Bertrand at Mister A’s
2550 Fifth Ave., 12th Floor (Bankers Hill)
619-239-1377
Dinner prices: Appetizers, $12 to $19.50; entrees, $25.50 to $44.50
Frank Sabatini Jr. | Restaurant Review
Prior to the new century, it was a no-no for men to dine on the 12th floor of the Fifth Avenue Financial Center without a suit coat. The strict policy had been in place for years when it operated as Mister A’s, often times befuddling casual San Diegans as they disembarked from the elevator into a gaudy velvet-curtained time capsule.
In 2000, however, the dress code was vaguely relaxed when French restaurateur Bertrand Hugg took over the lease and began modernizing the space under the name Bertrand at Mister A’s. He’s since turned it into one of the top 10 penthouse restaurants in the country, as rated by Gayot.com.
Yes, there are stunning city views, crisp white linens and scads of patrons still donning their best threads. But the best part is that the food lives up to the élan, skipping only a half beat in a multi-course dinner that included a tidy square of crispy pork belly in luxuriant peppercorn sauce and flanked by dense Yukon potato gnocchi that failed to glide across the tongue. That minor misstep aside, the genuine definition of “fine dining” is hardly lost here.
Starting with cocktails on the roomy, heated patio – a 12-year aged Macallan Scotch for my companion and a fizzy gin with Crème de Cassis for me – we entered into what felt like the prom night I never had.
Where else in metro San Diego does a maitre d’ pull out your chair while offering to take your coat? You’d have to trek to Mille Fleurs in Rancho Santa Fe, which Hugg also owns, to receive that level of pampering. Additionally, in what I feel is a necessary modern-day rule in swanky restaurants, or any for that matter, cell phone use is restricted to the lobby.
Chef de Cuisine Stéphane Voitzwinkler intersperses his French-Alsatian roots across the menu, which changes often while adhering to organics from Chino Farm. The fresh asparagus, mushrooms and pearl onions supporting an appetizer of farm eggs in Burgundy sauce, for instance, tasted God-sent. Ditto for the softened leeks and Vidalia onions infusing their earthy sweetness into silky veloute sauce cloaking roasted scallops that were served in a half shell. Even the baby romaine mingling with marble-sized crab beignets in a Caesar salad sported exceptional garden savor.
Before moving off the starter menu, my petite companion zeroed in on man-sized prime beef carpaccio, with the raw meat cut similarly to filets of flat-iron steak rather than the paper-thin sheets served elsewhere. Fleshy and ultra-tender, it came with coveted chanterelle mushrooms, large candied walnuts, truffle oil and a side of lemon wedges.
At some point between our first courses, and per the order in which our intelligent waitress decided they would be served based on their textures and flavors, we slurped on lobster bisque injected with Cognac and Sherry. The booze wasn’t as evident as expected, perhaps because it went into the stockpot too early. But it was robust French-kissed bisque nonetheless, capped off with a cloud of basil-parsley foam.
As my companion forked through her glistening pork belly, crowned with a couple of fried shisito peppers, I took aim at an entrée of prime beef braised extensively in Cabernet and veal stock. The meat was so drunk and tender that it practically cut from the mere weight of my knife. Served with root vegetables and mild horseradish cream, the peasant-y flavors charmed the pants off a strongly oaked Urraca Malbec wine that I ordered twice throughout the meal.
Seems like whenever I decide to give mac-and-cheese a break, along comes a recipe that rivals all others. Here, the chef sprinkles shaved black truffles into a beautifully lightweight sauce of Comte and Gruyere cheeses, sending it out with a prized, toasted top layer. I had to remind my index finger of proper etiquette when we got down to only a film of the sauce remaining in the ramekin. Along with Chino Farm corn and truffle fries, it’s available as an a la carte side.
Our waitress steered us wisely to a dessert constructed after a Snickers Bar, although not in the childish sense. The creation contained layers of mousse and peanut nougat over a thin strip of feullantine, which translates from French to a crispy, compressed pastry. Cloying candy it wasn’t.
Meyer lemon cake with lavender cream also wowed us as we began bidding farewell to the twinkling downtown view. Even if you arrive without particular cause for celebration, Bertrand at Mister A’s turns an ordinary evening into a very special occasion that compliments your spirit, soul and best outfit.
