Review: In Trust We Trust

Soon to be classified by the FDA as a Schedule I drug.

San Diego is finally being recognized by Michelin for its burgeoning fine dining scene—about time! Some of the names being thrown around as potential star-earners are Addison, Market and George's at the Cove. After my recent visit, though, I would consider Hillcrest's Trust a dark-horse contender. Let's take a brief look at the items ordered—and how they'd rate on the brutal Michelin scale. (Zero stars can still be good, one is fantastic, two is mind-blowing, and three is so sublime that you'd plan a trip just to try it.)

Dish: Take Two & Trust Cocktail #18
Star Rating: One
Amy's drink was deliciously infused with blackberry; it was fruity, balanced, smooth—and dangerous in that it didn't taste too powerfully of vodka. Mine was stronger with fragrant bourbon, sweet and citrusy with an orangey aroma from the peel garnish.

Dish: Ricotta Agnolotti
Star Rating: Two
The decadent truffle shavings and black garlic streussel certainly helped, but the star of this agnolotti was undoubtedly the incredibly rich, cheesy garlic cream sauce—deceptively labeled simply "panna" on the menu. This sauce latched onto the dopamine receptors of my brain and wouldn't let go. I was momentarily tempted to lick the plate clean—it was that good.

Dish: Baja Hiramasa
Star Rating: One
Nearly as amazing was this crudo: a blast of Japanese flavor full of sweet, soy and sesame. The yellowtail was tender, though the flavor of the fish was hard to discern through that mouthwatering sauce. It's finished with wisp-thin rice cracker and crisp sweet slivers of Asian pear.

Dish: Wood-Grilled Lamb Meatballs
Star Rating: Zero
Meatballs aren't a favorite of mine, but this lamb iteration had good texture and a hearty, slightly gamey flavor. The yogurt tzatziki was clean and tart, augmented with vinegar and spice from the pickled Fresno chiles. Hearty umami lentils, delicious little rings of pickled shallots, and an undertone of garlic rounded out one of the lesser dishes that, tellingly, was still pretty great.

Dish: Wood-Grilled Octopus
Star Rating: One
This was an odd mix of ingredients that still worked because all the flavor elements were there. A strong but not overwhelming hit of vinegar from the olives, the salty minced pepperoni, and the parsley herbaceousness of the salsa verde combine beautifully. Textures were also a strong suit: The octopus was tender, while the lentils and legumes were pleasingly al dente, thankfully avoiding any graininess.

Dish: Maple Pecan Creme Brûlée
Star Rating: Two
At first I was a bit sad that we decided to play it safe by getting the creme brûlée. I have seldom been more wrong. Somehow, they fixed what wasn't broken. They solved creme brûlée. Their secret: a wide cup with almost as much sugar crunch as there is custard. But this is no ordinary caramelized sugar: it's thick, chunky, fully of mapley and nutty flavors. The poached pear and marscapone cream were tasty, but really just along for the ride. Bottom line: This blew the roof off of an already outstanding dinner.

Trust doesn't just settle for having a couple of great specialty dishes. Its food seems to bottom out at excellent and move up from there. If it doesn't get a Michelin star—or at least one of the group's lesser acknowledgements—it'll only prove they've got a lot to learn about San Diego dining.

Score: 10 out of 10

Review: Ambrogio15 and the Quest for the Perfect Pizza

The trouble with perfecting something simple is there are only a few factors under your control, and only so far you can go with them. Pizza, at its heart, is three things: dough, sauce, cheese. Sure, you can add to that base formula, but at a certain point you're just gilding the lily. So how do you hone and refine this handful of ingredients to create a pizza that will stand above all others? Not many pizza joints even try to tackle this question. Ambrogio15 in PB is one of the few places that might just have an answer.

Let's ignore our carpaccio appetizer. Sure, beef and parmesan has no right to be this light and fresh, brightened by citrus, bitter arugula and the salty pop of capers. But it's just a sideshow. A tantalizing distraction.

Let's forget the tiramisu en coppa. Yes it's tasty, with lots of sweet mascarpone cream, Nutella and crunchy coffee-infused ladyfingers, but small enough to keep you craving more. But it's not why you're here.

You want pizza. You demand it. Milan-style, razor thin, with top-shelf ingredients hauled across the globe from Italy.

How about the burrata e prosciutto crudo? The crust is impossibly thin, deserving of an architectural award for standing up to the ingredients with only minor flopping. San Marzano tomato sauce that's sweet, almost fruity. A layer of mozzarella fior di latte—literally, "flower of milk"—that's just as sumptuous as it sounds. A lush, creamy expanse of burrata from Puglia, the heel of Italy's boot. And an authentic 20-month-aged prosciutto di Parma, salty and intense. It's every region's specialty—what generations have put their heart and soul into. Put it together on one pizza, and you feel like a kid stealing from the cookie jar: Am I really allowed to eat this?

