For some reason, the past year has seen San Diego come under the spell of a high-class burger craze. Chefs across town have taken it upon themselves to elevate the humble hamburger to a meal with higher culinary aspirations. I feel divided about this trend.
On the one hand, hamburgers present a near-ideal canvas on which to paint. Hamburgers have always thrived under variations, both in toppings and preparation. The low quality of beef usually used presents an immediate possibility for upraising; if nothing else, better beef should, intuitively, make a better burger. On the other hand though, I'm just not sure that burgers need updating or dressing-up. Until it closed, the best burger in San Diego was at the first kitchen at NuNu's. Hardly a work of art, it was cooked by a fellow so surly that he was eventually fired (from NuNu's no less, hardly a bastion of delicate manners), and it was good, good, good. Deliciously greasy, perfectly melted cheese, and the texture I've experienced in a burger before or since. The other noted San Diego burgers (El Sol, Hodad's, Rocky's, Liar's Club [and Luigi's has a surprisingly good burger as well]) follow this pattern -- burgers that are unashamed of their place in life and recognize, a la Theodore Dreiser through Clyde Griffiths, the risks of a false upward mobility.
That said, the trend deserves response. In that spirit, I offer my take on three of the most prominent proponents of the upscale burger here in San Diego. Crazy Burger, so far as I can tell, is the local progenitor of the trend. Burger Lounge, in La Jolla, and Neighborhood Restaurant, in the Gaslamp, are etudes on the theme, emphasizing (with differing levels of success) the upscale experience.
First to Crazy Burger (4201 30th Street), the most downscale of the upscale places. The room is divided into two sections, the first dominated by a bar facing onto several televisions, invariable tuned to sports, the second covered, nearly floor to ceiling, with locally-produced paintings of variable quality. The split between the rooms is broadly reflected in the spirit of the restaurant itself -- it can't seem to decide what it wants to be. Orders are taken at the bar, but are then brought to your table for your, the worst of all possible service arrangements (barring rendition or some such). I'm on the wagon, but the beer selection is quite nice, emphasizing unusual German brews (Trumer Pils and Optimator Doppel Bock, for example)
Ah, and the food! Look, given some of the unusual meats on the menu, including a crab, buffalo, and alligator version of the classic hamburger, it makes sense that this is what would get the publicity. But the actual hamburgers are delicious. I don't mean to disparage the variations, especially the crab, escargot, venison, and turkey varieties, but the actual burgers are where the action is for my money. The toppings, which range from simply but tasty cheese choices to tzatziki sauce to sauteed onions and a sweet chili sauce, serve to differentiate the burgers and enhance them, but do not dominate the meat itself. This is a good thing. The bun choice is thoughtful, neither overwhelming the patty nor crumbling during consumption. Most impressively, to my mind, is the lack of leaking; the chef is classically-trained and has fortunately realized that burgers, like all meats, need to rest before being served, so that juices released during cooking can redistribute. This keeps the moisture in the meat, moistening it, rather than on your plate, annoying you (or, usually, me).
If only the cooks at Burger Lounge (1101 Wall Street in La Jolla) had taken their cue from Crazy Burger, they might be onto something. As it is, while their menu construction is thoughtful, their execution is, in a word, terrible -- so far as burgers go, and so far as burgers go only. My burger had not rested, leading to a deluge onto my plate. Sadly, the juice had company on its way down and out; the burger was drenched (and I mean drenched -- at least a half cup on my burger) in 1000 Island dressing.
This is too bad. The meat flavor that valiantly fought its way through was terrific, big and beefy. The restaurant advertises the meat as Tallgrass meat, organically and ethically raised. I'm still not sold on the branding on meat, but in this case, the beef was clearly superior to what you would usually get in a burger, for the better. If only I could have enjoyed more of it.
I suspect that this due to the fact that Burger Lounge is a small chain. The less execution is left up to the workers, the better the results. The chicken tenders were very nice, although a bit salty, as were the onion rings. The ranch and barbeque sauces accompanying the chicken were tasty as well.
Finally to Neighborhood Restaurant (777 G Street), in the Gaslamp. I don't usually enjoy eating in downtown; I find it expensive, unadventurous, crowded, and snotty. Of course, while these are vices for me, I also suspect that these are virtues for most of the crowds; the Gaslamp is like San Diego's version of Little L.A. But I did enjoy Neighborhood Restaurant, even despite the fact that one of its primary virtues, its beer selection, is sadly lost on me. But for beer-folks, Neighborhood Restaurant competes admirably with Hamilton's and the older incarnation of The Wit's End; a wide, excellent selection, including an emphasis on local craft beers that successfully avoids the San Diego obsession with big hops and double IPAs. My Coca-Cola was of the newly-popular import variety, served in a glass bottle and lacking corn syrup in favor of actual sugar (did you ever think that we, as a civilization, would consider pure sugar nutritionally preferable to anything?); this attention to detail typifies the restaurant.
The food is surprisingly good. Concentrating on a limited menu, with a few burger selections, a few salads, and a daily special. I opted for the primary burger, which came with well-carmelized onions and a nice gruyere. I would have liked just a touch more cheese, but I was otherwise impressed both with the concept and the execution. The beef was tasty, with a good solid beef taste (and, arrived with just a touch of red in the center, as requested), which played well with the onions and spices. I didn't particularly care for the potato chips which came on the side, except as a vehicle for the small heap of extra onions provided alongside the burger. Both the sweet Carolina fries and IPA potato buds (a dressing-up of tater tots, with the addition of jalapenos and cheese) more than made up for the chips. The Little Lady spoke admiringly of the vegetarian sandwich, which, while advertised as a burger, had no patty, and was instead a nicely-grilled collection of seasonal vegetables accompanied by a hummus which served both to flavor and to cement; usually, grilled vegetables have an unfortunate tendency to fall apart, but here, the hummus helped maintain structural integrity throughout.
