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: 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

Quick Bite: Pho Cow Cali Is the World's Fastest Decent Sit-Down Restaurant

Sorry, no time for a better photo.
15 minutes, remember?

Sometimes, there's just no time in the day for a decent meal—or so I thought, until Mira Mesa's Pho Cow Cali proved otherwise.

There are days when I only have a half hour between appointments for a late lunch. Factor in driving, and it seems like an impossibly narrow sliver of time—yet Cali makes it happen. The logistics of it are a thing of beauty. Let's walk through a meal together (with some recommended musical accompaniment):

2:26pm: I'm in and seated. I'm handed a menu, but I already know what I want: the #44, rice vermicelli with egg rolls and BBQ pork. I double-check the menu to confirm the number.

2:27: The waiter is back with a glass of water. I order and take a quick restroom break.

2:29: I return just as lunch arrives, a steaming bowl of noodles, meat and veggies. I ask for the check right away, then quickly slather the vermicelli in red chili sauce and dig in.

2:35: My check is paid, the entire transaction complete in under ten minutes. The only limiting factor is my slow eating.

2:41: I get up to leave. As exit, I check my phone, then double-take in disbelief: It's been 15 minutes since I walked in.

The kicker is that the food is really quite good. The bowl is piping hot, filled to the brim. Rice noodles are hard to get wrong, sure—especially not with a half gallon of chili sauce. The pork, though, is savory with a hint of sweetness, fat expertly rendered into tenderness and topped with scallions. Only a couple of slightly chewy pieces keep it from being perfect. The egg roll has that delicious, subtle tangy funk that egg rolls often have. It's satisfying and crisp, though the outer layer could do with a little more crunch. The sweet pickled carrot and daikon is a punchy contrasting flavor.

Pho Cow Cali is remarkable not just for speed and relative quality, but its consistency, too. If I go in on a mission, I'll be out in 15 minutes every time like clockwork. Who says you can't eat well on your lunch break?

Score: 7 out of 10

Dish Spotlight: Spicy Sesame Ramen at Tajima

A rainy day in a bowl.

Has it really been four months since I've been to a Tajima? It's a fixture of San Diego's landscape now, with so many locations that you'd practically think they were Starbucks.

The North Park location was bustling even on a Thursday afternoon. It started to pour shortly after I got in, as if the weather were anticipating my meal. Shortly after being seated, I got what I always get: the spicy sesame tonkotsu ramen with added pork chashu.

This is not a bowl designed for everyday eating. The broth is so creamy and rich, it almost makes you feel guilty. It's piled with so many toppings you have to work to break through to the noodles. It's packed with so much sodium you'll have to swear off salt for a week.

And still, it's all so worth it.

Every ingredient is beautifully calibrated. Pork bones are boiled for twelve straight hours and combined with sesame and chile to create a broth that's spicy, unctuous and satisfying. The noodles are delicate but still retain a robust springiness. The half egg is always cooked medium—never too runny or too solid. The garlic chips are crunchy but never burnt-tasting, as they often are elsewhere. Now and then the occasional note of toasted sesame shines through. The ground pork is savory, heavy on salt but not overwhelmingly. There are just enough veggies to trick your brain into thinking there's some nutritional value here: Buttery bok choy, ocean-infused nori, crisp green onion, lightly bitter sprouts.

And then there's the chashu. Theoretically, it's an optional add-on, but in practice it's an absolute requirement. Pork belly is the star of many a ramen bowl, but this incarnation is just unreal. It offers no resistance as you bite in. Time stops. The world falls away. And you're left with only the dark, deep, rich, meaty, golden caramelized flavor.

When you combine all these ingredients, you have the perfect meal to brood over on a cold, dark day. You can listen to the rain patter on the roof as you let the warmth flow through your body, banishing the chill from your toes. Just sit, relax, and eat your fill. This is a big bowl, so there's no shame in getting a to-go container—chances are, you'll be keen to savor every drop.

Score: 9 out of 10 (Fantastic)

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: Cali Banh Mi

A couple months back, Kearny Mesa staple Cali Banh Mi opened their second location in east PB. Since then I've stopped by probably three or four times, and on the whole I like what I've seen.

