In a bit of  foreshadowing, the parking lot leading to Old Vine Cafe channels the meddling mother in Woody Allen’s Oedipus Wrecks through a series of maternal stencils on asphalt.         

Thanks Mom.

   So it comes as a surprise when not mom, but brothers Brandon and Mark McDonald fuss over the offerings like  matriarchs in full Thanksgiving prep mode. And they’re motherly in a good way.  There is a charcuterie plate, fat coins of smoky Pimentón-laced Pamplona chorizo, quail egg-sized Obregón olives and diminutive nero olives whose skins slip off to reveal savory, voluptuous flesh. Hard cheeses that have the taste of faraway fields and ample herbal focaccia crisps accompany.        

Vine ripe.

If you’re lucky enough to get a bar seat looking out of the storage unit-sized space, you can contemplate a handful of Sequoia trees with a massive hammock strung between them.        

 On one visit, a Gilligan-like dude planted himself for the duration. I ask  if it’s occupied often. ”It’s for the community,” says my server says with an earth goddess sweep of her hand. “People chill out there for a couple of hours at a time.”   Don’t mind if I do.    

Little Buddy.

 You are, after all, in The Camp, as the cluster of buildings is called, and though it’s no Glacier National Park, it’s a pleasant enough place to kick back,  minus the bears.        

Happy Camper.

Chef Mark McDonald makes a brilliant, salad spiked with dozens of baby fried artichokes, hearts of palm  and cured ham dressed in a creamy tarragon emulsion.  Just as good the savory prosciutto and fried onion-flecked field greens with Maytag Blue Cheese dressing.   

Do fried baby artichokes count?

What can twenty dollars buy these days? If you’re at Old Vine, you can have a prixe fixe approaching  Marché Moderne standards in sophistication and value.  A salad combined milky soft-centered burrata, beefy grape tomato halves and peppery flash fried arugula suspended in a crispy tangle. The Reuben had the subdued four-triangles-with-a-ramekin-of-Russian dressing presentation that you would find at, say, Pelican Hill, or Big Canyon,  but its  tender shards of all natural pastrami, juicy sauerkraut and sweet, nutty Gruyère  surpass pedestrian tee-time fare.  The dessert course of cheesecake was European in its slender tart-like elegance, transcending the cloying, whipped wedges Philly that many places are wont to serve.     

Gal Fresco.

Although they’re no terroir fundamentalists, the Old Vine crew hardly lets oak-blugeoned and malolactic-heavy sips take center stage. Instead, expect lovely seldom seen Argentinian whites that smell of lavendar and candied orange rind or Rosé with strawberries on the nose. Perfect for swinging in a hammock.      

2937 Bristol St. A 102 Costa Mesa, CA 92626 714.545.1411.

While other restaurant’s backsides feature dumpsters, bike racks and other unsightly F&B industry necessities, Richard Mead’s latest project, Canyon  has a professionally-tended garden out back. What he doesn’t have yet is the Kingsolver-inspired bumper crop one might expect from such a dedicated  space. Give him time. 

Beet it.

Chef/Owner Mead, (also of Sage in Newport Beach) like David Slay of Park Ave. in Stanton nurtures a viable on-site garden that will provide seasonal, organic produce to his restaurant. Don’t expect either to install an abattoir anytime soon, but in the vegetable department, both are D.I.Y. enough to bring farm to table in a matter of yards.

Open just under a month, Canyon is true to the Mead aesthetic of serving comfort food in an upscale setting with easy-drinking wines. Consider garnet-hued beets dotted with walnut halves, tender goat cheese morsels and peppery arugula in a gossamer horseradish and Dijon vinaigrette. I love it with a glass of grapefruit aroma-laden Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc. Crispy, sweet Blue Crab cakes with grilled corn relish and creamy roasted garlic tartar sauce benefit from off-dry Kung Fu Girl Riesling. 

13 buck chuck.

Some dishes don’t work. A mushroom soup had all the earthy funk of varied fungi, but I can’t get past the the spa mud treatment color. Tuna tartar with wasabi crème fraîche was surprisingly bland. 

 Natural and repurposed design elements abound, occasionally looking as if someone scored on craigslist with Walker Zanger samples and Ganahl Lumber remnants.

