Hinoki and the Bird has fallen upon uncertain times. New management, new talent; all that was tried-and-true about this Century City staple will change, and the future has never been more unclear.
If the Chili Crab Toast becomes the taste of future, there will certainly be a crash to go with the burn. The chili was a lighter, less sticky version of what comes on Buffalo Wild Wings, and I could hardly eat the tiny, abrasive toast.
I tasted my insecurity personified in the crab toast as I looked around the table at my friends. This was a group of my co-residents, people who would, like Hinoki's chef, would move onto supposedly bigger and better things. The victorious reprieve from slogging through three long years is cool and soothing, a smooth slice of persimmon-ous Hamachi, a plate full of promise that delivers.
In just four short months, we'll ascend upon greener pastures of hospitalist life or fellowship. Underneath a cavernous crisp, the light at the end of the tunnel hits the Hokkaido Scallop, a bit of brine, sweet with pomegranate and enhanced by yuzu.
The journey ahead is promising, but not nearly as certain as the tenderly grilled Octopus. What you see is what you get here, warm, tender slices of tongue-tantalization.
We don't really know what we're getting into, and we really don't know what the future will hold, but what worries me most is the fate of our friendships. We are almost familial, bound by trying times, forever connected by fighting for others' lives. Wholesome and sweet as a hearth-roasted Yam, motives always as pure as sterile creme fraiche.
Residency has been full of trying times, but the we sailed through the good and bonded through the bitterness. But bitterness is often what helps a dish come alive. Put the bitter Brussels Sprouts with a sour lemon and somehow two often-offensive tastes become a breath of fresh air.
There were often trying times, and sometimes the Butter Lobster Ramen would hit the proverbial fan, as a dense barrage of so many bold elements clash into a buttery-poached-chili-oil broth so overwhelmingly thick it should have been served as tsukemen.
But with the dark comes the light. Lobster Roll dusted with a bright hint of green curry sits airly atop a soft squid bread, a sweet teaser of better things to come.
And when the good things come, they really do come. The lows are well worth the highs, and the flat iron Steak bleeds a brilliant crimson that makes you close your eyes in delight.
We owe all those times to each other, to the people who stood united through thick and thin. A reaction forced by turbulence resulting in soft, creamy Cheesecake, a compulsory interaction required like a pairing of savory-sweet ice cream.
The friendships are earthy and not-so-sweet like the Red Bean Mochi, but making it through countless codes together is matcha-with-condensed-milk icing on the mochi cake.
The bonds forged in residency have a depth, a je-ne-sais-quoi quality indescribable to the observer, unfathomable to the outsider. We work like a well-oiled, sugar-coated machine, like fluffy Miso Donuts melting into an intensely sweet honey caramel dip.
There are still the small squabbles, the petty tiffs, and sometimes personalities and cultures clash. At Hinoki and the Bird, when they fused Japanese cuisine, a world of unspeakable subtlety and immaculate, minimalist mastery with the loud-and-proud, boldly beautiful, dare-to-be-different New-American, some of it got lost in translation.
Like the end of residency, the famed Hinoki and the Bird was a bittersweet experience, tarnished by inexplicable bobbles, garnished by bits of brilliance. We face a lot of uncertainty in the months leading up to our graduation, but I think our futures are somewhat more secure than that of Hinoki and the Bird.
Gaslamp is a gathering of tourists, but I had high hopes for Searsucker. Named for the fabric of the Kentucky Derby and the catalogs of J. Crew, Searsucker looked like a gentleman's spot, and the so-cool, so-casual ambiance searsuckered me right in.
A gentleman likes his whiskey, and a whiskey-girl likes a Henebadger. Honey and a dash of lemon lighten a statement liquor in anticipation of the heavy meal to follow.
The Pork Belly is soft but it settles like a brick. Weigh it down even more with bacon and hollandaise for for a Benedictine crowd-pleaser on brioche.
The chef may be a celebrity, but the Octopus Jar won't be making waves. Much like the Japanese takotsubo octopus traps, the bizarre pairing of broccolini and the icy serving temperature lets none of the fragrant flavor escape.