Amy ordered the salamino piccante pizza, which is its own revelation. Despite the name, it's really not spicy, but the salame is delicious, thickly sliced and satisfying. The rosemary is a perfect touch of piney herbaceousness that could easily have been overpowering, but instead is perfectly balanced. I was tempted to have more, but that would've meant trading away more of my own.

Have I found the pinnacle of pizza? There are other contenders, of course. There's the remarkable BIGA downtown, farmer's market dark horse Cucina Caprese, and undoubtedly others I haven't discovered. But in truth, maybe I'm too fixated on perfection. For now, I can rest easy knowing there's at at least one place I can turn to satisfy even my strongest pizza cravings.

Score: 9.5 out of 10

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)

Review: La Catrina

It's kind of scary how often restaurants close—even great ones. North Park's La Catrina recently opened in what was once the lively and inventive casual spot Tostadas... which was previously the incredible mad science dessert lab Swoon. When I spotted a new and interesting Mexican place opening, I knew I had to come out in a show of support.

The were seated at a corner table in the brightly colored, Catrina-themed space. The two waitresses were highly attentive—probably because we were the only ones in the whole joint. I got a traditional lime margarita, which was eye-poppingly intense, not just from the alcohol but also the sugar and tartness. That plus the salt and Tajin spice on the rim created a broad spectrum of flavor which, while delicious, could actually have benefitted from some watering down. Amy enjoyed her Mexican Mule, which had plenty of carbonation and a nice light infusion of ginger.

We ordered four small plates to share, all of which were wonderful. I want to pause for a minute, though, to talk about salt, because this is a place that knows how to use it. Salt enhances other flavors, and in my experience the more of it you add, the better—until suddenly it crosses a threshold and overpowers everything else. I asked Amy after the meal whether anything had seemed especially salty. She said it hadn't—and that's exactly as it should be. All four dishes had tons of salt, but you won't notice unless you're looking for it, because La Catrina sneaks it in to deepen and amplify their flavors without ever crossing the line.

We started off with a duo of meat-heavy plates and a pile of tortillas. The carnitas and octopus was an unusual combo that worked. Both were tender in their own ways, the carnitas savory with crunchy edges and the octopus smoky and satisfying. It was topped with hearty mushrooms, cheese and pickled onion which made for a great stick-to-your-bones taco. The plates also came with two lovely salsas, a creamy jalapeño salsa and a hot and garlicky chile de árbol that thankfully lacked the bitter burnt taste árbol salsas often have.

The other plate, the gringa, was full of crisp bits of al pastor complete with big sweet chunks of pineapple. The cheese and silky guacamole rounded out a delicious if heavy first round of food (which probably should have come after the seafood dishes).

The tostada de atún azul was piled high atop a thick, sturdy wonton-style tortilla shell. The crunch from the wonton and fried veggies played nicely off the tenderness of the fresh bluefin tuna. The whole stack was infused with citrus, herbs and a tangy red wine vinaigrette, with the ever-present undertone of salt completing the profile.

Best of all may have been the salmon tiradito, consisting of delicate salmon sashimi tossed in soy and and citrus and topped with fried onion. It was mouthwatering and savory, the cucumber and avocado serving as lighter counterpoints to the crispy onion.

I worry about La Catrina, as I did its predecessors. Granted, Wednesdays aren't typically busy nights for dining, but it's still alarming that not a single other patron came in during our entire meal. With only a few small missteps and a lot to rave about, I'll certainly be stopping by after work for a Taco Tuesday or their 3-to-6 happy hour. I may not be able to keep places like this afloat on my own, but at least I can do my part.

Score: 9 out of 10 (Fantastic)

Review: North Italia

As the family's restaurant concierge for Sunday lunches, I always find it hard to pick places that balance everyone's preferences: Somewhere interesting, not far away, a sit-down place, reasonably priced, not too brunchy... and, of course, somewhere with great food. When places like North Italia open up, it makes my job just a little bit easier.

Walking into the place felt immediately comfortable; tons of natural light pours in to illuminate the warm wood tones. We ordered drinks right away. Amy's Julietta was a light fun cocktail, bright and floral from the elderflower liqueur and slightly fizzy from the prosecco. There was a hint of ginger infused in the vodka, but nothing too assertive. My dad and I both gravitated to the apple bourbon sour—he takes after me, I guess. It was tart and delicious, an apple-cinnamon treat with a light bourbon bite. I savored every drop.

