Swayed by Palmys in Pacific Beach

You look at Palmys and you straightway think Dunedin, Queenstown, Raglan.

All those pubs are named after Kiwi hometowns. They have sprung up around ’Diego these last few years, and now here’s this new one: Palmys. Although actually, they say it’s an Aussie who created this pub, and that the name comes from Palm Beach, Australia. But still, I’d say we’re talking Kiwi vibe. Maybe it’s just me?

Coming here is my neighbor Kevin’s idea. He drives us in his Toyota. We hop across Felspar at Cass, and head towards an old white house sprawling under Chinese Elm trees and jacarandas. Wow. This is one big old rambling house! What I like is that they have tables and benches strewn out among the trees and also ’neath the shade of the porches.

Palmys is new but old. The owners took over the property about three months ago. But the house? This year, 2021, it turned 100. A hundred years old! We’re talking one of Pacific Beach’s original homes. I see they have photos of this place, taken back when it was just about the only building on the whole empty plain that was PB. The pic shows three people relaxing beneath a sign that reads, “Smith’s Bungalow Inn.”

And yet as we climb the genteel rock and rope stairs past bushels of greenery to the front door, the fresh white paint makes it feel like it was built maybe ten years ago. One or two scholars sit laptopping at tables on the veranda. Other tables host informal meetings. And a guy in a Canadian red check shirt is carrying out a delicious-looking plate of piled toast and bacon, cheese, fried egg, tomato and oozing green avo, just right for a winter’s day (he says it’s the Breakfast Sando, $13), plus a plate with a burrito, angle-cut in half (The “Breaky Burrito” comes with “soft scrambled egg, bacon or soyrizo, avo, cheddar, caramelized onion, tater tots.” Costs $11.50). His name’s Mike. One of the owners. He sits down to chat with Katelyn, one of his regulars. “I come because the food here is healthy,” she says.

So you order at the counter inside. D’uh, a little later in the day, we’d be talking big choice here, because breakfast and lunch would both be on the menu. Disgustingly healthy items like the chimichurri bowl (with cauliflower rice, slaw, avo, plus salmon, steak, chicken or falafel, for $14.50) or the Palmys Burger, for $13.50. Or, also for $13.50, either the Good Girl or Bad Girl Chicken Sandwich or Wrap or Bowl. The difference between Good and Bad? All I can see is a choice of a falafel fritter instead of chicken breast. Whatever, it’s academic right now. Around nine in the morning, we’re still brekky only. And we’re talking around 14 bucks per “favorite” dish. Not the cheapest. The Surfer’s Breakfast ($14.50) — basically eggs, bacon (or soyrizo), shrooms, goat cheese, on grilled sourdough — is top of the list. “But so is the ‘Lil Gordo’ ($12),” says Mike. Huh. “Little Fatty.” Potato bun with fried egg, bacon, cheddar cheese, sriracha aioli and tater tots.

“Yeah!” says Kevin. “That’s me.” 

I’m not surprised at his choice. Kevin has the basically healthy but conservative tastes of the surfer community. Unpretentious and maybe a little bit unimaginative. I mean, these are all fine choices, like the whole grain pancakes with a fruit compote ($15). Just somehow not overly daring, not overly mouth-watering for my taste buds. But hush my mouth. Kevin has downs his brekky in a New York minute. Loves the cheesy potato bun. Mind you, the guy is trained to Gulp and Go. Is an ex-Marine. (“Marine,” he growls. “No such thing as an ex-Marine.”)

To me, it looks as if the most daring dish out there for breakfast is the Superfreak Bowl. Vegetarian. Lots of warmed-up grainy and leafy stuff like quinoa and arugula, with maitake mushroom, goat cheese, ooh, crispy shallots, pepita (pumpkin) seeds, hummus, the herb zaatar, and a fried egg. Except, dang! I wish we had more time, ’cause after I order, I spot lots of different (and cheaper) toast dishes, like the prosciutto ($12), the Not Your Standard Avocado Toast ($11, with watermelon radish, pickled fresno chili, pepita seed, and, for $2 more, an egg). Or, hey, PB toast, with peanut butter, banana, honey hemp seed, and cacao dust ($10).

“You’re going to need some of these,” says Kevin, and shovels across some of his tater tots. Must say, I’m grateful, even though I do kinda like the umami of the quinoa and the warmed-up freshness of the arugula, plus the luxury of the homemade hummus. But this is a vegetarian fantasy, and yes, despite plenty of taste, you still kinda feel like you’re eating tarted-up nuts and twigs.

My, uh, beef with places which concentrate on keeping animal stuff out of their dishes has always been that in keeping stuff out, they sometimes don’t think enough about what to put in. The main ingredients here — arugula, hummus, quinoa — leave me still looking for something to get my taste buds into. I recognize that vegetarian tastes have their own appeal, and I don’t think vegetarian chefs should imitate meat just to pander to desperate carnivores. But…  What I do appreciate is that these folks are trying to offer food that’s popular and healthy. That’s a hard tightrope to walk.

The other thing: Palmys really is Aussie, not Kiwi. But what the heck? It’s part of this new tradition that seems to be spreading through San Diego, of old houses that have become pubs in the Australasian tradition of homes-away-from-home, places like the aforementioned Queenstown, Dunedin, or Raglan, where the question never comes up: “Your place or mine?”