The decor is upscale sports bar (if you've ever been to one of these, you'll know what I'm talking about). Large windows face out onto G Street, providing an alternative view from the multiple television lining the bar. Table seating is limited, but available, and service is surprisingly friendly for the neighborhood.
All of this, of course, comes at a price. Dinner at Neighborhood Restaurant was pricey, at around $50 all told (including my Coke and the Little Lady's glass of wine, and two sides too big to finish). You could probably get away with dinner for two, sans drinks, for around $30ish, but some people may well not want to drop that kind of money on food presented as burgers. But as burgers have gone upscale, so have the prices; you'll save little money by going to Crazy Burger (just under $10 per burger) or Burger Lounge (ditto). Also, none of these restaurants include fries with their burgers, although all of them offer them on the side. Get them at Neighborhood, avoid them at Crazy Burger, and get them instead of a burger at Burger Lounge.
I suggest thinking of Neighborhood Restaurant as a nice bistro, less fancy than Cafe Chole, but in the same general vein. Crazy Burger is closer to a traditional burger joint, but both tastier and more expensive than traditional. And as for Burger Lounge...well... If you can afford to eat regularly in La Jolla, your life differs enough from mine that any advice I can give you probably won't be useful.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Izakaya Masa
The Little Lady and I recently found ourselves in Japan for a friends wedding; he was an American who had met a lovely Japanese lady while living abroad. We were delighted to be able to see them, but also to have an excuse to travel to Japan. The visit there was terrific; we got to see the groom for a considerable amount of time, had hoot at the wedding itself, and had the chance to be in Kyoto for sakura season, which, we were told, was seeing the most Japanese city at the most Japanese time.
The idea of something being described, by Japanese citizens, as very Japanese seemed odd to us at first. After all, I would be hard pressed to think of something I would describe as very American, unless I meant to be wry about it. But the Japanese folks we met had a very set, distinct idea of what it meant to be Japanese.
(Don't worry, I'll get to the izakaya in a bit.)
Once we were there for a bit, this description made much more sense. We take pride, myself and the Little Lady, in being fairly cosmopolitan, urbane folks. But we were ill-prepared, on the whole, for how....well, Japanese Japan could be. Part of this was fostered by the Japanese dining in San Diego and L.A. We're familiar with many of the Japanese restaurants locally and up in Little Tokyo. Suffice it to say that Japanese food in the U.S. bears only the vaguest family resemblance to Japanese food in Japan.
Izakaya Masa is an admirable halfway house, offering a way for San Diegans to get a better feel for actual Japanese cuisine without forcing American diners outside of their comfort zones. Each time I've eaten there, I've had both pleasant and unpleasant surprises, and the latter are almost more valuable than the former. The izakaya style of dining is nearly ideal for uniting disparate diners, or diners who themselves are in a disparate mood.
Izakayas are rooted, I understand, in sake shops which, over time, began to allow patrons to imbibe in their shops, and started serving food to accompany their wares. As a result, their style of dining resembles, in an odd way, tapas. They tend to serve a variety of small plates, rather than large entrees. In Japan, these restaurants frequently offer all-you-can-eat or all-you-can-drink specials by the hour.
In that way, at least, Izakaya Masa (located on the ground floor of a mini-mall at 928 Fort Stockton Drive) breaks with tradition. They do offer entrees and do not offer all-you-can-consume deals. The latter, I think, is a good choice; I would hazard a guess that such an arrangement, within the American cultural milieu, would have, to be frank, disastrous consequences for both patron and proprietor. The former is a fine choice, but I recommend concentrating on the small dishes, both because I think they're a little bit better, and also because it's more in the Japanese style, which plays to the particular strength of this restaurant.
The restaurant itself is decorated in the traditional style, complete with red lantern outside. There are, however, no tatami mats. Diners sit either at tables in chairs, or at the bar. Whenever I've been there, the bar seats are filled with Japanese patrons chatting with each other, drinking beer.
The sushi rolls are fine, but the real action is on the first page of the menu. Don't feel put-off by the term 'appetizers'; these are where we build the meat of our meals. You can build a nice, light, but filling, meal here with about five pieces split between two diners. The prices are reasonable enough that, without alcohol, the meal comes in under $30 with tip.
The shumai are delectable. Light without being fluffy, these are about the texture, rather than the taste, which mirrors the texture. The shrimp taste is, in fact, light enough that over-dipping is an issue, so be careful; your care will be rewarded. The octopus is also terrific. Usually, I find octopus to be too rubbery to enjoy. Here, it comes out resembling good scallops; firm without being tough. Again, the flavor is a bit muted, so I eat the pieces unadorned.
Not everything worked for my poor American palate, however. The eggplant was surprisingly bitter, however. If you like that kind of thing, this is the kind of thing you'll like. I doubt it was the preparation, so I'm not entirely sure what to attribute it to. I ended up enjoying it, but only after I had changed my expectations of it. It's less like a latte, and more like black coffee, if that comparison makes sense. The small whole grilled fish (a special), tasting like vastly more intense anchovies, were simply put, too much for me. And while I had high hopes for the lotus root, I was disappointed in the other direction; while the texture was engaging, it was virtually flavorless.
The kushiage are a treat uniformly, however. Well-spiced, well-grilled, we've enjoyed all the ones we've tried thus far. The onion is surprisingly good, as is the cheese. The cheese was a special treat, since Japanese cuisine rarely uses it. This is too bad; cheese cooked according to Japanese techniques comes out very, very well indeed. I understand that the Japanese relate to cheese largely the way Americans relate to silken tofu. So, it's unusual to see in Japanese restaurants. Here, it's well-worth ordering.
