THE PERFECT ORDER WAGYU TARTARE ZUCCHINI VELOUTÉ SMOKED DUCK GNOCCHI
I CAN SPEAK FRENCH IN THIS ROOM. I can’t really speak French, maybe ten words or so, which all fall from my mouth in a confusing language pile. But in the sexy French bistro that is Wormwood, logic and skill are no match for the way it makes you feel . I am fluent. I am not me, a person raised in the cultural khaki-pants-ness of suburban Southern California, wearing but-of-course jeans and a button up that suggests an active distaste for fashion. My no-name clothes are Gautier and I may well be Proust, casually sniffing the air for bone marrow and French 75s. The mid-afternoon light is abusive through the tiny windows of the minuscule Adams Avenue restaurant. We are eating in a solar flair. And
Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder HEAVY SAUCINGS, MYTHICAL SPIRITS, AND PRETTY SIGNIFICANT MAGIC FILL WORMWOOD IN NORTH PARK
By Troy Johnson Photography by Eric Wolfinger
SAN DIEGO MAGAZINE 55
Made with FlippingBook Learn more on our blog