Rah Rah Black Sheep

It's obviously with tongue firmly in cheek--perhaps one of the delicious braised beef cheeks they serve--that Ruben Perez and his co-conspirator Nate Curteman called their new venture The Black Sheep. Perez's dad is chef Robert Perez, who owns the next door and more upscale and ever fighting its just-off-State Street location Seagrass, so to do what the Black Sheep is trying to do--elegant bistro food in a comfortable (think beer as important as wine, servers in hipster hats) atmosphere at a fair price--seems like a sort of, well, comedown isn't the right word. Come around to where more and more of dining is, anymore, for good or ill, is more like it. After all, we all want to go out, have stuff we won't make at home (start with a little gem salad, but then char it, serve it with a house ranch, some kumquat relish...and a perfectly fried sweetbread), and not feel like we can't do that again until next month's paycheck rolls in. So, welcome Black Sheep.

It's in the spot where the wine bar Taste was, briefly (also Perez family owned), a surprisingly bright and airy room at 26 E. Ortega Street--a fine combo of one large window on one side, one long bar on the other. (I could easily imagine it becoming a place to be, and be seen.) Most of the menu is built around small plates, so bring friends and an appetite and taste away. It's a menu where the grace is in the details--a bracing plate of pickled vegetables comes with a stunning swirl of beet juice, the amuse house-fired potato chips flecked with fiery togarashi. It might be a bit more of a meat-eater's delight then the place to bring your vegetarian partner, for even the roasted heirloom carrots get their depth from duck fat, but carnivores will rejoice with offerings like roasted bone marrow.

In our quick visit we didn't have time to sample any of the big plates, but they looked enticing, from sautéed seabass with Spanish chorizo (ah, there's the meat again), fingerling potatoes, onions and tomatoes to those grass-fed beef cheeks, braised in banana leaves with ancho chili, annatto seed, tequila, lime, and tomatoes. And while I don't eat chicken much, especially since we've got five named hens in our backyard making us eggs (it's so hard to eat things with names that also feed you), the re-constructed chicken, with garlic-rubbed roasted bread, house-made mustard, and shallot roasted garlic marmalade sounds even more fascinating when described. It's a galantine (or ballotine--didn't see if it was cylindrical), the kind of thing you think only exists in your Larousse Gastronomique that no one makes anymore. So, of course, someday I'll have to try it. Robert Perez is still making the food for both restaurants as they share a kitchen, so you know everything is going to be amazing with a twist or two you might not expect, things like burrata, that creamy cheese stuffed with creamy cheese that is the essence of a modern Italian summer plate, with, of all things, a mango chutney.

Add in a not-too-long but well curated beer and wine list--think Great Divide and Lost Abbey for ales, Refugio Ranch and Bonaccorsi for vino--and you're going to have a lovely evening.

A Sea Change at Seagrass

You weren’t dreaming if for a month at the beginning of the year you got the idea that Seagrass Restaurant was trying to be a mid-level, small-plates, drop-in kind of joint. There was even a legendary burger, sadly gone now, but perhaps back for another menu, for Seagrass is more than willing to keep changing. “The [January] change didn’t go with the Seagrass name and the white-linen atmosphere,” explained Ruben Perez, who holds the owner slot in his family’s business (father Robert is the chef, mom Marianna Perez is the GM, and brother Richard is running the new wine bar Taste … more on that in a bit).

Want to read the rest then do so at the Indy's site.

What's Soup, Doc?

Think of all the pressure there is on you if you're soup. You're not just food, you're supposed to warm, be both a balm on a cold evening and a calling to home and hearth. You're full of mom, even if she merely emptied Campbell tins. Fancy doesn't suit you; you don't want to show up in an evening gown and pearls while always scuffling in your fuzzy slippers. (Consommé just sounds fancy--it's really about patience and our thievery of most fine cooking from France.) Ah, but there's that danger of being just soup, too, the water something flavorful took a bitty bath in. We all like you enough, dear soup, but you might be, and sorry to sound mean, a tad boring, familiar like the Eiffel Tower must get to Parisians who barely stare up its lacy legs anymore.

So we owe it to ourselves to exclaim, Yum soup!" when the opportunity arises and our spoon lowers into the bowl. Such was the case last night as we redeemed our TravelZoo deal at Seagrass, at last (and, does everyone else start to feel the almost daunting pressure of reclaiming such deals on time? do not ask for whom value's clock knells...), and one of the two first course offerings for the $49 for $104 value deal was a soup. It was something new to the menu, if not on the actual menu (the joys of special deals), so much so our fine waiter Ruben Perez (part of the family that owns Seagrass) had to confab with the sommelier to figure out the best wine pairing. And they nailed it, pouring me some Cypher Grenache Blanc 2011, a bit puckier, you might say, than the typical GB, heading toward Gruner with an apple in its mouth. Which is only fitting, as the soup--yes, this is about soup, promise--was made from pork belly stock. Clear, if darkly tan, and light on the tongue, if deeply flavorful. Layers, from pork, of course, to some fresh ginger, to sesame oil, to black pepper. Yes, it was Asian inspired--there even was a light threading of soba noodles, cut short and still firm as a bit of a bite in your soup never hurts--but in a way to prove inspiration does not mean aping or going rote. Instead this was a soup that went in many directions and still found its way back home.

Nevada City Takes Over Seagrass

Chef Robert Perez describes the difference of moving from Nevada City, where he ran the acclaimed Citronee Bistro and Wine Bar for 13 years, to Santa Barbara, where he now owns Seagrass with his family, in a very simple way: “It’s really just the size difference, which is why we moved here. Santa Barbara is a city without being city-ish. We’re just happy to be here.” But he lights up with pride saying more: “We’re happy the regulars from Seagrass are coming in. At first they look at you,” he crosses his arms and adopts a stern mien, “‘You took our restaurant.’ And then they leave after dinner looking really pleased.”

Want to read the rest, then go read it at the Indy site.