The service is more American than traditional Japanese service, and more Japanese than traditional American service. Don't expect to become fast friends with the wait staff, but they're certainly polite, engaged, and efficient.
So long as you can engage it on its own terms, Izakaya Masa makes for an excellent introduction to Japanese (as opposed to Japanese-American) food. Order things you're not sure of, and order a variety for the table to share.
The idea of something being described, by Japanese citizens, as very Japanese seemed odd to us at first. After all, I would be hard pressed to think of something I would describe as very American, unless I meant to be wry about it. But the Japanese folks we met had a very set, distinct idea of what it meant to be Japanese.
(Don't worry, I'll get to the izakaya in a bit.)
Once we were there for a bit, this description made much more sense. We take pride, myself and the Little Lady, in being fairly cosmopolitan, urbane folks. But we were ill-prepared, on the whole, for how....well, Japanese Japan could be. Part of this was fostered by the Japanese dining in San Diego and L.A. We're familiar with many of the Japanese restaurants locally and up in Little Tokyo. Suffice it to say that Japanese food in the U.S. bears only the vaguest family resemblance to Japanese food in Japan.
Izakaya Masa is an admirable halfway house, offering a way for San Diegans to get a better feel for actual Japanese cuisine without forcing American diners outside of their comfort zones. Each time I've eaten there, I've had both pleasant and unpleasant surprises, and the latter are almost more valuable than the former. The izakaya style of dining is nearly ideal for uniting disparate diners, or diners who themselves are in a disparate mood.
Izakayas are rooted, I understand, in sake shops which, over time, began to allow patrons to imbibe in their shops, and started serving food to accompany their wares. As a result, their style of dining resembles, in an odd way, tapas. They tend to serve a variety of small plates, rather than large entrees. In Japan, these restaurants frequently offer all-you-can-eat or all-you-can-drink specials by the hour.
In that way, at least, Izakaya Masa (located on the ground floor of a mini-mall at 928 Fort Stockton Drive) breaks with tradition. They do offer entrees and do not offer all-you-can-consume deals. The latter, I think, is a good choice; I would hazard a guess that such an arrangement, within the American cultural milieu, would have, to be frank, disastrous consequences for both patron and proprietor. The former is a fine choice, but I recommend concentrating on the small dishes, both because I think they're a little bit better, and also because it's more in the Japanese style, which plays to the particular strength of this restaurant.
The restaurant itself is decorated in the traditional style, complete with red lantern outside. There are, however, no tatami mats. Diners sit either at tables in chairs, or at the bar. Whenever I've been there, the bar seats are filled with Japanese patrons chatting with each other, drinking beer.
The sushi rolls are fine, but the real action is on the first page of the menu. Don't feel put-off by the term 'appetizers'; these are where we build the meat of our meals. You can build a nice, light, but filling, meal here with about five pieces split between two diners. The prices are reasonable enough that, without alcohol, the meal comes in under $30 with tip.
The shumai are delectable. Light without being fluffy, these are about the texture, rather than the taste, which mirrors the texture. The shrimp taste is, in fact, light enough that over-dipping is an issue, so be careful; your care will be rewarded. The octopus is also terrific. Usually, I find octopus to be too rubbery to enjoy. Here, it comes out resembling good scallops; firm without being tough. Again, the flavor is a bit muted, so I eat the pieces unadorned.
Not everything worked for my poor American palate, however. The eggplant was surprisingly bitter, however. If you like that kind of thing, this is the kind of thing you'll like. I doubt it was the preparation, so I'm not entirely sure what to attribute it to. I ended up enjoying it, but only after I had changed my expectations of it. It's less like a latte, and more like black coffee, if that comparison makes sense. The small whole grilled fish (a special), tasting like vastly more intense anchovies, were simply put, too much for me. And while I had high hopes for the lotus root, I was disappointed in the other direction; while the texture was engaging, it was virtually flavorless.
The kushiage are a treat uniformly, however. Well-spiced, well-grilled, we've enjoyed all the ones we've tried thus far. The onion is surprisingly good, as is the cheese. The cheese was a special treat, since Japanese cuisine rarely uses it. This is too bad; cheese cooked according to Japanese techniques comes out very, very well indeed. I understand that the Japanese relate to cheese largely the way Americans relate to silken tofu. So, it's unusual to see in Japanese restaurants. Here, it's well-worth ordering.
The service is more American than traditional Japanese service, and more Japanese than traditional American service. Don't expect to become fast friends with the wait staff, but they're certainly polite, engaged, and efficient.
So long as you can engage it on its own terms, Izakaya Masa makes for an excellent introduction to Japanese (as opposed to Japanese-American) food. Order things you're not sure of, and order a variety for the table to share.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Wit's End
With the opening of Hamilton's in South Park, the San Diego bar scene, especially for hipsters, seems to be shifting. The importance of dives, NuNu's, Scolari's, and the Tower, is waning, while bars centered around beer, especially craft beer, is rising. San Diego has always been a good town for brewing, with Alesmith, Stone, and Pizza Port all producing nationally-regarded beer, and this emphasis seems to be affecting bar culture as well. But while Hamilton's has become the favorite destination for the bulk of drinkers who only recently hung up their trucker caps, it doesn't serve food.
And the food at The Wit's End (420 Robinson) is arguably its strength. While the bottled beer selection is tremendous, there are a limited number of (well-chosen) taps. And the bottles are on the pricey side, outside of the 4:20-7:20 happy hour (so timed because of its address, rather than any pharmacology). Despite the way The Wit's End advertises itself, I would recommend looking elsewhere for your craft beer needs (Hamilton's, as well as the estimable Liar's Club), and look to The Wit's End as an honest-to-goodness public house.
