Santa Barbara in tune with the times
MOST ITEMS on ‘flexitarian’ menu lean toward vegetarians, but there’s something for carnivores, too
File this one under flexitarian. That would be the ever-growing file with all the information about how more people are eating less meat these days, how a meal is not necessarily incomplete just because it doesn’t feature a honking piece of animal protein and how maybe not every night out has to involve the presentation of a bacon weave or bone marrow. I do love my fats cooked in fat, but it’s refreshing to come across a spot that bills itself as “carnivore friendly!”
Santa Barbara’s approach is, up to now, atypical for a restaurant. Reflecting current consciousness about health, ecological and even spiritual considerations, the menu turns the tables on the usual breakdown. Instead of one token dish for vegetarians (say, the notorious pasta primavera), most items lean that way. Rather than being an all-out vegetarian restaurant, there is some fish and a red meat dish, too (lamb, no less).
It’s a sweet redo of a lost corner, which was an Argentinian place, and then a Haitian place. The atmosphere is low-key, and equal strains of English and French conversation can be heard as the room flickers with tea lights on the tables and a star illuminates one wall. The name Santa Barbara refers to a lesserknown saint who is patron of electricians and firefighters (thus, the lightning bolt on the logo), and it’s also a reference to West Coast cuisine.
The concept seems to fits snugly into its Petite-Patrie surroundings (and would also fit a mid-size U.S. city with a college, strong arts scene and yoga studio not far away). The team — Melissa Campbell, Steven Horwood and Markus Dresler — were friends from B.C., and did a stint at local resto Rumi before partnering for this project.
“It’s kind of how we eat,” Campbell said by phone. “We’re not vegetarians at all, but we mostly eat vegetarian, and we found those options are missing in Montreal.”
The lineup is eclectic — homemade sweet potato perogies to cannellini bean mezze — a potluck with Ottolenghi inflections. And it does things that not many places at this price level do, like progressive cocktails (the one with Earl Grey syrup is quite nice) and original non-alcoholic juices (cucumber, mint and lime). The drinks I tried were a touch wan, but hopefully they’ll get there.
Not a total surprise to report that they do salads really nicely here. No lame out “mesclun mix” or sloppy overdressing. While I couldn’t bring myself to order it by name — “bring me some blessed mixed greens, please” — the house salad was indeed blessed with the bitterness of radicchio and endive, the bold use of rough-torn herbs like dill, mint and cilantro and sweet pops of pomegranate.
I won’t say the Russian salad will win over kale haters: you’re either on that team or you’re not, but it was smartly harmonized — tender, curly greens, perfectly ripe cubes of avocado for richness, roasted pumpkin seeds for crunch and nibbly bits of shiitake mushroom that worked like bacon.
They say leek fritter, we said leek latke — either way, we liked this starter a lot for its warm and springy body, and its topping of labneh and preserved lemon.
My preferred main course was probably the melanzane alla parmigiana, ultra-filling yet tasty enough to follow through to the end. Presented in a neat square, it was a tight and clean combo of dense eggplant, plush tomato sauce and kalamata olives on top.
We only got through half a toppling mound of beer-steamed PEI mussels with fennel, leek, celery and cilantro, but not for lack of flavour: the chipotle that made the Corona broth was almost meaty. Steelhead trout in an Asian-style sesame marinade was cooked with gentleness, accompanied by short brown rice and Chinese broccoli.
There were enough special touches to remind us that we were in fact eating in a restaurant, but sometimes it seemed almost too close to home. Roasting made a selection of root vegetables taste absolute- ly wonderful, and quenelles of airy herbed goat cheese set off all that naturally released sweetness. But a whole plate made for a weird meal; okay at the kitchen table, incomplete in a supper setting.
Sometimes, the promise of more sophistication didn’t pay off, either. The polenta special — adorably called “la voisine italienne” — was full of potential. But dry wedges of cornmeal cake, layered stiffly over caramelized onions and red peppers, lacked life. While walnuts brought texture, the accompanying pesto wasn’t the solution.
For desserts, Neapolitan cream pudding was hyper-sweet, with competing flavours of caramel, cardamom and coffee. Molten chocolate cake with jalapenos did better at our table, but I’d do better with those big, bold flavours in smaller quantities.
Santa Barbara has been open just over a month and is still getting its balance. Overall, it really won my affection, in no small part for setting out to prove that you can have your cocktails and your kale salad, too.