Quick Bite: San Telmo and Yelp’s False Gems

Oh, and basically a whole forest of arugula.

Generally I find Yelp to be a pretty useful tool for finding new and interesting restaurants to try, but it’s also far from perfect. In particular, Yelpers seem to vastly overrate many of the perfectly unremarkable mom-and-pop spots, international cuisines and delis. Don’t misunderstand: There are certainly restaurants in these categories that truly shine. But often Yelp’s glowing consensus can be utterly baffling.

This phenomenon came to mind when I stopped by San Telmo, an Argentine sandwich joint downtown. When the place I’d planned to go was closed (private event), I thought, why not try the place right next door with the coveted 5-star Yelp rating?

The food was fine. Average. A little boring, actually. And since dull food makes for dull writing, I won’t spend too much time on it. Suffice it to say my chicken empanada was a bit dry, a bit under-seasoned and generally pretty plain. The San Telmo sandwich was slightly better, with herb-dressed mushrooms and a nice note of sharpness from the Swiss cheese. But the pesto aioli was underwhelming and a bit grassy, while the ribeye was a little overdone and seemed to be seasoned exclusively with salt. You’d think the dish named after the restaurant would be one to really shine, but all I got was a decent deli sandwich.

I feel a little bad about picking on a restaurant that isn’t by any means bad. It just happened to bring to mind an odd blind spot on an otherwise fairly reliable site. Why do people feel compelled to give such radiant reviews to places that don’t stand out in any apparent way?

One reason, I think, is that people develop an emotional attachment to their neighborhood restaurant, the same way they do for the local sports team. Another probably stems from people’s desire to find the diamond in the rough, to have coveted insider information, to be a trendsetter. I can certainly sympathize—it’s great being a world-famous elite influencer, loved and respected by all. But let me humbly contend that not everyone can be this unfathomably awesome. And when people let wishful thinking cloud their judgment, it prevents people from finding the places that really do deserve all the accolades.

Score: 5 out of 10

P.S. I wish this place were really great so I could have titled this post "San Telmo's Fire."

Review: The Blind Burro

A lot of deals for Restaurant Week aren't really deals, if you take the time to do the math. Try comparing the items on the prix fixe menu to the prices on the normal menu, and you start to realize that you're actually not saving anything, you're just having your options needlessly limited. Finding a good deal at a good restaurant takes a bit of research. So after some digging, I stumbled on The Blind Burro's offering: A three-course prix fixe dinner for $20? One where they don't try to up-sell you on adding truffle and lobster for another fifty bucks? Yes please; I'll take two.

Despite its location a mere block from the teeming Gaslamp Quarter, the vibe here is surprisingly subdued. Though we did go on a weekday, I got the sense that things never get too frenzied even on a busy Saturday night. The rustic-chic wood furnishings are punctuated with strings of hanging lights and black-and-white photos of donkeys (natch).

Since dinner was so cheap, how could we not order drinks? (Ahh, so that's how they get you!) Amy ordered a Michelada, which tasted more or less like a Corona with dashes of salt and other ingredients thrown in. Good if you like beer... but you could also just get a beer. My Verano Punch wasn't bad, but very much a typical Very Sweet Drink. It had a berry-like flavor, presumably from the pomegranate syrup, but lacked much of the passion fruit or basil mentioned in the ingredients.

We opted to keep it light for our appetizers—the right decision, in retrospect, as the accompanying tortilla chips were bountiful and ultra-thick. They were impressively crunchy and a bit greasy but not over-salted. The ceviche was indeed light and tart from the lime, and included boatload of shrimp plus a little scallop for good measure. The guacamole was good, nothing unusual, with plenty of onion and a welcome sprinkle of micro cilantro.

Next came the entrée course, which for Restaurant Week was necessarily the taco course. My al pastor tacos were filled with tender pork, well-spiced in their red chile adobo marinade. The sweet pineapple chunks were a welcome counterpoint to the savory elements, as was the tomatillo-avocado crema. The side of Mexican street corn was okay in small doses, but became overwhelming after a few bites due to the hot sauce and the sheer sodium overload of the cotija.

Amy's Mahi mahi tacos were also tasty, with a crisp batter and soft, flaky fish. The only downside was the overload of veggies; the pile of cabbage, onion and carrot escabeche practically smothered the mahi mahi. The side of vegetable slaw (a bit redundant in retrospect) was vinegar-tart and a bit spicy, full of peppers, carrot and corn.

