Eclipse Chocolate - South Park, San Diego

Total Eclipse of the Heart

I hadn’t visited Eclipse Chocolate since they moved their shop from North to South Park, and even though I’d become a devout fan of their eclectic, homemade chocolate bars – hazelnut chili, espresso walnut, sweet basil mint, blackberry sage – what really blew me away was their take on brunch.

The idea: Everything had an element of chocolate, vanilla or caramel.
The deal: Three plates for $16 (one entrée and two small plates).
The challenge: Executing a sweet and savory menu chockfull of culinary catch 22s.

Sips
Drinking chocolate: This would send Swiss Miss packing back to the Alps…or at least the powdered drink aisle. This mixture of melted chocolate with just enough milk to make it drinkable (our pick: sea salt caramel) could have saved Augustus Gloop from getting sucked up Wonka's extraction chute because this chocolate river was flowing with the strength of Niagara Falls and guzzling its stream was highly encouraged. Steam waved at us from the goldfish bowl-of-a-cup that held two, perfectly square marshmallows, whose handcrafted edges summoned the same pleasure of swallowing a snowflake’s individual design.




Then along came Mary...

I went for the Barley spirit bloody Mary speckled with black pepper and a cache of condiments (pickled cauliflower, red pepper, golden beet), distracting me from my first instinct of ordering a champagne drink, which I longed for after I realized something about Mary – all that flare still didn’t float my boat as much as a bit of bubbly.

Eats
Small plates
NOTE: Cocoa glazed bacon is not chocolate dipped bacon, but instead similar to the concept of caramelized or maple bacon. Chocolate’s earthy sweetness was present in a dusting of cocoa, but bacon’s salty smoke was still head hog.

‘Sup with the soup?: I chose the French onion instead of carrot-ginger soup, but when a glass tumbler arrived with none of the browned, cheesy adhesions I’d expected, I was disappointed. Instead, a stiff wafer of cheese fit inside the mouth of the glass like a circular dam and a handful of rough-cut croutons were arranged on the saucer like sugar cubes. But after they were dropped in, it was hard to keep the “dairy disc” sideways while bobbing for croutons.



I longed for the usual stringy octopus of gruyere and mozzarella suctioned to every surface, but I forgave this momentarily as my first spoonful of broth sang with rich notes of caramelized, vegetable sweetness…before being drowned out by the overpowering punch of sugar from the croutons. Someone should've stepped in and given this soup an intervention because it came from good (vegetable) stock, but still needed more tweaks than a meth-head.

Citrus and vanilla potatoes: These wedges came coated with tart bursts of orange and scented with a thin veil of vanilla that lightly traced itself into every bite = orange blossom for the palate. These could have blown me away if it weren’t for two things:
1) They needed to be much crispier – sog city.
2) They needed to be much warmer (all of the food was somewhat cold, which was a BIG problem).

Entrées
Building a better Ben-addict: When I didn’t miss my English muffin, I eyed the buttermilk toast suspiciously before admitting that not only did this toast strum some tang on the tongue, but its foundation was sturdy enough to hold whatever my architectural eye could design:



Build-a-Benedict: Buttermilk toast + soft poached egg + chive + choice of topping + choice of sauce:

Toppings:
*Avocado with vanilla bean sea-salted avocado*
Brown sugar pulled pork
Cocoa glazed bacon

Sauces:
*Chili burnt caramel hollandaise*
Brute cocoa mole
Spicy pork sausage gravy

*My design*: I felt like a naturalist coming upon a rare nest as I prodded the soft poached egg tucked along the uneven seams of mashed avocado. I loved fooling myself into thinking I was eating healthy by ordering a "veggie benedict", but once I started lapping up the puddle of caramel hollandaise, I had to give up the charade. Every element hit its mark with surprising accuracy and I was shocked that I didn’t miss the meat, but then again, my ben-addict brain was already designing my next blueprint: the pulled pork and cocoa mole project.

Blueberry stuffed French toast: Picture an ordinary sandwich. Now, replace the bread with two pieces of buttermilk French toast and stuff the insides with a blend of mascarpone and blueberries. Cinnamon-sugar boulders, akin to crumb cake topping, cascade down the side and you realize: this isn’t your average stuffed French toast. No - this guy was in another genre altogether - under the “PB&J iconic sandwiches” category. Watch your back, Fluffernutter...French-n-berry is coming to get ya.

Total Eclipse: Overall, I was seriously impressed with Eclipse’s control over a potentially disastrous menu that not only worked, but embraced the limitless possibility of their niche business. Most chocolate shops stay just that – chocolate shops - but Eclipse’s expansion outside the dessert world breathed life into their brunch and took it a step further with their ever-changing, monthly dinners that continued to test the boundaries of sweet and savory marriages ($30 for three courses). I guess the song was right after all…the Candy Man can.