Such tremendous resources exist for reviewing beer, that I'll leave it alone, and concentrate on the food, the space, and the people, in reverse order. The service varies tremendously, and I can't figure out what drives the changes. Sometimes, everyone is friendly, quick, and open. Other times, a sensation of...interruption...permeates the room. The restaurant is very much a family operation, and I think the service reflects this for both good and ill. When it's good, it's very good; when it's not, it resembles an awkward family dinner.
The familial vibe extends past the proprietors and to the patrons. Everyone seems to know everyone else. The obvious comparison would usually be "Cheers," but the clientele differs enough for that comparison to hide more than it reveals; rather than the lovable losers of that Boston bar, the patrons of The Wit's End are younger, in their late twenties and early thirties, more affluent (at least in terms of social capital), and further on the left.
In fact, it's hard to talk about this restaurant without bringing politics into the discussion, and not in the way Carlo Petrini would, for example. The Wit's End is a self-consciously lefty space. On the one hand, nearly everywhere in Hillcrest is, at least tacitly. On the other, few restaurants in San Diego have as direct a connection to a partisan position. Me, I find this invigorating, but it's my politics that's being reflected. Republicans, I'm sure, could still get served, even served non-tainted food; but, the Daily Show and Colbert Report are the only shows on the television that will pass un-muted, punctuated by occasional cheers and laughs by all.
Onto the food. It's terrific, almost uniformly. The menu, like any proper pub, emphasizes sandwiches, many of which are grilled on a panini press. They're great. I usually edge towards the pesto chicken, meatloaf or BBQ chicken myself, but the ahi sandwich is good as well.
But don't overlook the salads, especially the grilled ahi salad. I especially recommend the Hawaiian dressing, a lighter option than the traditional creamy dressings. One of the heartiest, cheapest meals on the menu is a large bowl of rice, layered with meatloaf, covered with soup. Sadly, unlike the sandwiches, Gary's Bowl (as it's called) lacks a side.
The soups, by the way, are frequently not-to-be-missed. Fresh, flavorful, and most of all, unexpected. The watermelon gazpacho, when available, is spiked with powerfully tart herb notes courtesy of a surprisingly bright cilantro.
And, unlike most pubs, the food is quite friendly to vegetarians, perhaps courtesy of the above-mentioned lefty slant. A good amount of the sandwiches are centered around fresh veggies, and these are well-designed, not afterthoughts. A few quesadillas and salads round out the non-meat selections.
Overall, it's a great place to meet a friend (although not a group -- the space simply won't fit groups larger than seven at the outside, and usually not more than four) for a casual, tasty meal and a drink.
And the food at The Wit's End (420 Robinson) is arguably its strength. While the bottled beer selection is tremendous, there are a limited number of (well-chosen) taps. And the bottles are on the pricey side, outside of the 4:20-7:20 happy hour (so timed because of its address, rather than any pharmacology). Despite the way The Wit's End advertises itself, I would recommend looking elsewhere for your craft beer needs (Hamilton's, as well as the estimable Liar's Club), and look to The Wit's End as an honest-to-goodness public house.
Such tremendous resources exist for reviewing beer, that I'll leave it alone, and concentrate on the food, the space, and the people, in reverse order. The service varies tremendously, and I can't figure out what drives the changes. Sometimes, everyone is friendly, quick, and open. Other times, a sensation of...interruption...permeates the room. The restaurant is very much a family operation, and I think the service reflects this for both good and ill. When it's good, it's very good; when it's not, it resembles an awkward family dinner.
The familial vibe extends past the proprietors and to the patrons. Everyone seems to know everyone else. The obvious comparison would usually be "Cheers," but the clientele differs enough for that comparison to hide more than it reveals; rather than the lovable losers of that Boston bar, the patrons of The Wit's End are younger, in their late twenties and early thirties, more affluent (at least in terms of social capital), and further on the left.
In fact, it's hard to talk about this restaurant without bringing politics into the discussion, and not in the way Carlo Petrini would, for example. The Wit's End is a self-consciously lefty space. On the one hand, nearly everywhere in Hillcrest is, at least tacitly. On the other, few restaurants in San Diego have as direct a connection to a partisan position. Me, I find this invigorating, but it's my politics that's being reflected. Republicans, I'm sure, could still get served, even served non-tainted food; but, the Daily Show and Colbert Report are the only shows on the television that will pass un-muted, punctuated by occasional cheers and laughs by all.
Onto the food. It's terrific, almost uniformly. The menu, like any proper pub, emphasizes sandwiches, many of which are grilled on a panini press. They're great. I usually edge towards the pesto chicken, meatloaf or BBQ chicken myself, but the ahi sandwich is good as well.
But don't overlook the salads, especially the grilled ahi salad. I especially recommend the Hawaiian dressing, a lighter option than the traditional creamy dressings. One of the heartiest, cheapest meals on the menu is a large bowl of rice, layered with meatloaf, covered with soup. Sadly, unlike the sandwiches, Gary's Bowl (as it's called) lacks a side.
The soups, by the way, are frequently not-to-be-missed. Fresh, flavorful, and most of all, unexpected. The watermelon gazpacho, when available, is spiked with powerfully tart herb notes courtesy of a surprisingly bright cilantro.
And, unlike most pubs, the food is quite friendly to vegetarians, perhaps courtesy of the above-mentioned lefty slant. A good amount of the sandwiches are centered around fresh veggies, and these are well-designed, not afterthoughts. A few quesadillas and salads round out the non-meat selections.