With Slater’s 50/50 down the street serving carnal gut bombs versatile enough for a team party or  debauched cougars night out,  Canyon needed their burger to be a contender. They deliver with an oozing, juicy ground chuck patty topped  with cheddar and pancetta. Sesame seed-flecked Asian slaw, house-made fries and subtly smoky ketchup accompany it. 

Jasana's asana.

Canyon hired Laguna Beach native and nascent pastry chef  Jasana Singer to do desserts.  We tried Panna cotta with blood orange sorbet. The rich, vanilla bean-flecked cooked cream against the astringent bite of citrus is a fifty-fifty creamsicle without the freezer burn or stick. Next time: her molten chocolate cake with Merlot sauce. 

5775 E. Santa Ana Canyon Rd. Anaheim Hills, Ca. 92806. 714.283.1062. Dinner for two, $65.00, food only.

Besides a name with all the buoyancy of a Mother’s Day paperweight made of Fimo, eggplant has other attributes that probably disqualified it early on from being considered as a subject for one of Pablo Neruda’s Odes. 

The fact that its prone to bitterness and the tendency to sweat make it sound more like a painfully transparent match.com profile than an entree. Still, in capable hands, it becomes smoky and silken: a miraculous transformation. When I was invited to an eggplant recipe contest at Zov’s Bistro, whose  menu is riddled with lovely incarnations of the mediterranean specialty,  I was curious about what would turn up. 

Eggplant Parmesan by Priscilla Willis at shescookin.com, photo by Diane Cu of whiteonricecouple.com.

Aubergine concoctions were out in full force:  a healthy, sleek eggplant Parmesan redux, herbal eggplant salad with pita chips, and roasted baby eggplants stuffed with a savory beef and tomato mixture served with rice pilaf.  Jihan Assi of Tustin crafted the latter dish that won over judges (and this guest) with its velvety, yielding texture.

The contest was announced on Zov’s new blog where the winning recipe is now posted. I might have entered the contest myself if I could manage to keep the mutinous nightshade from soaking up it’s weight in olive oil  like a Chore Boy.

Later, though, I made a mental note not to enter any subsequent recipe contests when Assi was presented with what looked like a consolation plaque from AYSO!

Wait, I think my kid's soccer plaque is missing.

But that was before I knew  her recipe would be featured on the menu at Zovs’ Bistro for a day, and she received a 100 dollar Zov’s gift card. That will buy a lot of baba ghanoush.

Zov’s Bistro 17440 E. 17th Street, Tustin 92780. 714.838.8855.

Nobody I know wakes up and says, ” I’m going to try to get the most tasteless produce available today, something that doesn’t look like it came out of the ground. While I’m at it, I’ll make sure it’s out of season here, and get it from two continents over.”

 But one day it happens: you scan the fridge and the vegetables du jour consist of hermetically sealed pre-cut pineapple rings from Brazil, a jar of cocktail onions and a plastic bag of carrot nubs emasculated with a lathe. How? The allure of one-stop shopping is irresistible at times.

Why shouldn’t the smug taskmaster within us be seduced by the ability to gather  pallets of toilet paper,  an XL bag of onions, a daughter’s Hannah Montana glasses prescription, soccer snacks,  a signed copy of The 19th Wife and new tires all from the same place?

 Still, why get bell peppers from the Netherlands whey they grow them in Irvine? I found Orange County Certified Farmer’s Markets almost 20 years ago.  Here are the top eleven reasons why I can’t stay away:

1. Flavor: once you’ve had a Tehachapi-grown Pink Lady with it’s dense crispness and tangy sweet flesh, you can never go back to the mealy, cold-storage supermarket Red Delicious.

2. Variety: Juicy purple carrots, buttery-fleshed blue potatoes and sweet yellow raspberries make your plate pop with Klee-like whimsy.

3. Diversity: Check out those short-window seasonal artisanal goods and exotics that aren’t marketable to stores due to small production. Sugar cane, oyster mushrooms, baby squash and blood oranges for starters.

4. Non-size standardization means you can find diminutive Fuji apples just the right size for lunch boxes and an artichoke the size of a medicine ball.

5. Localicious: I get a little jealous when my salad fixin’s have racked up more air miles in a few days than I have in the last year. Most goods at these markets don’t come from further than central California, and many are grown in OC.

6.Zinnamon Doodles:   Bread Gallery in San Clemente makes a super moist applesauce-based roll packed with cinnamon the size of a beret.