Be Our Guest – Magic Kingdom, Disney World (Orlando, FL)

The Beast had made it clear that no one was to enter the West Wing, no matter what. That’s why my mother and I were shocked when the woman, tidily fitted in traditional footman’s garb with black buckle-shoes and knee-socks, said we’d be supping there.

Beauty and Beast was the overwhelming theme in Disney World’s “New Fantasyland”, including a glimpse of Belle’s home in the distance and Gaston’s Pub next door, serving pork shanks and a disgusting sounding concoction of apple juice and marshmallows, but the crown jewel was the sit-down restaurant in the Beast’s castle – Be Our Guest.


(pic from Disney's website)

Ballroom Blitz: Heaviness loomed over the Beast's fortress: rod iron gates creaked open only long enough to let us pass and massive gargoyles guarded the entrance with their stony, animal stare. But one step inside was like landing on the sun. The dark, brooding exterior fell away into the blinding light of the Grand Ballroom, where tidy rows of tables took on the appearance of an orderly vegetable garden sprouting mahogany legs and place settings. Illuminated reflections from overhead chandeliers bounced off marble walls the color of French vanilla, contrasting the outline of royal blue mountains and gentle snow falling outside the enormous, glass panes at the far end of the ballroom.

Gallery Glimpse: To the right, our “foot-woman” presented another dining room, the Rose Gallery - its centerpiece a grandiose music box topped with Belle and the Beast’s dancing figures - but she turned on her heel and informed us that we’d be dining in the most coveted area…the West Wing.

Winging it: Thunder clapped and lighting electrified the room, enough to see that fabrics were slashed and the portrait of a young man above the fireplace was torn to shreds (on certain lighting/thunder claps, the man morphed into the Beast for just a second). The storm visibly raged outside the corner window, where the eye was drawn to the dwindling, digital petals under protected glass…the sacred rose. No time to lose!


(Sorry for dark pic, but the Beast didn't allow much light!)

Beast Feast

Boozey and the Beast: The Magic Kingdom finally got the memo that spending 10 hours a day with your children, while standing on endless lines in the Florida heat requires some alcohol...well, at least some wine and beer. A glass of Beaujolais with the Beast – don’t mind if I do!

Soup’s On: I never expected much when it came to the food at the Magic Kingdom (I was usually sucking on soggy pizza at Pinocchio’s Village Haus by now), but I was pleasantly surprised with the French onion soup: cheesy, salty and the perfect ratio of bread to broth. The potato/leek soup also drew me in with its velvety, liquid blanket of hearty, creamed comfort that I coveted after traveling.

Hen game: I was just lifting my spoon for the first bite of soup when our entrees appeared – two crispy-skinned, Cornish game hens accompanied with veggies and a miniature pitcher of jus. The food runner dropped them at the table and left before we could say anything, so when we saw our waitress a few minutes later, we asked if the hens could be taken away until we were done with our soup. No problem.

She assured us that our entrees wouldn’t arrive until our soup was cleared, so we laughed when seconds later another food runner hastily dropped off another set of hens, and quickly disappeared. Though it seemed like a bad comedy routine, it went along with the general feeling of being rushed. Our soup arrived about five minutes before our wine and it was no secret that Disney World had many mouths to feed…honestly, we were just happy to have a table. Bring on the birds!

Game on: The hens were a little dry (probably from sitting under the heat lamp a couple times) and they definitely could use a little mojo = add mo’ jus! I wish a mini-pitcher of jus accompanied every meal as a “jus-t” in case. It added the moisture and the saltiness I craved, and even brought some extra enticement to the well-seasoned, fingerling potatoes like a dab of cologne behind the ears.

Dessert Cart(ier): I love myself some Disney, but there’s always a money-making angle. “Belle’s favorite cream puff” and a lemon meringue cupcake that, “Lumiere bruleed himself” were among some of the options, but I couldn’t deny that Disney knew how to sell a product. The dessert cart flaunted its visual enticement of pastries under glass, weaving around the room like the Pope mobile, where patrons craned their necks for a glimpse of glucose on wheels. This movable jewelry case of confections displayed its desserts like fine gems, propped upon black velvet, where the colors of rubies and topaz were all edible designs. The passion fruit cream puff was aptly named after Belle as it was truly a thing of beauty with its fuschia insides and powdered puff exterior that had enough sugar to fuel Buzz Lightyear's rocket pack.

The Odd Couple: As we exited the iron gates, I realized that Beauty and the Beast's dynamic was an exact metaphor for how I felt about Disney World as a whole.