To start we shared what turned out to be a very elegant take on calamari. The thick crispy batter would make it a heavy appetizer, but it was tossed with peppery arugula and lightened considerably by the grilled lemon and vinaigrette. It was almost more like a citrusy salad punctuated with rings of tasty crunch. A definite winner.

The Caesar was one of the best I've tasted. A combination of romaine and pleasingly bitter radicchio was tossed in garlicky dressing that didn't shy away from its anchovy pungency. Best of all were the croutons, which managed to remain light and crunchy despite being soaked in the dressing. It was topped a liberal shaving of grana padano to drive home the richness of the salad.

I got the prosciutto pizza as my entree, which had a fig base as its "sauce," and was topped with arugula, goat cheese, mission figs and a bit of parmesan. All of this made for a lot of delicious sweet and salty elements. The goat cheese had a creamy, almost burrata-like consistency, and the prosciutto... well, prosciutto is always great. However, the double dose of fig did make the pizza a little too sweet; either the sauce or the topping would have sufficed. I also missed the acidity that comes from something like a classic tomato sauce.

Dad's bacon and egg pizza was the quintessential great breakfast pizza. Though though the bacon could have been crisped up a bit, it was pleasantly creamy, with some nice earthy asparagus to make everything officially Healthy™. Others at the table concluded this was the best entree of the four; I'm hesitant to give it that title when there's pasta in the running.

On that front: My mom got the radiatori—so named because they literally resemble miniature radiators. The shape, it turns out, was perfect for capturing the delicious parmesan cream sauce, which was rich but tempered a touch of citrus. It came with tender short rib meat to round out a wonderfully comforting dish. Amy's chicken pesto was also very tasty, though not too unusual. Although it was cream-based, the taste of the basil, herbs and toasted pine nuts easily shined through. The chicken would have been a bit dry were it not for the extra sauce to smother it in.

There were a lot of successful dishes here, and only a few missteps. Maybe the most telling detail, though, is that my dad—the choosiest member of our Sunday posse—gave it his blessing. With that crucial endorsement, I've officially added North Italia to the Sunday rotation. Maybe I should send them a plaque or something.

Score: 8 out of 10 (Superior)

Review: Din Tai Fung

It's finally here.

Since first opening in Taipei in 1972, Din Tai Fung has slowly expanded across the globe, spreading its gospel of xiao long bao (soup dumplings) along the way. After 46 years, they've opened at UTC Mall to give San Diegans a chance to see what the fuss is about. Finally.

Confession time: I'm a total neophyte in the ways of dim sum. I've been to Jasmine once, years ago, and was thoroughly underwhelmed. That experience was all I had to go on—that and the massive buzz. I was only able to snag a table for Sunday lunch about a month in advance, and that's when it dawned on me just what a phenomenon Din Tai Fung really is. By the time the day came, I was brimming with anticipation.

Drink squad, assemble.

The dining space is elegant and modern with neutral tones and huge windows that let in plenty of light. After a brief wait on the patio, we were shown to our booth, past the kitchen where about a dozen people behind the glass were tirelessly assembling dumplings.

I got the Shanghai Flame, a vodka cocktail that started off sweet from the lychee juice and finished with tart passion fruit puree. The cayenne on the rim was mixed with sugar to ensure it was balanced and not too spicy. The other drinks at the table were a peach green tea (fruity but not too much so as to overpower the tea's natural bitterness), and lychee green tea with boba (sweet with big chewy globules of tapioca).

But you're not here for that, are you? You came for soup dumplings, and soup dumplings you shall have.

Juuust a li'l peek of that good filling.

Xiao long bao are essentially self-contained pockets of pork and broth, which you can dip in a soy-and-vinegar sauce, then puncture with your chopsticks or a quick nibble to help the inside cool. Once you do, the soup immediately pours (or if you're not careful, spurts!) out into your spoon. You can then eat your morsel in a couple of bites (which I have dubbed "the coward's method") or down the whole thing in one go like a shooter.

The ritual of careful opening makes each dumpling feel like something truly precious—which they are, because they are absolutely delicious.

We got three kinds, and each one was succulent and amazing in its own way. Each dumpling's broth is so infused with the essence of its filling that it feels like you're getting a double dose of flavor in every bite. The standard pork dumpling functions as the classic, timeless original. It's mouthwateringly savory with touches of garlic and ginger. The dipping sauce adds another layer of salty, tangy complexity. It's warm, soothing comfort food, so wonderful that it makes me wish I'd grown up with it.

Behold the pinnacle of human achievement.
...What? Why are you looking at me like that?

