With catch phrases like “Fizzy yellow beer is for wussies” and “I’m bitter and I like it” it is easy to infer that their beers are not created for the faint of heart, or palate. With a standard domestic glass of nonsense, you could reasonably expect between 7 and 15 IBUs (International Bitterness Units, used to indicate how bitter a beer is), Stone’s low end is 41 and goes up well over 100. From the Pale Ale, to the delicious Smoked Porter all the way up to the heavy hitting seasonal Double Bastard, Stone is the only brewery from which my picky bitter self will admit to enjoying every brew in their arsenal.  There are free brewery tours, beer tasting, a bar and lounge as well as a garden to sit in and enjoy a fresh IPA, but wait, they have food too? Yes, an impressively delicious menu of dishes created to go along with a nicely chilled glass of white zinfan… yeah right. Buffalo burgers with beer cheese, garlic cheddar beer soup, fried mashed potato balls with Smoked Porter bbq sauce to name a few, a menu fit for an Arrogant beer drinker.

Stone does have a lighter side though and last night, over a few glasses of beer and a glorious sunset in the garden, they showed it to me. Last night was Stone’s Fresh Dinner, a mission of Executive Chef Alex Carballo to showcase the local organic produce of San Diego county. Chef Carballo got his team out of bed to get out by 5AM to begin shopping the local farms for the ingredients for the dinner, a feat that can be very difficult if your team works at a brewery. From 5AM they found all the freshly harvested components of what would become a 5 course dinner. A few beers deep, upon leaving, I forgot to snag a menu but I will do my best to recount.

The dinner started with a brief walk through the back and a fresh pour of a new beer straight off the tank. The beer was a session ale that is a compilation between Stone, Ballast Point and the winner of a homebrew competition. It was unfiltered and relatively low in alcohol content (4-5%). The color was golden and opaque and looked much like honey. On the palate it was very summery with tons of citrus and bright floral hoppiness. Look for it’s release later this year.

-Course 0: Panzanella, served at the meet and greet in the garden.

Green, wax and purple beans, Temecula onions, fresh baked and dried bread, heirloom tomato, avocado oil.

The bread was fresh baked and dried same day. The beans were barely cooked and served very crunchy. With the sweet heirlooms and the Temecula onions this looked like a big plate of summer. The bread was still slightly crunchy which is a welcome departure from the often soggy bread that I associate with panzanella. The salad was well seasoned and pleasantly spicy which went well with the session ale that we were sampling.

-Bread on the table: Green Garlic Focaccia

This is probably in the top 5 breads I have ever eaten. Airy, light, crispy, garlicky and incredible. Excellent job chef.

-Course 1: Gazpacho

Heirloom tomato, cilantro, pepper.

This was about the best gazpacho that I have ever had, but to be sure, it did not change my opinion of gazpacho. The heirloom tomatoes were sweet, the spice was just right, and the oil they used had a really nice flavor too. The rub with gazpacho is that, although I know it is a classic, refreshing, cold summer soup, I want a bit more heat, a bit more salt and a bag of chips. Their was enough distinction in the way that it was seasoned to convince me that it was a soup but it always will taste like salsa to me. To be fair, this is a pretty consistent feeling among most people that I have discussed gazpacho with.

-Course 2: Abalone and Spring Roll

Abalone: Carlsbad Aquafarm abalone, watermelon radish, cucumber served in shell on a bed of sea salt.

Spring Roll: Assorted cabbages, radish, carrot, and mint served with a soy, garlic, hot pepper dipping sauce.

If you have not had abalone, it’s probably not what you would think. Abalone is very chewy, so in order to serve it you either need to cook it for a very long time or tenderize, score, and slice very thin. They opted for the latter, the abalone was presented very simply and in its own shell with a lightly dressed salad of thin sliced watermelon radish and assorted cucumbers. The abalone itself was not sauced or seasoned, a move that I assume was to let the flavors stand on their own, briny, sweet and tasting of the ocean… delicious.

The spring rolls were served as an accompaniment, Vietnamese style rice paper rolls filled with shredded vegetables and herbs. They were very crunch and refreshing and the Vietnamese/Thai style dipping sauce was very tasty. For the vegetarians, they substituted the abalone for an extra spring roll. As tasty as they were, they were not substantive and certainly not reasonable to substitute a $5-8 abalone with a $0.75 spring roll.

-Course 3: Prawns and Eggplant Napoleon

Prawns: giant La Jolla spot prawns, corn and potato succotash, Carlsbad Aquafarm mussel vinaigrette.

Napoleon: roasted squash, eggplant, sweet pepper sauce.