There was Beauty: that moment where I felt like a kid that just snorted Pixie Stix (known as Pixie Dust on the Disney streets) as soon as I entered Disney's gates and considered getting some ridiculous hat before running in all directions while pointing to every ride that I needed to visit. That feeling never went away - even at 35, I was still as giddy as a Goofy.



Then there was the Beast: the dark side, the money-making machine that was Disney. They’d throw in any ludacris prop imaginable if they thought it would sell at the gift shop – don’t even get me started about The Carousel of Progress where they stuck a giant foam, red, white and blue top hat on the uncle in the bathtub during the 1920’s sequence – huh? *available for purchase when exiting*

Like Oscar and Felix, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat – opposites attract and this pair made us feel like welcome dinner guests in a land of make believe. Looks like Beauty won out yet again...well played Disney, well played.

Sage at the Aria Hotel - Las Vegas (NV)

Sage Advice

Ok, maybe making an 8pm reservation at Sage wasn’t the smartest idea since we’d been drinking margaritas by the pool all day and were feeling a bit woozy, but this was Vegas and we needed to wake up – nothing like a four-course tasting menu to get you perky!!

Fabrics and draperies thicker than the coat on my tongue padded Sage’s salon, running parallel to a backlit bar whose quiet cosmopolitan glow worked its way down to the entrance of a shockingly dark dining room with heavy woods and a bluish-purple light filtering across the floor.

We were led to a carved out niche that gave us total privacy, but my chair was skinnier than Kate Moss and this model didn’t have any arms. An enormous raised base at the bottom of the table forced us to either rest our feet on top or keep one leg to either side of the giant mound, and neither were optimal choices. I hated to make a mountain out of a molehill, but this hump put me in a slump (literally) and made my body feel heavy before any food touched my lips (sometimes little details are big ones).

CHEF SHAWN MCCLAIN’S SIGNATURE MENU ($89)
WINE/ BEER PAIRING ($44)

1ST COURSE


MARKET OYSTERS: Piquillo Pepper and Tabasco Sorbet, Aged Tequila Mignonette
I got so distracted by the idea of Tabasco sorbet that I ignored the shaved pear and Brussels sprouts salad with bacon-mustard vinaigrette and foie gras brulee – damn! But even though I didn’t order the brulee, I still got burned. The thick, semi-frozen liquid that Sage was calling sorbet created what looked like a bloody crime scene atop the oyster. It was clearly death by suffocation as the delicate oyster was smothered by a thick blanket of red, plasma-like fluid that hadn’t set properly and didn’t resemble the icy palate cleanser in any way.



WAGYU BEEF TARTAR: Crushed Caper Aioli, Slow Poached Egg/Crispy Chocolate
After a few bites of the tartar, Bubba said, “This reminds me of raw hamburger meat.” I really couldn’t disagree. The knife cuts were clunky and chunky, so when the large cubes of beef were mixed with the richness of egg yolk, it became of wet ball of meaty goo that sat like a lead balloon in our stomachs = Wag-goo.


2ND COURSE


MAINE DAYBOAT SCALLOPS: Braised Oxtail, Wild Mushrooms, Salted Caramel Reduction
Bubba adored his scallops and I wish I could have followed suit because they looked like the best thing to hit the table so far. But to me, scallops were like a hot guy that I just couldn’t stand – I wished I could like them, but there was no chemistry. That didn’t mean I wasn’t coveting their caramelized edges poised atop shredded oxtail and mingling between broccoli’s crunch and an earthy balance of mushrooms. The salted caramel reduction brought out the scallops’ inherent sweetness with a dose of salt that kept it savory.

GRILLED SPANISH OCTOPUS: Smoked Potato Puree, Romesco, Marcona Almond (no pic available)
They’d gotten a hold on the octopus as far as its tender texture, but the overwhelming abundance of smoke from the potato puree blurred the rest of the dish and blinded my taste-buds from identifying any flavor (other than sour grapes) after the first bite. Sour grapes + octopus = sourpuss.


3RD COURSE


AUSTRALIAN WAGYU SIRLOIN: La Ratte Potato Puree, Red Onion Jam, Confit Baby Radish (SUPPLEMENT $15)
I went with the Wagyu, hoping I’d have better luck with this than with the tartar, and apparently, all that meat needed was a little heat because this raised the steak to a whole new level. Pureed potatoes sat puffed up like starchy whipped cream and completed this picture-perfect “meat and potatoes” portrait, even if it wasn’t that original.



48 HOUR BEEF BELLY: Caraway Spiced Heirloom Squash, Roasted Quince
48 hour beef belly? More like 48 hour fatback. This was layered like lasagna with sheets of glistening fat and cross-stitched with cellulite. There was no specific part to cut off because it was all infected. Talk about a whole different animal (literally) than my precious pork belly…this could take some time to get used to, and 48 hours clearly wasn’t enough.