7. Cabernet Brownies from Black Market Bakery. Tender, dark chocolate brownies with an outspoken smoky jamminess that comes from wine flour.

8. Convenience With ten markets a week, you’ll find one close to you. The Irvine Market on Saturday morning is the biggest with over 100 vendors. Markets also feature bakeries, honey, olive oil,  cheeses, and fair trade non-agricultural items like clothing and bath products.

9. No pesticide. Most vendors who aren’t yet certified organic are moving towards that rigorous, time consuming and expensive process by not spraying. Supporting these small guys insures they’ll eventually get there.

10. Community It’s tough to have a relationship with a Styrofoam tray. At  certified farmer’s markets, you learn about your food by talking with the people who had a hand in making it. I have met beekeepers, cheese makers, farmers and bakers who take great pride in bringing their exceptional quality goods to market.

 11.Fun! Shopping outside in the sun with the guitar guy playing Memo from Turner  beats Muzak and Kardashi-tainment headlines any day.

The Orange County Farm Bureau can be reached at (714) 573-0374. Go to hppt://orange.cfbf.com for the their list of certified farmer’s markets.

Is it awkward when the giant clam on your plate gets around more than you do? Maybe a little. But that’s how they roll at Sushilicious. Kaiten sushi has it’s critics, and for good reason. Nobody wants fish that’s been rotating like a mistakenly-tagged piece of Sampsonite on the Jet Blue carousel at LAX.

 Still, if you can  put aside bad memories of all-things revolving (wayward dry-cleaning, squeaky spice caddies, really lazy susans) you’ll be ready for a sushi experience that comes right to you with all the regal, low velocity pomp of a Rose Parade Float minus the white-gloved hotties.

Dare I say...scallop-sational?

Consider the Medusa, a nori wrapped base of  fried soft shell crab and creamy kani kama garnished with mesclun and dotted with roe. The rice is covered in ethereal tempura flakes that add crunch while soy-based tsume sauce lends a hint of sweetess to the crispy, savory bite. 

Despite the funky, clunky names, (can you pass me a ‘Roll formerly known as California’, please?) the general concept of most rolls here is nothing new, but the whimsical delivery system, great prices and surprising freshness is.

Professional Itamae on a closed course: do not attempt.

Popular sushi rolls tend to be trashy in their seduction, preying on our basest desires. What omakase purist hasn’t given into the allure of  deep-fried, toaster oven-baked,  butane-torched offerings on occasion because of their sheer decadence?  In that catagory, crispy cubes of molten fried rice with cool chili-laced chopped tuna on top remind of inside-out Sicilian arancini.

Still, there are plenty of healthier options.  Sesame-flecked Napolean Dynamite with bare, translucent red snapper and cucumber laced in Sriracha is one.  Twilight  consists of shoyu-mirin basted and grilled unagi and cucumber topped with creamy avocado slices.

Supercali-Fraggle Rock Shrimp!

In most sushi bars,  unorthodox Cali-style rolls are merely a habit forming gateway substance that primes the brain for later addictions to nigiri sushi, even sashimi. Although single-origin sushi is fine here, rolls are what get people hooked with Jeremy Piven-like zeal. 

Sushicalifragilisticexpialidocious has this effect.  The mild sesame-soy paper wrapped base is filled with crab salad, cucumber and salad greens contrasted with sizzling tempura rock shrimp drizzled in creamy chili sauce on top.    

Roll Train.

The month-old brainchild of Daniel Woo is the latest in the kaiten sushi craze in OC, and ultimately the only one who puts out sushi that competes with its non-revolving counterparts. Everything on the belt is still made right before your eyes, with three chefs stationed at different locations inside. 

Sushi is placed gingerly under miniature cake domes to protect it from the occasional sneeze or the meddling hands of the sake-bombed. Plate rims are color coded so staff can tabulate the damage. The conveyor belt is a high tech sushi-calator equipped with a radio frequency identification system. 

Twilight Zone.

In Dahl-esque good egg/bad egg fashion, the belt senses a chip in each plate and a light goes on when one hour is up, signaling for the staff to pull it.

Who knew that the crowded,  all-you-can-eat AC/DC-blasting rock and roll-sushi joints of the eighties with their Kirin-downing itamaes would give way to sushi-go-rounds playing Owl City flanked with pastel-clad club kids? And the word is out.

M likes it!

