Above: a classic Southern California Caesar salad, tossed tableside on a guéridon by Meliton Lescana at The Marine Room in La Jolla, CA – a relic of Cold-War-era “continental” dining (click image for animation).

A trip home for New Year’s conjured up nostalgia of growing up in a sleepy seaside community where the waves are big and the beach is your backyard. Besides an excellent dinner at my mom’s (braised brisket, roast potatoes, and wilted spinach with a López de Heredia Viña Tondoñia 1999 that I found on sale at the local BevMo), great sushi (So. Cal. has some of the best in my book), and a bevy of burritos, tacos, tostadas, and flautas (look for a post next week on Mexican culinary adventures), we made a trip down to The Marine Room in the La Jolla Shores, a blue-blazer, khaki-pants-and-docksiders restaurant that sits right on the beach with floor-to-ceiling waterfront windows.

Above: 2002 Montmain (Premier Cru) by La Chablisienne. Sommelier Jeff Hoover surprised and impressed me with a list that offered some options to those of us who cannot drink barriqued Chardonnay. The shrimp cocktail is no longer on the menu but they made it for me anyway.

The once strictly “continental” menu has undergone some changes since I was a kid and although the surf and turf still makes an appearance (at $70+), most of the classics have been replaced by things like the “Mulberry Kalbi Glazed Organic Pompano,” which I ordered.

The pleasant surprise was the wine list. I wasn’t expecting to find a lot of things that I could drink and indeed the list was comprised mostly of heavily oaked Chardonnay, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon (for the most part, Marine Room diners get what they deserve: at the table behind ours, I heard a gentlewoman pontificate about wine, extolling the virtues of Merlot, which, she informed her companions, “is a blend”). But after leafing through the heavy-handed California chapters of the list, I was relieved to find one of my all-time favorite Chablis producers, La Chablisienne.

Chablisienne makes traditional-style wines that show the characteristic minerality of distinctive Chablis. The wines are very reasonably priced: the premier crus generally retail for less than $30 and the Petit Chablis and Chablis AOCs can come in under $16. I had never tried the Montmain Premier Cru and it went great with a jumbo shrimp cocktail (the latter doesn’t appear on the menu anymore but can still be ordered). I just love these wines…

We also drank a 375 ml of Guigal’s 2003 Condrieu, a 100% Viognier that definitely sees some time in barrique (about a third of the wine was vinified and aged in new wood according his website). It was unctuous and rich, perfect for the Pompano and the fruity flavors of its sauce.

The Marine Room isn’t cheap, the food is somewhat affected and slightly tired, but the views and the Cold-War-era feel are worth every penny (that you don’t put in your loafers).

Above: an image of the Marine Room, battered by the surf in 1949. The Marine Room sits right on the beach and has been closed numerous times over the years because of weather damage. It’s not cheap but the views are worth it. The night I was there, sandpipers scurried and danced across La Jolla Shores beach like ballerinas.

John Yelenosky — a good friend from my La Jolla High School days — and I had dinner last Tuesday at what is clearly one of San Diego’s finest restaurants, Market in Del Mar (about 20 minutes north of La Jolla). His father owned a wine store when we were coming up together and today John is the European Wine Specialist for the San Diego offices of Southern Wine and Spirits, one of the preeminent distributors of European wines in North America.

The concept behind Market is what some in the business call “market fare,” i.e., heirloom produce sourced from artisanal growers. The restaurant is located not far from the legendary Chino Farms,* a once humble roadside produce stand in Rancho Santa Fe that became a flash point in the heirloom vegetable revolution (thanks, in part, to a hearty endorsement from Alice Waters). Nearly all of the fruits and vegetables used in the kitchen, explained our waiter, are sourced daily from Chino Farms.

Executive chef and owner Carl Shroeder (La Jolla High, class of 87, same year as my brother Micah) shows a deft hand in the kitchen — especially with the entrées — and his food was excellent if not entirely original. The wine service by Brian Donegan was impeccable but our waiter was a little overly enthusiastic and too precious for my taste.

The dish that impressed me the most was the “Market salad,” which strangely does not appear on the menu.

The salad consists of fresh and lightly steamed heirloom fruits and vegetables (note the light green, pine-cone shaped broccolo romanesco florets above), dressed in olive oil and cask-aged vinegar, served over different types of heirloom lettuce. The pasta-bowl serving dish was warmed before assembly and the heat gently wilted the lettuce leaves and delicately accentuated the flavors of the dressing. We matched with a 2005 Vin de Savoie Apremont by Pierre Boniface, made from Jacquere grapes — an unusual and commendable wine-by-the-glass. This utterly Californian dish needed the bright fruit and acidity of the Vin de Savoie and the pairing of the seemingly just-picked vegetables and this fresh wine was great.