The prawns were great, presented beautifully family style, head on, on top of the succotash with a stripe of stark green mussel vinaigrette on top. They were very large, tasty and cooked perfectly. The corn and potato succotash was flavored lightly and the sweet flavor blended well with the prawns. I got a few dirty looks for slurping the brains and fat out of the heads but those people do not know what they are missing.

I appreciate that there was a real limit put on the kitchen by what was available that day from which to compose their dishes but the Napoleon was not a success. The dish itself, I am pretty sure was vegan so to serve roasted squash and eggplant without cheese is already fighting an uphill battle. It was properly cooked and the pepper sauce was tasty but the overwhelming flavor was tea which was odd. The eggplant was not peeled, which might have been fine if it was thin skinned, but it was not. The thick and tough skin made it difficult to eat and the dish was underseasoned as a whole. One of our dinner buddies, Beth, is not a vegetarian but does not like seafood. Unfortunately for Beth, who had already traded her abalone for a spring roll, the entree course being seafood as well meant that the Napoleon was her only option so while we tore through the prawns she picked at the eggplant.

-Course 4: Stone Fruit Trio

Roasted peach with balsamic vinegar, honey and almonds.

Chilled peach, strawberry, blueberry and pinapple sage soup, whipped cream, lime zest.

Plum tart

The peach was roasted nicely with honey and balsamic vinegar and then covered with roasted almonds. They set it on a small pile of sugar which provided both stability and sweetness. The plum tart was simply delicious, red plum on a bit of custard in a bite sized tart shell. The peach soup was the real standout. Peaches and fresh berries were blended with pineapple sage, poured into a shot glass and topped with whipped cream and lime zest. The shooter had impressive concentration and layers and layers of different complex flavors. I am not really a dessert person because I don’t enjoy sweet endings to meals but this fruit trio was satisfying and refreshing. My wife wanted cake but I was very happy.

All in all the meal succeeded as a showcase of what can be bought fresh and organic just miles from home. The chef was pleasant, informative, presented each dish and took any questions the diners had regarding the sources of the food or the creation of the dishes. The pint of unreleased beer right off the fermenter was a unique and exciting experience. The panzanella in the garden was a great start, in a beautiful setting with perfect weather. They had a slideshow showing the produce they bought as well as the preparation of the dishes which was very cool to see while eating, the start to finish of what’s in front of you.

I only see a few issues with the whole thing, two of which have already been stated. First was the Napoleon, I will admit to not being a fan of eggplant but that was not a good dish. Beth and I used to both be vegans and neither one of us liked it. Second was the price, $55 a person for all those courses and a beer is reasonable, but not for the vegetarians. I did some calculations in my head and figured out that the food for those that did not eat meat/seafood cost about a third (or less) of the non-vegetarian dishes. In the future I would suggest a vegetarian option that is a bit more substantive or a lower price for the pre-specified vegetarians. Finally, this is a Stone Brewing dinner, it seems to me that there should have been an available beer pairing flight (for an extra cost would be fine) that would put a good brew with each dish.

But soon, we may see a day when no more country mice die needlessly, at least not if North Park’s restaurants Urban Solace and The Linkery have anything to say about it. With Urban Solace’s innovative takes on comfort food, and The Linkery’s steadfast dedication to farm-to-table eating, North Park now has not one, but two stunning restaurants.  Unfortunately, now North Park diners are left with a hard choice: which of these restaurants is better?

It's the Diamond Crusted Pimp Cup of Chicken

Dining at Urban Solace, with its New American take on classics like tomato soup with grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, and chicken and dumplings, is a bit like answering the question of “What feels better than a glass of warm milk at night?” with a response of “A glass of warm milk served in Lil’ John’s diamond-studded pimp chalice.” At first, you may think it’s a bit cheeky and bizarre.  But then you think about it, and you realize something: you want the pimp cup.

The food is nothing short of spectacular, combining familiar flavors with a touch of sophistication.  The Jidori chicken, considered by many to be the hallmark dish of the restaurant, is the best you can get without roasting the bird yourself – perfectly cooked where lesser establishments would turn the chicken into sawdust.  And the tomato-fennel soup with crème fraiche and a grilled four-cheese sandwich hits a wonderfully nostalgic note.  There’s enough goodness in the soup alone to make you think that mom made it for you – and that mom got a bit fancy in the preparation. I’ve eaten at Urban Solace several times, and the only time I wasn’t blown away was when I ordered a crab “pop-tart,” which is thankfully no longer featured on the menu.

Urban Solace's Grilled Cheese is arguably better than lovemaking on a bearskin rug.

But if you want a good dish, try the duckaroni.  I already am a macaroni and cheese slut, and by that I mean I would do mildly depraved things at the whims of others simply for a plate of mac and cheese.  But when you add duck into the mixture, I turn white and have to steady myself on the nearest chair.  It’s almost too much, and like with anything of that vice-like nature, almost too much is just enough.

