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 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.

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.

Olympic Cafe - North Park (SD)

Greek God
The familial embrace surrounding Olympic Cafe is stronger than an uncle's playful headlock. Waitresses come forth like a colony of aunts, as if to say “eat up” with their encouraging smiles, and in classic diner fashion, deliver chocolate milk unstirred - the inch of Hershey’s syrup and my spoon clanking against the glass sent me directly back to my childhood in Jersey. Olympic definitely captures an east coast vibe that could contend with the Garden State's traditional, Greek diners and has become my go-to while living in San Diego.

Greek diners = gyros. Whether it’s breakfast (gyro omelet anyone?), lunch or dinner, Olympic shaves thin strips off a rotating carousel of mixed meat (none of those frozen, nitrate nightsticks seen here). Warm pitas overflow with this lamb/beef hybrid, fully loaded with lettuce, tomato and onion. But these additions pale in comparison to the homemade tzatziki sauce - the best I’ve ever had. Why? Olympic's version is thinner and a bit more tangy, similar to a vinaigrette vs. the lumpy, thick condiment that's the usual suspect.

And I’d been hitting the (tzatziki) sauce pretty hard. I even started ordering it as a side with extra pitas for superfluous dipping, but my addictions didn’t end there. Olympic’s mashed potatoes were worthy of recreating the scene from Scarface where Al Pacino sticks his nose in a pile of coke and looks up with his face covered. Switch me with Al and the cocaine with potatoes, and this is my habitual experience here (lemony, chicken gravy makes it all the messier). When I started ordering two helpings, I knew I had a problem.

That’s why I thought I’d detox with their signature Olympic salad because eating these greens doesn’t even feel like a sacrifice. Playing-card-size slabs of feta, pulled from a briny bath, set the stage for some acidic anarchy with kalamata olives, pepperoncinis, and of course, a generous helping of gyro meat on top is better than any crouton. The option for take-out and the addition of homemade baklava give Olympic the edge, and their attention to authentic, irreplaceable details prove it's all Greek to me.