It’s major news any time a new fine-dining restaurant comes to Fresno, and we plan to give Bulle the consideration it deserves. But in the interests of not burying the lede, first, the short answers: Bulle’s food is great, maybe even fantastic; the vibes are tacky, and the prices are indeed steep, but not so far out of line from its presumptive competitors that you’d laugh them out of the room. At least for now, it is a valuable addition to the local fine-dining scene.
Yes, you’ll pay a little more to eat at Bulle. Probably more than anywhere else in Fresno. Is the experience worth it? Well, that’s a bigger question, and so it requires a longer answer.
Necessary background
As you’ve probably heard by now, Bulle, on Herndon and Marks, from Pressbox owners Tom and Davita Miller, aspires to be “the highest end, most upscale restaurant in Fresno,” as Tom Miller told The Fresno Bee back in April.
If you’re anything like me, you probably read that and thought, “OK, but what about the food?” Is it good or just “fancy?”
In the months since, seemingly all of Fresno’s foodiest influencers and influencingest realtors have made videos about Bulle, frequently touting its promise to bring “Michelin-level dining” to Fresno. Indeed, Bulle head chef Max McCarthy, a Culinary Institute of America grad from Orange County, has worked at a number of Michelin-starred establishments, from Alinea in Chicago to Quince in San Francisco to Le Jardinier in Miami (where he was chef de cuisine). It’s an especially impressive resume for a guy who was still in culinary school until 2017.
The Bulle hype is real, with much of the coverage skewing in the direction of fanciness: the accolades of the chef, the price point, the dress code (“smart casual”), the $35,000 orb lights above the bar – The Fresno Bee even offers a pronunciation guide for the name:
“Bulle is French for bubble. Most people at the restaurant say ‘bool’ (though technically, French speakers elongate the L sound so it’s almost a second syllable). But it’s not Boo-lay. Not Bully. Pretend you speak French and emphasize those vowels,” wrote Bee food reporter Bethany Clough.
That seems tough to do without affecting newscaster-level code-switching, and a fair number of the staff do seem to go with “BOO-lay” or “boo-LAY.” I say follow your heart.
It is, perhaps, our collective municipal inferiority complex that Fresnans seem compelled to both gawk and gasp at something new and exotic, while simultaneously wondering whether we deserve such a thing. Will it play here? Can we support it? Is this allowed??
Suffice to say: Bulle had hype, and in the restaurant world, hype is a necessary evil.
The tour
Given all that hype, I was surprised at how easy it was to score a same-day, dining room reservation for two during prime time. Bad omen for the restaurant, or a comment on the benefits of living in Fresno? You decide. (“You can get a same-day reservation at the city’s buzziest new restaurant” isn’t a bad selling point, for what it’s worth).
“You eat with your eyes first,” as the old saying goes, and by that logic the meal at Bulle began in the parking lot. That’s where, in the spaces closest to the restaurant, the black Hummer pickup truck with the MRBULLE license plate and the white BMW M series with the MSBULLE license plate were parked when I arrived. I didn’t pull the records, but I feel fairly comfortable in assuming that those belong to the Millers.
As for the restaurant itself, it has the air of a casino about it. Painted sort of a plum black with Bulle’s minimalist logo rendered in gold accents, the door handles are shaped like a butterfly and it has no windows. The aim seems to be more “puzzle-box” or “private rendezvous” than airy, welcoming getaway. According to Google Street View, the building used to be a Chase Bank, so maybe doing away with windows and natural light was more of a best-case-scenario than purely a design decision.
Whatever the case, the color scheme and casino feel continues inside, with mood lighting, gold leaf everywhere, black marble table tops and crushed velvet booths. Mirrors with elaborate, baroque frames cover the far wall between silver Corinthian columns. At another end, next to the open kitchen spreads a bushy fake Christmas tree covered in fairy lights. Retro chic vases (empty) dot the dividers between sections, along with big faux flower arrangements between booths. Think: grandma’s house meets Hard Rock Casino.
Electronic mood music backgrounded our entrance, sort of club music by way of elevator music – club muzak, really – attempting, incongruously, to evoke lively party soundtrack and unobtrusive atmosphere simultaneously. It didn’t quite nail either; mostly it felt like being on hold. Bad as the specific soundtrack was, Bulle’s acoustics are great – you could hold a conversation easily and hear the server without straining.
The staff, reportedly operating within a “captain system,” were attentive and ever-present, eager to show off all the things that supposedly make Bulle special. A hostess walked us past the glass wine “cellar” (an above-ground display, really), noting the extensive selection, and then past more glassed-in food – the dry-aging stations for beef and duck. She noted that there was usually bluefin alongside the beef and duck, though not tonight. “We’re one of only 10 restaurants in the world that dry age bluefin.”