Overall, it's a great place to meet a friend (although not a group -- the space simply won't fit groups larger than seven at the outside, and usually not more than four) for a casual, tasty meal and a drink.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Baby Back Jack's
With Phil's closed for what has come to seem like an eternity (at least for those of us who miss the smell alone -- I understand some of its neighbors fall outside of this category), the search for good BBQ in San Diego continues. Each of the local places has it adherents, and BBQ seems to fall outside of objective judgment. For each fan, a BBQ restaurant will surely have a cognate who dislikes it. I didn't grow up in a BBQ household (both Midatlantic and kosher), so my preferences seem to diverge significantly from the midwestern set. Take that into account when calibrating your tastes.
I've come to enjoy Baby Back Jack's out on University (by The Alibi) quite a bit, in part as an antidote to Phil's. Where Phil's was (and, I suppose, will be) a chaotic mess of a restaurant, all shouting and waiting around communal tables, Baby Back Jack's is quiet and relaxed. Neither Phil's nor Baby Back Jack's is BBQ proper, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Phil's accomplished terrific things with its meat, and Baby Back Jack's works just fine as well, albeit in a different vein.
The first thing to notice is the crowds. There aren't any. Oh, the space is rarely empty, especially around the dinner and lunchtime rush hours. But the space seems to fit the crowd nicely. This is helped by the large outside patio, facing onto University. Positioned as it is vis a vis the bar scene, the people-watching opportunities are high indeed, useful, since the food will take a few minutes to come to you.
The service, in the meantime, is quick and friendly. Counter service rarely impacts me enough to notice it, but in this case, it's hard to avoid. The staff are invariably pleasant and friendly. As often as not, in fact, they sneak in an extra side or dessert for me and the Little Lady, or any guests who we bring.
The menu is relatively small. Ribs, chicken, some sandwiches, including three burgers, and some salads. Note, vegetarians should eat elsewhere; the salads are chock full of meat, and unless you're making a meal of French fries and onion rings (as one of our party did the last time we visited) you will go home unhappy (as the other vegetarian member did). The side dishes, while usually tasty, especially the pineapple-y coleslaw, but not the slimy, slippery onion rings, are a little on the pricey side, unless bundled with a meal.
I'm not sure where this trend has come from, but it's not my favorite. Both here and at the inimitable Crazy Burger on 30th, fries come separately. Who gets a burger without some side? Frankly, who gets a burger without fries? The fries (and burgers) in both cases are excellent, worth paying attention to on their own. But they need not be separated on the menu for them to be separated in our minds.
The ribs are fall-off-the-bone tender, with good flavor and little extra fat. The broiling method, while not as enriching as a long, slow, smoking, produces excellent meat, especially well-browned. The chicken is moist and flavorful, even the white meat; this is one of the few places that ordering the breast side makes sense. The burgers are terrific, and pass my bun test with flying colors.*
The chopped sandwiches are where the meat really shines through. Tangy sauce, just flavoring the meat enough without over-moistening it, good solid meat taste and, more importantly, meaty mouth-feel, while remaining tender and avoiding chewiness. I tend to avoid the au jus, and just go straight for the gusto. The rolls, again, are well-chosen, so that they neither disintegrate not overpower.
This all does come at a price, though. A burger, fries, and a soda will set you back around $10. While there's normally a special, this does seem to be on the high side. That said, the same meal would get into the same money at either Crazy Burger or Phil's (or Lucky Buck's, across the street). If you're looking for the basics, you may want to try Lefty's, which has a surprisingly good burger (and which I'll probably review in a later column). And while the patio is delightful, the indoor accomodations are modest at best.
*The bun test: Buns and patties must be well-calibrated to one another. If the bun falls apart, bad sign. If significant bun is left over once the patty is consumed, bad sign.
I've come to enjoy Baby Back Jack's out on University (by The Alibi) quite a bit, in part as an antidote to Phil's. Where Phil's was (and, I suppose, will be) a chaotic mess of a restaurant, all shouting and waiting around communal tables, Baby Back Jack's is quiet and relaxed. Neither Phil's nor Baby Back Jack's is BBQ proper, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Phil's accomplished terrific things with its meat, and Baby Back Jack's works just fine as well, albeit in a different vein.
The first thing to notice is the crowds. There aren't any. Oh, the space is rarely empty, especially around the dinner and lunchtime rush hours. But the space seems to fit the crowd nicely. This is helped by the large outside patio, facing onto University. Positioned as it is vis a vis the bar scene, the people-watching opportunities are high indeed, useful, since the food will take a few minutes to come to you.
The service, in the meantime, is quick and friendly. Counter service rarely impacts me enough to notice it, but in this case, it's hard to avoid. The staff are invariably pleasant and friendly. As often as not, in fact, they sneak in an extra side or dessert for me and the Little Lady, or any guests who we bring.
The menu is relatively small. Ribs, chicken, some sandwiches, including three burgers, and some salads. Note, vegetarians should eat elsewhere; the salads are chock full of meat, and unless you're making a meal of French fries and onion rings (as one of our party did the last time we visited) you will go home unhappy (as the other vegetarian member did). The side dishes, while usually tasty, especially the pineapple-y coleslaw, but not the slimy, slippery onion rings, are a little on the pricey side, unless bundled with a meal.
I'm not sure where this trend has come from, but it's not my favorite. Both here and at the inimitable Crazy Burger on 30th, fries come separately. Who gets a burger without some side? Frankly, who gets a burger without fries? The fries (and burgers) in both cases are excellent, worth paying attention to on their own. But they need not be separated on the menu for them to be separated in our minds.