4TH COURSE


GIANDUJA PAVE: Olive Oil Ice Cream, Hazelnut Crunch, Basil Jam
This won “Best in Show” for the entire meal and could have been entered into an edible art exhibit. Every accent looked as if it had naturally fallen there like finding a piece of sea glass in the sand or a washed up piece of driftwood while walking along the beach. Instead, it was a walk along a chocolate beam where I collected bites of hazelnut crunchies, scooped up dabs of basil jam and took a dip in olive oil ice cream, all cataloged in my mind's scrapbook as some of Vegas’ most precious, local specimens.



PISTACHIO TART: Sautéed Strawberries, Honeyed Mascarpone, Strawberry-Black Pepper Gelato
This was another inspired idea that fell short when it came to execution. Promises of peppery gelato – poppycock! There was nothing peppery about this ice cream, which made me all the saltier. The heavy discus of pistachio also fell short (and hard) with a dry, dense quality whose taste wasn't worth the weight...or the wait. Check please!

My Sage advice: Well, it looked like the house won again. I'd recommend dropping into Sage for a drink at the bar and possibly dessert, but the only tables worth hitting here, were the betting tables.

Fig Tree Cafe (Hillcrest) - San Diego, Ca

A Tree grows in Hillcrest
I guess MLK really liked his eggs because whenever his designated day rolled around, everyone celebrated by going out to breakfast. Well, that’s how it seemed when Tiff and I spotted a Disneyland-like line outside of Snooze before hearing there was an hour wait. Since we’d just dumped all of our change into the meter, we needed a close by contender to make up for our nickel-less knickers and rounding the corner, there was Fig Tree.

Tree huggers: A metal railing lassoed sidewalk tables, but missed us as we ducked into Fig Tree's narrow corridor comprised of exposed brick on the right, and stocked, wooden wine shelves stretching to the ceiling on the left, leaking enough space between bottles to peek in the dining room. And it was packed. Luckily, we spotted a couple of open seats at the bar that gave us an up-close-and-personal glimpse into the kitchen and an aerial view of the dining room’s marriage of metal and Mother Nature.

There was a raw element to Fig Tree, especially the back wall of brushed concrete showcasing a super-sized, steel square of industrial art, whose hole-punched front displayed a flourishing tree when lit up at night (almost like a new age Light-Brite). Exposed, Edison-style light bulbs and coarse, thick rope wound around overhead lights brought a little tangled chaos to the clean edge. I felt like I was in the nest of a very stylish bird.

Eats

Meatloaf Hash: three eggs any style + spinach + diced meatloaf + pesto + house potatoes

We were tempted to try some “man candy” (thick bacon + brown sugar + paprika), but decided to hit a heartier note with the meatloaf hash. I wouldn’t necessarily say the potatoes were crispy, though they were well-seasoned and added some needed texture, but it was the pesto finish that gave this hash a more potent high than THC, keeping the beef incredibly moist, while adding some herbaceous depth. A few loose leaves of spinach let me pretend this was healthy, but all I really had my eye on were the eggs.

I have to admit that I’m a total egg snob and rarely order them out because I’m always disappointed, but these over easy eggs were like angels’ eyeballs…and I couldn’t wait to poke them out. The whites were at that almost never achieved point of completely cooked, but still buttery without brown edges and the yolks could have won a marathon with the way they ran. Loaded on a piece of sourdough, I’m talking serious egg ecstasy (it probably helped that Fig Tree bought their eggs fresh from Ramona).


Flatbread: mozzarella + braised short ribs + rosemary potatoes + horseradish crème fraiche

As hard as I am on eggs, I’m even a worse critic of crust - I’m talking Judge Judy level of scrutiny here. Fig Tree called this flatbread, but to me, it tasted like some serious east coast style, pizza crust*. Its thin profile was barely puffed from the pizza oven, but the heat had formed a simple sturdiness and the rare ability to hold its shape – no front nose-flops here!

Besides holding its shape (and my attention), the crust stayed solid under the bulk of meat and potatoes. The short rib was aptly named because it fell a little short in the flavor department and its thin slices were overshadowed by the sizzling “carb on carb” action taking place between the crust and rosemary potatoes. Though, the horseradish crème fraiche worked its sensory magic of heating the tongue, yet cooling in the same instant and spicing up the somewhat timid short rib.

*They also offer pizza, but the crust looked a bit thicker.

Strange fruit: I was happy with our choices, but for some reason I couldn’t see myself choosing Fig Tree when planning an “eating outing” – can’t really say why. We hit high points and not necessarily any lows, but I was left with the feeling that it was just “ok”. Fig Tree reminded me of a likeable booty call. I’d remember them fondly when they were brought up, even if I had no plans on seeing them again soon. But if I was in the area and feeling a little hungry, I’d definitely hit them up…because I had to admit, they had some tasty junk in the Fig Tree trunk.