The interior is small but chic, with lots of natural light and a white and gold color scheme. There's also a little side patio to hang out on, which seems nice, though honestly this is more of a to-go spot for me.

I've gotten the savory BBQ pork banh mi a couple of times. It's only four bucks, and while it's not massive sandwich, it's just the right amount to fill me up. Visually, the red and green colors from the pork and veggies are bright and appealing nestled in the light and crunchy baguette. The pork is sweet and savory, with definite notes of black pepper sprinkled in and a touch of garlic aioli spread. The foliage is plentiful here: cilantro, jalapeño, cucumber, pickled carrots and daikon. I would have preferred a little less cucumber, and the pickled veggies are actually pretty mild and could have used just a bit more sharpness. For the most part, though, it's a fresh and delicious lunch option.

On those days where I feel like I deserve the royal treatment, the surf & turf banh mi (for the kingly sum of eight dollars) is another way to go. The other fixings are the same, but the pork is swapped for ribeye and black pepper shrimp. The savory, meaty flavors from the ribeye and the sweet, buttery seafood are a great combination. The ribeye could benefit from a lighter cook, but that's my only real gripe.

Though Cali Banh Mi is near one of the busiest intersections of San Diego, it's in a slightly odd location without much else around it to attract business. At least Muscle Mill, the previous fast casual joint to occupy the space, had the advantage of catering to the nearby gym. Hopefully it manages to do well there, since it's a simple, dependable lunch choice for days on the go.

Score: 7 out of 10 (Very 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: Coin Haus

Why the dog, you ask? The better question is why not?

Coin Haus isn't about food. In fact, it's so not about food that nearly half the menu comes from its next-door neighbor, Bo-Beau. Instead, this inventive concept from the ubiquitous Cohn Group revolves around two other staples of life: beer and arcade games.

The centerpiece of Coin Haus is a safety-orange shipping container housing fifty (yes, fifty) self-serve taps—mostly beer, but also a few wines and even cocktails. Each tap has a screen with a description of the drink and the price per ounce. Just grab a glass, place your tab-tracking card on the screen, and pour.

The system is clever and seamless—it's like small plates, but for beer. (Small glasses?) We sampled probably fifteen different drinks between the two of us. Some of the highlights, bearing in mind that I'm not necessarily a beer snob (er, connoisseur):

• Karl Strauss' peanut butter cup porter had a good peanut butter scent and wasn't as bitter as I've found a lot of porters to be.
• The chocolate coffee stout was pleasantly bittersweet with a coffee aftertaste.
• I usually enjoy the berry flavors of lambics, but their blueberry lambic was mouth-puckeringly sour and had an unpleasant aftertaste reminiscent of a barnyard.
• I tried one of their three featured cocktails, the Sabe bourbon cinnamon maple old fashioned. It was oddly carbonated and had a very sweet foretaste with the cinnamon coming on later and the maple almost an afterthought. Aggressively festive but good in small enough doses.
• Superfood Coffee Co.'s Norwegian Cold Brew was very tasty, creamy and not too strong—maybe even a little fruity.

The range of games is relatively small compared to a full arcade, but they do have a healthy selection of essentials like Frogger, Joust and Contra. They were a blast to play—sometimes literally: I tried out the legendary light gun shooter Duck Hunt for the first time ever. We played two-player Super Mario Bros—significantly harder on an arcade setup! We even snuck in a round of foosball (which, in case you're wondering, I dominated).

They're, uh... not much to look at. But good!

Since this is a food blog, I should probably mention the food at some point. (Novel, I know!) The fried chicken sliders (courtesy of Bo-Beau) were absolutely delicious—and not just delicious "for a pub." They nailed the essential crispy exterior, while the chicken itself was steamy and moist. It was all slathered in a tangy and herbaceous sauce that I wished there was even more of.

Amy's reuben on rye was just adequate, probably because it was made in-house and not next door. The sandwich was crisply thin-pressed with some good salty pastrami, but it literally came with a packet of Newman's Own thousand island dressing and a bag of Lay's. Pretty underwhelming to say the least.

If you want to eat well here, you definitely need to order off the Bo-Beau section of the menu—or maybe even just eat at Bo-Beau first and come for drinks and games after. But though the food is a bit of an afterthought, it's almost justifiable when the other attractions are this entertaining.