The octopus was a fail, but the Mussels were one heck of a recovery. The mussels are steamed tender and finish a little bit sweet thanks to the combination of tomato-smoothing chorizo. The sauce has an understated brilliance, evidence that Searsucker knows its stuff.
Unfortunately, the glimpse of greatness starts and stops with the mussels, giving way to more crowd-pleasing concoctions. Out of consideration for other diners, I refrained from using my flash, but sadly the New York Strip tasted as exciting as my pictures look. There's no doubting the quality of the strip, but the chimichurri is barely-there generic, and the roasted new potato and broccolini have been done by every restaurant in town. It's a pretty small plate with a pretty small flavor for $32.
The Warm Brown Butter Cake was basically a cupcake without the sugar. The texture is neither dense nor fluffy, and though I liked it not-so-sweet, it was overpowered by the caramelized apples. The accompanying creme fraiche tasted like a thick sour cream and didn't really help.
Maybe I expected too much from Gaslamp's #1 restaurant (USA Today's 10Best), or maybe I just don't agree with the selection criteria for "essential restaurants" (#15 on San Diego Eater), but I found Searsucker to be only enjoyably neutral. They like to toe the line with their flavors, and while I found nothing too offensive, I found no spark, no innovation, no excitement at all.
San Diego's hottest restaurant, it is not. Pleasant but not head-over-heels inviting, trendy but not super-chic, and tasty without forming a lasting impression, I enjoyed Searsucker, but I didn't enjoy it enough.
My Japan trip won't be til May, but I'm already doing my research. I have pages of what to eat and where to eat it, but I need a basis of comparison.
When it comes to noodles, Oumi Sasaya shows me exactly what I have to appreciate. 2 PM on a Sunday, and the line stretched 30 minutes out the door.
The Tofu appetizer immediately soothes the stress from waiting. A silky-smooth block, sprinkled with scallion and a dash of salty soy, it ends up being a pretty good preview.
The Tororo Udon makes a good main if you like your meat 'n potatoes. Slimy with white yam to help you slurp, savory with a bit of beef. Clean and minimalist, and so freaking good.
No way these portions are Japanese-inspired. This behemoth bowl of Curry Udon is thick and rich and rides on the border between adequate and overboard. The curry is salty and thick, not much lighter than the pungent pour-over for katsu. Just think of the bucket-sized bowl as a trough. Stick your face in it and slurp away.
The curry udon will see you through a winter storm, but the regular Shrimp & Mochi Tempura Udon is best served cold. The noodles are chewy and the broth is so refreshing you can down the whole plate in a single sitting.
I won't see Japan for another three months, but I've been living and breathing it ever since I found a $775 direct to Haneda. Oumi Sasaya has me salivating for Tokyo, and it'll hold me over just fine until I get there. No layovers, no problems.
Snow & Crab Lounge is the very definition of potential. Brand new and still finding their way on skinny, spindly legs, they haven't even had a chance to take down the "Noodles of the World" sign yet.
Sign or no sign, they made quite an impression. The Cajun Snow & Crab Style sauce ranks among the best I've tried. It burns just right at medium, and the unexpectedly sweet undertones soften the sting. The corn soaks the sauce right up and is the best part by far.
My pound of Crawfish and a pound of Mussels were fresh and fairly-sized, but there were clearly more claws than there were crawfish.
Decorated like a bar-turned nightclub, the casual counter-top seats almost mandate pitchers of sangria and beer. Their website speaks of their desire to be a nighttime hot spot, and they do have a good-sized selection of wine and beer for those who are looking for a no-frills, finger-lickin' time. They also maintain a menu of flavored tea and smoothies for teetotalers and their kids. I opted for Passion Fruit Jasmine Tea with boba because it wasn't quite noon. The boba were rock-hard and regrettably undercooked.
We ended with Matcha Green Tea Snow to soothe the burn. I wish the green tea syrup was more evenly distributed, but the green tea mochi and granola rounded it out just fine.
The combination concept of steaming shellfish boils followed by a chilly shaved ice cool-down is genius, and the execution will improve as this place grows into itself.
Snow & Crab Lounge is still rough around the edges to say the least, but I wouldn't write them off just yet. The seafood is solid, and the ambiance makes for a chill Friday night. If nothing else, the sauce will be its saving grace.