Woo hired social networking ninjas to tweet just about all things Sushilicious even before the doors were open. This beats sending the busboy out on Jeffrey dressed like a tsunami hand roll to attract customers. Just don’t be dissapointed that the hamachi you just snagged has more Twitter followers than you do.

15435 Jeffrey Road, Ste. 119 Irvine 92618. 949. 552. 2260

In the shadow of CHOC and Saint Joe’s with a string of high rise financial buildings to the south, Kaffa is the kind of coffee lover’s refuge where ER staff and personal bankers refuel on freshly percolated Sulawesi Estate while they tap on  laptop keyboards or chill with this week’s James Patterson release.  

 On a coffee break there last week, I witnessed a middle-aged woman with hair like Joe Jonas wearing a bad anime wig pressing for a  Hello Kitty latte.  

Cafe du Frond.

‘Um, we don’t really focus on art.” managed the uncomfortable barista, and with that he whipped up a painstakingly wrought 12 oz. latte brimming with a thick layer of silky espresso crema and  creamy froth.  

She had him carry it to the table for her,  apparantly fearing spillage, and the surface did undulate like a water bed in a Poconos honeymoon suite, but he never spilled a drop. She seemed to forget the Sanrio character in favor of a simple free style palm frond and inhaled the aroma as if it were a glass of 2005 Chateau d’Yquem Sauternes.  

Scrub crawl.

She’s on to something. The coffee at Kaffa does have much of the dizzying complexity of wine without the pesky side effect of napping on the banquette. My latte featured a heart, the only other design the baristas  at Kaffa do, but fancy foam isn’t everything.  Mellow, lush and fragrant with locally roasted espresso beans the creamy, earthy latte induces a smooth time -release buzz that never feels jolty or crashy.  

 The place is full of double shift-working hospital personnel and loan officers for whom Scooby Do Scrubs  and custom Swarovski ID lanyards are respective workplace fashion statements, but you almost feel as if you could get by wrapped in a burgundy Snuggie to complement the warm gold walls and cozy, stay-a-while vibe.   

I heart Kaffa!

The regulars are people who depend on caffeine in ways most of us don’t. Performing a ten hour surgery on a diseased liver lobe calls for crystal clear focus that may only be summoned by vats of French-pressed Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.

Unlike many dedicated coffee houses for whom food means a glass case full of pre-made sandwiches and hardtack-like scones, Kaffa has a full breakfast and lunch menu with items made to order.  

Personal Zest.

The best selling Chinese chicken salad is straightforward, utilitarian sustenance. It’s the kind of thing that would trump hospital cafeteria food any day, but its nothing you couldn’t find  at, say,  Mi Mi’s.   

The tuna melt looked ordinary, but the soft focaccia was pressed into crispy, warm, almost lacy submission and  seared with fresh tomato and blistered provolone. Bonded with just enough mayo, the tuna was bright with pungent, miniature curls of lemon zest and flecked with onion  and pickle dice  throughout.   Fair warning: keep close tabs on whoever leaves the ward to do your lunch run, this melt has legs.

424 S. Main St. , Ste. K Orange, 92868 714.978.1992. Lunch for two, $15.00,  food only.

Dear Galley Girl, 

It’s my friend’s birthday we’d like to go out to dinner to celebrate. Problem is, our friend won’t budge. He would prefer to cook for us at his place, and he’s actually a good cook, if prone to heavy risottos and chili involving lamb. On one birthday in recent memory though, he made us undercooked paella and my husband never got over it. 

He mentioned us making dinner for him, and I’d love to oblige, but I need a break from dishes and cooking. Truth is, he doesn’t want to go out at all, but in the event we can get him in the car,  here are a few of his many requirements: 

1.Restaurant must be within a three mile radius, he’s a homebody. ( we live in Cowan Heights) 

2. Must be economical and value recieved, entrees should be $15.00, max. 

3. Ideally will be ethnic or spicy. Holes-in-the-wall are OK, he cares about food more than atmosphere, but frankly, we’re done with the sticky-tabled birria joints he frequents. 

4. Must serve cheap light beer. 

Can you help? 

Sincerely, 

Done with Dishes in North Tustin 

Adobe Pasta

Dear Done, 

Sounds like someone needs a new definition of dinner that doesn’t include contaminated mariscos de la casa or the prix fixe menu at chez vous! 

