By The Secret Diner –
In our last review, Mrs. Secret Diner and I described our experience at the Hill Street Cafe, 1050 S. Hill Road. Please check them out. Tell them The Secret Diner sent you! Read below and guess where we are off to next.
One of our formative memories here in California was a day we spent kayaking the harbor. Awkward flailing eventually evolved into graceful paddling, and we maneuvered around slips and under walkways hoping to see an octopus crawling along the bottom. No pulpo graced us with her presence, but sea stars and crabs were less shy. In open water, sea lions barked orders and we obeyed. That afternoon, we lunched on the patio of a cafe with views of the water as well as the mountains. We sipped cocktails and toasted a new beginning in a new place. We started to feel Californian, whatever that is. By the time our check came, Mrs. Diner was beginning to notice the effects of a morning spent in the sun. She’d suffered a serious sun burn. Still today, you can see the straps of the top she wore that day branded into her shoulders.
In our zeal to assimilate, we’d forgotten that such transitions come at a cost. Skulling a canoe through Mississippi River backwaters is simultaneously like and unlike paddling a kayak on the California coast. That day, we ordered avocado on our burger, and we salted our beer.
Life is most interesting at the edges, at the seams and intersections, the overlap. Sunsets and sunrises are the most interesting moments of the day. Our most recent Secret Diner mission unfolded in the transition between spring and summer. I still struggle to notice a difference in seasons here, but Mrs. Diner is dialed into the subtlety. We wanted to eat outside. We wanted to see the water. We dressed in layers; Mrs. Diner checked that she had sunscreen in her purse.
We’ve been turned away at this eatery in the past by long lines, but we wedged our visit in the seam between the lunch and dinner crowds. We entered under a blue awning and had a moment to consider the menu without the pressure of a line. Mrs. Diner and I continue to be surprised when patrons stand in a long line without considering the menu options until they reach the register. Perhaps in a future column we can discuss counter-service line etiquette.
My cardiologist would probably rather I try one of the many grilled seafood options on the menu, but I went for the halibut and chips and a cup of chowder. Mrs. Diner ordered the oysters and chips with a pasta salad. To drink Mrs. Diner asked for a Pacifico that came with a lime wedge. Just water for me.
We were handed a pager and found seating in one of two, covered, outdoor dining rooms. The views alone are worth a visit. Mrs. Diner and I read the names of the boats moored outside, noticed their ports of origin. Silverware, condiments, and packets of seasoning can be had at a large island near the food pick-up. Staff in blue t-shirts bussed and wiped tables. There is always a bird, or birds, at such places. A gull, with a smear of tarter sauce on his bill, posted up at our table making us for an easy mark.
This restaurant started as a wholesale fish market, and features a glass case with the day’s catch iced down. While we waited for our food, Mrs. Diner and I considered the fish in the case. One of Mrs. Diner’s own specialties is squid-ink linguine and clams. Next time we cook this dish, we’ll get our clams here.
Our pager buzzed, and I needed help carrying all our food to the table. The fish and chips came overflowing in wire, boat-shaped baskets. My order came with five pieces of fish! Mrs. Diner’s oysters were the size of tennis balls. She was two bites into her salad before offering me a taste. The star of the plate was the artichoke hearts.
Our seafood was hot, fresh from the fryer. My grandfather was a beer-batter magician, and I believe he would approve of these plates. The bite was hot, crisp, not soggy. Mrs. Diner’s oysters were briny and rich. The halibut firm and flakey. The chowder was thick, like gravy, clammy and marbled with julienned carrots. Some crackers and a healthy dash of pepper completed the bite.
A funny thing about that day Mrs. Diner and I paddled the harbor, I can’t remember now what time of year it was. It might have been June; it could have been December. I’m getting better at noticing these coastal seasonal patterns – June gloom and all. I think I will always remember this fish shack and how it ushered in the summer for us this year.
Think you know the place we chose? Stay tuned for our next review to see if you’re right, and to join us on our next adventure.
