Chef-writer Daniel Patterson’s three-month-old restaurant Coi brings something fresh and unique to San Francisco’s crowded dining out  scene. This thoughtful chef conflates the Bay Area’s belief in pure and local ingredients with poetic, off-beat, scent-inspired, modern cooking that selectively draws on 21st century culinary technologies.

Nothing about Coi feels forced. Diners are embraced by the natural, Andy Goldsworthy-esque surroundings. A stunning pastiche of woven fabrics, earth tones, Japanese pottery, polished wood and found objects such as mossy branches and stones, snuggly and comfortably fit together. The smart, intuitive, mannerism-free dining room staff struck me as an extension of Patterson himself, always kind and generous. In fact, everything about this nine-table restaurant reflects the personal vision of one man, someone self-taught and introspective, yet able to invent in the most unfettered, artistic way. Anyone who thinks that there are no new recipes, restaurants or dining experiences, is proven wrong by Coi.

Sensual delight builds throughout the evening. A fragrance teases here, a taste surprises there; something sweet is also salty; something rich has a sharp edge; something savory will be scented. The progression of dishes on the prix fixe menu becomes a path through a garden in which every turn reveals a new view. There is something very Asian about Coi, but it’s not the food. Patterson has created a complete culinary world. 

Every meal begins with gifts from the kitchen, like silver spoons of microscopically minced grilled vegetables, so perfectly cut you can feel each tiny bit on your tongue. We were instructed to rub black pepper-tarragon-ginger essential oil on our wrists so its scent would infuse a white pouf of grapefruit foam blanketing a tiny grapefruit salad – food from the gods.

The meal moves between earth and sea. Crisp-skinned aji, mild, juicy mackerel, is roasted on an aromatic cedar plank. The small filet comes out meltingly tender and sweet-fleshed. Raw slices of salmon-pink ocean trout somehow tasted more like itself when sprinkled with vanilla salt. Patterson gives a nod to the Basque country in a luscious pairing of velvet-textured black cod with an unctuous relish of minced tripe and chorizo.

Each slurpy bite of tofu skin noodles laced with chanterelles in fresh coconut milk perfumed with kaffir lime leaf, comforted and titallated at the same time, preparing the palate for thick round slices of suckling pig, completely lean yet soft and voluptuous. Its resonant plum-tobacco sauce reminded me of big red wines from the Rhône.

A salty/sweet, lavender-infused rhubarb frappé in a narrow glass bridged the way to desserts. I loved a strawberry bombe made with fresh berry ice cream and sorbet molded around crème fraíche cake. Each bite tasted like the ultimate berries and cream. Warm bittersweet chocolate cake, barely set, was astonishingly good with tart lime yogurt.

A couple sips of salted caramel milkshake with a swirl of sexily bitter chicory cream on top sent us on our way.

I returned a few days later to eat a more casual meal in the cozy lounge at tables made of thick sections of tree. Romaine salad ($8) whispered of rosemary. A casserole of long-cooked Niman pork cheeks and potatoes ($15) delivered the absolutely clean but rich, nuanced juices. Then I had the dessert I passed on the previous night, tarragon-poached peach crepes with licorice ice cream ($10). I used to think I wasn’t wild for either tarragon or licorice until this dish changed my mind.

Here’s the thing: Patterson’s use of aromatics never overpowers, intrudes or confuses. Rather, the fragrances are intrinsic to each dish, revelatory. They awaken the senses, and even after a whole meal of them, you leave the sanctuary soothed and stimulated, as if you’ve just taken a stroll in the forest after a rain.