 Thankfully, there are plenty of options that don’t require you to put Jr. to work as a curb side valet at your place or brush up your sushi making skills on You Tube. 

See if you can coax your shut-in buddy to Taco Adobe in Old Town Orange. He’ll be doubling his max travel distance,  (Adobe is 6.25 miles away from your neck of the woods) but considering he probably hasn’t been out since the summer Olympics in Beijing, your reclusive pal can afford the estimated eleven minute travel time.  

The spot fits into the hole in the wall category. It’s no bigger than a double wide with salmon-hued walls, neighborhood charm and a reach-in filled with ice cold Quilmes: Argentina’s answer to Miller Lite.  A la carte tacos are three dollars, burritos the size of oven mitts are $7.95 and the most expensive entree is $12.50. 

 Try the camarones con chipotle, voluptuous black tiger shrimp sauteed with green onion, mushroom and  orange in a  chili-cream emulsion served with rice, beans and tortillas. The camarones con  tequila y limon is creamy with a tangy citrus bite.  For the birthday boy, I recommend the Adobe Pasta: linguine in a spicy, garlicky chipotle cream sauce  with salmon, grilled shrimp or chicken that will, along with getting out of the house, give him ample reason to celebrate. 

Tell your friend if he can get in the car, this one’s on you,  y feliz cumpleaños. 

Taco Adobe 121 N. Lemon St., Orange, CA 92866. 714.628-0633 

Restaurant questions? Please submit them as a comment on this post and I will do my best to answer them in an upcoming post.

Pimp my paella.

 Most of us eat out in brick and mortar establishments. It’s less drafty, and there are places to relieve yourself, and sit. 

Some of us treat them as homes away from home, pouncing on our favorite booth as if it were a Sit ‘n Sleep floor sample.     

But what about those days when you can’t leave your desk and no one in the office is going out to even the most rudimentary of drive-throughs?   Or when you’re a gridlock captive in the Honda Center lot after the concert in dire need of absorbant vittles?

Meals on wheels are the answer, and their evolution has never been more fully realized. A few months back, a food truck convoy the length of Mariner’s Mile rolled into OC in the wake of Kogi BBQ’s exhaust offering  everything from Taco Dawgs to Hakuna Mattatta Tostadas.

Tapas on board.

The latest mobile offerings come from Barcelona on the Go, twenty-two feet of quilted steel that looks like the spawn of an   Overhaulin’  rig and  Pimp my Ride  utility vehicle. And they have tapas on board. 

Croquettes are  as big as biscuits with the tender texture of Thanksgiving  mashed potatoes. The gilded crispy crust gives way to fluffy, mellow manchego and savory bits of ham. Balsamic reduction drizzle adds a concentrated sweet acidity to the mild snack. 

Chimmi Chimmi Co Co Bop!

Alongside the croquette sits a Galician style empanada is the size of a coin purse, stuffed with  sautéed onion, red and green bell peppers and savory, moist chicken infused with smoky pimenton.   

A full flavored flat iron steak is Expertly seared, hacked into rugged strips and generously doused in chimmichurri giving each bite of fat-marbled beef a garlicky, oily blast. A handful of rustic, crispy hand cut fries accompany the dish.    

While his fellow Argentine chef makes each dish to order,  you notice Barcelona on the Go owner Esteban Nocito’s curatorial attention to detail. His is the only coach I know of with lilting samba on the speakers, a museum quality facsimile of Picasso’s Guernica on the side of the truck and lovingly nurtured snapdragons in a window box. 

Piping hot lentil soup with morsels of ham is deeply flavored and homespun, like something you’d sample in a San Sebastian taverna. 

Flan was, well, flan. But when Nocito adds the promised chocolate drizzled pears poached in tempranillo to the menu, I’m there. 

Check  schedule on Twitter sidebar at Barcelonaonthego.com. 949.939.6798. Dinner for two, $18.00, food only.

Once inside Francoli Gourmet Emporio in Fashion Island, you could always lose yourself fairly easily in the rosy prosecco, imploring Italian staccato of the staff and the woodsy funk of Bresaola ’Carpaccio’.

Brilliant Bresaola.

Still, the location wasn’t ideal. There’s nothing like parking structures, mall cops and Auntie Anne’s Pretzels to kill the mood for a spontaneous evening.

The F.I. site has been shuttered for over seven months now, giving the family a chance to reimagine the restaurant,  opened two weeks ago,  in Old Town Orange.