The dining room is nice looking as well, in a distinct departure from our usual habit of recommending places that are delicious, but involve a certain risk of being shot.  No need for a Kevlar vest here, although a dress shirt would make for wonderful camo.

The Linkery, by comparison, does not seem like your mom got a bit more sophistication; it seems like your mom took a job in a meat packing plant.  I realize that “meat packing” and “your mom,” in the same sentence will elicit giggles from the immature members of the audience, but the Linkery specializes in house-made sausage, and such jokes really are unavoidable when you’re talking about a restaurant with such specialties. Now that the sausage caveat is out of the way, let’s talk food.

Located within half a block of Urban Solace, the Linkery combines good beer with really, really tasty meats, all with a focus on providing solid, fresh, local ingredients.  It’s not as pretty as Urban Solace, but it does have a singular focus on the ingredients.  That is never, ever, ever a bad thing.

Ever wanted a place where you could be as blatantly carnivorous as you want without feeling guilty afterwards?  You’ve found a home.  The meat is unquestionably the star here.  Of course it helps when you’re adjacent to a sister company that happens to be an artisinal cured meat vendor.  Just like everything else, it’s local, it’s organic.  It’s even good for the environment.  Take that, you lentil-munching vegetarians!  The Hot Italian sausage and Cincinnati sausage are fresh, well balanced, and manage to avoid the near-ubiquitous over-salting that you get even with name-brand tubular meats.  And the house-made licorice mustard is enough to get in a bare-knuckles brawl over as well (mind you, I hate mustard, and I would consider punching a baby for this food).  It also helps that the Angus beef and Hampshire and Blue Butt pork come from San Luis Obispo county, home of the best ingredients in the world, and worth going slightly less-than-local for.

Some would call this "cruel," or "barbaric." For me, the word "crunchy" comes to mind, thanks to the Linkery.

The burger is also a standout, combining the very best meat with grilled onions, bacon, pineapple, and a fried egg.  This is the kind of meal that hardened men in prison weep while daydreaming about when the slop is dumped on their table in the cafeteria.

Speaking of the wants of incarcerated men, the beer selection is also stellar, and features local breweries like Stone and Alesmith.  Once again, the mantra of good and local foods comes into play.

It’s not easy trying to establish a farmhouse, homestyle feel in the middle of urban rush and hustle.  The constant noise, smog, and the oppressive rush of the city constantly fight the feeling of simplicity and comfort.  But those same obstacles are the reasons why places like Urban Solace and The Linkery exist, and why these restaurants should be treasured.

And thus we arrive at the paralyzing question: which should you choose?  Well, you can’t really go wrong, can you?  More than anything else, it will depend on what you value and what you’re looking for.  But for my money, well, let’s just say that Urban Solace is the only one of the two that’s on my speed dial.

Serves 2
20 Minutes

Mis En Plas:

Plastic wrap
Toaster
Frying pan
Meat mallet
Microplane

Ingredients:

¼ lb. pork tenderloin
¼ C. panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)
¼ C. all purpose flour
3 eggs
2 English muffins
10 fresh asparagus spears
3 T. soy sauce
2 t. sesame oil
¼ C. hoisin sauce
Juice and zest of 1 lemon
Canola/vegetable oil for frying
Salt and pepper

Slice the pork into 2 medallions. Place the pork between 2 sheets of plastic wrap and pound thin with the mallet. Crack and beat one egg into a bowl. Combine panko and flour with 1 tablespoon of kosher salt and a few grinds of black pepper. Dip a piece of the pork into the egg and then dredge in the flour and panko mixture, shake off excess breading and then repeat for the remaining pork. Heat ½ cup of canola or vegetable oil in a frying pan until oil ripples. Add the pork and fry each side until golden brown (about 2 minutes per side), remove and allow them to drain on a paper towel.

Clean out frying pan and add the asparagus, a tablespoon of salt and enough water to coat and put on a burner on high.

Juice and zest one lemon into a bowl. Add hoisin sauce, soy sauce, sesame oil and whisk together. Check for seasoning and adjust flavors to taste.

Remove asparagus when fork tender and set aside. Toast the English muffins.

Add a small amount of oil to the pan and fry the remaining two eggs to your liking.

On each English muffin, place a fried egg, the fried pork cutlet, 5 asparagus spears and then add as much sauce as you like (1 or 2 tablespoons would be fine). Garnish with lemon.