Score: 8 out of 10 (Superior)

Dish Spotlight: Carne Cruda Asada at Juniper & Ivy

Little Italy's Juniper & Ivy is one of my favorite restaurants in the city. It ticks a lot of boxes for me: A wide array of unique small plates, a great cocktail list, an inventive menu that changes throughout the year—and most importantly, a few permanent menu items that are among my favorite dishes, period. One of those is the carne cruda asada.

Not-so-quick aside: Leading up to our recent visit, I'd planned to profile a different one of their mainstays, the incredible yodel cake. Its wild combination of textures (crunch! powder! ice cream!) and flavors (coffee! chocolate! strawberry!) mingle and combine in wonderful ways. It's a perfect dessert... but on our visit they'd ruined it, tampering with the flavor profile to create a far-inferior apple and matcha version. When we told the waiter as much, he confided: "You're preaching to the choir." Turns out much of the staff is lobbying to get the original back. Fingers crossed!

Now, back to the topic at hand.

The carne cruda asada has no right be as good as it is—not with ingredients that are so seemingly simple. It's just toast stacked with steak tartare, jalapeño, cotija cheese, quail egg and scallion, sliced into four pieces for sharing. And yet...

Flashback: The year is 2014. We're visiting J&I for the first time, soon after its grand opening, and I spot an odd and intriguing tartare toast on the menu. We order. I grab a slice. The toast is thick-cut, hardy enough to support a huge helping of tartare, so tender it's creamy, infused with jalapeño heat. The adorably tiny sunny-side-up quail eggs amplify that luscious texture. It's like the perfect savory breakfast, but I'm having it for dinner. A smattering of scallions and hint of lime and provide the springiness needed to lighten the heavy steak-and-eggs combo. And finally, the cotija supplies the critical salt element that unites the rest into a Mexican-influenced masterpiece. Months after this first encounter, I continue to think back on it longingly.

Here in 2018, the cruda asada is still one of the best dishes in San Diego. No outrageous flavors, just subtle, hearty and satisfying. It's the first dish to make me really love steak tartare, the kind of dish where every ingredient has an essential role to play. A true instant classic—let's just hope they don't go adding apples and matcha powder.

Happy Hour Bite: Trade Winds Tavern

Most gastropubs are, let's face it, a little drab. Stepping into one, you can generally muddled brownish-gray tones, a few kegs, maybe some industrial design touches—and that's on a good day. Trade Winds Tavern, though, has a certain artistic flair. Driving by on Balboa in Kearny Mesa, the colorful punk mural outside catches your eye instantly, drawing you in through raw curiosity. Inside the theme continues: a wall painted with cyclops jellyfish, a giant game table, and... okay, some industrial decor.

I come after work for their food happy hour with surprising frequency. The other day I got the elote and the salt and pepper chicken wings. The corn, though a bit on the puny side, was sweet and pleasingly charred, doused in mayo, cotija and a little citrus. The cheese made it satisfyingly salty and funky. Adding some chili powder, though, would've brought an authentic spicy edge.

The wings were thickly battered and crunchy, as any good salt and pepper wing should be. The main flavor I got was most definitely salt, though the red pepper flakes and scallions occasionally asserted themselves. So while the texture was on point, I was thankful for the accompanying hot sauce to add some heat and flavor variation.

To be frank, the food at Trade Winds isn't mind-blowing. In fact, they've taken a couple of my preferred items off the happy hour menu. Yet I still find myself stopping by. I think it comes down to a combination of convenience, some interesting comfort food, and an offbeat vibe. A little creativity goes a long way.

Score: 6.5 out of 10 (Good)

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)

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: Mutual Friend

A friendly name for a friendly place.

It's always fun when I just stumble on a place I've researched and I get to go, "Ohhh, so that's where that is." Today I was stopping off for gas when across the street I noticed Mutual Friend, a newly-opened ice cream shop in Golden Hill, beckoning me with promises of sweet treats. I got the gas pumping and made my way over.

I sampled the Grandpa Badger's Citrus—in part because of the hilariously old-timey name. It's a zesty mix of lemon, lime and orange with a pleasant brightness. For me, though, it leaned a bit too far into orange territory, particularly in the aftertaste. Texturally, at least, all the ice cream I tried was rich and creamy—just the way it's meant to be.