The ribs are fall-off-the-bone tender, with good flavor and little extra fat. The broiling method, while not as enriching as a long, slow, smoking, produces excellent meat, especially well-browned. The chicken is moist and flavorful, even the white meat; this is one of the few places that ordering the breast side makes sense. The burgers are terrific, and pass my bun test with flying colors.*
The chopped sandwiches are where the meat really shines through. Tangy sauce, just flavoring the meat enough without over-moistening it, good solid meat taste and, more importantly, meaty mouth-feel, while remaining tender and avoiding chewiness. I tend to avoid the au jus, and just go straight for the gusto. The rolls, again, are well-chosen, so that they neither disintegrate not overpower.
This all does come at a price, though. A burger, fries, and a soda will set you back around $10. While there's normally a special, this does seem to be on the high side. That said, the same meal would get into the same money at either Crazy Burger or Phil's (or Lucky Buck's, across the street). If you're looking for the basics, you may want to try Lefty's, which has a surprisingly good burger (and which I'll probably review in a later column). And while the patio is delightful, the indoor accomodations are modest at best.
*The bun test: Buns and patties must be well-calibrated to one another. If the bun falls apart, bad sign. If significant bun is left over once the patty is consumed, bad sign.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Cabais Mexi-Deli
Food reviewers and food critics can be separated, to my mind, by their response to restaurants like Cabais. The job of a critic is to develop a critique of a restaurant, and to push, either explicitly or implicitly, for the development of a preferred approach to food. That preferred approach need not be doctrinaire or simple-minded; plenty of critics have well-developed models of restaurants that are much more sophisticated than a simple credo of, "Fancier is better," as I worry undergirds much distrust of food critics.*
A reviewer's job is more simple. They just say whether they liked a meal. They say why they liked it, or why they didn't. They try and give some context so that the reader can make their own evaluation, both of the restaurant in question, and the reviewer's and preferences. I see my role as a reviewer, rather than a critic, which informs the way I approach somewhere like Cabais.
Located on Fourth, between University and Washington, Cabais occupies an exceedingly modest physical plant. The menu reads no differently than most small Mexican kitchens in San Diego: a mix between sandwiches and Americanized Mexican food. A large chalkboard on the sidewalk tells you the special and the soup for the day. The tables are smallish, and the chairs moderately comfortable. It's usually packed, especially at lunchtime. In this case, the demos is correct.
I eat at Cabais at least four times a week; obviously, then, I enjoy it. It's virtues, for me, are three-fold: the food is tastier than it should be for the price, the service is pleasant, and it's about a block from my apartment. For me, Cabais is nearly perfect as a lunchtime deli.
The food is uniformly tasty, and, most importantly, fresh. The tortillas taste like, well, tortillas (incidentally, it wasn't until I moved to San Diego from the East Coast some years ago that I realized that tortillas even could have a taste), fresh and chewy. The chicken, available in a number of configuration, is tender and moist, usually with a nice, mild char on the outside. The salads, while largely unadventurous, are large and tasty, if a bit too heavy on green-leaf lettuce.
Moreover, this fresh, tasty food is cheap. Cheap, cheap, cheap. Four bucks for a burrito and chips. Five and change for a sandwich and fruit. Combination plates top out around seven bucks, and they include rice and beans.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, is greasy. This is my test of a low-budget restaurant -- if they can only buy taste at the cost of grease, that indicates that the ingredients cannot stand on their own. A greasy meal is particularly problematic at lunch; lunchtime is a time for a meal that perks you up, sets you back on your feet, rather than one that weighs you down, and drifts you into that nap you want around three o'clock.
Obviously, this is not haute cuisine. The atmosphere is deli-like. The menu is basically boring. The food, while fresh and tasty, has no statement to make, or bold ingredients; this is food you already know, rather than food that pushes you into new directions.
But, taken on its own terms, Cabais succeeds brilliantly. It serves the Hillcrest masses better food than they should be able to get for that money, and with a smile.
* As a side note, I have never understood the venom directed against Naomi Wise's review in the San Diego Reader (http://www.sdreader.com). She strikes me as a tremendously sympathetic critic, willing to engage restaurants largely on their own terms. Moreover, so long as the nigh-unreadable Duncan Shepard continues to write the movie reviews, it hardly seems fair to accuse Naomi of snobbishness.
A reviewer's job is more simple. They just say whether they liked a meal. They say why they liked it, or why they didn't. They try and give some context so that the reader can make their own evaluation, both of the restaurant in question, and the reviewer's and preferences. I see my role as a reviewer, rather than a critic, which informs the way I approach somewhere like Cabais.
Located on Fourth, between University and Washington, Cabais occupies an exceedingly modest physical plant. The menu reads no differently than most small Mexican kitchens in San Diego: a mix between sandwiches and Americanized Mexican food. A large chalkboard on the sidewalk tells you the special and the soup for the day. The tables are smallish, and the chairs moderately comfortable. It's usually packed, especially at lunchtime. In this case, the demos is correct.
I eat at Cabais at least four times a week; obviously, then, I enjoy it. It's virtues, for me, are three-fold: the food is tastier than it should be for the price, the service is pleasant, and it's about a block from my apartment. For me, Cabais is nearly perfect as a lunchtime deli.
The food is uniformly tasty, and, most importantly, fresh. The tortillas taste like, well, tortillas (incidentally, it wasn't until I moved to San Diego from the East Coast some years ago that I realized that tortillas even could have a taste), fresh and chewy. The chicken, available in a number of configuration, is tender and moist, usually with a nice, mild char on the outside. The salads, while largely unadventurous, are large and tasty, if a bit too heavy on green-leaf lettuce.
Moreover, this fresh, tasty food is cheap. Cheap, cheap, cheap. Four bucks for a burrito and chips. Five and change for a sandwich and fruit. Combination plates top out around seven bucks, and they include rice and beans.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, is greasy. This is my test of a low-budget restaurant -- if they can only buy taste at the cost of grease, that indicates that the ingredients cannot stand on their own. A greasy meal is particularly problematic at lunch; lunchtime is a time for a meal that perks you up, sets you back on your feet, rather than one that weighs you down, and drifts you into that nap you want around three o'clock.