Serves 4
40 Minutes 

Mis En Plas:

Small sauce pan
Medium frying pan
Strainer
Tongs 

Ingredients:

Small pork tenderloin (2 lbs)
2 ruby grapefruit
¼ C. orange juice
4 T. olive oil
½ C. butter
1 clove garlic, minced
1 small shallot, minced
½ C. dry white wine (chardonnay, chenin blanc)
1 bunch basil, stems removed
Salt and pepper

For the sauce, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil and ⅛ of a cup of butter in a small sauce pan until foaming subsides. Add the minced garlic and shallot and sautee until shallots start to brown slightly. Deglaze the pan by pouring in the white wine and then reduce that mix by ½. Juice the grapefruits and combine that with the orange juice and add to the sauce pan, again reducing by ½. Check for seasoning and add salt and pepper to taste. Chiffonade ⅓ of the basil and add to the pan, allow to steep for 2 minutes. Strain the sauce and set aside.

For the tenderloin, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil and ⅛ of a cup of butter in a medium frying pan. Season the tenderloin with salt and pepper and add to the pan. Brown all sides (about 1 or 2 minutes per side or until golden brown). Add remaining ¼ cup of butter to the pan and put pan into a preheated 350° oven. Open oven and baste the pork with the butter from the pan every 2 or 3 minutes until the pork is done, about 8 to 12 minutes depending on how thick the tenderloin is. Remove the pan from the oven and place the tenderloin on the cutting board to rest for about 5 minutes.

Reheat the sauce, checking for seasoning and adding salt, pepper and/or another ⅛ of a cup of butter to taste. Slice the pork into 16 medallions (½ to ¾ inch thick). Put 4 medallions on each place and sauce as desired. Garnish with basil chiffonade.

Pairs well with rice pilaf, steamed vegetables and the rest of the white wine used in the sauce. Can also pair well with a light, fruit forward Pinot Noir.

The Fat Duck Cookbook

By Heston Blumenthal

This isn't a Pink Floyd poster. It's a Radish Ravioli.

After reading the Fat Duck Cookbook, I didn’t want to write a good review of it.  It doesn’t offer many recipes, it’s as practical as a snooze button on a smoke alarm, and the back half of the book reads like a medical journal.  It’s nerdiness on a wholly unprecedented scale, likely to induce an irrational fear that Heston Blumenthal himself will come to one of your dinner parties, and instead of cooking, he will proceed to bore all of your guests and loved ones into cardiac arrest with an in depth discussion of umami (see page 94 if you want to experience the cure for insomnia first-hand).

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the complex answers to the questions that modern cuisine is always asking.  I do.  I just would prefer the cliffs notes version, not the Gulag Archiapelago.

Luckily, this Russian novel/medical journal/cinder block of a cookbook is perhaps the most outrageously gorgeous cookbooks that I’ve ever read.  It’s borderline pornographic, although in a disconcerting, “that’s not how nature intended things,” sort of way – somewhere between the main gallery at the Guggenheim, Kiera Knightley, and the three-breasted alien woman in Total Recall.

This is what happens when Dali makes candy.

But hanging over the incredible, surrealist pages, is the haunting question of new cuisine – have all the hydrocolloids replaced the soul of the food? At first, I was inclined to say yes, but I would have been wrong.  The soul is still there, particularly in Blumenthal’s mission statement on “New Cooking.”  It’s just hidden under a thick veneer of liquid nitrogen, squirting bow ties and rabbits pulled out of your ear.   Heston Blumenthal is a genius, there is no doubting that.  But absent the proper reading of this book (read only for technique and to gain an appreciation for what’s going on.  You won’t recreate these things at home, but maybe you’ll learn something here and there.), he’s bound to be a misunderstood one.

Momofuku

By David Chang and Peter Meehan

Momofuku isn't Japanese for "Lucky Peach." It's Japanese for "I would consider murdering a transient for this food."

If you’ve read any reviews of David Chang’s three Momofuku restaurants in New York, you might think that he has a cult of food writers and diners who live and die by every dish that the man creates.  Seriously, it’s Branch Dividian level stuff; the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives are once again readying their weapons and preparing to storm the East Village ramen bar.  And I’m getting ready to lace up my black Nikes, change my name to “Sycamore Xerophon” and take many, many sweet swigs of the Momfuku Kool-Aid (which probably would be made with Bacon – to me this is a divine signal).  Bring on the tear gas and mass suicide. I’m ready to transcend if it means I get pork buns.

Run away with me, Pork Bun. I can make you happy.

