Frog legs, anyone?

I am behind on reporting my adventures, so today there is a “twofer.”

A few weeks ago, my husband and I enjoyed a wonderful day off together. We decided to do a sort of “walking tour” of the neighborhood, beginning with the zoo, looping around Banker’s Hill, and ending at our home in what I have dubbed “Middle Park”  (it’s technically North Park but is actually closer to South Park).

After tiring of looking at sleeping animals, we moved from Balboa Park to Banker’s Hill in search of food. We walked over a historic bridge built in 1919 (the name of which escapes me) and drank in the breath-taking views of ocean, canyon, downtown, and Point Loma. Exquisite. We then ventured to one of my new favorite coffee-haunts, called “Caffe Carpe Diem.” Tucked away in a primarily residential area of Banker’s Hill/Hillcrest, this spot oozes charm with its mis-matched patio furniture nestled in a lush array of potted plants outside and a comfy arrangement of overstuffed furniture atop a Persian rug inside. We lingered over blood orange tea and persued the deli, and then realized the extent of our hunger. We needed more than a sandwich, so we set out back toward Balboa, and happened upon Hexagone.

Hexagone is an old-world looking French restaurant right across from the happening and newly-relaunched Cucina Urbana. As we walked by, we saw that they had $6 happy hour menu items, and ducked in for a pre-dinner snack. We were expecting the usual tapa-fare: some sort of dip/cracker/chip phenomena, soup, nuts, olives, etc. What we did not expect were the following items: escargot, house-made charcuterie, baked brie, and frog legs. Still not fully convinced of this seemingly well-priced menu, I ordered frog legs, fully expecting two receive two frog legs with a spring of parsely. I was wrong.

There were at least 8 frog legs in a tantalizing stew that hinted a coq-au-vin type of sauce and accompanied by one of the freshest baguettes I’ve had in recent memory.

The sauce was absolutely delecatble- the herbs balanced well with the pungent sweetness of the wine just as this staple French sauce should. However good the sauce was, the frog legs still had that invarialbe tin-like taste that belies that the meat you are eating is reptilian. Note: for all of you biology types, I am aware that a frog is actually an amphibian, but taxonomy aside, it shares the flavor of its evolutionary cousins when cooked. At any rate, I still liked my dish, and at six bucks, who can complain?

We then proceeded to the charcuterie, which was very good. I have had better, but only a prices that are more than double what I paid that day. I liked that the consistency wasn’t as creamy as charcuterie normally is- sometimes if charcuterie is too creamy, it reminds me of Alpo, so I was actually grateful for the less-refined, heavily-herbed version I had that evening. It was excellently pared with Machego, Pitt Basque, and Gruyere cheese and some prosciutto, and all in all, was quite delicious.

The wine selection was disappointing, ESPECIALLY  since it was a French restaurant. Meridian and Beringer should not even be on the list at a French restaurant, even at happy hour. And definitely not priced at five bucks a glass. However, there is much to be said for the beer selection. Beer was three dollars a glass, including among its ranks local breweries like Karl Strauss and Delerium and imports such as Stella Artois. I can’t recall ever seeing Stella priced that low, so despite the distinctly Frenchy menu items I had ordered, I selected a Stella, which ended up paring beautifully with the charcuterie.

As Andrew and I walked home, bellies full, palates pleased, we felt that we would soon return to the restaurant that promised three dollar Stella, though I may hold off on the frog’s legs.

An unlikely Nepalese outpost

“What is Himilayan food?” “I imagine it’s like grape leaves and stuff. . . ”

My employees pondered aloud as I announced that, on the first of my half-days this week, that I had a lunch date at a place that served Himilayan food, simply and appropriately named “Himilayan.”

I have recently made a new friend who shares my love of exotic and dodgy restaurants, and after having tacos and maragaritas at the very tame (but still fun and hip) El Camino restaurant, we decided that I must try her favorite dive. As both of us had Wednesday lunch available, we agreed that our culinary adventure had to be that week.

The place is in a shopping center in La Mesa next to the Burlington Coat factory. That sort of location typically promises very good or very bad food, but regardless of the restaurant’s residence adjacent to the 8 freeway and unknown food culture that was “Himilayan,” I had a date, and I was certainly going. As my hero Andrew Zimmern’s aphorism goes, “try everything twice,” and following suit, I was going to try this and what’s more, give it a second shot if the first did not go over well with tastebuds or stomach.

As I exited my car, I was immediately greeted by wafting aromas of turmeric, coconut and garlic. I was planning on a light lunch, but the curry-sirens had already hooked me, and I knew the moment I stepped out of my Honda that I was going to chow down. I walked into a small but charming restaurant, decorated with pictures of Nepal and icons of Hindu deities. A woman in a Sari informed me that I may sit wherever I liked and asked if I wanted Chai tea. The scent of spices by now had reduced me to a state of rabid salivation, and I gulped my chai in anticipation of what was to come.

Needless to say, the food was excellent. It was certainly not unfamiliar cuisine, having much in common with Indian food, and at times, being indistinguishable from that food culture. The difference was mainly in the offering of lamb and the absence of ruin-the-taste-of-food-for-the-week spicyness. My curried potatoes and spinach were hearty and yet had a delicious freshness that revealed their farmer’s market origin, and the chicken curry. . . let’s just say that the delicate balance of sweet and savory and a lovely, smooth consistency and an adhesive quality that bonded it with the rice renders it nearly ineffible. The naan bread is also worth mention- freshly baked, fluffy on the edges and crispy on the outside of the middle made it perfect for sopping up the remainder of the curry.

The presentation, for the type of restaurant that it was, was also quite nice. The curry was served in a wide and shallow brass chalace, and everything was in a neat, deconstructed order on my place. The only quality that separates the place from a five-star restaurant in the Gaslamp is location and a trendy interior decorator.

My verdict on Himilayan: flavorful, hearty, feel-good food that is much more accessible to the masses than its Indian cousin (think: less spicy and more meat for the omnivores out there). Friendly, not overbearing service, and an unpretentious location means that I will certainly return. And thanks to my fellow food-explorer, without whom, I would not have happened upon this gorgeous little spot.