The truffle pork dumpling was something else: decadent, the inside speckled with countless bits of black, earthy mushroom. It was deeply, luxuriously truffly and delicious. One caveat: An order of regular pork dumplings is ten for about $12, but this order is five for $24—four times the PPD (price per dumpling). As good as they are, you may want to go for many the other tasty items unless you're a true truffle fiend.

Finally, the crab and pork dumpling: soft and intense with sweet seafood flavor (again, both in broth and filling) and just a bit of that savory pork base. Definitely worth a try if you enjoy the taste of crab. (My mom found them a bit fishy; I disagree. Thankfully we're still on speaking terms.)

We got two veggie sides. The garlic broccoli was reminiscent of a classic Chinese takeout order, but perfected. made with infinitely more care; not limp or soggy as it too often is. It was firm and slightly smoky with light garlic and ginger notes. The garlic spinach was similar, again slightly garlicky, but a bit too wilty for my taste—not to the point of being mushy but definitely on the soft side.

What's hiding under that crust?
Something tasty, that's what.

But there are still many more dishes to see. The Shanghai rice cakes, rather than being crispy as I'd expected, actually had a chewy and satisfyingly glutinous texture. They actually put up a fight when you chewed them, which was actually a welcome difference from the softness of some of the other dishes. They came in a lovely brown sauce with a salty caramel taste. Unusual and good, though not among the high points. The shrimp and pork potstickers were an eye-catcher: They're connected by a thin, brittle sheet of crust and served crust-side-up so that all you see initially is a rectangle of golden crispness. Break through that crust with a chopstick to reveal the tender dumplings beneath. It's a great texture contrast. The flavors of shrimp and pork both come through distinctly and meld beautifully with the salty, slightly acidic dipping sauce.

Pictured: Sauce of the gods. (Oh, also wontons.)

I haven't yet mentioned the best dish of the meal—yes, better than the soup dumplings. The vegetable and pork wontons were soft, luscious parcels, but the filling was almost irrelevant: The chili sauce they came in was clearly the star here. It was ten flavors at once: sweet and vinegared, with a perfect, even heat and a melange of caramelized garlic, ginger and scallion. It's the kind of sauce that you hoard, that you put on stuff it wasn't even meant for, that you eat spoonfuls of all on its own, because it's just that good.

Finally, dessert: More xiao long bao.

...Yes, really! This time, though, they were filled with melted milk chocolate. It felt like guilty pleasure, biting in to let the pure candy goodness come oozing out. Clearly a western bastardization of the dumpling arts, but who cares when it's this delightful?

It's... kinda cute?

Just as good, and arguably more interesting, was the sesame bao bun. The outside has the thick, fluffy and lightly sweet qualities typical of a steamed bun. It's a bready, gratifying chew that's typically accompanied by a filling of savory meat or veggies. Here, though, the filling is a molten, nutty paste of delicious black sesame sweetness. Oddly, it reminded me a bit of a peanut butter sandwich, but more understated and complex. It was a fitting way to end: A simple yet totally unique dish taken from a page in the traditional Chinese cookbook that I've never experienced before. (That, and it's a dumpling.)

The food at Din Tai Fung is outstanding. It feels familiar, not far from the Chinese cuisine I've come to know and enjoy, but heightened, subtly elevated at every turn. Their devotion to the craft shines through in just about every dish. And it's got one more quality that only the best restaurants can boast of: a dish or two that you'll be dreaming about long after you've left full and happy.

Score: 9.5 out of 10 (Incredible)

Review: Brigantine Coronado

If there's a classic San Diego seafood restaurant, it's probably Brigantine. It's been around almost 50 years, and has since expanded to no less than seven locations sprinkled across the county. Amy and I tried out the Coronado location for our Saturdate night.

I got a raspberry mojito, which was sweet and very raspberry (both natural and artificial) with a hint of mint. Amy's paloma mule really was like two drinks in one, with the citrus up front followed by a sweet, gingery finish.

Our calamari strips were a mixed bag. Presentation was lacking; the nine or ten floppy strips barely filled a small plate. The thin breading also left a lot to be desired; these strips could have been an irresistible had they had a thick, crisp batter. The jalapeño white sauce was the saving grace of this dish. The dipping sauce is a signature of Miguel's, Brigantine's sister restaurant; it's rich, creamy and comfortable with a mild heat, like the best nacho cheese ever.

My pan-seared salmon light yet satisfying, cooked medium and tender. The butter avocado sauce had that browned, caramelized glow that amplified the natural butteriness of the fish. A bed of chorizo, roasted poblano and sweet corn served as a delightful complement, adding a dose of tanginess and salt. It was finished with sprouty, herby sprinkle of microgreens. In sum, a good dish that was more than the sum of its parts.