Obviously, this is not haute cuisine. The atmosphere is deli-like. The menu is basically boring. The food, while fresh and tasty, has no statement to make, or bold ingredients; this is food you already know, rather than food that pushes you into new directions.
But, taken on its own terms, Cabais succeeds brilliantly. It serves the Hillcrest masses better food than they should be able to get for that money, and with a smile.
* As a side note, I have never understood the venom directed against Naomi Wise's review in the San Diego Reader (http://www.sdreader.com). She strikes me as a tremendously sympathetic critic, willing to engage restaurants largely on their own terms. Moreover, so long as the nigh-unreadable Duncan Shepard continues to write the movie reviews, it hardly seems fair to accuse Naomi of snobbishness.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Mission (North Park)
On the one hand, it seems pointless to review The Mission. It's the very definition of a review-proof restaurant; no matter what I say, good or bad, it'll be just as crowded tomorrow morning. On the other hand, I do think it makes sense to drop in on old favorites every so often to check back in with them. Restaurants change over time; menus change, kitchens change, service philosophies change (well, at least, outside of Hob Nob Hill, these things all change). That said, The Mission is exactly as I remember it from the past five years: tasty and cheap, with a dash of pretension for leavening.
Unless you eat late (and by late, I mean around one -- The Mission closes in the early afternoon), expect a wait. The Mission doesn't take reservations, a policy that many restaurants follow, but has never made sense to me. Is it supposed to be more relaxing? More convenient? It fails at both. Fortunately, we only had to wait for fifteen minutes before being seated.
I never feel like lingering in the North Park Mission's room; it's big and open, and therefore deafening. The seating is uncomfortable, although not distractingly so if you're only there for your meal. The large windows fronting onto University would seem like a better people-watching opportunity than it is; despite claims of North Park's resurgence, it seems limited to a small number of blocks, just a little east of where you can see. Check out the rotating artwork instead.
Service varies. Servers are usually friendly enough and prompt enough, but some visits you'll get your refills on coffee (and the Little Lady claims the coffee here is excellent, even the decaf) quickly, and some you won't. I suggest going with the flow; certainly, I never see servers hanging around, looking bored while their tables go unattended. The kitchen is speedy, so you'll rarely have to wait long once you've ordered.
The Mission specializes in coffee drinks of various flavors and egg dishes, frequently with a mild Mexican influence. That said, I rarely see people order either; for whatever reason, pancakes or the Papas Locos (potatoes, black beans, jalapenos, sour cream and salsa fresca) and Jones's soda seems to be a more frequent combination. Whatever the reason, the food is solid, a metaphor I mean in two ways. First, it's solidly dependable. While it rarely soars in execution, it rarely disappoints either. One advantage to The Mission's unchanging ways is the kitchen knows what it's doing. The second is that the food itself is heavy, especially breakfast, surprisingly so for the atmosphere, which, at least to my mind, suggests lighter fare. While not in the same league as, say Hash House A-Go Go, don't expect to clear your breakfast plate.
Lunch dishes are another story entirely. Light, and at least occasionally popping with bright herbal flavors, the afternoon meal seems to come from an entirely different universe. The sandwiches are served on a hearty, flavorful rosemary bread, and emphasize fresh, bright tastes, if not textures. The soup especially, at least the last time I had it, some months ago, tastes as if the main ingredients were herbs, rather than vegetables; while certainly not a complaint (I loved it), it is something to be aware of.
Prices are certainly reasonable, especially given what I suspect the owners could charge without damaging business. Virtually nothing over ten bucks, unless you start adding eggs and potatoes or sausage or bacon to your pancakes (and while I've had the French toast and potatoes before, it's a mistake; trust me). Refills of basic coffee and soda (including Powerade, for some odd reason) are free, if, as mentioned, occasionally challenging to obtain.
Despite it's review-proof nature, I think it is important to remember exactly what The Mission is; rather than treating it as an all-purpose brunch standby (as I think a large proportion of the uptown population seems to), I think The Mission should be gone to when you're hungrier, and poorer, than normal.
Unless you eat late (and by late, I mean around one -- The Mission closes in the early afternoon), expect a wait. The Mission doesn't take reservations, a policy that many restaurants follow, but has never made sense to me. Is it supposed to be more relaxing? More convenient? It fails at both. Fortunately, we only had to wait for fifteen minutes before being seated.
I never feel like lingering in the North Park Mission's room; it's big and open, and therefore deafening. The seating is uncomfortable, although not distractingly so if you're only there for your meal. The large windows fronting onto University would seem like a better people-watching opportunity than it is; despite claims of North Park's resurgence, it seems limited to a small number of blocks, just a little east of where you can see. Check out the rotating artwork instead.
Service varies. Servers are usually friendly enough and prompt enough, but some visits you'll get your refills on coffee (and the Little Lady claims the coffee here is excellent, even the decaf) quickly, and some you won't. I suggest going with the flow; certainly, I never see servers hanging around, looking bored while their tables go unattended. The kitchen is speedy, so you'll rarely have to wait long once you've ordered.
The Mission specializes in coffee drinks of various flavors and egg dishes, frequently with a mild Mexican influence. That said, I rarely see people order either; for whatever reason, pancakes or the Papas Locos (potatoes, black beans, jalapenos, sour cream and salsa fresca) and Jones's soda seems to be a more frequent combination. Whatever the reason, the food is solid, a metaphor I mean in two ways. First, it's solidly dependable. While it rarely soars in execution, it rarely disappoints either. One advantage to The Mission's unchanging ways is the kitchen knows what it's doing. The second is that the food itself is heavy, especially breakfast, surprisingly so for the atmosphere, which, at least to my mind, suggests lighter fare. While not in the same league as, say Hash House A-Go Go, don't expect to clear your breakfast plate.