Addison's at the Grand Del Mar - San Diego

Addison’s earns its stars

Author’s Note: Apparently Bubba and I have a curse with the disappearance of pictures from important dinners. The day after we were married, we went to Butter in Manhattan for a five course tasting menu – I left my camera in the park. On our third anniversary at Addison’s, we captured every bite with painstaking accuracy – Bubba’s phone crashed and lost the photos a few days later. So, put on your imagination goggles and picture this:

*Gulp* - talk about high society. The Grand Del Mar couldn’t get any higher than if Cheech and Chong were toking a joint on the front lawn. European architecture sprouted from the hills of Del Mar, about 25 minutes outside of central San Diego, in a secret upper crust community masquerading as a hotel, fully equipped with its own golf course, night club, spa, shops and restaurants. Addison’s stood out amongst it all, enough to earn its ranking as the only Forbes Five-Star and AAA Five Diamond restaurant in Southern California.

Grand (Del Mar) Entrance
My dusty Toyota pulled up between BMWs and Lexus’ so shiny I could see the pores in my reflection, but the valet acted as if we’d arrived in Cinderella’s carriage as he extended his hand to help me out. By the time Bubba gave him the keys a brunette hostess with slicked back hair and a fitted jacket welcomed us by name and wished us a happy anniversary.

Inside we were greeted by a second similarly-styled, blond hostess that made me question if I was in an elite rendition of a Robert Palmer video. The smell of old money and vintage books flooded my nostrils as we were led past a formal library with a stoked fireplace that was taller than my husband, but dwarfed beneath vaulted ceilings, and out to the veranda overlooking the golf course for complimentary cashews and two Grand Margaritas: fresh kiwi, pineapple and strawberry with Patron Anejo ($22 each x 2 = a left hook to the pocketbook!).

Dinner Theater
A choreographed team of servers worthy of Bob Fosse’s approval appeared within seconds of our seating - working together, yet separately - offering best wishes with complimentary sparkling or still, laying napkins in laps with what appeared to be an oversized pair of tweezers, and finally parting the way for Nicolas, our waiter who reminded me of the critic from Disney’s Ratatouille (serious in demeanor, but warmed through by the thrill of the meal). He extended a silver platter bearing a card from Executive Chef, William Bradley, and the kitchen staff, who again, wished us a happy anniversary.

Musical chairs would have been a challenge here since tables were set for the exact number of diners in each party. The glass-walled, wine vault’s sliding, wooden ladder drew the eye, but I was hypnotized by curtains of wavy air emitted from yet another grand, stone fireplace that reminded me of some secret portal from a C.S. Lewis novel. And this land was as foreign to us as Narnia, but we tried to keep up with the customs as Nicolas began listing the choice of menus:

1) Le Menu Gourmand ($225): 10-course menu
2) Seven-course Carte Blanche menu ($165): blind tasting as chef decides each course
3) Four course tasting (our choice - $98): selection of three savory courses and one sweet from menu*

*We asked if they offered wine pairings with the meal, but never asked the price - it ended up costing as much as the food! But their expert pours were specifically chosen to match our individual selection of each course, so the personalized service justified the high price tag.

THE FEAST BEGINS:

Amuse bouche: Grapes three ways in a champagne broth
We giggled as Bubba exclaimed in a falsetto voice, “My palate is dancing,” but we both knew he wasn’t exaggerating. These three varieties of grapes must have been named Pop, Lock and Drop it because my tongue was doing the electric boogaloo.

First Bread Course: Gruyere bread popover with sherry
I was immediately reminded of that gum with a gushing, liquid center because as soon as I bit down on my popover, a burst of sherry squirted from within. Besides the novelty of it all, its flavors mimicked a pocket-sized French onion soup (minus the onion) – genius.

Second Bread Course: Meyer lemon and sea salt twist
This twist’s measurements were similar to a breadstick, but the texture was like a savory funnel cake with its crisp edges and feathery, pillow-like center encased in a thin coating of citrus and dotted with jagged grains of sea salt.

First course:
Kona Kampachi – uni, red radish and cucumber
What the f*** was a soft spoon? The cutlery alone was a learning experience, and a useful one since this pounded out piece of flattened metal made it easy to herd the finely chopped fish around the plate. The precise knife cuts and richness gave the indulgent taste of a tartar, but instead of an egg yolk, a luxurious spoonful of uni was perched like a crown on top.

The kampachi’s buttery nature was cut by radish and cucumber, served in a separate bowl of colored glass that looked like it had been time-warped in from the 50’s, and brought an earthy, cleansing crunch that reset the palate for every bite.

