Go west, young chef

By Paul Reidinger

IT IS ONE of the curiosities of our curious town that the pattern of chefly migrations is exactly the same as that of the American population at large. From the northeast corner of city and country alike, the ambitious and the restless fan out west and south, seeking their fortunes. It is, really, a kind of cultural pollination, and, so far as the city's gastronomic life is concerned, its principal effect has been to produce tremendous blooms of restaurants in neighborhoods that a generation ago would not have appeared on any credible food map.

One of last year's best new restaurants, for example – Alma – was opened at Valencia and 22nd Streets (and just after Sept. 11) by Johnny Alamilla, who for several years had cooked up his nuevo Latino menus at Che, in the heart of SoMa. And this year's best new restaurant – or surely one of them – is likely to be Julia, which bears the name of its chef and owner, Julia McClaskey, the woman whose new American food made a success of Dine in another SoMa location that, for a time, showed signs of being cursed.

"New American" cooking is, like modernism, one of those avant-gardish phrases that's been around so long as to become a parody of itself. When I hear a menu described as "new American," I find myself thinking of week-old bread: stale, rigid, and tough. So it's probably a blessing that Julia's menu isn't actually called "new American" cooking, or indeed any kind of cooking; but it is utterly American in its guts and verve, and it is new in its freshness and suppleness.

It is also rich – another characteristic of most cooking in this, the richest of all possible nations. McClaskey, like Nancy Oakes and Traci des Jardins, isn't shy about animal fat; a fairly prim-sounding puree of cauliflower soup ($6), for instance, began with a mirepoix enriched by pancetta, was further laden with a healthy jolt of cream, and was topped by a single crusted day-boat scallop. Of course, it was delicious beyond compare, since, whatever criticisms we might make of fat, it does taste good.

A salad of chicken livers grilled on skewers ($7) would have been quite rich enough without several splinters of applewood-smoked bacon, but there was the bacon, bobbing like flotsam on an undulating green sea of mesclun. The dish reminded me of how substantial – how filling – salads have become, filled as so many of them are nowadays with grilled chicken, beef, avocados, cheese, and other such weighty items transplanted from sandwichland.

The chicken-liver salad isn't quite a meal in itself, but almost. The starters generally are quite large, and you can easily put together a nice tasting menu of your own with three of them. I did this after being told that the bass listed as a main course was Chilean sea bass – a no-no – and redirected by our server to the pickled sole ($9), which, though a starter, turned out to be a nicely sized serving, fortified with new potatoes, caramelized Maui onions, and dried cherries, with a hedgerow of watercress on the side. Preceded by the cauliflower soup and a vivid springtime salad ($8) of fava beans, pecorino cheese, red-onion confit, and crumbled candied walnuts, it made a lovely and varied meal.

Which is not to say the big dishes (other than the verboten Chilean sea bass) aren't worthy. They are. We particularly liked a special of grilled king salmon ($19), served on a bed of jasmine rice and bathed in a green coconut curry that, with its smooth sweet bite, would have done most Thai restaurants proud. (Quibble: The spears of roasted asparagus that somehow found their way onto the plate seemed out of place.) And the beef short ribs ($22), though oddly autumnal on a springtime evening with its lingering daylight, gorgeously melted into the accompanying mashed potatoes, corn, gravy, and slaw.

We were able to finish those dishes because we had, on our second visit, taken the precaution of splitting a single appetizer – squid ceviche ($8), served with house-made corn chips and slices of perfectly ripe avocado. And we found, at the other end of the meal, that a single dessert, a kind of strawberry shortcake made with almond-praline cake ($6) and dolled up with whipped cream, was plenty for two. Equally ample are the profiteroles ($6), stuffed with coffee ice cream, and an elegant butterscotch tart ($6).

My friend thought the interior redesign (of the old Laghi space) was pure Manhattan, but I found myself reminded, by its combination of airiness and muted plushness, of Hawaii. Maybe that's an indication of its ultimate Californian-ness – lots of stylish striped fabrics and quietly rich mocha colors, along with lazy fans under high ceilings.

In such a setting, it makes a certain kind of sense to find a wine list heavily, if not quite exclusively, given over to California bottlings. There's some nice stuff by the glass, though $10 for a goblet of the gewürtztraminer-ish Caymus Conundrum seems a bit stiff, and there are no half bottles.

But all any of this means is that Julia isn't quite perfect. Yet.