The Perfect Order
Lamb Lollipops | Coconut Milk Poached Seabass | The Ritual
If pink’s belief in its own emotional power had waned, it has been fully restored by The Sasan. Mission Hills residents were pitchforkian-vocal about the paint job on the seven-story residential tower. Pepto-Bismol was trotted out yet again and co-slandered. Sure enough, The Sasan does look exactly like a stack of gigantic, bubble gum–colored Pez candies, the spaces between each dangling with deeply green plant life. It’s a flamingo among the architectural pigeons.
In other words, it’s lovely. As someone who grew up in suburbia, where every home seems to be the color of budget-hotel oatmeal, I envied the electric blue and banana-hued houses of Miami or Mexico or Cinque Terre or Buenos Aires. Not sure where we’re at with tariffs, but maybe lower them on paint.
About an hour before sunset, the best seats at the bar—the ones facing the big show—fill up fast.
The Sasan is home to the city’s newest rooftop dining spectacular, Communion. The entrance alone is worth the price of whatever you order. You walk into a large, ground-floor courtyard (home to the all-day sister concept, a bakery, coffee shop, and pintxo bar called Paradis), which glows pink. A singular host stands at a podium, ready to escort you into the elevators. Ride up and step out into Communion’s floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. It’s a stunning bout of vertigo.
When it comes to views, give me the receded one. Vistas perched on top of the water are nice and all, but they lack perspective. From Communion’s large dining patio, you can see downtown, the point, and the bay where, in the mid-1800s, Captain Henry James Johnston first looked up from the docks at this hilltop and decided to buy 65 acres (the land used to be called Johnston Heights).
San Diego’s iconic plant lady Kate Sessions (she essentially single-handedly landscaped Balboa Park) lived and worked in Mission Hills and planted those palm trees and poinsettias, the bougainvillea and star jasmine. She started its oldest business, Mission Hills Nursery, in 1910.
The view plays second fiddle to the food, but the view is still… this.
Trolleys were everything back then, and getting a stop near your business meant your kids were well-fed, so Sessions sealed Mission Hills’ future when she convinced John D. Spreckels to bring the trolley to her nursery. I can’t help but think of her seeing those plants cascading out the sides of The Sasan’s balconies.
Communion is the project of another name well-known to San Diego. Jacquee Renna-Downing and her late husband Kipp Downing owned North County’s seafood icon Pacifica Del Mar (they sold it years back). The family launched two successful restaurants in the Coachella Valley (Pacifica Seafood and La Quinta Cliffhouse), and this is their return to San Diego (Jacquee’s daughter, Hailey Renna, is running it).
The lineup of talent in the kitchen and bar is A-list: executive chef Mike Moritz, formerly of Mister A’s and Mille Fleurs; Aly Lyng, longtime pastry chef of Georges at the Cove; and lead bartender Eliza Woodman (Camino Riviera).
I think it’s time to stop expecting less from view restaurants. For decades, they could serve us gussied-up slop and well drinks with expensive names, and we’d gladly be their sucker just to sit in their sky box. But, with food literacy at an all-time high, being front and center to the grandeur of the gods isn’t enough. Communion’s “coastal from across the globe” menu isn’t perfect, but it’s off to a hell of a strong start.
For drinks, the star is Yama’s Reign. You didn’t know you needed droplets of sesame oil floating in your cocktail with that unmistakable flavor bomb of furikake (Japanese spice blend) until you try this thing. With a tiny clothespin, the bar team straps a sheet of wakame (dried seaweed) to the glass. I’d get rid of the weed—its scent is so strong that it smells a bit like low tide—but the drink is phenomenal.
For apps, start with the Wagyu beef carpaccio. Moritz’s take is a bit soupy, embracing the trend of treating the classic like loaded nachos. Some people would say that you don’t thin-slice Wagyu beef and then air-drop a Vegas buffet on it—that’s like paying for Tyler the Creator to headline your concert and then having the opening acts stand in front of him all night singing their own songs.
Hamachi crudo
But Moritz’s buffet is delicious and changes frequently (at the time I’m writing this, it’s a lime-heavy Vietnamese riff, bò tái chanh). The hamachi crudo has a beautifully elegant lemon oil and thin sticks of Granny Smith apples. Ignore the grapefruit (it waterboards the delicate fish with bitter citrus).
Three dishes will justify any meal you have here. First, the lamb lollipops. If my organs ever revolt and doctors demand I go plant-based, I’d settle for “vegetarian plus lollipops.” My personal kryptonite, the handheld carnivore snack is judged by the sear and season of the crust and the sauce.
Moritz’s has a thick crust punch-drunk with za’atar (the almighty Middle Eastern spice blend of dried herbs, toasted sesame seeds, salt, and sumac). The sauce is yogurt infused with vadouvan (India’s spice blend of cumin, fenugreek, mustard seed, garlic, and many other things), a great leave of absence from the usual chimichurri.
Second, the risotto. It is a $49 risotto. That’s a hefty price to pay for sticky rice. But Communion’s is undeniably fantastic and so rich the table can share it. It’s hand-stirred with shaved black truffles, wild and tame mushrooms, and 24-month-aged Grana Padano.
The seabass has thrown in its lot for dish of the year.
Third, and the star of the show, is the seabass. Everything is right here—a thick, almost prehistoric chunk of bass (Communion is not cheating anyone with portion sizes) is poached in coconut milk for a pretty incredible, thoroughly moist, luscious cook on the fish. Then, it’s laid in one of Thailand’s greatest gifts: tom yum broth. It comes with a spoon and bowls so you can ladle out some of that life-restoring tincture.
If Communion has an Achilles’ heel, it’s drowning a good idea in another otherwise good idea. The chaat masala potatoes come swimming in chutney and Greek yogurt. That’s a special flavor combo, but, while eating it, you can’t help but think of all the times you’ve dropped a chip into an onion dip and it gets really lodged there, so much so that, despite your best efforts, it merely goes deeper, until you’re just desperately trying to extract the thing before it gums up the whole dipping experience. And the duck—dry-aged seven days in-house—got too much of the sweet, sweet sauce. Duck likes sweet, but this is nearly dessert.
Basque cheesecake with salted caramel and whipped crème fraîche is a perfect end.
Speaking of, pastry chef Aly Lyng is a talent. Try her vanilla bean Basque cheesecake (crustless and baked at a high temp for a charred top and a lighter and custardy middle) with salted caramel and whipped crème fraîche. Or “The Ritual,” a warm flourless chocolate tart crowned with condensed milk ice, hazelnut praline, and ice cream infused with espresso from Ritual Coffee (one of the only San Diego places to serve the cult-loved San Francisco roaster).
Perfection is a fool’s errand. Small missteps aside, I’m hard-pressed to name a better dining experience than ordering some lollipops and that tom yum bass as you stare at the sunset over those storied old San Diego hills and gaze down at the bay, trying not to think of the nuclear submarines below the surface.
An early contender for new restaurant of the year.