The transition from Irvine Co. topiary-and-terra-cotta habitat to organic,  stumble-upon spot with patio views overlooking the historic plaza fountain is a natural for Francoli.

Along with Gabbi’s and Haven Gastropub , Francoli completes the restaurant triage team that has systematically defibrillated the formerly decrepit stretch of Glassell. There’s so little parking and so many pedestrians these days, it feels something akin to Laguna’s Forest Avenue.

Gal Fresco.

Francoli-philes will be thrilled to note that the menu remains exactly the same as it was in Newport Beach leaving the staff to focus on providing engaging service and wearing beautiful shoes that look as if they might be featured on The Sartorialist.

Francoli continues to inspire with dishes such as Ravioli D’ Brasato: six, maybe seven pasta sachets filled with tender chopped beef short rib meat and bathed in a light vodka cream sauce. Gnocchi Bolognese was decent, but lacked depth of flavor and complexity needed to justify the price.

Sandwiches are done in the minimalistic Italian style you see stacked in glass cases in bars and paninotecas of Milan. The philosophy is unadorned sustenance between bread. If  sandwiches are your thing, go to Cafe Lucca down the street.

Ravioli d'Brasato.

Inside, the inviting demi-lune bar is reminiscent of  the former Francoli. That’s because it was trucked over and cut to fit the smaller locale. The popular wine wall is back with vino from all twenty regions of Italy.

Gauzy orange and white custom Murano chandeliers drip sexy amber light like a honeycomb while a twenty something  wearing high tops and reading Bill Buford’s Heat savors a plate of antipasti and glass of red.

Far niente fun.

This is where Francoli excels, as a vehicle for what we as a culture don’t have and won’t make time for: guilt free undocumented time to eat slow food. Time to sit and enjoy a meal that isn’t part of another obligation-fulfilling category.

“Why do we always have to be good?” mused my waiter emphatically as I paired a lovely salmon filet adorned in capers and tomatoes with iced tea at lunchtime.  And with that, I promptly switched to a beguiling Orvieto to while away the hours.100 S. Glassell St. Orange 714.288.1077. Dinner for two, $70.00, food only.

It began to seem as if my chances of medaling in skeleton and possibly curling at Whistler were better than securing just one of the perpetually sold out strawberry croissants at Cream Pan.  It got so that after defeat, I made a little ritual of retreating to Samsoonyi Bakery inside Freshia Market down the street for consolation.

And while they stock enough chopsticks to build an HOA compliant condo and slippers to supply you through years of geriatric dotage, they don’t have the strawberry croissant.They do have a yummy three layer bean paste coffee cake and little banana shaped cakes that list absolutely no banana in the ingredients.

Attention: no banana was harmed in the making of this product.

When I had almost given up on the idea, it just happened. Not the Olympic summons, the Cream Pan croissant. Not just one, but an entire batch fresh out of the oven filling the cases regally, and dozens more, on party platters waiting to make someone a superhero at the office.

After so many failed attempts at owning one, I was so stunned and thrilled, I sat at a bistro table among all the less popular breadstuffs and devoured it.

Victory!

This combination is as perishable as the goldfish your punk won at the fair, so running out insures one aspect of quality control. Still, I’d hate to be behind the counter fresh out on a day when the 137  Cream Pan strawberry croissant-devoted Yelpers show up.

The buttery, crisp pastry layers are as thin as the pages of a King James Version pocket Bible so that you half expect to see the words of Jesus written in red across them.

Tiny drifts of  sifted confectioner’s sugar that rest in every crevice melt along with the crackling layers in your mouth. Vanilla-tinged custard cream piped in after baking adds voluptuous body and heart-shaped slices of fresh strawberry, just three are tucked in like a valentine.

There are some tasty lunch items to go, in particular, a potato croquette sandwich and a three layer  tea sandwich of egg salad, tuna and smoked ham on the soft weightless white Cream Pan signature bread with the crust cut off. I like the cucumber seaweed salad with red onions, sesame seeds and red chili flecks to go with it.

I’m partial to an elegant pastry twist generously flecked with nutty black sesame seeds and enveloped in brown sugar lacquer, but the strawberry croissant is Cream Pan’s podium moment.

602 El Camino Real Tustin 92780 714.665.8239. Strawberry croissant, $2.30. Lunch for two, $12.00, food only.