Cafe Chloe- San Diego

Frenching for Brunch
Café Chloe (721 9th Ave) was the perfect place to meet the girls for Saturday brunch - classy and sassy. Its 1940’s Parisian flare gave off a whiff of contemporary nostalgia, as if we’d been placed in a scratchy black and white film with modern day conveniences. Aretha Franklin’s, “Baby, baby sweet baby” wafted over Chloe's marble-topped tables and sleek, silver stools surrounding the counter where a waitress mixed champagne with exotic elixirs like lavender and pomegranate.

Real cane cola and root beer came in glass bottles, but I chose the latte served in a small bowl without a handle- I liked doing the two handed lift to sip my froth. Their lavender lemonade was phenomenal and pretty in pink with a garnish of purple. Our waitress said lavender tea was the secret to its strong, floral flavor- ideal for summer sipping. Salt and pepper came in petite, ceramic dishes and sugar was served in raw, lump form- attention to details like these is noticeable (and noteworthy.)

On my last visit, I had gone for the heavy comfort of macaroni and cheese with crispy chunks of pancetta (good, though extremely filling), but today…was a day for flambé. I loved how they baked crème fraiche right on top of the flatbread and then paved the surface with small rectangles of bacon, chopped and crunchy like a hundred savory Scrabble tiles- it scored major points. Caramelized onions tied it all together with a subtle sweetness that quickly inducted me into the clean plate club.

Even when I brought my meat n’ potatoes man here, he loved his poached eggs served over toast with a mushroom/sage buerre blanc. He was surprised that this petite plate filled him up by layering complimentary ingredients. And that is all part of Chloe's charm. They perfect the European philosophy of satisfying the appetite by depth, not width.

Anthology- San Deigo music/dining

Greatest Hits
I wouldn’t recommend coming to Anthology (1337 India St.) for dinner since it's impossible to have a conversation over the music, but if you’re going for a show, this venue is spot-on.

Cobalt blue neon buzzed in loopy cursive above a well-lit entrance like a stop on the red carpet. We were seated in the lounge behind the bar, facing the stage and multi-leveled booths built into the right wall. It was remenisent of a futuristic diorama from Epcot with its silver railings and low hanging lamps. Flatscreen TVs were stategically spaced so the band could be seen from every angle.

I would have been pissed if I had paid to sit front row in the dining area and had a bunch of moving bodies in my face, but since I had the cheap seats, I reveled in the spontaneous dance floor created when the lead singer called up the crowd.

He forgot the words to multiple songs, which was a sin since he was singing Bruce Springsteen (cover band, Thunder Road), but the rest of the musicians made up for his lack of dedication - sax and keyboards especially rocked it out.

We decided to nosh, settling on parmesan pomme frites with truffle aioli and goat cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon. Both were tasty, but not memorable. The highly anticipated chicken lollipops with sweet chile glaze arrived deep fried and had more of a buffalo sauce. Advertise what you’re really selling- a glorified chicken wing with the meat pushed to one end.

Another disappointment was the asparagus bisque, and I use that term begrudgingly. Lacking all the characteristics of a true bisque (heavy cream for one), this soup was like asparagus broth. I felt like Oliver Twist in the orphanage sipping this fern colored swill, but I would not be asking for, “More, sir.”

The poor waitress was swamped, mostly because of her bartenders’ snail-like saunter. I felt frustrated for her and was grateful when I finally got my goose n’ grape (her name for my Grey Goose and grapefruit- I’ll use that.) Tickets were $22 with a $15 drink/food minimum, which we would have spent on cocktails anyway. We left the dance floor sweaty and feeling like 15 again - always a sign of a good show.

My advice: come for the beats, not for the eats.

Prado restaurant- San Diego

Prado a No-Go
The ROY G. BIV of blown glass billowed like clouds beyond the doorway and into a swanky lounge. I was surprised I hadn’t made it here before, since Balboa Park’s ornate, Spanish architecture loomed only moments from my house, but then again, this was the type of fancy-schmancy joint that was only fit for special occasions where the wallet had to be ready and willing. My best friend’s mom was in town, so this was one of those nights.

Entry gave way to plush upholstery and dizzying hues of amber that were so rich, I felt full before I sat down. The hostess led us to a table directly in front of the kitchen door...hmmm. With over a week’s reservations and most of the restaurant empty? Not acceptable. They “found” us an open table in the adjoining room that was so lovely, it made me feel as if I could drawl, “The rain in Spain falls gently on the plain, doesn’t it dahhhling?,” and the grand theatrics would be perfectly acceptable amongst this Gasby-esque aura.