Stylistically, Momofuku is the closest cookbook one can find to Anthony Bourdain’s brilliant Les Halles Cookbook.  Complete with obscenity and sarcasm by the metric ton, the book guides you through some of the recipes from each of the three (very) different restaurants, including the essential recipes for ramen (advanced warning: get a lot of pork, and a goodly number of eggs), and pork buns.  But it doesn’t end there.  There are small things about the book that make it as useful as just about any other restaurant-based cookbook, including tips for using pork fat for things other than clogging your sink drain with velvety deliciousness.  And for those of you who still aren’t ready to get on the bus and make friends with the rest of the cult, er, brother/sisterhood, I have a phrase for you… bacon dashi.  You heard me right.  It’s the kind of combination that usually is only found in Greek mythology – the cool parts with the monsters and titans.  This isn’t a mother sauce.  It’s a HOLY MOTHER OF VIOLENCE sauce.  If it were legal to marry a flavor base, I would run away with this one and have a family of tiny, little Asian soup stocks.

So get on the bus.  Listen to some Polyphonic Spree.  Eat some artisinal Carolina Ham.  Drink some Kool-Aid.  Let me call you, “Eucalyptus Starflower.”  It’ll be delicious.

Ad Hoc at Home

By Thomas Keller

Awww... look at the piggy... he looks delicious...

I was nervous when I saw the words “family style recipes” at the bottom of the dust jacket for Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc at Home.  I began questioning. What happens when you take America’s best restaurant chef out of his natural element – the stainless steel and infinite resources of a commercial kitchen – and slap a family-friendly apron on him?  Best-case scenario, he revolutionizes the American home kitchen, blowing minds and taste buds along the way while finishing what Julia Child started.  Worst-case scenario, we figure out that Thomas Keller has no business being in a home kitchen, and Ad Hoc’s cookbook turns out to be the literary equivalent of the Porsche Panamera, a hideous monument to the question of “what were you thinking?”

Ad Hoc, however, is neither of those things.  It’s too complicated to mobilize the masses into picking up their chef’s knives, much less sharpening said knives after they’ve been bouncing around in drawers full of salad scissors and apple corers.  But it’s not a disappointment, either.  It offers up what look to be genuinely good, balanced food, and in a format that starts with entrees and allows for a mix and match of side dishes, for those who don’t believe that home meals have to start with an amouse-bouche and then move to a fish course.

After reading every previous Thomas Keller offering, I always was overwhelmed with the sheer brilliance of the dishes.  The perfection.  The balance.  I was starstruck with the kind of giddy idiocy that I know I would feel if I ever met someone like Sean Connery, or ever got to sit next to Zooey Deschanel.   But Ad Hoc at Home doesn’t offer Hollywood-level awe-inspiring glitz and perfectionistic glamour.  It’s more like old episodes of The Waltons.  Sure, it’s not stunning.  Nothing in this book will be so pretty on the plate that you’re hesitant to stab it with a fork.  But with its homey advice for novice cooks, and Keller’s tribute recipe to his late father, you can’t help but want what this book has to offer.  You want the family.  You want the 2.2 kids, the Volvo wagon, and the golden retriever.  You want Ad Hoc and, as its namesake restaurant promises, temporary relief from hunger.

David Chang and Heston Blumenthal are great cooks.  And their books speak to that.  But they’re wild, urban affairs – the sort of foodie temptations that lead decent young men into big, bright cities to have their taste buds corrupted by unusual flavors not talked about in church services.  Ad Hoc, though, is something more angelic than that.  It’s the one you want to take home to mom.  And in these troubled times, that comfort means a lot.

Chef Jordan Cherry

Staff Writer, The Feed Feed

Fifth Avenue’s Hash House a Go-Go is an institution in San Diego’s food scene. Here’s why.

If you’ve ever wondered what food would look like doing jazz hands and singing the theme song for Fame, then all you need do is go to the Hash House a Go-Go on Fifth Avenue. It’s big, it’s flamboyant, and it’s almost a pantomime of farmhouse food. And it’s absolutely fantastic.

Above all else, the food is big, in every sense of the word. And I don’t mean the kind of brobdingnagian food fetishism you’ll find on pimpthatsnack.com, I mean seriously tasty food in mass quantities… served on platters with rosemary sticks sticking out the top of them that are oddly reminiscent of the feather in Huggy Bear’s purple fedora. Normally, huge portion sizes are a warning sign, like pictures on menu, or the word “surprise” in the name of the chef’s signature dish (or for that matter, in the name of any dish). But whatever, you do, don’t run at the size of the portions. Remember, this is farm food, the type of meal expected to propel a sweaty, salt-of-the-earth kind of man to plow the south forty in three hours. Of course, to urban folks, this is the kind of meal expected to propel a sweaty, modern man to the couch for a four-hour food coma. Don’t worry; it’ll be worth it.

