By Frank Sabatini Jr. | Restaurant Review
I’ll bet there are at least a dozen enterprising chefs in San Diego wishing they had beat Lemonade to the chase in applying fanciful twists to some of America’s homiest foods and beverages, and then presenting them within an alluring cafeteria-style atmosphere.
Lemonade was launched seven years ago in West Hollywood by cookbook author and Chef Alan Jackson, an expat of the fine-dining scene. He has since grown the tightly controlled brand in 20 locations, mostly throughout California. Two of them recently debuted locally, in Hillcrest and Westfield UTC mall.
The concept encompasses modern-day trends from both casual and upscale restaurants in a smart, contradicting manner. Its hip commissary-like design, for instance, is appointed elegantly with fresh sunflowers while meal options ranging from ultra-healthy seasonal fare to caloric comfort favorites are spooned onto heavy paper plates by white-jacketed staff.
The food line is a mouth-watering sight to behold, unlike any school or hospital cafeteria you’ve suffered through in the past. As many Lemonade customers attest, such displays prove just how much we eat (and buy) with our eyes.
As for the lemonades, there are about eight varieties to choose from, including crafty apple-coconut and summery strawberry-rhubarb, which my dining companion suggested “would go great with vodka” if alcohol was sold here. But it isn’t.
At the start of the track are riots of farm-fresh produce in 18 resourceful combinations, some of them augmented with nuts, cheeses, chicken and tuna. They start at $2.75 for a single portion, which equates to two modest-size scoops. Although if you’re unsure how edamame behaves with snap peas, carrots, radishes and sesame seeds, for example, you can request a sample before selecting it. I didn’t, but I ended up loving the outcome.
Ditto for the heirloom tomatoes with parsley, crème fraiche and white balsamic, which in my book gave old, tired caprese a much-needed rest.
My companion chose pre-roasted sweet potatoes with green papaya and Spanish peanuts, but without taste-testing it first. Though pretty on the plate, she termed the flavor profile as “too busy.”
Next up were “hot market veggies,” where dishes such as grape-glazed Brussels sprouts and corn-kale-cheddar soufflé reside for a set price of $3.50 per serving. We tried the harissa-spiced roasted cauliflower, which was mildly piquant and excellent. But the mashed potatoes that summoned us cried for greater measures of butter, salt and pepper.
From the “land + sea” and flatbread sections, we encountered a few winners. The new, seasonal watermelon stack featured clean-cut disks of the fruit layered with crumbled feta, diced cucumber and fresh mint. It tasted as sexy as it looked. Ahi poke with mango and macadamia nuts was less flavorsome, except for its faint drizzling of coconut-orange oil.
Two different flatbreads, each made to order, provided equal pleasure. One was mantled with onions and wild mushrooms, offering a bouquet of rustic flavors derived also from the perfectly crisped crust. The other combined sliced strawberries, blue cheese and candied walnuts on top, along with fresh arugula to balance the sweetness with its bitter snap.
Then came the bigger ticket items, and some our meal’s finest as we passed over a display of sumptuous sandwiches on various breads that our stomachs couldn’t possibly accommodate — vegetarian “chicken” meatballs with jalapenos and four cheeses; turkey and Gruyere with cranberry relish; and green apple curry chicken with pickled cucumbers.
The “braises” division is where you find meats and vegetables served from cooking pots that look straight out of someone’s nice home kitchen. Each serving is $7.
My companion chose barbecue brisket. The pieces split apart easily with our plastic forks, and the sauce offered a teasing tang. But I liked my red miso short ribs better. The de-boned meat was beefy and wildly aromatic. And the thick, dark braise coating was simultaneously salty and fruity.
The braised entrees are served in study eight-ounce paper containers. Other options include jerk chicken, Georgia peach pulled pork and lentil-eggplant stew.
Among the ala carte side components, such as basmati rice, and chicken (or vegetarian) chili, we chose the most killer mac-n-cheese I’ve had in ages. It’s made with Gruyere, white cheddar and Parmesan, and with white truffle oil to boot. Given its bold flavor and flawless consistency, I’d gladly shell out $25 for The Lemonade Cookbook by Jackson if it contains this very recipe.
While packing our leftovers, we nibbled on airy pistachio macaroons and a tall-standing slice of strawberry-lemonade cake studded with chocolate-mint nonpareils. The latter resembled a colorful illustration from a children’s book. And like most of the dishes we consumed from this atypical cafeteria, it captured the embracing essence I expect from comfort food, with or without the fashionable spins.
—Frank Sabatini Jr. is the author of “Secret San Diego” (ECW Press), and began his local writing career more than two decades ago as a staffer for the former San Diego Tribune. You can reach him at [email protected].