Amy's lobster tacos were the best part of dinner. I can best describe them as "lobster and chips" in taco form. Massive chunks of lobster were swathed in a thick layer of beer batter, combined in a taco with a fresh cucumber and jicama slaw and creamy cilantro sauce. It was delicious, at least as good as any fish 'n' chips I've ever had and probably better from light natural sweetness of the lobster. The fries had a prominent (but not too prominent) truffle taste and a sprinkle of parmesan, though they definitely should have been crisper and could have used a sauce.

We ended the meal with a slice of flourless chocolate toffee cake. It was definitely tasty, with a rich dark chocolate flavor that topped with (what else?) a smooth chocolate ganache. The only issue here was that there was very little actual... toffee. Some shards of thick caramelized crunch would have really put this cake over the top, but instead we got a few small bits with almost no texture to them. The vanilla ice cream helped, but I couldn't help but feel let down just a bit.

Brigantine occupies a distinct niche in our restaurant ecosystem as the "default" seafood place: It's solid cuisine that you can find in locations from Imperial Beach to Poway. It's certainly true that there are better options in its category—Herringbone and The Marine Room come to mind. Still, I wouldn't be surprised if Brigantine's upscale yet approachable atmosphere helps preserve its status as a San Diego mainstay for another 50 years to come.

Score: 7 out of 10 (Very Good)

Review: George's California Modern

Snapper crudo from The Fanciest George

I wanted our first anniversary dinner to be somewhere special, so we chose a place I've wanted to go for years: George's California Modern, one of the pillars of San Diego fine dining. It's the swankiest of the three George's concepts, which are stacked neatly one atop the other, all overlooking the La Jolla coastline.

As we stepped off the noisy street and through the entrance of the Fancy George's, the atmosphere immediately changed. The empty bar served as a quiet, dignified, solemn staging area. There was little indication we were in a full-service restaurant till we were led down a hall to the main dining room. Our genial server immediately congratulated us on our milestone (as would happen another half-dozen times or so over the course of the night).

Our cocktails were strong, tropical and delicious. Amy ordered an English milk punch, which was not milky in the least, but had a smoky foretaste and followed up with a hit of herbaceous pineapple. My drink, simply labeled "Tiki," was actually the creamier one thanks to the coconut. It was sweet and a bit bitter, maybe from the absinthe, with a citrusy passion fruit finish.

We got bread with three house-made spreads to start off (for $2 a person—I guess this is what pays for that prime La Jolla real estate). The Prager Brothers bread was wonderful, earthy with a healthy outer crust. Spread number one was an unsalted butter, rich and creamy, not a standout until I added a sprinkle of the accompanying craggy kosher salt, which made it a real treat. Number two was a Thai basil hummus which was, well... aggressively basil-y. Not bad, but a bit one-note. Third and most interesting was the spinach and artichoke butter, reminiscent of a Boursin-style spreadable cheese, but subtler and smoother.

I got pork belly (Drink!) as my appetizer, which was nice and tender, but exceedingly salty. In my mind, the elements of a successful dish should taste great on their own, not just when combined, but here the pork belly was much better when the salt was mellowed by the hearty, almost creamy barbecue baked beans. The crispy fried greens added a nice textural element, though I would have also liked a bit more of the pistachio for a different kind of crunch. There was plenty to enjoy here once I escaped the salt—I just shouldn't have had to in the first place.

Amy's snapper crudo was light and refreshing; the sweetness of the fish echoed in the cubes of fresh watermelon. A well-assembled bite would also include a bit of rice cracker crunch and some heat from the chile. It all rested in a creamy buttermilk sauce, unusual but satisfying. I would have liked more acidity, but I can appreciate the novel direction.

Amy's beef tenderloin appeared in the form a posh, delicious holiday dinner. The juicy, delectably tender meat was well-crusted on the outside and topped with a buttery, sweet and tangy bone marrow vinaigrette. It came with creamed kale, which we agreed should immediately replace creamed spinach worldwide; the hardier green retains some firmness through the creaming process instead of becoming a wilted mess. They may have gone a bit overboard with the root veggies, though they were well prepared; the carrots and potatoes had a lightly crisped exterior. The parsnips were nice as well, tasting halfway between the potato and carrot. It came together into something like a traditional feast in miniature.

With my duck entrée, it felt as if the chefs had designed a culinary playground—there were just so many elements that bounced off one another in interesting ways. The duck breast itself was simple enough, but it seemed destined to be paired with the preserved kumquat as a nod to duck à l'orange. If I instead grabbed some of the peanut, pickled veggies and cilantro, I got whispers of something Vietnamese. Broccoli popped up twice but in very different forms, served in florets with a nice chargrilled flavor and as a purée that brought out a slight sweetness. The heavily crisped duck leg sprinkled throughout was a joy. Most interesting of all was the green onion pain perdu, which didn't read as French toast in the least, but rather as a savory scallion brioche, fluffy but a little crisp on the outside. There was almost too much going on here, but it was undeniably unique and tasty.