French Toast

Come at lunchtime, and you’ll be greeted by a bevy of “stuffed” one-pound burgers, complimented by things like mashed potatoes (not on the side, on the burger!), or the fiendishly good ham and eggs. Honestly, don’t bother with the salads. They’ll be the size of a small rainforest, and you didn’t go there for a salad anyway. Instead, get the Kokomo, the specialty meatloaf sandwich. It’s got roasted tomatoes on it, so it’s a little bit like a salad. And what tomatoes they are – sweet, soft, and with an amazing depth of flavor; they’re almost enough to make me swear that people who put ketchup on meatloaf should be waterboarded. Lunchtime is a great show at the Hash House, like a bargain matinee at the best musical in town. But unlike any other over-the-top extravaganza, prime time at the Hash House is in the morning.

The Kokomo

Take a moment, if you will, to meditate upon the glory of the sunrise. The dewy grass, the heavenly silence, the almost angelic light of the morning sun… and now picture, in the middle of all of it, a pork loin benedict the size of your thigh. And just for effect, picture Europe’s “The Final Countdown” blaring over a loudspeaker as you begin to tear heroically through that thing. C’mon, Rocky! You can do it!

Were you the kid who stole the gravy boat at Thanksgiving and tried to drink it like a fine wine? Have you ever wondered what it’s like to actually hear years of your life taken away? Try the biscuits and sausage gravy. It’s biblically good, and unlike most gravy-slathered abominations, you can actually see and taste the sausage in it. You may not live to pay the tab for it, but that’s kind of a bonus if you think about it.

Biscuits and Gravy

Or, if coronaries aren’t your thing, try the hashes, which are basically omelets without eggs. Or try the French toast, complete with bananas and pecans. And get a bacon waffle on the side, indisputable proof that bacon makes everything better (even bacon!). The silverware is just as sturdy as the food, which is good because you’ll need a sturdy fork to punch a new hole in your belt before you leave; it will be two inches too small.

But what if you don’t want the musical equivalent of Oklahoma! on your plate? What if you want Death of a Salesman? Well, they’ve got that, too. For a bit under seven dollars, you can be the proud consumer of the O’Hare of the Dog… a tall boy of Budweiser and a plate of bacon. And as counterintuitive as this sounds, it’s the best thing on the menu. Not because it’s the tastiest. Not because it’s the fanciest. Not even because you may be a bitter octogenarian and you’ve had the same damn breakfast every day since you were fighting the Germans in the War. The charm of the O’Hare of the Dog lies in the fact that, in a room full of outlandish, insanely portioned plates overflowing with eggs, bacon, and priapic rosemary sprigs, it’s the guy who orders the beer that seems the most interesting.

I’ve been going to the Hash House for years, and it has never gotten old. In fact, I still feel a thrill each time I get a platter of food set down in front of me with all of the gravitas of an alien invasion. There’s a glory about the whole thing that’s hard for me to describe, mostly because during breakfast hours I only communicate in angry grunts. But a bacon waffle soothes my early morning rage. Sure, my love of the food at the Hash House may kill me, but it hasn’t yet. It might in the future, but I don’t care.

For their great contibutions to the San Diego breakfast scene, www.thefeedfeed.com is proud to award the Hash House A-Gogo with the title of Best of San Diego – Breakfast.

All images courtesy of the Hash House A-Gogo

Hash House A-Gogo
3628 5th Ave
San Diego, CA 92103-4220
(619) 298-4646
www.hashhouseagogo.com

Chef Jordan Cherry
www.thefeedfeed.com

Traditionally, there have been two crucial bedrock rules of dining in San Diego. First, if you want good food from non-English speaking countries, you’d probably be better off finding it in places where English is rarely, if ever, spoken. Second, formal Mexican restaurants, the ones that require sitting down and tipping and paying more than six dollars, will invariably disappoint you. I was fairly certain of the first rule. I was damn sure of the second.

English is rarely spoken at Siete Mares, a small Mexican restaurant in Barrio Logan that specializes in seafood, so it fulfills the first requirement, and then some. Driving into Barrio Logan from the Gaslamp Quarter is like stepping from Disneyland into Darfur. Alright, I exaggerate, but the point still stands. You’ll find no gleaming BMW’s or suits with Bluetooth headsets here. Good sign.

What isn’t a good sign, however, is the fact that it is a sit-down, formal Mexican restaurant. But don’t let that fool you into thinking that this restaurant is on the same level as an El Torito. It isn’t. In fact, it’s fantastic. The restaurant itself carries much of the same feel as the surrounding neighborhood. It’s not particularly new or even “nice” by most standards. There’s no air conditioning, the tables are worn, and halfway through the meal, the power shut off for five minutes. The chips and salsa come in a container that looks like it belongs in your grandmother’s cupboard, a rather awkward yellow plastic thing. But the salsa is fantastic, and that should be enough.

