Hot down, summer in the kitchen - Chef Sean's summer supper (San Diego)

When Chef Sean traipsed into town on a whim, his first words were, “What are we making for dinner?”

Now let me explain. When I talked about making dinner, it usually referred to a pan of homemade lasagna, but when Chef Sean broached the subject, he was speaking of demi-glaces, buerre blancs and anglaises – oh my!

The Main Ingredient
Quality product was a necessity, so we high-tailed it around town procuring the best of San Diego: 1) Pancho Villa: this Mexican market offered affordable produce, Mexican cheeses, fresh tortillas made on sight, and a meat counter that hit every entrail and flank of the meat rainbow (along with the beef bones we needed). 2) Iowa Meats: they were usually the top pick for specialty proteins, but they only had frozen duck breast, so we ended up finding fresh at Whole Foods. 3) Point Loma Seafood (PLS): we first stopped at Blue Water Market on India St, but their Ahi paled in comparison (literally) to the deep magenta of the PLS tuna and their unmatched display case of still seemingly moving fish.

Chef Sean’s Summer Supper 2013

First course: Shellfish in white wine broth served with fresh herb & goat cheese garlic bread

I felt like King Neptune had just called forth all of the fish in his kingdom and placed them before me. My bowl came piled high with mussels, shrimp and clams in a broth that married wine and sea with sweet traces of tomato beneath the salty bite of bacon. But the standout citizens were the mussels who had been brought up with a gentle, knowing hand and given the proper attention necessary to summon a briny shine and extinguished any back-talking chew.

Shrimp and clams completed the conga line of perfectly cooked shellfish and I couldn’t help but hum, “Under the Sea” in homage to this seafood celebration. As for the garlic bread, the chef's choice of ciabatta stood up to the slathering of goat cheese and herb, compound butter that formed a delicate shell on top, that when dipped in the broth weakened and happily soaked it all in – this sop was tops.


Second course: Soy/ginger cured Ahi tuna taco - tempura fried avocado, queso fresco, spicy aioli

Street tacos instead of salad – sweeettt!! The Ahi was left unadulterated before curing in a concoction of ginger, cilantro and soy sauce. Its almost raw, sensual feel had the softness and color of lips - a pink that seemed more likely to be found on an artist’s canvas than in nature. It lay next to a tempura avocado that posed the same powerful “crunch and cream” dynamic that rivaled the simple brilliance of an ice cream cone. Clumps of queso fresco fell in with swirls of spicy aioli and all were enhanced by the freshly made corn tortilla that fit demurely in my palm.


Third course: Seared duck breast with blackberry demi-glace served with homemade, rosemary gnocchi* in almond browned butter and sautéed spinach

When beef bones were braised for hours to create a true demi-glace, you knew it was something worth waiting for. Deeper than Aristotle; more body than Jessica Rabbit; this blackberry demi-glace motorboated the tastebuds and did a lap (it up) dance atop a sliced, duck breast, whose rosy pink center came rimmed in a G-string of skin. With all that body, the blackberries became the backbone of the sauce with a tart, acidity that climbed its way to the top of each complex layer. My only issue was that Chef Sean had forgotten the halved blackberries he’d prepared as a garnish and because they were missing, when a blackberry seed was found with the teeth, it took the brain a second to process what it was.


*The name game: The chef had labeled these gnocchi, but I preferred to call them potato dumplings because when you heard a certain term, it set you up for expectations. There’s a lot in a name – sorry Shakespeare. A rose by another name might still smell sweet, but if you were expecting lilacs and they smelled like roses, you might be disappointed. Just like when I thought of gnocchi, I imagined light and airy pillows dissolving on the tongue. But Chef Sean’s delightful nuggets of potato pasta were much more like a dumpling - like a baby periogi that hadn’t received its filling yet. After a few minutes in boiling water, they were crisped brown in the pan with a mix of duck and beef fat. Then they were tossed with butter and slivered almonds, browned into a nutty decadence that was rounded out by the subtlety of sautéed spinach. WOW.


Fourth course: Homemade baklava with ginger/honey drizzle and orange/saffron ice cream

Phyllo dough.
Melted butter.
Chopped walnuts and honey.
Stack.
Repeat.

Baklava was dense and sticky, making me heavy with thoughts of grandmothers in babushkas baking in Old World kitchens. One bite overtook the mouth and held it captive, thick with honey holding firm the flaky dough that dissolved on the tongue. It slowed the chewing process, which slowed the mind into appreciating just how satisfying one mouthful could be.

We didn’t leave enough time for homemade ice cream, but that didn't mean Chef Sean didn't have a few tricks up his sleeve. One gallon of store bought vanilla + 3 oranges + a few strands of saffron = orange/saffron ice cream. The flavors were so bold it tasted homemade - the saffron was present, but not overpowering, while the orange brought an almost floral finish and gave some give to the sticky nuts and honey. The final touch was a drizzle of ginger/honey for spiciness that cleansed the palate and said a final goodnight.