I insisted on a dessert for each of us, a foolish mistake that I don't regret in the slightest.

Amy's warm chocolate tart was piled with fresh berries, black and red and gold. The chocolate was rich and dark, with a melty consistency somewhere between the inside and outside of a lava cake. Crunchy chocolate soil and a toffee-like dark chocolate tuile piled on the decadence. The crème fraiche ice cream was nothing more unusual than a standard vanilla, but it didn't have to be. Delicious.

My doughnuts and dips was like five desserts in one. The four large, fluffy donut holes were doused in sugar and designed to be dipped into one of four small ramekins: a vanilla crème brulée complete with caramelized crust, a thick chocolate custard, a sweet and deeply strawberry compote, and a tart raspberry jam. It was wonderful. I nearly died finishing it.

Having experienced George's, I can see why it's so well regarded. It's not a place to go for a casual dinner, but it is most certainly a place to go. Despite the occasional flaw or excess flourish, it's one of those elite places, like Market or Nine-Ten, that define high-end American cuisine in San Diego. Restaurants like George's serve are an essential part of our rapidly rising national reputation as a food city.

Score: 9 out of 10 (Fantastic)

Travel Eats: Kin Khao (San Francisco)

How did they make tomato salad taste incredible?
I don't even like tomatoes!

Our most notable food adventure in San Francisco was at Kin Khao, a Thai restaurant that boasts a Michelin star. (Pausing here for oohs and aahs.)

How good was it? Well, here's how Amy described it: There's a scene in The Princess Bride where Buttercup thinks Westley has been killed by pirates, and in a heartbroken stupor she murmurs, "I will never love again." That's us, except with Thai food. Kin Khao is so good that any other Thai food I've ever had pales in comparison.

People associate Michelin-starred places with the snootiest of haute cuisine, but mood at Kin Khao is unassuming. It's located inside a Hilton, right across the hall from (yes, really) a FedEx Express. The inside is modern and minimal, casual to the point that I felt comfortable coming straight from our day of sightseeing in shorts and a T-shirt. The staff, while clearly rushed from the busy night, was still friendly and attentive.

Since this was Part I of our first anniversary celebration, we were treated to two glasses of sparkling white wine, dry but slightly sweet. Amy ordered the Butterfly Collins, which turned from blue to purple as the server poured in a bit of unidentified liquid. It was a bit like a Tom Collins, fizzy but with a cucumber foretaste that also lingered after the sweetness and the liquor subsided. I got the My Thai, which was more or less a very tasty Mai Tai, tropical and almondy with a generous helping of rum.

FYI: Pictures aren't really gonna do this food justice.

Considering the quality and amount that you get, the $65 per person prix fixe menu is a steal. It's eight dishes, plus three types of rice, served family style in quick succession. What followed can only be described as an onslaught of incredible flavors.

The miang kham, a kind of leaf-wrapped amuse bouche, was filled (if I understood correctly) with finger lime, trout, shallot and a bit of bird's eye chile. It tasted strongly of lemongrass and citrus, plus a bit of the funk of fish sauce. Good start. The next dish accomplished what anyone who knows me would consider impossible: It made me enjoy raw tomatoes. This little salad leaned into the acidity of the tomatoes, dousing them in a tangy white soy and lime dressing. It was also sweet and peanutty with some pungency from both cooked and raw shallots.

By now I was noticing a few patterns: there was lots of fish sauce, peanut and shallot, there were tons of competing yet harmonious flavors, and everything was delicious.

By all accounts we shouldn't have cared for the nam tok beans either. Cranberry bean lettuce wraps? Really? These, though, were flash fried so that they were crispy yet somehow still light, dressed in lime and chile and coated in toasted rice powder so that they were salty, spicy and tangy all at once. Somehow, improbably, Kin Khao was three for three.

Behold the Thai everlasting gobstopper.

Phla pla muek is basically a spicy squid salad, which are not three words you often see together. It still worked perfectly. Of course it did. The flavors actually came in discrete waves like an everlasting gobstopper: first sweet, then tangy and salty, followed by the pungent fish sauce, and finally the crumble of peanuts and cilantro. How did they do that? No, really, someone call a food scientist; I want to know.