The whole menu is much of the same dynamic as the salsa bowl – worn, conspicuously suspect, but full of genuinely delicious items. There are whole fish preparations a plenty, and a litany of different seafoods to choose from. And judging from the fish tacos and camarones a la diabla, they all are excellent. The fish tacos themselves avoid the usual San Diego fish taco pitfalls of being an extra greasy fish patty that has apparently been used as a sweat rag by the Gorton’s Fisherman, covered in barely edible mayonnaise and wilted cabbage. That is to say, all of the ingredients are there – the fish, the white sauce, the fixings – they are all just better. It is, in a way, indescribable, much in the way that you can tell that Isla Fisher probably is that hot in person, and Megan Fox probably isn’t. And then there’s the shrimp. Delicious doesn’t even begin to describe these things. Usually, shrimp cooked in a restaurant are overdone and rubbery, like shreds off of a Goodyear that have been scraped off of the tarmac at Daytona, dusted off, and put on your plate with a vat of garlic butter. This is not the case at Siete Mares. Here, the shrimp are like little ambassadors of spicy goodness, from the land of Delicious. If the movie Bedazzled is correct, and Elizabeth Hurley is in fact the devil (and she may be), then this is what I would imagine it would taste like to make it to first base with her on a good day… when she’s wearing her sexy boots. In fact, if I were to die tomorrow, I may request that my body be buried in a vat of that sauce, so that I may charm my way into the halls of Valhalla using flavor alone as my bargaining chip.
As far as I’m concerned, I can call myself a disciple of Siete Mares. I’m completely sold. I don’t care that it violates the second rule. As far as I know, the second rule is as distant a memory as colloquial use of the term “swell,” McCarthyism, or even tuberculosis being called the consumption. For me, the deal is done.

But I can’t call this review complete. Because there’s a third bedrock rule; if you go to a place, and everyone is ordering the exact same thing, you should probably do the same. I clearly violated this one, because when I was at Siete Mares, every single person in the restaurant had ordered the soup, their storied specialty. And now I feel like I can only confidently say that I don’t know the full depths of goodness that reside at Siete Mares, but what I’ve tasted, I’ve liked.

Chef Jordan Cherry
www.thefeedfeed.com

When living in San Diego, you find that there are some realities you just have to face. French fries, oddly enough, do belong in burritos. Winter and summer, aside from the hanging of twinkle lights, are indistinguishable. Flip flop sandals go well with jeans, and sometimes, when it’s cold, a hoodie. But perhaps the most troubling of all of these new, twisted realities is this – San Diego, California, for as long as any one ever can remember, has been a barbecue wasteland.

Ordinarily, this should be an outrage. It’s summer all the time here, and there are breweries a plenty, and beaches! So many beaches! Yet, I am almost certain that every other major US-Mexico border town has better barbecue. Maybe there are just too many taco stands, maybe it just moves too fast (BBQ is, after all, slow food made by generally slow folk). I’m almost willing to bet that Arizona probably has better barbecue than San Diego and Arizona is just like the real world, only everything is a little bit worse.

Sure, there are places that serve barbecue. Barbque House puts up an admirable attempt, even going so far as to misspell “barbecue” (or barbeque, or BBQ, for the vowel-averse), in order to try and gain some of that backwoods authenticity. Unfortunately, it falls short, and when you’re eating good-but-not-great barbecue across the street from truly amazing burgers at Hodad’s, or even solidly crafted New York pizza at Newport Pizza, it’s hard to feel good about your restaurant choice. Even Phil’s BBQ, with long lines that suggest a truly spectacular restaurant, under-delivers, with tri-tip that can’t compare to places that can be found north of Los Angeles.

But recently, Frankie the Bull’s BBQ on Morena Boulevard, has been trying to change that, and it has every chance to. Meat at Frankie’s is smoked, low and slow, as opposed to pre-boiled. The menu is relatively small, and the service is remarkably good. I counted no less than three employees doting on my every whim in a span of less than 30 minutes. In fact, the service was so good, that I’m mentioning it before really talking about the food.

But is that a good thing? Well, yes and no. The food is good. Honestly, it gets my vote for the best barbecue in San Diego. The sauce, which is the gold standard for barbecue, and the largest difference between barbecue regions in the US, is good. Put it on your fries instead of ketchup, it’ll be worth it. Hell, do a shot of it if you’re so inclined, that would probably be worth it, too. It comes in two different forms, for those who like sweet barbecue sauce. The portion sizes are generous, go there more than four times a month, and you may have to start being rolled out of the restaurant. Go there more than four times a week, and you’ll require a crane and a harness. The cole slaw, also good, complete with sliced candied almonds that make the genius idea of putting peanuts in coleslaw look half-assed.

Overall, there are a million good things I could say about this place: it’s clean, friendly, fast and good, real good. In a perfect world, I would end this review right now, declare myself completely stunned, take a Stetson off the wall of the restaurant, and ride off into the sunset on a trusty steed named something ridiculous like “Gunsmoke.”