But then the food arrived and the mystique lifted. First came a small nosh of tasty flatbreads (asiago, seasame seed, “everything” version), but they were served with a thimbleful of white bean hummus that had the four of us staring greedily at each other, too polite to take the last scoop (at these prices? Cough up some more hummus, stingy.)

So instead, we set our minds on the menu, where my girlfriend and I decided to split the goat cheese/mushroom risotto and the short rib angelotti (a stuffed tube of pasta). But she started hording the angelotti as soon as I murmured the word, “rich” about the risotto, which was the understatement of the year. It was gluey and not a clean grain could be picked without the overwhelming abundance of mushrooms.

I understand its mushroom risotto, but enough already- know when to say when. There was a generous scoop of goat cheese on top, but instead of adding its usual airy tartness, it just created a dense, pasty blob of goo. Two bites into it, I was done (but still hungry.)And then there was my buddy, gorging on most of the short rib angelotti, but I didn’t have a smidge of food envy because the bite I had was dry, watery and under-seasoned.

The best dish of the night was the black bean soup, which was flawless (and can also be ordered during happy hour where you don’t have to empty your wallet.) Like a pretty girl with no personality, the Prado would be great to impress at parties, but you wouldn’t want to hang out otherwise.

San Diego- Tractor Room

The Tractor’s Pull
Apperantly 10pm on a Sunday night isn’t an opportune time to go to dinner in San Diego…unless you’re headed to the Tractor Room. They’re serving food until midnight with an authentic lodge aesthetic, sealed by their deer horn chandelier and smoky lighting over dark woods.

Drinks: After eyeing quite the exotic cocktail menu (fig and thyme cocktail, mint juleps and peach bellinis to name a few), my cousin landed on the English breakfast martini for a twist of Sapphire gin, fresh lemon juice and orange marmalade. Mini toasts sat on the side- the point of these? I don’t know, just for fun, but he munched on them like a substitute for breadsticks…until the black skillet cornbread came.

Food: When this square, cast iron of edible gold arrived, glazed with honey and scallion confetti, my joy was comparable to receiving a birthday cake out of the blue. My “b-day candles”? A knob of butter protruding from the center. Happy day to me!

Since it was a little late, we didn’t want to go crazy with the eats, but almost changed our minds when we saw the likes of elk sausage ravioli and lamb burgers with caramelized onions and goat cheese. But we stuck to apps and my cuz enjoyed his chicken wings- perfectly seasoned, not too hot- and matched well with their horseradish/ sour cream sauce vs. your run of the mill blue cheese.

Again it was Christmas morning for me as my personal pot of duck and white bean soup was laid before me. Earthy, creamy and hearty, I was enjoying each layer of depth when I uncovered a secret. There was one lump, then two. Like an archeologist discovering a lost village, I started unearthing hunks of cooked bacon for a bounty as valuable as King Tut’s tomb (to my stomach anyway.)

Service was impeccable and the offerings were intriguing. I’d love to go back for brunch and check out some of their creations like wild boar hash and the buffalo quesadilla. That’s when I know I like a place…when I’m already planning my return. The Tractor Room’s definitely got game, and I’m not just talking about the elk.

San Diego bar- El Dorado Cocktail Lounge

Best in the West
Now I’m no lily-livered son-of-a-gun, but I was worried about deciding on a final destination for my girlfriend’s bachelorette party. Downtown clubs with $20 covers and “beautiful people” staring at one another over watered-down drinks wasn’t our idea of a good time. We needed a place to kick up our heels and word ‘round the campfire was that El Dorado’s recently revamped, Wild West persona would do the trick.

Before: I emailed El Dorado about a week before our party and one of the owners, Nate Stanton, got back to me right away. There were only five of us, but he acted like we were some celebrity entourage by immediately reserving a booth and getting our names on the RSVP list (He also let me stash some cupcakes there earlier, so we could surprise my friend later.) The price for all this great service: FREE and done with an appreciative air.

