Currant

There is nothing left of the restaurant that Naomi Wise reviewed.

Instead of "the tastiest late-’50s jazz" there is earsplitting noise from raucous happy-hour conversationalists and a crying baby (really).

There is no detectable bone marrow in "the glorious five-onion soup with short-rib meat and beef marrow," just too much sugar.

The so-called cassoulet has undercooked al-dente beans, and strong inauthentic North African spices. The sausage and duck leg confit on the cassoulet were good, but they were obviously cooked separately. This dish is not cassoulet at all.

Prices are at the level of Rancho Santa Fe: $33 for the so-called cassoulet.

Service is friendly but uninformed. The menu says the cassoulet comes with a "crepiniere." (I may have misremembered the French word.) The waitress explained this incorectly. The kitchen did not produce it at all.

The scenario is all but too familiar: “Can we please try that place? It looks too cute! I’d love to eat there sometime!” I plea to my significant other, hoping that after enough begging he’ll give in and be willing to try what I’m convinced could be my new favorite restaurant. His willingness to try these trendy looking eateries that manage to catch my eye has become less and less as what appears to be trendy and holds potential to be in our San Diego dining top ten, more often than not conclude in us leaving the place, our optimism for gastronomic glee depleted.

Last Saturday morning, however, my restaurant radar made an accurate detection at last. I finally got to try that cute little checker-canopied eatery on West Broadway known as Currant, and it instantly was awarded a spot in my top ten. My experience there matched, if not surpassed, its positive physical aesthetics. I ordered an omelet with sun dried tomatoes, prosciutto, and gruyere cheese; along with a cinnamon apple malted Belgian waffle with Chantilly cream and a mimosa to drink (which go for $3 on Saturdays and Sundays F.Y.I.). The result was one of the most satisfying and delicious breakfasts I’ve experienced in San Diego, and the clear-your-plate goodness of the food was only the cherry on top of the eager-to-please service, sunny yet tree-shaded outdoor tables, and extraordinary Downtown ambiance.

My request of “Can we please try that place sometime?” is no longer met by the turning of the radio volume button, but is instead answered with a “sure, Babe, maybe some time.” Currant regained my faith in my dining intuition as well as my boyfriend’s willingness to accept my suggestions. Delicious in its facade, Currant is all that meets the eye.