Summer lovin':
Summer lovin' had me a blast
Summer lovin' happened so fast
We went shopping at Pancho Villa's
Got some bones and some tortillas
Shiny shellfish cooked to perfection
Duck breast slices got a berry injection

Baklavaaaaaa (pause)
The last hurrah
But ohhhhh!!
Those saffron noooooo-tes......


Thanks for another great meal Sean!!

The Buttered Biscuit – Bradley Beach, NJ

Believe me - I know which side my bread is buttered on. When I’m back in Jersey, it’s usually the side of a hard roll (similar to a Kaiser roll, but lighter and fluffier; often topped with poppy seeds) since they’re unheard of anywhere besides the Garden State, but on this trip, I had a date with a biscuit.

“Are we dressed up enough? They’ve got linen tablecloths,” my buddy murmured before realizing everyone was in our identical uniform of flip flops and t-shirts. The Buttered Biscuit couldn’t help that it gave off an elegant aura with light beaming from an antique chandelier and high ceilings that brought the strength of the sun inside on this rainy afternoon.

Lace curtains and wooden, dining room chairs married quaint tea cottage with elderly, eclectic aunt - you know, the 80 year old spitfire who still polished her silver whenever she had guests and scrubbed her own floors - where there was a loving wear from the life lived here and a familial scuff to the tidy surroundings that immediately placed you at ease.

Coffee clutching: If you’re out of cocaine, you could always get a quick fix with the coffee here – WHOAH NELLY!! This Jersey joe was the type that could keep you up for a few days and if I ever moved back, I'd probably have an unhealthy relationship with this mug.

Feeling Crummy: I have to admit that this was a trick we used back when I was working at the Sunset Landing in Asbury Park, but it was a trend worth following. They cut a square of crumb cake horizontally and stuck it on the flattop, slick with melted butter, and added a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. Browned cake and boulders of warmed-through crumbs were even more addictive than the coffee.

Biscuit Goats Gruff: I was considering their omelet with goat cheese, herbs de Province, bacon and tomato. But I had two dilemmas:
1. I wasn’t necessarily a big omelet fan – to me, it was like one giant egg flap.
2. Since I was in Jersey, I had to take advantage of every opportunity to eat pork roll (Taylor ham) while I was here. This salty, spam-like/bologna, breakfast meat hybrid, mostly seen in Jersey (and Philly), was sparse on the west coast, so I needed to order it whenever possible. I was tempted to get the “Jersey Benedict” with pork roll instead of Canadian bacon, but I wanted some goat cheese in the mix.

So I sez to the waitress: Could I do scrambled eggs with goat cheese, a side of pork roll and a biscuit?

And she sez: No prob.

As an admitted egg snob, I have to declare that these were some of the best scrambled eggs that I’ve ever had. I assumed they added some cream because these were decadent, and it wasn’t just the clumps of melted goat cheese. They must have taken the mixture out of the pan just as it was going from liquid to solid because these dissolved on the tongue.

They made up for the biscuit, which was a bit dense, though sides of cinnamon butter and strawberry jam smartened it up a bit. I was so in love with every other aspect that made it easy to focus on the positive – like my perfectly cooked pork roll, seared and crispy, glistening with those coveted, saturated fats and preservatives that made my heart skip a beat (literally) whenever I visited NJ.

BELT sandwich: My buddy cinched things up by ordering the BELT sandwich (BLT + fried egg) served on sourdough toast with aioli, while both of our plates were hit with some home fries that still sported their skins - browned and crackly - protecting tender, ivory insides = homerun home fries.

Other offerings: homemade corned beef hash, bruleed grapefruit, banana bread French toast

Total bill = $24.95
Total sum = Best breakfast I’ve had in a long time – the staff made up of local, beachy youth were attentive and polite, prices were reasonable, product was killer, and the overall sense of being welcomed and well-fed lasted long after the meal. Biscuit is a (bread) winner.

Press Cellars: The Charismatic Cabernet

*A client gifted me this wine after explaining it was Press Cellars' first attempt at a cabernet from their small winery in Angwin, Ca (Elsberg Vineyard) and asked me to tell her what I thought of it. Thanks again, Tracie - this one was worth writing about.*

Uncorking Press Cellars' Howell Mountain 2009 Cabernet Sauvignon was like walking into a well-preserved library and unearthing an unknown tome, which when opened, smelled of the earth as translated by humans. With a nose bigger than Cyrano de Bergerac, this cab knew how to hail some attention, but its overall stature reminded me of another beloved, literary character. This was Falstaff in a glass: jubilant, robust and round, with some heft to its swallow and a playful thickness that rolled around the tongue like a soccer ball during practice drills.



It was happiest when in the company of beef and lamb, where its tannin-y tendencies became all the more brazen. Pockets of dark berries and loam were found tucked in the heavy folds of its scarlet cloak, but once introduced to red meat, its reaction was similar to Bruce Banner transforming into the Hulk – meat make cab strong!! "POW!" - one right to the kisser...like a long good-bye lasting on the lips. This was the type of wine meant to be raised in a goblet, drank after a hunt with the hounds in front of a crackling fire while stabbing a side of beef and hoisting a lamb shank in the air.

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.

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.