The first thing I heard from Amy when she tried the pork belly was: "Are we in heaven?" This is sorta Kin Khao's signature dish, and it was everything I could have asked for. The crackling actually fell right off into the sauce, so I ate it immediately while it was still crisp. I could swear I got goosebumps. The rest was actually like two different dishes: the fattier part was luscious, melty and unbelievably tender, while the meatier part was like a darkly sweet barbecue pork. The sauce it came with was great with the belly, though a bit too richly sweet when I put some on the rice.

Curry, beans and rice. Looks like just your
average meal—keyword being "looks."

Speaking of that: We got white jasmine rice, which had its usual faintly floral aroma. The sticky rice was not sweet as I was expecting, but rather just dry and, well, sticky. It was fine. But I have to thank Kin Khao for introducing me to brown jasmine rice, which I had no idea existed. I'm no fan of ordinary brown rice (it's kind of whole-grainy and reminds me of quinoa), but this had the same delicious fragrant quality as the white jasmine. I'll be getting some for home use!

Our massaman beef curry served as an entrée course of sorts. The braised beef cheek was tender, though a little more stewy than I prefer. The curry itself was excellent: creamy, mild and hearty, topped with crunchy, lightly breaded shallot rings. It came together for a dish so stick-to-your-bones that I felt like I was back at my nonexistent Thai grandmother's house. That was served alongside blistered pole beans in an "XO sauce" composed of dried scallops, shrimp and ham. Think green beans without the bitterness, salty and garlicky with a massive hit of umami. Yum.

Stop making me like things I'm not supposed to like, Kin Khao!

At this point our stomachs were reaching the bursting point, but dessert was still to come: Thai tea soft serve. Thai tea has a distinct cardamom and star anise flavor I'm not a huge fan of, but it worked here because it was mellowed by the sweet condensed milk. Clusters of satisfyingly chewy tapioca and a topping of crispy coconut flakes provided a nice texture variation. Amy was too full, but I finished mine, because it was great and also I will never let dessert beat me.

I've rambled long enough, so I'll keep my summary brief: There's no denying that Kin Khao is pricey, but it's cheap for the experience you're getting. Few places are bold enough to bring such a broad and vibrant spectrum of flavors to the table. Kin Khao beats out any other Thai restaurant I've been to—not by a mile, but by a marathon. Everything here is great. Don't hesitate. Just go.

Score: 10 out of 10 (Extraordinary)

Review: El Roy's

Fun fact: El Roy's has the same owners as Leroy's. No, really!

It was Restaurant Week last week, which naturally means something fun for date night. I chose El Roy's Tequila Bar & Kitchen in Coronado, a newly-opened Mexican place from Blue Bridge Hospitality (which practically has a monopoly on Coronado restaurants). It was offering a pretty interesting $30 3-course prix fixe menu, so I saw this as a good opportunity to try it out.

The view and the vibe are the immediate draw at El Roy's. It's located by the San Diego Bay waterfront, giving diners a fantastic view of the downtown skyline through the floor-to-ceiling glass. The guitarist played classic rock and some Mexican classics, which created a warm atmosphere despite the slow weekday evening. The psychedelic Día de los Muertos style mural on the wall gave the dining area some character.

First course! My Mexican corn pudding was excellent and one of the best parts of the meal. The cornbread-like base was topped with a heaping helping of elote. That mix of roasted corn, poblano, cotija, green onion and lime was a tart, salty complement to the sweetness of the cornbread. A great appetizer, but I'd recommend sharing because it's quite filling.

Amy's duck confit empanadas were good, though they may have been crisper if they weren't placed on a bed of salsa verde. The acidity of the salsa and pickled onion worked well to balance out that fried dough. The duck filling was meaty and satisfying but hard to pick up at times among the other flavors. She also had the Hibiscus Cooler cocktail, which was nothing unusual but nice, like a faintly floral sangria.

The entrée course was frankly a little lackluster. The sweetness of Amy's short rib tacos drowned out the other flavors for me—a shame, because crispy shallots and chile-tomato jam sound like they should have been great accompaniments. On a positive note, the actual tortillas were actually thick and slightly crisped with a definite masa flavor. The Brussels sprouts had that great crispy charred texture on the leaves. They had a pretty sweet foretaste due to the honey-based sauce (which ended up coating the plate—not ideal), followed by a light vinegar flavor. I liked them more than Amy, so I helped her out with them. I'm nothing if not a gentleman.

My pork belly tacos (yep, pork belly again—someone start a drinking game!) had their own issues. The flavors were good, including the very nutty peanut aioli and some sourness from the pickled veggies as great complements to the pork. The main problem was the pork belly itself, which came in massively thick slabs. That still could've been delicious if it were done right, but unfortunately it wasn't tender at all, and the fat wasn't properly rendered, making for an unpleasant bite. My cucumber slaw was okay, with a nice vinegar foretaste that faded a bit too quickly into something lemony and slightly bitter.