Kawarau Estate Sauvignon Blanc, Central Otago, New Zealand 2010;
Kiralyudvar, Furmint Sec, Tikaji-Hegyalija, Hungary 2009**

** This was the only course where Bubba and I overlapped, but even though we had the same dish, they still paired us with two different wines so we could see the range in flavor – grassy (New Zealand ‘10) vs. floral (Hungary 09’).

Second Course:
Alaskan King Crab – asian pears, melon and avocado ($20 supplement)
I found it intriguing how again this dish was comprised of multiple vessels. Bubba was first presented with a bowl of balls - pears, melon, avocados - rounded into perfect circles of produce, while three naked crab legs were spaced neatly in their own ceramic square like a well-laid garden of gams. And apparently someone had left the hose on all night because the entire dish was flooded with melted butter.

Bodega Bueyes, Torrontes, La Rioja, Argentina 2010

St. Pierre “au beurre sel” – pistou and green garlic a la grecque
Thoughts of the lovable Dory from Finding Nemo swam through my head as I learned that St. Pierre was also known as the John Dory fish. But my mind was put at ease when I found out it was a different breed all together. Though, as I made my way through St. Pierre’s white, flaky flesh, I yearned for a bit of that spirited, over-the-top personality from Ellen Degeneres’ character because even bathed in butter, this guy was a bit dry. But there was a light in the shallow pool of pistou that shone like an herbaceous beacon with grassy green brightness and garlic-y overtones, breathing life back into the sinking St. Pierre.

Franz Hirtzberger, Reisling, “Stienterrassen” Federspipl, Wachau, Austria 2008

Third Course:
Kobe Beef Short rib – potato croustillant and cremini gratin ($25 supplement)
I’d never heard of potato croustillant before, but apparently it translates into quarter-sized dollops of mashed potatoes, each topped with a single, homemade potato chip = one sinful stack of starch. The Kobe beef was heavenly enough that Adam would have demanded this rib back from Eve and the peaty mushroom gratin sowed itself seamlessly into this euphoric garden of eating.

Poderi Aldo Conterno, Barolo, Piemont, Italy 2006

Coffee roasted canard – koshihikari rice and candied peanuts
“Pssst,” the young server laid a plate of roasted duck breast before me along with a separate, small bowl of rice, when out of the side of his mouth he whispered, “I don’t want to say anything…but there’s a chunk of duck confit at the bottom of your rice bowl!” I was still digesting the thrill of this news as he exited, and I smiled at the delivery of his “secret information” like a CIA agent, “The duck flies at midnight. The confit is in the rice.”

But there was nothing undercover about the expert placement of this notable nugget, well-hidden, but still a visible stand-out. The balanced, yet sweet peanut sauce on the breast could have been easily been too cloying if it wasn’t served with the subtle, sticky rice and crunchy notes of scallion all dressed in a light coat of duck fat from the shreddable confit that lay like a Cracker Jack prize at the bottom of the bowl. Cherry on top? Never again. Duck on bottom every time!

Chateau del Clotte, Bordeaux Blend, Cotes deCastillon, Bordeaux, France 2006

Artisan Cheese course ($25 supplement):
When they wheeled the cheese cart over, I felt like a proud auntie peering into a stroller and admiring the attributes of each bundle of joy. We had four selections - petite Basque, Humboldt Fog, truffle pecorino and a blue - everyone of these cuddly curds stole my heart.

Ridge Zinfandel, “East Bench” Dry Creek Valley, Sonoma California 2009

Fourth Course:
Brownie a la mode – sour cherry marmalade and pistachio
Dense, sweet, nutty – this had all the components needed for a good brownie, but even the tart, cherry marmalade didn’t add anything that made it more memorable than others (I'd rather have another Gruyere popover).

Peanut butter terrine – cocoa nib tuiles and port wine ice cream
Tasty, but I’d made an amateur mistake by ordering peanut for dessert after a peanut laden entrée - a not so sweet repeat. I got sucked in by the port wine ice cream, which was impeccable.

Since my port was enjoyed in ice cream form, we refused our dessert wine and instead, I sipped a snifter of Frangelico and cappuccino, while Bubba ordered single-malt scotch (paired with a side of chipped ice and a mini-shovel).

Adieu, to you, and you, and you:
As we neared the exit, several of our synchronized servers (including my CIA specialist), the two Robert Palmer hostesses and Nicolas emerged to present one last gift. Along with a piece of individually wrapped shortbread, we were each handed an envelope with our first and last name on it. We opened them to find printed menus listing our personal selections for the evening, including our specific wine pairings with each course. It was the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the duck on bottom.