Above: the “Hot and Sour and Wonton” soup that the chef sent over didn’t exactly overwhelm me but was tasty.

Above: wine director Brian Donegan really knows his stuff and his wine service was top-knotch. I liked the 2004 Spätburgunder by Julius Wasen und Söhne that he poured for us by the glass. I was nonplussed, however, to see only a few tables ordering by the bottle on this busy evening (after all, this decidedly upscale restaurant is located in one of San Diego’s most ritzy neighborhoods, Del Mar/Rancho Santa Fe. Do Californians not drink wine at dinner? This one does!).

Back in the day, John and I used to play in a band together, ditched fourth-period art class together, and generally had a good time growing up in a sleepy beach town where nearly everyone surfed and/or played guitar (I only did the latter). Neither of us would have imagined in 1985 (when we graduated from high school) that — at age 40 — we’d both be working in the world of wine.

Above: John Yelenosky circa 1985.

Above: despite my doofus looks (and all the trouble I got into), I did well in high school.

* Chino Farms
6123 Calzada del Bosque
San Diego, CA 92067
858-756-3184
Hours: Tue-Sat 10 am-3:30 pm, Sun 10 am-1 pm

Above: the smoked Sea of Cortez marlin, thickly sliced, was a show stopper at Restaurante Romesco in Bonita, CA.

The Parzen family traveled southward from La Jolla yesterday evening toward the Mexican border to beautiful Bonita (about 10 minutes from the Otay Mesa border crossing) where we celebrated Judy Parzen’s birthday at Restaurante Romesco, a wonderful, elegant strip-mall restaurant that bills itself as a “Baja Med Bistro.”

Above: grilled tacos stuffed with shrimp and mozzarella.

Micah and Marguerite, Tad and Diane, and yours truly raised a glass to celebrate Judy’s birthday (actually the day before, September 22, which happened to fall on Yom Kippur this year). It had been so long since we’d all been together as a family for a holiday and although we’re all sad about how my life has been changing, it was great to be together as a family for the holiday and our mother’s birthday (the last time was four years ago… but things were a lot different then…).

Menu highlights: excellent smoked Sea of Cortez marlin, thickly sliced and drizzled with vinaigrette (made in Ensenada, our waiter, Omar, told me); tacos stuffed with sliced tongue that had been braised in a tomato-chili sauce, very tasty; grilled tacos stuffed with shrimp and mozzarella (I didn’t think I’d like the combination of seafood and plastic cheese, partly, I must admit, because the dairy-seafood combination is a taboo in some parts of Europe, but this taco was fantastic); and piping hot churros, just firm on the outside, their dough creamy on the inside, rolled in cinnamon sugar.

Above: the dough inside the churros was creamy and the dish came with a demitasse of Mexican hot chocolate and a caramel dipping sauce.

The wine list is nothing to write home about. We drank a very forgettable Albariño and commercial and regrettably barriqued Tempranillo, both from Spain. But the cellar at Romesco also features some Baja California wines and when the waiter told me that his favorite was a Nebbiolo, I had to try it.

The 2002 Nebbiolo by winery L.A. Cetto is proudly aged “14 meses en barrica de roble francés” according to the website (14 months in French oak barriques). For those who know me and read my blog, you know that I’d rather drink mayonnaise soda* than barriqued (oaked) Nebbiolo. The wine was concentrated and alcoholic and didn’t taste anything like Nebbiolo. Only a handful of Californian winemakers have grown Nebbiolo (mostly in Central Coast) and I was truly surprised to see that someone was doing it in Baja California. I can’t say I liked the wine but was impressed by its novelty. I wonder how it would have shown if it hadn’t been barriqued. One of the unique things about Italy and its wines is that while international grapes (Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, and Merlot in particular) have been cultivated and vinified in Italy with great success, native Italian grape varieties have yielded disastrously disappointing results abroad. You can take the grape out of Italy but you can’t take Italy out of the grape… I guess.

Above: my sister-in-law Diane, left, and Judy share a laugh.

But I believe in drinking wines appropriate to the occasion and the place, and, ideally, wines made by and for the people who prepare your food. It was exciting to drink “locally” and to discover what Baja winemakers are doing. Our waiter, Omar, whose wine service was very good, was proud of this bottle and I was proud to taste it at this excellent restaurant.

Above: brother Micah and my sister-in-law Marguerite.

And… you know… to quote a phrase, sometimes it’s not the wine you drink but whom you drink it with and where that matters.

You may have known that all the time, but I’m learning it these days.**

Above: brother Tad contemplates Mexican Nebbiolo.

*Life’s like a mayonnaise soda
And life’s like space without room
And life’s like bacon and ice cream
That’s what life’s like without you

— Lou Reed

**Love is so simple
To quote a phrase
You’ve known it all the time
I’m learnin’ it these days.

— Bob Dylan