There’s a distinct air of “trying too hard” about the whole experience, from the almost frantic dress code reminders in the reservation form to the superlatives noted at every phase of the meal. From the press coverage to the actual experience, it feels as though Bulle believes that their mission is to bring civilization to the unwashed masses – in order to prove that Fresno has arrived, and is worthy of such a thing. Much like the press coverage of it, there’s an unspoken inferiority complex baked into such a mission. When you are legit, you don’t have to crow about it, or dictate the terms of your deference. But hey, it’s new. Perhaps these things will work themselves out over time.
Meanwhile, inasmuch as the atmosphere was a bit gimmicky, the food, I soon discovered, was not.
Overpriced?
If you heard one thing about Bulle in the lead up to its opening, it was probably about the prices. The Bee put the “$45 cocktail” in the headline. I’ll admit, I too clowned on the $28 “farm fresh egg” I saw in an early menu release in various group chats. Since then, the $28 farm fresh egg has been replaced by a $23 “poached farm egg” (Iberico ham, spinach, parmesan), which still seems a little steep, but not outlandish (I can’t speak to how big the portion was, we didn’t order it, though it sounds tasty enough. I gather it’s sort of a riff on a Scotch egg.).
There are still things on the menu that appear overpriced at a glance. The $45 cocktail is still there (a “Bulle Signature Martini with Caviar,” Belvedere 10, Mare gin, Silvio blanco vermouth, and olive oil float), along with Caviar selections on the food side ($90 for Ossetra, $125 for Kaluga Amber). The small plates, broken into Cold and Hot sections, list a “Truffle Uni Rice” for $65 and Scallops for $52. There’s a $77 Wagyu Coulotte entree, and a $245, 40-oz Cote De Boeuf (30-day dry aged), said to feed 2-4 guests.
Excepting those, the other small plates on the menu are priced from $13 to $28, with entrees in the $48-70 range. Which is, to be honest, pretty fair for a high-end restaurant and fairly comparable to the other nice places in town. Mostly only someone trying to show off is going to order a vodka martini with caviar in it, and I ignored the truffle uni rice in much the same way. Am I really going to be able to appreciate uni in a dish that also has truffle? Seems doubtful, and anyway, Fresnoland doesn’t have the budget. Either way, a couple overpriced menu items don’t affect me. I’m not an expert on the economics of it, but if it takes a restaurant soaking a few nouveau-riche with questionable taste to underwrite the good food I actually will order, hey, so much the better.
Undeniable bright spot: the food
The meal began with (complimentary) bread. Served high-falutin’ly bottom-side up on a stone tablet, the “48-hour fermented” table bread (guys, please don’t brag about the fermentation time, it degrades us all) was like a giant fluffy pancake, lightly coated in butter and crusted with salt (Maldon, I presume). It didn’t even need the piping bag herbed butter that accompanied it, though you better believe I applied it anyway. Warm fresh bread is a bit of a layup, sure, but they nailed it.
As I was dining with my gluten-free wife, I got to have the whole thing to myself (and gladly finished the whole thing). For her, they offered a selection of (also complimentary) shaved vegetables with some kind of aioli. That too was satisfying and didn’t feel like an apology.
Ideally, I would’ve liked to order most of the menu and report back on the highlights, but again: local, donor-supported media here. And so we just ordered like we would have if I wasn’t here for work (tough gig, I know). We opted for the West Coast Oysters (six for $28, champagne bubbles, mignonette, herbal oil) and Watermelon Salad ($19, with ricotta gelato, peaches, basil) from the cold apps side, and the Fire Roasted Squash ($28, romesco, pistachio, chili oil) from the hot apps side. For our entree, we chose the “100% Acorn Fed [sic] Pork Secreto,” ($115, pickled berries, farm vegetables, chicken jus), said to serve 1-2 guests.
Each individual plate was served by an individual server (different from our main server, the “captain”), with each element described (some might say overdescribed) in extensive detail – from the mignonette (the server pronounced it “minion-nay,” a version I’ve never heard before) to the Ibérico pork (“Spain’s best-kept secret”). I’ve never known the Spanish to gatekeep their famous acorn-fed pork, but your mileage may vary. (Probably they were thinking of secreto being called “the butcher’s secret.”).
Bottom Line: it was hard to find fault with any of it.
Some might find a cheese ice cream a little fussy, but watermelon salad usually has a cheese element (Annex and Annesso do a burrata salad with watermelon during the summer months) and it’s a cold salad, so a “ricotta gelato” made sense enough to me. It was served with a nest of shaved cucumber, with peach slivers, and an oversized gelato canelle on top. It was refreshing and delicious, as a watermelon salad should be. The peaches achieved the local produce mandate, and all in all it hit just the right note of unabashedly cheffy without being gimmicky or precious.
