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FIELD TRIP: San Diego, California
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FIELD TRIP: San Diego, California
I don't know when was the exact moment I decided I hated San Diegoans, but it was probably around the time Mark Lane, proprietor of Poppa's Fresh Fish, a nomadic "shuck 'n' slurp" raw bar and fixture of SD's righteous farmers-market scene, handed me plastic fork and a just-slain sea urchin. "We get them right off the coast," he explained, pointing down the street, where the Pacific glinted just beyond San Diego Bay and Coronado Island. "My friend is a diver. He hand-harvests them for us." Californians, man. What a bunch of lucky fucks.
Of course, I don't really hate San Diegoans — they are, by all accounts, a lovely, disarmingly friendly race — but after spending the weekend in their sun-washed, spit-polished city (a pit-stop before heading down to Baja), I've been quick to cultivate some good-natured envy. True, living in Philly, a killer earthquake will never crush me beneath a plank of highway, but my chances of eating uni that fresh again are even slimmer.
"As soon as the uni hits the air, it begins to disintegrate," Lane explained, getting to work opening a second spiny sphere with a pair of sharp kitchen shears. "They sell these for 80 bucks at Nobu, but it's not as fresh as what we've got here."
"Here" was the Saturday "Mercato" in SD's Little Italy neighborhood, a buy fresh/buy local mecca of 100+ vendors, peddling everything from olive oil and gold chanterelles to artsy-fartsy wind chimes and citrus in fresh, juiced, jammed and rosemary-infused popsicle forms. You think Headhouse and Clark Park roll deep? Mercato makes 'em look like lemonade stands — and it's not even the biggest market in town.
That distinction belongs to the Hillcrest Market, where I gorged myself at the following day. Breakfast consisted of little Hugs of pulpy orange juice kissed with guava; fresh tangerines, passion fruits and strawberries; moist slabs of banana bread from the gods (or a French patissier); fiery shrimp ceviche; delightful coconut pancakes a little Thai lady cooked in a cast-iron griddle; tamales; dried apricots; onion quiche. I tried for another urchin, but Lane was already sold out.
With just one weekend, restaurant action was limited, but I did manage to pop my In-N-Out cherry with a double-double, fries and chocolate shake. Also hit up the Linkery in North Park, a repeated reco where they brew their own kombucha and curate a dreamy Cali cheese plate, as well as the très-charming Cafe Chloe for one perfect prosciutto/cheese croissant (thanks @yournotunique!) and La Jolla's lively Whisknladle (like Mémé-by-the-sea).
If it were feasible, I'd eat all three squares at San Diego's markets. (It is feasible: Except for Monday, there are no less than half a dozen happening on any given day in different districts around the city.) I'll make one exception for Sushi Ota, a hideaway tucked into a Pacific Beach shopping center with a 7-Eleven, where the omakase experience at the low-slung sushi bar lived up to Drew Lazor's glowing recommendation. There was toro. There were oysters. There were salmon bellies and hamachi bellies, giant prawns and giant clams. There was an embarrassing amount of uni (delicious, but not as transcendent as Lane's) and fish I'd never tasted in sushi form: three breeds of halibut (who knew?) and a coral-skinned snapper specimen our omakase maestro, Toshi, hit with a blowtorch. When I said I was from Philly, Toshi got all aflutter: "Charlie Manuel, I watched him play in Tokyo when I was little."
Toshi, you've absolutely ruined sushi for me. After Ota, nothing else will compare. Another reason to hate San Diegoans. And another reason to go visit them again soon.
Very nice! Next stop for you.....Denver! :)
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by mailcome, Meal Ticket. Meal Ticket said: FIELD TRIP: @adamerace eats San Diego! http://ow.ly/3XKX9 [...]
I'm impressed with your relative conciseness... it took Andrew many more effusive words to describe this all to me when I visited Green Aisle. Regarding uni... it's true. Fresh out of the ocean is pretty much incomparable. At least San Diego is easier to get to than Greece, which is where we plucked the spiny creatures from the bottom of the sea and ate them standing on the beach.
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