Col J.
Google
Dining at Ten for our anniversary was, for the most part, a carefully composed experience. The first seven courses of the tasting menu demonstrated precision, restraint, and confidence, with each dish building quietly on the last, showcasing technique without theatrics. For a while, it felt like the kind of meal that justifies Michelin attention.
And then came the eighth course: a maitake mushroom so aggressively BURNT that it overwhelmed not only the plate, but the entire evening.
I appreciate “char” as a concept. I welcome bitterness, smoke, and even confrontation as long it’s intentional and balanced. This was not that. This was acrid, carbonized, and lingering in a way that erased the memory of everything that came before it. The irony of a tasting menu is that one misstep doesn’t exist in isolation; it reframes the whole narrative. Unfortunately, this dish became the lasting impression.
More disappointing than the mushroom itself was the response. When we raised our concerns, the server dismissed them and told us that the mushroom was "supposed to be charred,” without any hint of apology or curiosity or reflection. At this level, that kind of indifference is out of place.
For $155 a head, the phrase "burnt food" and "fine dining" should not exist in the same sentence, yet we were made to feel like this was intentional and by design.
The final courses arrived, competent and well-executed, but the damage was done.
Ten is clearly capable of excellence, and much of the menu proves it. But when a single course can undo an otherwise beautiful progression, and feedback is met without engagement, it raises questions about consistency and care.
I left remembering so little about the brilliance of the first seven courses because I was desperately trying to forget the bad taste left in my mouth.