By this point I was nearly full to bursting, so I was bracing myself for the churros—not traditionally a particularly light dessert. These were the softest, most delicately melt-in-your mouth churros I’ve ever had. Still crisp on the outside, but just beneath the surface? Smooth and fluffy as cotton candy. Naturally they were covered in a thick layer of that delicious cinnamon-sugar mixture (which we all know is 99% sugar). They came with a creme anglaise that added a nice element of creaminess, but wasn’t too sweet—it didn’t need to be.

In many ways, The Blind Burro is a pretty typical Mexican restaurant: casual, cheap (for the Gaslamp at least), and heavy on the tacos and tequila. Occasionally, though, as with those churros and al pastor tacos, a higher level of quality shines through. Use that potential, BB, and someday you'll achieve greatness.

Score: 6.5 out of 10 (Good)

Quick Bite: Monkey King

What exactly is Monkey King? A lot of things, it seems: A cocktail bar, a dim sum spot, and a pan-Asian restaurant. It's cool, trendy, and just about the least authentic place you can go for some Chinese food. Amy and I decided to venture into the wilds of the Gaslamp Quarter this past week to try it out.

The interior is decorated in a funky jungle theme, complete with mock trees above the central bar and a "no evil" monkeys motif. Since it was a quiet Wednesday, we were immediately seated in a comfy side booth without any problem.

The most exciting culinary flourish of the night came right at the beginning. They put down a plate of crispy fried wonton skins and what looked from the texture like one of those cloyingly sweet chile sauces. I was surprised, though, to find that a bright and unusual blend of flavors somewhere between a sweet red chile sauce and a salsa. It sounds bizarre, but it was actually the perfect balance of tangy and slightly sweet with a spicy kick. When I inquired, the waiter explained that it was their house mézé (?) sauce, a pomegranate base blended with herbs, Fresno chiles and white wine vinegar. Weird, yet wonderful.

Our drinks were tasty though not too unusual. Amy's Salt Collins was, as advertised, a bit salty from the salted plum-infused rum, but was otherwise very much a Tom Collins, right down to the touches of citrus. The Mai Tai I had was tropical and classic, with a tinge of almondy orgeat in the aftertaste.

Since we changed our appetizer order from calamari to hamachi sashimi. The tender slices were laid in a base of ginger soy and topped with a basic seaweed salad and red chiles. It was fairly simple yet mouthwateringly good, layered with toasted sesame and a heaping dose of heat.

Cashew chicken isn't exciting to look at
so here's hamachi instead.

The entrées weren't bad, but seemed to be stuck in a creative rut. My cashew chicken was lightly spicy and a little sweet, with cashews toasted to bring out their nutty flavor. I appreciated the delicately sautéed scallions and the fresh crunch of water chestnut. Nothing much to complain about, but then, nothing to rave about either. Amy's honey lemongrass chicken was, in a word, boring. That's not to say it was flavorless—it was mildly honey-sweet with strong onion overtones—just that it was lacking in complexity. Even the lemongrass was MIA.

There are certainly dishes to like at Monkey King, but it seems the optimal strategy is to skip the too-conventional entrées and double down on the drinks and dim sum (which, really, is just their word for appetizers). And put that sauce on everything, because why not?

Score: 6.5 out of 10 (Good)

Quick Bite: Oi Asian Fusion

I tried Oi the other day because it seemed like an ideal lunch stop: intriguing Asian-fusiony protein-and-rice bowls at a reasonable price. I ended up slightly disappointed.

I ordered the Adobo Bowl ($9), which the girl at the counter said was the most popular. It comes with braised pork belly, adobo sauce, soft boiled egg and scallions. I splurged an extra 60 cents for garlic rice instead of regular.

Good news first: the pork belly itself was really good, tender and crispy with the right level of fattiness. The egg was just runny enough to add a nice creaminess to the mix. The scallions were tasty as expected and provided a little freshness to offset all the pork... just not quite enough.

The adobo sauce was a little on the sweet side, but the main issue with this bowl—and I know this sounds crazy, but hear me out—is that it actually went overboard on pork belly. This was just crying out for some sautéed broccoli, maybe a few fried garlic chips, something to add more variety and balance all that heaviness. I'm also about 95% sure they forgot about the garlic rice—either that or there was only enough garlic in there to be detectible with scientific instruments.

This really wasn't that bad. The flavors were mostly good, though it tasted increasingly like sauce near the end. But leaving Oi, my first thought was that I felt like I had a rock in my stomach, and the second was that they were close to an awesome dish, but not quite there. I may well return since there's a lot of other stuff on the menu, but I'm not feeling any sense of urgency.

Score: 5.5 out of 10 (Fair)

Review: Lola 55

I should probably start blogging with a bunch of introduction, but... do I have to? I'd rather jump right into talking about some really delicious food... so I'm gonna do that instead.