I settled on two other flavors. The Roasted Banana Peanut Butter Cup was very much what it sounded like: It had a very sweet, fruity flavor almost like a one-ingredient frozen banana "ice cream". The peanut butter cup mix-in was a bit on the stingy side, authentically nutty without much in the way of chocolate.

The Happy Camper was definitely the best of the three I tried (and it's seasonal, so get it while it lasts). Essentially, it's "bourbon and s'mores" flavor. They mixed a nice milk chocolate ice cream with a generous helping of bourbon, and the result is sweet, boozy and tremendously good. The only issue, again, is that the mix-in was lacking; I only got a couple of cinnamony graham cracker bits.

For both of these flavors, in fact, a bit more mix-in would have really added some crunch and cut through the sameness of taste and texture. As it is, though, I appreciate Mutual Friend's willingness to experiment with some slightly unusual flavors without trying to completely reinvent the form. It seems they're going for a classic, friendly small-town vibe updated with a touch of modern style, and overall I'd say they've hit the mark.

Score: 7 out of 10 (Very Good)

Quick Bite: Poke It

For some reason this interior design makes
me crave watermelon. Can't imagine why.

These days, you can't walk down the street without accidentally stumbling into a poké joint. It takes some wild creativity to stand out from the literally dozens of raw fish shops lining the sidewalk like so many toppled electric scooters.

Poke It in Hillcrest has made an admirable effort, though. Billing themselves as "premium raw with a Mexican twist, they naturally offer the now-pedestrian poké bowl and nori-wrapped burrito. But they venture further, toying with the limits of seafood propriety: riceburgers (with crispy rice as the bun), ricetadas (crispy rice tostadas), and tacos made with fried, panko-crusted nori shells. When will the madness end?

Today I stopped by for the salmon al pastor tacos. They were a bit small, but four to an order. The most impressive thing about them, I think, was actually the shell. I expected them to be brittle, breaking apart and leaving behind a pile of taco debris. But no! Though crunchy, they had just the right amount of give so as not to break apart, aided by a bed of white rice acting as a shock absorber. These shells had an addictive, snacky texture; they really ought to be on store shelves for bingeing at home.

Will man's hubris ever be quenched?

When I ordered, my one concern was that when the menu described "cooked" adobo salmon, it really meant "overcooked." As it turned out, I was right to worry: The chunks of salmon had the grainy well-done texture that every seafood lover dreads. The adobo marinade was okay—it was pleasantly salty and savory, but the flavor profile didn't go much deeper than that.

Thankfully, the salmon texture was mostly masked by all the other ingredients: The tang of the pickled onion, the creamy guacamole to complement the shell, the sweet and spicy pineapple with a hint of cinnamon, and an herbaceous dash of oregano. The flavors sound a bit odd together, and are a bit strong on their own, but when combined they balance each other to form a cohesive whole.

I'm a sucker for innovation. These tacos were far from perfect, but there's a lot I can forgive when a restaurant is willing to try something different. While I'm not in a rush to return, eventually the call of ricetadas will be enough to draw me back in.

Score: 6.5 out of 10 (Good)

Event Bites: Rum Socials at Oceana

Over the past couple of months, Amy and I went to a couple of Rum Socials put on by the Catamaran Resort in PB, in association with Malahat Spirits, a local rum distillery.

Tickets were $35 a person—not bad considering events like this often cost double or triple that. Located on the back patio of Oceana Coastal Kitchen, they both featured live music, a rum tasting, two signature cocktails and a seemingly endless supply of hors d'oeuvres. (I dream of one day being able to spell "hors d'oeuvres" on my first try.)

Let's get all the drinks outta the way first. To be honest, I'm not as discerning about alcohol as I am about food, but I do still think rums we tasted were excellent. The Malahat co-founder stressed to us how, unlike most other rums, theirs are designed for sipping neat, and though I can't see myself doing that, these were definitely much smoother. First was a cabernet-barrel-aged rum, simple and lightly sweet. The second was clean and bright with light citrus notes. Finally, my personal favorite was the spiced rum, full of vanilla and cinnamon flavors.