Five Star Salute:
I’ve eaten at several upscale restaurants in Manhattan, LA, Paris and Madrid, but nothing has compared to the service we received at Addison’s. It was the like being back in a Jane Eyre novel where there are butlers and ladies-in-waiting and footmen, all who play an intricate role in the evening’s supper running smoothly for the Mr. and Mrs.

Not used to such lavish customs, I felt more like the wayward cousin visiting from the country than the lady of the manor, but the staff’s proficiency and genuine pride in their job not only put us at ease right away, but made me comfortably slide into the idea that everyone deserves a taste of the finer things in life. Like any classy hostess, Addison’s understood the true definition of what it meant to be five-star: Treat everyone like a king, even if they’re a jack-of-all-trades.

Key Best: El Meson de Pepe, Sunset Pier (Key West)

The fact that my bathing suit bottoms were still attached to my body was reason enough for celebration, since for the last two hours I’d been white-knuckling it from the back of Bubba’s jet ski as he channeled some type of Merman(iac)/Hell’s Angel hybrid, leaving my nerves a bit frayed.

El Meson de Pepe (Mallory Square)
I needed a strong drink to coddle my still quivering sea-legs, so when we sidled up to an outside bar on the edge of Mallory Square, I was ready a little peace and quiet...instead I got a little piece of Cuba. Mojitos were flowing with enough rum for a barrel of yo-ho-ho’s and provided exactly the herb-y elixir I needed to get my head back to sea level. But all that holding on for dear life had made me hungry too – time to eat.

Mollete a la Pancho: Cuban bread stuffed with picadillo
This was like a messy mix between a calzone and taco, but besides being stuffed with the picadillo, a blend of spiced, ground beef, olives and peas, it was breaded and fried – fork and knife required. But the plantain chips scattered as a garnish were the real attraction. I could have eaten a bowl, or hell, a whole bag…I’ll give you the new Lay’s potato chip flavor – plantain chips. And these really were like a thin potato chip - crispy, delicate and light - unlike the thick, tostone version that's more often the norm.

Frituras de Cobo: cornmeal fritters with cracked conch
Talk about some phenomenal fritters! Hands-down, these won the conch-quest contest that we’d been conducting throughout the Keys. Crispy, browned and hot, the doughy center remained fluffy like a beignet while the conch brought just enough salt and texture to take home the gold.

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Sunset Pier: Ocean Key Resort (Duval St)
Led like the children in The Pied Piper, we followed wavering notes of music clipped by the wind and carried along the water’s edge until we reached Sunset Pier, whose long boards provided the optimal, ocean overhang, dotted with wooden picnic tables painted in varying, vibrant shades.

A small, canopied stage housed the music which led us here, a young teenage group with two sisters, around 13 and 15, belting out classics, as a couple of boys provided the melody with guitar, keyboard and drums. Their set list of older selections like Frank Sinatra was sung with a soft innocence that made the “Summer Wind” all the sweeter when it came blowing in.

A special on mojitos made with Ciroc vodka ($2 extra) meant we received a chip for a pork plate = sliced, whole roasted pig, rice and plantain chips. I had my eye on Porky since I saw him at the entrance and knew I would somehow partake in his piggy goodness, I just didn’t know it’d be as easy as giving $2 to support P. Diddy’s vodka.

The meat was sliced to order, topped with a drizzle of mojo sauce for a bright, citrus finish that heightened the pig's natural sweetness before the salty punch and crunch of pigskin cracklings assaulted the palate, but in the very best way. Every time we ordered another drink, we got another “pork-er chip”...like Diddy always said, "Mo’ pours, Mo’ pork!"

Summer Fling with a Brooklyn Girl - San Diego

I’d tried to keep my frequent, summer trysts with Brooklyn Girl (BG) hush-hush because the truth was I wanted her all to myself. This San Diego sweetie’s East Coast style was still somewhat under wraps, excluding Mission Hills residents, who were filling every seat, every night – possibly because BG’s owners, Michael and Victoria McGeath, had the foresight to bring people of the community in as shareholders.

And they couldn’t have been holding a better hand because this was the type of place that felt like it should have always been there. The industrial aura set a clean slate of high ceilings and neatly, exposed duct work, forcing my neck to perform back-bends while admiring it all (talk about having your ducts in a row). The acoustics made it a bit noisy, but communal tables near the bar and a neighborhood presence encouraged this buzz of conversation as BG's own brand of dinner music.

Oversized, black metal birdcages housed chandeliers in artistic whimsy backed by a canvas of Anna Wintour’s head, her neck bound by a Shakespearian-accordian collar, lording over the far wall like the Great Oz, as if to make sure BG kept it fashionable, including female servers whose classic pearls provided a Manhattan-esque mismatch with their strictly-business, brown canvas aprons. It was all in the details and BG didn’t miss a beat…like being greeted by a cone of spicy popcorn to nosh on while we overlooked the menu (a little burnt, but still a nice touch).