Lola 55 is a new taco spot on the outskirts of downtown San Diego, and after visiting three times, I can say it's probably the best "gourmet" taqueria in the city. The experience here is all about infusing the traditional with the modern. As you walk into the stylish, airy space full of concrete and glass, someone behind the counter is pressing masa into tortillas using a wooden press. The tacos include carnitas and carne asada, but also vegan rainbow cauliflower and baby carrot adobada.

The "Indian Summer."

The drink setup is a bit odd; I ended up ordering food at the counter and then drinks separately at the bar. My cucumber strawberry cocktail, muddled with cilantro, was sweet and refreshing, and my wife's fairly conventional mule thankfully wasn't too overbearing with the ginger.

The masa frita is as good a place as any to start eating. These fried round chips are like a fancy version of Fritos, except with chili powder and a non-lethal level of salt. The two sauces, a sweet mole and an avocado cream, keep things interesting and are even better when combined.

And now the tacos. I overheard the manager saying the menu has been whittled down from fourteen tacos during their soft opening to the current nine, so they've clearly given some thought to the lineup—and it shows. I've tried six of them, and impressively there hasn't been a single dud so far.

The squash blossom relleno is well battered and comes with a good approximation of a beef chorizo that coaxes some admirable meatiness out of its soy base. The almond "cream cheese" has a nice fluffy texture, and though it's not as pungent as the real thing, that also means it doesn't overassert itself. Overall, not a standout, but non-vegans such as myself will still enjoy it.

Approach with caution!

The spicy smoked fish is delicious, but beware: It's aptly named. The flaky white fish has the right level of smokiness, and the tacos include a pleasant mix of bitter greens, citrus and even some bacon, but all of that seems secondary once the Carolina Reaper salsa hits. It's probably not going to kill you if you're a fan of spice—the dose makes the poison, after all—but I would peg this salsa at roughly habanero-tier heat. If you're debating whether to get it, maybe you shouldn't. There's so much else to try!

The flavors on the pork belly al pastor—and just those four words together should be making your mouth water—are as good as they sound. It comes with some bits of grilled pineapple, as any good al pastor should. When combined with what looks like a lusciously thick-cut bacon strip, the result is something sweet, savory, tropical and wonderful. My only gripe is that the pork belly has a bit of chew to it, and so it doesn't quite achieve that ideal combination of crispiness and melt-in-your-mouth tenderness.

The ribeye carne asada is another big winner. I'm a sucker for crispy leeks, and those little straws of crunchy goodness are used perfectly here. A mild heat from the jalapeño and a daub of salty mashed potato provide a terrific base for the ribeye, which is cooked about medium and seasoned well. The only slight issue, again, is tenderness: It's not that chewy, but the pieces are quite large, so a long strip can come sliding out all at once if you don't manage to bite all the way through.

Ribeye carne asada & pork belly al pastor. A mouse musta taken a bite of the tortilla.

The baja fish is among the best in a city famous for its fish tacos. As with the squash blossom, it's got a nice coating of crisp golden batter. The chorizo-tomato vinaigrette, while not so appealing visually, is a great salty-savory complement. The remoulade, as it's called on the menu, is basically a very garlicky aioli—but there is no universe where I'm going to complain about aioli. Aioli is never not good.

Carnitasssss.

The smoked carnitas might be the most traditional of the six tacos I tried, and it also might be the best. The key here is the two preparations of pork at play: one is confited for maximum tenderness, while the other is crisped to perfection to create a satisfying texture. The pickled red onion and thinly shaved tomatillo create contrasting colors and add much-needed acidity. A creamy avocado mousse and a generous sprinkle of cilantro round out one of the best carnitas tacos I've had anywhere.

Lastly, I made the impulse decision to get not one but two orders of churros, because we're dessert people and specifically churro people. Best decision I ever made. (Okay, best decision of the night.) We each got four fresh churro pieces that nailed that classic crisp-outside, soft-inside texture. They were also unusually craggy on the outside, which allowed for more crunchy, cinnamon-sugary surface area. The two sauces, a light caramel and a salted milk chocolate, were both delightful. I scraped my chocolate cup clean with my fork.

I've thought about writing a food blog for a while now. I'm not exactly sure why, but it was after eating at Lola 55 that I decided to start. Maybe it's because Lola combines a lot of what I love about food in San Diego: really great Mexican cuisine, tons of small plates to try (tacos are small plates, right? why not?), and thoughtful, creative use of ingredients. Whatever the reason, I'm coming back for more.

Score: 9 out of 10 (Fantastic)