Region

Normally when I go to San Diego I don't think too much about where to eat. The city isn't considered a culinary Mecca outside of fish tacos and besides, the point of the visit is to catch up with girlfriends, not hit the stars of the local dining scene. But this time, based on a tip from the Zen Foodist, I booked a table at Region. That turned out to be one hot tip.

Over breakfast last Saturday morning, I told my two friends (both named R.) about the place. One of them looked at me, unimpressed. She'd checked out their menu online and found it lacking. "Was that all there was?" she asked. I gulped. R1 is one tough customer, and I sensed a hard sell coming on. "Let's go across the street and take another look after breakfast," I suggested, and started rehearsing my spiel.

After the most obscenely supersized meal I've ever seen -- think a pancake the size of a hubcap -- we walked over to Region. Immediately I started to swoon. The menu wasn't big, that's true, but a sign near the door explained that 98% of Region's produce is bought directly from nearby farms, the meats are all sustainably raised, most of the food is organic and the Italian-style cooking philosophy aims merely to tease out each ingredient's best qualities rather than disguise it with fanciful preparations. R1 studied the menu again. Her eyes were cold and hard like coal, and her mouth turned down at the corners. I could tell she wasn't buying it. But then she took one look at my face -- the hopeful, pleading face of a child begging for another piece of candy -- and she caved in like a grandparent with a tow-headed toddler. We were on.

Before dinner I'd planned to meet up with the Zen Foodist in person over some wine. (As it turned out, lots and lots of wine.) The Zen Foodist, her husband D., my two friends and I met up at a local wine bar and set to it. Our approach to wine tasting was all over the map; some of us dove in right away for a lush $15-a-glass red from Priorat, others ordered multiple tastes of bubbly to assess their respective merits, and a few people with the munchies ordered a cheese and saucission plate. As we gabbed the early evening away, I started to regret that R-squared and I had made dinner plans on our own with another friend, S. ZF and I were happily bonding over celebrity gossip (she was the first to tell me Britney and K-Fed were on the rocks -- egads!) As fate would have it, S. had to cancel on us (oh, the harried life of an on-call surgeon!), and -- surprise, surprise -- ZF had also made reservations for dinner at Region. A quick call to the restaurant confirmed they'd smush our two tables together and we headed off into the cool San Diego night. (Dammit! What happened to perpetually seventy-degree weather, I'd like to know!?)

Region put on an amazing show for us. As we passed through the dining room I admired the art: big bright paintings of voluptuous pears and apples hung from nearly every wall. We nabbed a semi-private table in the back of the restaurant and, though eating out of the main dining room was low on ambiance, the ability to converse without megaphones did much to right the mood. Since the lot of us are self-avowed lushes, we immediately ordered a round of lemon zingers (limoncello and fresh mint and club soda, I think). The four course chef's tasting menu caught my eye, and ZF's too. Despite some initial protestations from R2 we eventually agreed to put our finicky bellies in the chef's hands.

The meal was a superb value -- $45 for four courses -- and, because of our willingness to share every dish, made for an incredibly interactive experience. We started by dipping fresh baked bread dotted with caraway seeds into an earthy purée of cannelini beans, garlic, fresh herbs and olive oil. Heaven. Then they served us a big plate of charred octopus, greens, and housemade salumi including salami, grilled sausages, fried mortadella and pork paté. Everyone found themselves trying things they'd never had before; I loved the mortadella, which is really bologna, this one redolent with the scent of cinnamon and topped with nutty melted Parmesan cheese. The pork paté was the hit, though, and everyone agreed with R2's assessment: "I want to smear it on my cheeks and take a nap in it!" she declared. (Hey, when my girl falls, she falls hard.)

By the time the pasta course came out we were sipping on the most fabulous Pinot Noir from Stephen's Cellars in Paso Robles. I asked our waitress for something that would please my California Girl palette as well as the restrained Euro-style wines favored by my drinking companions. Her choice rocked our tastebuds, let me tell you. I loved the simple housemade angel hair pasta with garlic, chilies and olive oil, but the group also adored the papperdelle with spinach, ricotta and toasted almonds.

The entrées ranged from fork-tender lamb with olives to a pork chop with mashed sweet potatoes and greens to swordfish over Brussels sprouts, a hit even for the non-fish lovers. R1 pronounced it "the best swordfish" she'd ever had. I'd have to agree. Sides like whole new potatoes fried in olive oil and squash baked in fig leaves had me swooning; they also highlighted a weak spot in the service, which neglected to offer side plates to help us share the veg. But when asked, they quickly corrected their clumsy oversight and we continued passing the dishes to the left and fighting over what remained.

When it came time for dessert, I found Nirvana in the Meyer lemon ice cream. A taste is worth a thousand words, but permit me to try. It was not tart like a sorbet, but rich and creamy as an ice cream should be, and the lemon was both soft and sweet. It reminded me of my Great Aunt Margaret's famous lemon tarts, and when it came around to me a second time I happily elbowed everyone else out of the way for the last bite. A praline semifreddo knocked my socks off -- who knew that a cross between a mousse and an ice cream could be this good? The chocolate cake, however, was another story, and I even let the waitress know how awful I thought it was. Dry, bitter, and overshadowed by the gritty coffee beans, it was a failure in every way.

But the night was a grand success. For me, the best part was being around people from all different parts of my life, some old friends and others new, everyone stabbing a fork into anything that passed by them, discovering a new love for paté or confirming a life-long hatred of octopus, but approaching it all the same with a sense of wonder, curiosity and excitement. Cheers to my dining companions that night -- D's potty mouth, ZF's outrageously gorgeous curly hair, R2's hilarious desire to take the semifreddo and paté to bed with you and R1's eyes-wide-open appreciation of the wine. You made the dinner.

P.S. The Zen Foodist's write-up of the meal includes lovely photos. Silly me, I left my camera at home. Bad food blogger. Bad!

Region, San Diego, 3671 5th Avenue, 619.299.6499

Comments

[Nerissa]

Don't you just hate it when you have those "doh!" moments, forgetting the camera for just those moments that merit one? I don't know how many times I've kicked myself about it.

[Beth]

I loved reading your report! It was a great night. I'm so glad it worked out and we will definitely do it again in San Francisco someday!

[Catherine]

Nerissa -- when it comes to cameras, I'm officially scatterbrained.

Beth -- great! A plan!

[Courtney]

Hey Nerissa--
I actually prefer good descriptions to photos, because my imagination responds so much better with words (and I tried to clue in my ex-boyfriend). So don't beat yourself up anymore, OK?

[Catherine]

Courtney -- good to know. (And is it too corny for me to say you sound like a "naughty" girl? Har har.)