Christina Waters

It’s official! Oswald owner Eric Lau called me yesterday to reveal that February 17 is the last day for the popular downtown Santa Cruz bistro in its current location. Negotiations are just about completed for a new location — and I’ll let you know when and where, as soon as the deal goes down. Meanwhile - you’ve been told. Now go out and do the right thing.

Oswald - 1547 Pacific Avenue - 831 423-7427.
Open for dinner Tues-Sat.

Restaurant reviewers over the ages have figured out a few tricks to make their jobs go smoother. Sometimes it happens during the actual review dinners – things like asking for copies of the menu, wearing wigs so that we won’t be recognized, making reservations under an assumed name – that kind of thing. But often the spin happens after the fact. In the writing itself.

There are a few clues that you, the consumer, can detect to help you read between the lines, so to speak.
1) The use of the word “interesting,” as in, “The sweetbreads seviche with red bell pepper puree had an interesting flavor.” What you are really being told is that the dish tasted like poodle poop. It was disgusting.

2) The word “spare” is always a sign of trouble. If the restaurant decor is described as “spare,” what the reviewer is saying is that the room looked empty, cold, uninviting — sort of like a cross between a tasteful funeral parlor and lockdown at Soledad.

3) Here’s another red flag: if the critic goes on and on about the decor, you can be sure that they are vamping for time. They are struggling to write something positive. In other words, the food stinks. So they’re concentrating on other, safe things rather than the culinary agenda.

4) Relentlessly chirpy, upbeat commentary — especially if there’s a long passage reciting the background, history and close family connections of the owners — is a sure sign that this isn’t a real, anonymous review but a feel-good package of promotional writing, designed to flatter the owners (read: advertisers) and above all, to avoid saying anything negative about the food, the service, the value for the money.

(to be continued. . . )

Many of you instinctively realize that, yes, there is something uglier than even the River Street sign. And it is right here in downtown Santa Cruz, a mere two blocks down the street (from the much-loathed River Street sign), nestled beneath the also-ugly Town Clock. I refer, of course, to that mock-Guernica, Frankenstein-in-bronze, anti-war statue we are forced to endure every time we want to drive to the bank, or across the Water Street bridge to go to the gym.

I’m sorry to offend the sculpture’s perpetrator, but this is a flagrant waste of good bronze. In a town that likes to congratulate itself on being an artist’s enclave, how in God’s name did such a mind-numbingly ugly eye-sore find such a prime location? Just because someone with good intentions assures you that they have an important artwork to showcase — don’t believe them until you see the evidence. The road to hell is paved with people promising to sell you perfectly nice bridges.

Here’s another view - exhibit B, if you will.

The dark Spanish melancholy that informs director Guillermo del Toro’s small masterpiece of magic realism, gives this film unforgettable power. As dark as any Zurbarán or Ribera, Pan’s Labyrinth interweaves two worlds and two realities — that of a child’s fairytale longings, and the ruthless fascism of Franco’s Spain.

If it sounds like a marriage of hope and hell, it is — but the ending alone, which spins yet another uncanny twist, is pure enchantment. Del Toro’s imagination (Hellboy) provides visuals that evoke Cocteau and Buñuel, with a healthy dose of Brothers Grimm as visualized by Frida Kahlo. The deeply saturated colors of the film stock add to the mood of otherworldly adventure. (more…)

Linda Pope, curator at the Eloise Pickard Smith Gallery, is a woman with an aesthetic mission, and a great eye. Witness her current choice of UCSC alum Brian Rounds, who has attracted a cult following (more…)

The salsa stains had barely been cleaned up from the late, unlamented Baja Fresh, when the infrastructure for a new east Indian eatery called Sitar moved in. It’s no mystery why a taco chain failed in a landscape blessed with a huge array of authentic Mexican taquerias. The word “duh” comes to mind. What were they thinking? Any time a generic establishment bites the dust here in our enchanted neck of the woods, it’s occasion to give thanks. Sacrifice a chicken. Light some candles. Whatever sort of “thank you” your household gods favor. No word from the Sitar folks on when they plan to open, but from the look of the interior, it could be any minute now.

Also Aptos residents — and the rest of the county for that matter — can look forward to a new Eastern Mediterranean culinary bazaar to open in April. On the site of the former Breadstix, the new spice island will be called Zameen — decor by Mimi Snowden. Stay tuned.

I accidentally struck gold the other evening when I had no time to cook, but refused to jump in the car and head for KFC. So I picked up a package of Santa Cruz’ own Pasta Mike’s fresh Three Cheese and Spinach Raviolis ($4.89 for a two-meal package). How could I lose? (more…)

Last week I told you that the restless, talented chef Giovanni Di Maio (formerly of the splendid Bella Napoli) was now cooking at Il Pirata in Capitola. He is. I went there for my birthday dinner. Dean Martin crooning “Ritorn’a me” and a very amiable waitress greeting us, we were optimistic. Here’s the deal — and I hope you can help me out here. What do you do with a gifted chef in an unpromising location? (more…)

It’s been too long since we all collectively kvetched and vented concerning this colossel civic eyesore. Not to mention the procession of equally odious street lights, each yellower than the next. (more…)

Has this happened to you? We’re sitting in the boisterous interior of Sushi Totoro, on the Westside of Santa Cruz, winding down a dinner of saba and hamachi, listening to Bob Marley. All was well. But just as I picked up my last piece of nigiri, chopsticks still in my hand, my wooden plate was grabbed and whisked away. I mean while I was still chewing! (more…)