DINING REVIEW: Michael’s Santa Monica

1147 3rd St.

Santa Monica, CA 90403

310-451-0843

michaelssantamonica.com

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By LILA SEIDMAN | Reporter

As improbable as it might sound to devotees of Michael’s Santa Monica’s now-gone classic pub fare, the major menu overhaul rolled out in September by chef Miles Thompson—with exotics and unpronounceables like Chicken Heart Anticucho, Dungeness Crab Chawanmushi and Braised Pig Ears—is not bizarre for bizarre’s sake.

“People are meeting the changes with a lot of hostility—then they try the food,” said Chas, owner Michael McCarty’s son.

On a recent Thursday evening, Michael’s eclectic offerings seemed poised to bridge a generational culinary and aesthetic gap.

Diners on my left and right reminisced out loud about their previous Michael’s experiences—in the New York spot or here, on 3rd Street, pre-Thompson, a 28-year-old who was tapped to helm the 37-year-old restaurant’s redux.

Nostalgic reverie gave way to memories in the works as two birthday celebrations unfolded around me. Couples on their 32nd date looked at ease on the back patio. Hip, younger folks (in the minority) filled in the tables not populated by Michael’s seasoned clientele. Diners lingered for two, three, four hours. Curious, hesitant bites gave to “mmms,” openness and acceptance.   

Thompson, who has been called a “prodigy,” his food “avant-garde,” began working in kitchens at the age of 13, honing his craft at places like Nobu and Son of a Gun. “The only thing we don’t make in-house is the soy sauce,” Chas McCarty said; the names of Thompson’s creations belie improbable complexity.

“It just says ‘Octopus’ on the menu, but that octopus has been poached, soaked in sake, dried out and [insert many more steps], before it’s thrown on the grill,” my server Brian said of the small plate item.

The result is nothing less than astonishing. Meaty cuts of boldly flavored octopus share the plate with red beets, tangerines and greens sprayed with soy. The sweetness (tangerines) and earthiness (beets) are punctuated with sour staccato bursts of green tomato mustard.

Wash it down with the popular El Paseo cocktail, made with Tequila Blanco, Vida mescal, Pamplemousse Rose, fresh lemon, agave, bay leaf and watermelon granita. Brian assured me it’s “the best for presentation”—he poured a small decanter of liquid into a glass filled with what looked like pink rock candy. It was somehow both mesquite and extremely refreshing.

The key to embracing and, perhaps, loving Thompson’s unexpected flavors is to give in. On first bite, you might get a surprise right hook from a foreign flavor. Ride it out and you’ll be rewarded. Once my palette acclimated, my initial suspicion or dislike often turned to adoration.

The Beef Tartare, a name also misleading enough to warrant a waiter explanation, comes cubed with jicama kombu-jime and coriander seeds—almost a tartare salsa. In lieu of bread are puffed beef tendon “chips,” similar in mouthfeel to Chicharron. At first I found the chips off-putting, greasy, some of them too hard to chew. But the more I ate, the more I found myself cherishing each bite.

The first sip of the Night Train cocktail (Peruvian Brandy, Lillet Blanc, plum shrub, plum jam, plum biters, maple syrup, soy, lime and salt) is like getting punched in the mouth with a pungent fist. The fourth sip is delicious.

(Some reviewers have noted that the Szechuan Pork Dumplings can be initially startling; I found them perfect and delicious from bite one.)

For less experimental ilk, the menu features several fresh takes on Michael’s classics, like the succulent Duck Breast, with huckleberry-juniper pickle, water spinach, delicata squash and Cinderella squash puree. File this under things you never thought you’d hear: the squash, cooked in duck fat and brown sugar, steals the show.

Not all the funkier creations find their groove. The Roasted Barley Pot-de-Crème, made to dispense from a whipped cream canister, seemed lackluster, almost too light register taste-wise.

While Thompson’s cooking seems made for Echo Park or Silverlake, Chas McCarty insists that “this is the food he grew up with” on the Westside, when Santa Monica was a refuge for LA’s boho class. The new Michael’s menu, he said, is reconnecting to those edgier roots.

For the wait staff and bus boys—all well-versed in the menu—the redux seems to represent nothing less than a high-stakes mission.

McCarty explained, “We have to become a destination, and we’re all pretty into the challenge. We’re in it together.”