Dessert put things back on track. I got the dirty horchata cocktail, which was sweet and strong—they definitely didn't skimp on the horchata-flavored vodka. It was also pleasantly creamy from the white chocolate liqueur and coconut milk. I definitely got the cinnamon from the cinnamon–coffee simple syrup. It's not far from what I imagine a White Russian might taste like (never mind that I've never had one). Not all that much like horchata, but definitely tasty.

The highlight of the evening, though, was easily the Mexican chocolate pot de crème. Incredibly decadent, the chocolate custard was infused with just the right amount of cinnamon: not overpowering, just enough to stick around. It was topped with a layer of thick golden salty caramel—the kind of caramel with that deeper, darker sweetness. There was even a second (!) caramel dolloped onto it, a lighter one spiced with a little cayenne. All of that came with a blob of whipped cream on top. (Because... why not?) This was so good that the fact that it was too rich to finish may come back to haunt my dreams.

Having opened just a month ago, El Roy's may still be in the process finding its footing. They've clearly got some dishes down to an art, while others are just as clearly in need of some tweaks. Hopefully with the backing of the Blue Bridge Mafi—er, Hospitality Group—they can take their promising start and flourish into something truly great.

Score: 6.5 out of 10 (Good)

Review: Single Fin Kitchen (& Little Italy Food Hall)

The hamachi bowl comes everything,
including the kitchen sink.

Poké is over.

Food halls are the hot new culinary trend. They're popping up across San Diego County, and while they're similar in format to your classic mall-rat, Hot-Dog-On-A-Stick food courts, they're generally more sophisticated and thoughtful about the cuisine on offer.

The newly opened Little Italy Food Hall, where Amy and I went for date night, is a great example. Its six gourmet food (and drink) options include killer Milanese pizzas from Ambrogio15 and Sam the Cooking Guy's decidedly non-traditional Not Not Tacos.

We first grabbed a couple of drinks from the Food Hall Bar. Amy got the Piazza Spritz, a bright, fresh blend of prosecco, aperol, grapefruit liqueur and blackberry. I got the daiquiri italiano, which was nice and sweet with a prominent nutty amaretto flavor.

For dinner we opted for Single Fin Kitchen, which specializes in Japanese-style seafood. We started off with some shishito peppers. Usually about one in ten of these are actually hot, but in this batch I'd say at least half of them brought some serious pain. The ponzu and topping of smoky bonito flakes were pleasant additions (when I wasn't dying of spice!).

Single Fin's main attraction is its elaborate donburi rice bowls—and I do mean elaborate. As we watched their creation, it was almost comical how many sprinklings of extra ingredients they got, even after they looked finished. To give you an idea: Amy's bowl contained rice, hamachi sashimi, hamachi tartare with green onion, shiso leaf, cucumber, chile threads, avocado, radish, pickled veggies, smoked bonito flakes, microgreens, seaweed and furikake. Whew!

Was all that complexity really worth it? Well... actually yes, for the most part. It could easily have been overwrought, but instead it was like a whole ecosystem of harmonious flavors. You could create a forkful of hamachi tartare with a bit of minty herb fragrance from the shiso and some hearty bonito... or maybe a delicate bite of sashimi that balances chile threads with cooling cucumber.

My bowl, the Salmon 360, included three types of salmon—sashimi, tartare and torched belly—as well as sake-marinated salmon roe, microgreens and a thin slice of fried egg. The salmon belly was delicious and tender. The egg, too, was almost melt-in-your-mouth. I really liked the ocean flavors of the seaweed and spices. If there's one problem with these bowls, it's all too easy for the taste of the fish to get lost in the jungle of ingredients.

The staff was friendly and funny—and apparently in a good mood too, because they also gave us a free scoop of black sesame ice cream. Let me tell you, they weren't messing around; it was so rich with sesame seeds that it tasted almost like a peanut or almond butter. The trade-off, though, was in the texture: Since it was so packed with ground seeds, it really wasn't all that creamy. Still, we finished every bite just to savor the uniqueness of that sweet sesame flavor.

The creativity on display at Single Fin was positively kaleidoscopic. Sure, maybe not every element in the bowls really needed to be there. And by the time we finished, I actually felt slightly exhausted from the variety (and maybe those peppers had something to do with it too). But there also something exciting about having such a host of ingredients lovingly assembled by folks who obviously care about their craft. I want to try the other stations in Little Italy Food Hall, but it'll be hard when Single Fin is right there tempting me.

Score: 8.5 out of 10 (Excellent)

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)