Our mojitos at the first event featured the barrel-aged rum. They were sweet, fresh and deliciously strong. The "cannibal coladas" at the second event were equally tasty and a bit more interesting. It was a piña colada using the spiced rum and mango purée. The result was tasted tropical and sweet but also pumpkin-spiced, which sounds bizarre, but somehow it worked out great.

Phew. Now that those pesky drinks are dealt with, we can get to the food.

(I know, I'm weird. I just like food I guess.)

The first event back in August was probably the better of the two. It featured a table with charcuterie board and smoked trout hand rolls. Both delicious, and I'm not even a big smoked fish fan. My favorite passed bite of the evening was probably the endive with bacon-wrapped fig, topped with balsamic and creme fraiche. There's a reason this type of hors d'eouvre is popular to the point of being cliché: They work really well. The salt of the bacon plus the fruitiness of the fig and the tang of the toppings are swept up in the fresh crunch of the endive to create a mini masterpiece.

(Fun fact: "hors d'eouvre" is not pronounced "horse dover." French is dumb.)

Dessert was a fantastic array of petit fours, but there were a couple of highlights for me. The pyramid of chocolate mousse was rich in its chocolate shell, coated with finely chopped nuts. The macaron was perfectly packed with sweet, toasty vanilla and a hint of coconut.

The second social was a bit less impressive, but still a good time. It was pirate themed, so each table had a sprinkle of chocolate coins and a sugar skull centerpiece.

The table setup served sliders with roasted suckling pig, pickled onion and sweet chili sauce. The meat was tender and moist, but the golden-crisp skin was the real star: full of melty, collagenous textures and savory flavors. The passed bites were a little less varied but still tasty. The salmon puffs may have been the best, filled with cream cheese and garnished chives, like a posh, fluffy lox and bagel. The andouille crostini was a bit dull and one-note, as the sausage was the only prominent flavor. I did like the vegetables with crisped rice, which had a nice vinegar component and a pleasing crunch from the crisped rice.

Sadly, there were no dessert bites this time (aside from the coins, which we eagerly plundered)—probably because our tickets came with a Mission Bay cocktail cruise, and they didn't want to spoil us too much. It was a weeknight, though, so we cut out early like the wet blankets that we are.

I've gotten more than a few culinary event emails hawking tickets for several hundred dollars a pop. These Rum Socials weren't exactly black tie galas, but they still let you enjoy some great food and drink while feeling fancy for a relative bargain. I certainly hope the Catamaran decides to put on a few more next year.

Score: 7.5 out of 10 (Great)

Happy Hour Bite: Dirty Birds

Chicken wings are the pinnacle of bar food: You can eat them with your hands, they're shareable and they're great with a beer. But there's one place in San Diego that has taken that pinnacle and airlifted some extra soil on top to create (*gasp*) an even higher pinnacle. That place is Dirty Birds.

Thirty-seven flavors. Take that in for a minute. Dirty Birds has thirty-seven discrete flavors of wings. I've been here many times, and I still haven't even tried half of them. (The ones I have tried, I've catalogued in a spreadsheet like the insufferable nerd that I am.) They're also half off during happy hour (weekdays 3–6pm), meaning you can get 10 wings for a very reasonable $7.50.

Dirty Blue and Seoul Wing, plus token veggies.

I paid a visit the other day and got two of my favorites. First was the Dirty Blue, a mix of a classic buffalo sauce and house-made blue cheese dressing. This is the most brilliant innovation in wing technology since the airfoil. Blue cheese already goes great with wings, so why not bake it in (literally) from the get-go? The result has both the spicy vinegar kick of the buffalo and the creamy pungency of the blue cheese. Every bite makes you crave the next.

I should note that they've also come up with a couple of other wonderfully balanced sauce blends. The Dirty Ranch uses ranch dressing for something a little less sharp and more creamy. The Flaming Honey Mustard's combination is a bit sweeter and also slightly spicier, probably due to a slight bite from the mustard.

My other choice, the Seoul Wing, is one of the more interesting flavors on the menu. It's a distinctly Asian-influenced sauce with notes of garlic, soy sauce, teriyaki and sesame, plus a firm but tempered dose of chile. It all comes together in an awesome amalgam of sweet, savory and spicy.

There aren't many restaurants that do one thing as thoroughly and as successfully as Dirty Birds does wings. While not every sauce is a winner, most of them are—and the absurd number of options ensures that just about anyone can find several that suit their taste.