But sadly, I can’t end there. Because there’s one thing I never actually talked about. Did you miss it? You shouldn’t have, because it’s the most important thing ever in the history of barbecue. The meat at Frankie the Bull’s BBQ is… very good. But it is nothing more than that. The pork and the beef are tender, and well-flavored. But they’re also a little bit on the dry side. And as much as this gives you ample cause to drown your sandwich in biblically large floods of the house barbecue sauce, it does mean that the heart of the food is probably the weakest part of the whole operation. And that’s why it falls short of being cosmically legendary, short of being John Wayne in food form, all true grit and badassery. Instead, we get something more akin to Marty McFly in Back to the Future III. Sure, he’ll still win the day, but he won’t spit in your eye and punch your horse in the face.

I would gladly go back to Frankie the Bulls. I would gladly pay. It was definitely worth it. But given the choice between going out for barbecue in San Diego, or trying my own hand at the grill, I think I’ll be staying at home on my Sunday afternoons.

Chef Jordan Cherry
www.thefeedfeed.com

Serves: 4 – 6
Cooking Time: 1 hour

Ingredients:

For the BBQ Sauce:

1 lb. Carrots, peeled (about 8 medium)
1 Large Sweet Onion, chopped
2 T. Honey
2 T. Ketchup
1 T. Molasses
1 T. Balsamic Vinegar
2 T. Spicy Brown Mustard
1 T. Cumin
1 Bottle of Beer (amber style preferably)
Salt and Pepper to taste

For the Ribs:

2 Racks Baby Back Ribs
Grill Seasoning

Mise en Place:

4 Quart Saucepan
Blender
Knife
Grill
Tongs
Silicon BBQ Sauce Brush

To start the BBQ Sauce, bring a large pot of water to boil and add about 1 ½ tablespoons of kosher salt. Slice the carrots in half lengthwise and then once again across the middle, leaving you with about 4 similarly sized sticks. Put the carrots in the boiling water, cook until soft and then add the chopped onion. Cook about 1 minute more or until onion is tender.

Remove and drain the cooked carrots and place them in a large blender/food processor. Add the other ingredients except the salt, pepper and beer. Add about half of the beer and blend on high until smooth, remembering to stop periodically to scrape down the sides. Check the consistency and add more beer if necessary to get the standard consistency of BBQ sauce. Season to taste with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Season both racks of pork baby back ribs with your favorite grill seasoning (any all purpose grill seasoning will do). Pour some olive oil onto a paper towel and rub down the grill liberally to prevent sticking. Grill ribs on high on one side for 5 minutes or until a slight crust has formed, flip and repeat. Once both sides have a crust, reduce heat to low and apply BBQ sauce to both sides with a silicone brush. Turn ribs every 3 to 5 minutes and continue to liberally apply the BBQ sauce for about ½ hour or until ribs are tender. Slice and serve with standard BBQ sides (beans, potato salad, cole slaw, garlic bread etc.) and a cold beer (preferably the same type you used in the BBQ sauce).

Michel Richard’s “Cream of Wheat Crème Brulee with Berries” was the progenitor for this dish. As opposed to Michel Richard’s version, I’ve included raw grated carrot to add an additional, slightly crunchy textural element to the “crème brulee”.

Ingredients:

8 carrots, peeled and grated.
8 tbsp maple syrup
4 egg yolks
2 vanilla beans, seeds removed and reserved.
¼ cup 2 ½ minute instant cream of wheat
a pinch of sea salt
½ cup granulated sugar
brown sugar
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup 1 percent milk
1 carrot, cut into 3” sections, and then cut into ribbons using a peeler.

Mise en Place:

1 bowl
1 grater
1 microwave safe bowl
whisk
spoon
4 ramekins
Propane Torch or Culinary Torch

Prep:

Mix the grated carrot and maple syrup. Divide the mixture among the 4 ramekins.

In a microwave safe bowl, combine the milk, egg yolks, cream, cream of wheat, sea salt, sugar, and vanilla bean seeds. Whisk. Microwave the mixture on high for 2 ½ minutes. Check for consistency. If not set properly, stir the micture and microwave in 30 second intervals, stirring in between each time to check the consistency and mix the “custard”. Spoon the mixture over the carrot-maple mixture, cover the ramekins in plastic wrap, and chill in the refrigerator for 4-12 hours.

Final Assembly:

Cover the top of each crème brulee with a thin layer of brown sugar. Using the torch, caramelize the sugar on top to a dark brown (but NOT entirely black) color. If you don’t have a torch, use a broiler, but be careful, since you have much less control over the process.

Garnish each ramekin with a piece of carrot ribbon and serve straight away.