The oysters on the half shell was an arguable lowlight, but I say this more as a purist oyster lover than as a restaurant critic. They came with a beet foam, a mignonette, and an herb oil. I don’t think oysters particularly need an oil element, which arguably deadens some of the acid from the mignonette, but there are only so many ways one can get creative with a raw oyster. I understood the attempt, and my wife appreciated the effort to ingratiate raw oysters to diners who may not love them in their purest form quite like I do.
The squash, meanwhile, was hard to see as anything but a home run, and I say this as someone who doesn’t always “get” squash (seems like the texture doesn’t change much between overcooked and undercooked – it’s not natural, I tell ya!). Bulle’s version came served in rounds, covered with nests of shaved parmesan and green herbs, served over dots of dark chili sauce and smears of vibrant burnt sienna romesco sauce. It evoked stuffed mushrooms in the best way, with a mild but persistent heat from the chili oil, and moisture from the always-welcome romesco.
The pork secreto was the most minimalist dish of the evening and undeniably the highlight. The cut, a thin strip of meat hidden between the pork shoulder blade and loin, looks like an extra large flank steak cut into long strips. And yet… so much better. It was served in a light pan sauce with small grains of mustard on a shared plate. Meanwhile, our individual plates hosted the accompaniments – an assortment of veg: more peaches, a big blistered mild green chili, fresh tomatoes, halves of cherry.
I’ve been burned by expensive-yet-subpar cuts of steak so many times that I often avoid ordering from the grill, but this one hit on every level. The meat was melt-in-your mouth perfect, with just a bit of perfectly rendered, beautifully charred fat on the exterior. Even the cut itself seemed perfectly designed for the meal – an ever-so-slightly pink, rarer thick side, with a tiny bit more unrendered fat for me, with my fat tooth; and a more cooked, leaner end for my unrendered fat-averse wife. The sauce was very light, present really only to highlight the natural flavor of the meat, which was, again, perfect; marbled enough to be juicy even on the lean side.
It was everything I’ve ever wanted from a steak but rarely get. The accompanying vegetables were maybe slightly disconnected, with a sort of choose-your-own adventure vibe (do you want a bite with chili, cherry, peaches, tomatoes, or all of the above?) but they all paired well with the meat. I almost asked for another chili, and I imagine they would’ve brought it if I had.
For dessert: the “Peaches Flambé,” ($21: Grand Marnier, candied walnuts, caramel). They clearly didn’t reinvent any wheels when it came to dessert, or try to, but it was very good (it came with ice cream). Most of the other desserts seemed similarly straightforward, though I did see that another table had ordered the Shaved Ice ($25, strawberry snow, farm berries, vanilla, torched meringue), for which the server brought over a three-foot tall machine with a big hand crank, presumably for shaving the ice at the table. That seemed… excessive. Dish looked good, glad we didn’t order it.
On the cocktail side, I ordered the “Dreams of Peach Trees” from the “Spirit Forward” section of the menu (which also has a “Fruity/Refreshing” section) – a $20 mix of Roku gin, local white peaches, house sake, vermouth, and Luxardo bitter bianco. It was subtle and elegant, sort of pinkish clear in a lowball glass with some peaches on a metal skewer; like a white vermouth-forward gimlet with a hint of peach. Not the most memorable cocktail I’ve ever drank (the cocktails need better names for one thing), but absolutely nothing to complain about. Would order again (side note: there sure are a lot of Spanish things on the menu for a restaurant with a snooty French name).
The verdict
The two most obvious questions any restaurant review should answer – “Is the food any good” and “how’s the atmosphere” – are pretty easy to answer here (“yes” and “kinda weird,” respectively).
Finer factors aside, we had a great evening out. That’s probably the most important takeaway, though perhaps there’s a broader question to be answered: Would we rush back?
Answer: maybe.
For me, the non-food-and-beverage parts of a dining experience are at their best when you don’t notice or even really have to think about them. I found myself thinking about quite a few non-food things at Bulle, though the food was good enough that it will probably outweigh everything else in my memory (I’ll be dreaming about that pork secreto).
In a perfect world, Bulle will maintain its food standards, while outgrowing its trying-too-hard vibe naturally, as Fresno accepts it, and they stop having to prove that Fresno deserves such a restaurant or can support it.
Of course, that outcome isn’t guaranteed, and if the food hadn’t been close to perfect, this would be a much different review (virtually any food writer worth their salt would jump at the chance to dunk on a windowless casino loungey restaurant housed in a former Chase bank). That’s a delicate dance to perform. Any restaurant can have an off night, it’s basically guaranteed, and those are easier to forgive if you feel comfortable there. On that last point, we were sort of torn.
The Millers themselves, who stopped by every table to chat, were certainly welcoming, without being overbearing. Tom Miller casually revealed that he used to be in a rap-rock band, which I suppose is neither here nor there (still, a fun fact I couldn’t not mention). As for the gimmicky elements, here’s to hoping that those elements will work themselves out in the wash. The food certainly warrants it.