Drinks
This was undeniably one of San Diego's most playful and inventive cocktail menus (especially now that BG added a slew of Fall options with ingredients like homemade cider and pumpkin puree).

Tequilla, Grapefruit, Lime, Prosecco, Habanero Salt
Bubbling citrus, mouth tingling heat, squintingly sour (my favorite).

BLT: Comb Vodka, Basil, Lime, Thyme, and House Made Lavender Basil Syrup
Crisp, refreshing, clean.

Eats
BG was also holding an ace when it came to cuisine, hiring Executive Chef, Tyler Thrasher (formerly of Oceanaire) to head their kitchen.

Salad and Apps

DUCK AND DATE - Frisee, Spinach, Marcona Almonds, Banyals Vinaigrette ($11)
I assumed this would be a sliced, duck breast over greens, but I was soon overwhelmed with the same unreserved gushing of a kid on Christmas who's expecting socks, but gets a bike instead. I unwrapped the most crispy-skinned, juicy leg of duck I might have ever encountered (insert Homer Simpson drooling noises here). The super, salty duck skin and super, sweet dates made for a salty-sweet superhero, whose flying colors were only heightened with a (fairy) dusting of Marcona almonds.

SHRIMP AND CHORIZO - Tomatoes, Queso Fresco, Creamy Grits ($12)
First of all, the homemade chorizo came in patties! No casing, just little circles of meaty love that made my heart go pitter patter (that might have been its fat content clogging my arteries, but still). The grits held themselves with a relaxed and creamy stiffness, acting as the sinking, Venetian foundation, where queso fresco dissolved beneath the surface and tomatoes bobbed like buoys between shellfish and sausage.

Wood fire wonders
BG’s wood fire oven was turning out roasts like whole ducks with honey and ginger, lamb saddle and porchetta = pork loin wrapped in pork belly (all served 2-4 people). But they were also firing up some pizza and for this Jersey girl, BG had a lot to prove.

NEW YORK LITTLENECKS - Littleneck Clams, Apple Wood Bacon, Taleggio, Fingerling Potatoes, Brussels Sprouts ($14)
This seemed so simple, but it was like eating Sunday dinner all in one bite. I felt like Violet Beauregard as she chewed Wonka's gum and experienced an entire meal all at once (before she got to dessert and turned into a blueberry, of course). The crust could have used a little more time in the oven, but for this selection it worked like a having a soft roll with supper used to sop the plate clean.

MICHAEL’S CHOICE - Spicy Italian Sausage, Pepperoni, Chili flake, Pepperoncini, Sweet Onions, Mozzarella ($14)
Bubba couldn't have found a pizza more fitting to his personal specifications than if he'd designed it himself, but again the dough was a little floppy and I wished they'd given it a few more minutes (next time we'd ask for it well-done). This wasn't the mind melting epiphany I had with the NY Littlenecks pizza, but still smart enough to be food for thought.

Entrees and Specials

GNOCCHI & SHORT RIB - Yukon Potato, Oven Dried Tomatoes, Forest Mushrooms, Chianti Au Jus, Pecorino Romano ($17)
The short rib went on for days and I couldn't have been more appreciative for this hunk of fork-tender meat before me, but I longed for more gnocchi. It was like a famous duo fighting over whose name appeared first on the billing and it was clear that the short rib was trying to carry the act as the front man. Most would be pleased with more protein than pasta, but my carb-a-rater was running low and it was hard to see this knockout gnocchi (featherweight class: light, yet solid) get the short end of the rib.

SEA SCALLOPS OVER LAMB BELLY – Saffron Risotto
Now that's what I call surf and turf with some game! This special was just another one of BG's bewitching tweaks on a perceived norm, but make sure to ask about their nightly features because sometimes the servers don't offer up the information voluntarily.


Dessert

KEY LIME PIE - Served In A Mason Jar
This reminded me more of lime meringue pie with its gelatinous filling and toasted top, but it was so good you could have called it anything. Graham cracker crust separated layers of tart filling and finished with the cool whip of cream. Again, the details made the difference and the mini-mason jar created the illusion of a pie sundae with a lime wedge on top...who needed a cherry?!

Their coffee cups were the last decorative detail to perform their magic act on my mind, appearing like a paper cup from a classic, Greek diner, but when lifted, the obvious weigh let me know it was ceramic. Their cappuccino was enough to keep me up all night to mull over further culinary exploits with San Diego's new, hot chick and I was smitten enough to know that until my next visit, there'd be no sleep til Brooklyn Girl.