehydrated fruit.