Score: 9 out of 10 (Fantastic)

Quick Bite: Garlic Shack

[Insert vampire joke here]

The restaurant business is tough—and arguably the toughest part to nail is consistency. To maintain a fully stocked inventory, professional customer service and top-notch food quality is an incredible feat of logistics, one that most diners seldom stop to think about.

That's because when a restaurant is run well, they shouldn't have to. Unfortunately Garlic Shack, unfortunately, broke that cardinal rule on the two occasions I tried it.

I walk though the door of the Shack for the first time. It has a funky, grungy aesthetic that matches its name: Wooden picnic-table style seating, corrugated metal sheeting as an accent wall. The words "GARLIC SHACK" are stenciled everywhere. I can kinda dig it.

When I go to order the spicy belly banh mi (#sorrynotsorry), the friendly teen behind the counter informs me they just ran out—like, the minute before I came in. Oops. I reluctantly scan the menu and order the chimichurri steak fries.

They're delicious. The fries themselves are crunchy, greasy and wonderful, topped with a great chimichurri packed full of herbs and vinegar tang. The cheese has that satisfyingly gooey, stretchy consistency. Oh, and of course, there are eleven metric tons of garlic—almost enough to counteract the negative health effects I'm sustaining by consuming a pile of cheese, meat and fried potato. The steak is well-seasoned—even the thyme comes through—but it's cooked nearly well done rather than medium as I asked for. Still, I depart from the Shack contented, with garlic on my breath and optimism in my heart.

I return the next week for another banh mi attempt. Incredibly, it's the same story: They're still out of the pork belly. I ask if there's a specific time this item is available, but the chef apologetically explains through the ticket window that no, this is "just the way it goes," because "everything is made to order." Since this is true of any decent restaurant, I find this rationale... confusing. And anyway, shouldn't you be sure to have enough of any ingredient that's key to three of your menu items?

It's not as good as it looks. Curse my photography skills.

Halfheartedly, I ask for Korean beef noodle bowl. It's... well, it's not great. The tiny spoon I'm given is comically insufficient for the enormous bowl of soup. The noodles are clumped together. The broth is okay, meaty and spicy but quite salty. The bowl feels like it's missing something, and looking back over the menu I realize why: The enoki mushrooms, bamboo shoots and garlic chips are all mysteriously absent.

I don't bother asking about them. I know what the answer will be.

Believe or not, I wouldn't be surprised if I had a good time at Garlic Shack if I ever returned—it's just that the experience is just too hit and miss to know for sure. Their problem isn't that they're incapable of making good food. It's that they haven't learned how to be a restaurant.

Score: 4 out of 10 (Mediocre)

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)

Quick Bite: Ramen Ryoma

In my estimation, Tajima ruled the realm of San Diego ramen for years. Then, in 2017, a challenger appeared: the wildly popular Menya Ultra gave them a run for their money with an absolutely killer bowl. Still, I'm always looking for a place that can dethrone this newly-formed top tier.

Will Ramen Ryoma in Kearny Mesa be the one? Well... no. (Really built up the suspense there, didn't I?) It was good and a little different, but it didn't quite measure up.

I got the spicy miso ramen, which comes with chashu, spicy ground meat, bean sprouts, seaweed and green onion. What I really didn't enjoy was the ground meat. Before mixing it in, it was actually cold; I know it's designed to be mixed in, but it's really unappetizing in a steaming hot dish. The texture reminded me of coarse ground turkey—again, not something I especially want in my ramen.

The meat also contained all the spice of the dish, though, which diffused nicely into the broth, turning it from light and buttery to spicy and hearty. The noodles were springy and satisfyingly al dente. The best part was the chashu: a single enormously thick slab, meltingly tender and roasty. The nori was okay, though I prefer it more crisp and less... floppy. The green onion and sprouts, though, added a lovely fresh finish.

Ramen Ryoma may be aiming to start an empire; they're in the process of opening up shop in Hillcrest and Pacific Beach. Will they eventually expand enough to challenge Tajima's dominance? I tend to think not. They can make a serviceable bowl of ramen, but they'll need an infusion of personality and some culinary fine-tuning before they can take on the greats.

Score: 6 out of 10 (Decent)