Lunch dishes are another story entirely. Light, and at least occasionally popping with bright herbal flavors, the afternoon meal seems to come from an entirely different universe. The sandwiches are served on a hearty, flavorful rosemary bread, and emphasize fresh, bright tastes, if not textures. The soup especially, at least the last time I had it, some months ago, tastes as if the main ingredients were herbs, rather than vegetables; while certainly not a complaint (I loved it), it is something to be aware of.
Prices are certainly reasonable, especially given what I suspect the owners could charge without damaging business. Virtually nothing over ten bucks, unless you start adding eggs and potatoes or sausage or bacon to your pancakes (and while I've had the French toast and potatoes before, it's a mistake; trust me). Refills of basic coffee and soda (including Powerade, for some odd reason) are free, if, as mentioned, occasionally challenging to obtain.
Despite it's review-proof nature, I think it is important to remember exactly what The Mission is; rather than treating it as an all-purpose brunch standby (as I think a large proportion of the uptown population seems to), I think The Mission should be gone to when you're hungrier, and poorer, than normal.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Cafe Ichiban (on the rocks)
The Little Lady and I recently noticed that the Italian place we had never liked (Anitco Toscano) on University (1288 University Avenue) closed, and that an offshoot of Ichiban had opened in its place. Always looking for new, cheap sushi, we were excited. After having eaten there, while I'll probably go back, I won't hurry. The restaurant seems to be going through some growing pains -- treat this review as provisional until they have a chance to get their feet under them.
We started with the spicy Miso chicken wings. The wings were nice; plump, tasty, tangy, although I would hardly call them spicy. Unfortunately, as we were enjoying them, our soup, salad, and entrees all arrived. More on that in a second.
The soup (virtually everything comes with soup and salad) was a nice version of miso. A few cubes of soft tofu and some squares of seaweed provided a pleasant contrast to the mild miso taste of the broth itself. The salad was most notable for its dressing. Thick and surprisingly acid, it was a variation on the peanut dressing frequently found at Japanese restaurants.
We had selected a hibachi dish and the Up Town Skewers. We should have gone for the sushi. All of the food came out at nearly the same time, leaving the entrees time to cool. The hibachi made it through the delay reasonably well, since it was served on a cast-iron skillet. The skewers, much less well. Cold chicken and shrimp are simply less appetizing than they might have been. When asked, our server said that this timing was purposeful; she didn't want one diner eating while the other had nothing in front of them. So close to thoughtful, and yet, so far.
The hibachi dish -- chicken in a garlic sauce -- was nice. The chicken itself was nothing special, but the bed of udon noodles underneath it was delicious, having absorbed most of the garlic sauce. The fried rice was also nice, but, again, nothing noteworthy.
The skewers would have been lovely if served at the appropriate time. Two chicken skewers, two shrimp skewers, served in a Deborah Scott-inspired architecture of crunch and shriacha. The dipping sauces (the menu claims three, although only two arrived) were pleasant, although difficult to distinguish from one another. Both dark and sweet, they helped the chicken more than the shrimp, which was more delicately spiced than the chicken thighs.
In contrast to the kitchen, the service was astonishingly well-structured. They were there when we wanted them, gone when we didn't. Moreover, while our table had our own server, anyone passing by usually checked in on us, to refill drinks and clear dishes.
Overall, as I said, I would return, although I won't hurry. I think the sushi would have responded better to the kitchen's quirky timing, which itself I hope part of the growing pains of a new opening.
We started with the spicy Miso chicken wings. The wings were nice; plump, tasty, tangy, although I would hardly call them spicy. Unfortunately, as we were enjoying them, our soup, salad, and entrees all arrived. More on that in a second.
The soup (virtually everything comes with soup and salad) was a nice version of miso. A few cubes of soft tofu and some squares of seaweed provided a pleasant contrast to the mild miso taste of the broth itself. The salad was most notable for its dressing. Thick and surprisingly acid, it was a variation on the peanut dressing frequently found at Japanese restaurants.
We had selected a hibachi dish and the Up Town Skewers. We should have gone for the sushi. All of the food came out at nearly the same time, leaving the entrees time to cool. The hibachi made it through the delay reasonably well, since it was served on a cast-iron skillet. The skewers, much less well. Cold chicken and shrimp are simply less appetizing than they might have been. When asked, our server said that this timing was purposeful; she didn't want one diner eating while the other had nothing in front of them. So close to thoughtful, and yet, so far.
The hibachi dish -- chicken in a garlic sauce -- was nice. The chicken itself was nothing special, but the bed of udon noodles underneath it was delicious, having absorbed most of the garlic sauce. The fried rice was also nice, but, again, nothing noteworthy.
The skewers would have been lovely if served at the appropriate time. Two chicken skewers, two shrimp skewers, served in a Deborah Scott-inspired architecture of crunch and shriacha. The dipping sauces (the menu claims three, although only two arrived) were pleasant, although difficult to distinguish from one another. Both dark and sweet, they helped the chicken more than the shrimp, which was more delicately spiced than the chicken thighs.
In contrast to the kitchen, the service was astonishingly well-structured. They were there when we wanted them, gone when we didn't. Moreover, while our table had our own server, anyone passing by usually checked in on us, to refill drinks and clear dishes.
Overall, as I said, I would return, although I won't hurry. I think the sushi would have responded better to the kitchen's quirky timing, which itself I hope part of the growing pains of a new opening.
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