During: Wooden floors clicked beneath our heels and a white buffalo head fixed us with his steadfast stare above a quiet jukebox. DJ Ratty was just getting started with his evening’s selection of old school hip hop, while bartenders slung drinks in garb that reeked of dusty saloons from yesteryear. It was like a page ripped from Disney’s Frontierland, but equipped with a multitude of unsavory characters that made it hard to imagine them behind the Magic Kindgom’s pristine gates. We were greeted by low amber lighting, vinyl booths and our attentive waitress, who got us started on drinks:

The Mule – blended ginger beer, vodka and limes in a large mason jar and in my opinion, it's the best, new drink on the cocktail scene (I’ve had it before in a copper mug and there’s no topping that, but this one was stiff enough to make up for it.)

Chile Mojito- an inventive twist on an already refreshing libation, this added just a little heat to prick the taste-buds into party mode.

Drinks were priced around $10-12, which for their size and potency was a square deal in my book. I was also impressed when Nate took the time to come over to our booth and introduce himself, even though he was busy bartending. Now that’s a class act.

After: The evening turned out far better than OK at this corral and was nothing short of a leg-slapping success for my comely brood. Great drinks, great theme, STELLAR service…It looks to me like there’s a new sheriff in town.

The Yogurt Cup- San Diego dessert

May your cup runneth over…but you'll have to pay extra
For some reason, I lose total control over my motor skills whenever I enter the Yogurt Cup (440 W. Washington St.) It’s self-serve and I guess the last time I had that advantage was at Morrison’s Buffet (big chain in FL) when I was a kid. So my technique was the same, filling as much as I could into the cup – Belgian chocolate, pistachio and coffee- big loopy swirls of all three. I was clearly blinded by my power as I manhandled each shiny lever and ended up with about 7lbs. of yogurt.

But you must have toppings! So I hit one of two topping stations. The lengthy island counter in the center was lined with shiny plastic vehicles containing treats. I also had trouble working these modern mechanisms (as if I had just been reintroduced into society after a lifetime of living in the woods), but finally managed to get a few crushed almonds on top. Besides a variety of nuts, they offered multiple delights from chocolate bits to Captain Crunch. The second station was adjacent to the register and contained fresh fruit (not mutilated bits from the can, but the real deal) with blueberries, blackberries and strawberries.

When I got to the cashier, I saw the folly of my ways - they charged by weight. My gargantuan yogurt towered over me (and my wallet) as a pricey lesson to learn, but a necessary one in self-control. The next visit I took it easy with wisps of raspberry, Georgia peach and Belgian chocolate (so good and non-fat!) This was a more realistic portion size and I guess the whole point of “fro-yo” is to enjoy a somewhat healthy snack. So, thank you Yogurt Cup for teaching me that*:

When the weight is light in the cup
The weight stays light in the rump

(*I also learned that I shouldn’t operate any types of heavy or not-so-heavy machinery.)

Buon Appetito- San Diego Restaurant

Ciao Boun Chow
Hey-a, do ya want a spicy meat-a-ball-a? Buon Appetito (1609 India St) is by far my favorite Italian restaurant in San Diego with its authentic staff and ability to transform simple ingredients into a Rubik’s cube for the palate.
A cup of crushed tomatoes, basil and garlic arrive with a basket of bread and I think they must put heroin in this mixture- a clean and strong finish that coaxes me back again and again like a struggling addict (a minimum of two cups necessary.)

Duck salad: MUST ORDER!! I’m not usually someone that remembers salad as a favorite entrée, but this one has me thinking green. Their stand-out, balsamic vinaigrette sinks its kung-fu grip into the leaves with distinct thickness from the syrupy, aged vinegar. Sliced duck, lumps of goat cheese (in no way do they scrimp) and roasted pine nuts only up the ante to make it an official winner.

Homemade cheese ravioli: MUST ORDER!! The difference between homemade vs. storebought pasta is like fishsticks vs. fresh sushi. There's no contest and these raviolis exemplify what pasta should be - filling warmth that remains light. It amazes me every time how something so simple can make my mind do cartwheels. Memories of their pink sauce won’t be forgotten.

Meat lasagna: an edible high-rise arrived front and center with layers of ground beef, pasta and cheese. Though delicious, my scorecard still rated the salad and ravioli as the heavy hitters.

Things can get a little pricey here with pasta dishes around $20 and wine about $10 a glass, but well worth it when in need of a true Italian fix. Sidewalk seating, window tables beneath the wine case and expressive Italian dialogue amongst the wait staff instill a feeling of dining abroad while only minutes from home.*

*They also have a market next door that sells the pink sauce, "tomato heroin" and even the duck salad to-go.