If there are still people who are annoyed by the small-plates-with-cocktails phenomenon, apologies: That battle is officially lost. The model is here to stay. But at Oro, chef-owner Jason Fox's follow-up to the Mission's highly regarded (and Michelin-starred) Commonwealth, tinkers with it.
It's pointless to try to nail down Oro's culinary theme, since "California-Mediterranean" is a license for chefs to do almost anything. Instead, Fox plays with form. For instance, there's a $75 blind tasting option, although you can specify one dish and have the kitchen build a meal around it — a small-plates feast, with one eye peeking. And there are "single bites" that come before the small plates — "smaller plates," if you like, similar to hors d'oeuvres before the appetizers at a cocktail party.
Residual preciousness aside, Oro is a fantastic sophomore effort. Those single bites should not be skipped. The sea urchin (with scrambled egg, pickled jalapeño, and grilled bread, $6) was particularly good: The "grilled bread" (i.e., toast) had enough chew to support the almost oatmeal-like egg and the gonad. Vampiric and hot, the eyehook skewer of grilled lamb hearts ($5) cooled itself off in eucalyptus and yogurt but not before imparting smokiness to everything else I tasted for the next minute or so.
Onward to the small plates, starting with a small bowl. The almond gazpacho ($9), a testament to how fun it is to play with an immersion emulsifier, was as woody, nutty, light as can be, with a lovely acidic contrast in the form of halved grapes. Topped with wrinkly nori like wizard staffs, the fluke crudo ($17) made great use of one of my favorite vegetables, the criminally underexploited kohlrabi. "Bacon dressing" sounds like Guy Fieri-Flavortown, but here, it makes the dish work at both levels, macro (the fish) and micro (umami bits in the sauce).
The fried pig ears ($15) with whipped buttermilk and a chili sauce could be ripped from the Danny Bowien playbook — and what do you know, Commonwealth and Mission Chinese Food are practically next door neighbors. Braised and sweetened almost to the point of caramelization, it's a lot of gluey offal for two people to put away, but damn, you should do your best. Even better was the grilled pork sausage ($18) whose soft, almost pillowy texture was unlike anything I've ever had. It's effectively a new genus of sausage, and the parsnips and lentils softened it in a different sense, rounding off that back-of-the-palate zing. There was only one flop, the pumpkin "cooked in the embers" and in brown butter with crème fraîche and marjoram ($11). It was the embers that spurred us to order it, but there was no trace of fire in this wet, stringy affair — and barely any of butter or marjoram, either.
At $39-$72 each, Oro's four large plates invert the small-plates let's-share-everything small-plates philosophy: They're for two. We opted for the roasted whole rock cod, and, as if reading my mind, our server said, "You can eat the eye, but I wouldn't recommend it." Anything but homogenous, the cod was salty in some spots and fatty in others. Its skin, instead of curling around the edges or otherwise coming separated from the flesh, somehow integrated back into the fish. Although the gypsy-pepper-and-celery salsa was clean and fresh, it was unceremoniously plopped on top. Apart from that, it was a dazzling dish. The server's suggestion of Bordeaux (Les Cadrans de Lassègue) was a good one, and she was right about the eye, too. Impossible to chew.
A word on cocktails: They're excellent, and vodka-free. However evanescent the Visions of Johanna ($14) might sound, its combination of Chinese five spice and the vanilla campfire that is lapsang souchong-infused rye turned out to be anything but. This is a masterful cocktail, whose flavors seemed to roll in waves. A little less elegant but still mighty fine, the November Rain ($13) was like a turmeric-tequila Cosmo. (I have to confess I'm dying to try to the Octopus's Garden, a $105 gin-and-Aperol concoction for four. Someday.)
For dessert, if you want to go out on an uncomplicated sweet note, you are S.O.O.L. Instead, you'll find things like a honey-poached pear with Jerusalem artichoke ice cream and crumble ($12). More quince than pear — in a good way — it used the ice cream like a comedic straight man. And while there are Madeiras and Sauternes, a note at the bottom of the dessert menu is designed to tickle San Francisco's erogenous zone: "Amaro cart available upon request."
In other words, with minimal wheedling, we snagged a flight of rare liqueurs, most of which I'd never had, and some of which were mercilessly, medicinally bitter. The Santa Maria del Monte was the best of the lot, woody and herbaceous and satisfying in its ability to cut through everything we'd eaten.
The two-tiered space is difficult to comprehend in its entirety without walking around it. It isn't that Oro has rooms or even alcoves, but like a casino gaming floor, it's hard to grasp. We sat against a curtained wall that, as we were told, partitioned the restaurant off from the lobby for the adjacent residences. Mint Plaza is a unique place.
Oro's easy affluence is also around the block from the SROs and suffering of Sixth Street. Consequently, the juxtapositions are uncomfortable to anyone with a conscience. To be clear, there's a big difference between saying, "Eww, homeless guys, gross" and feeling stabbed with guilt that you're sidestepping human suffering on your way to eat like a sultan. The Oro team has to be cognizant of this, if for no other reason than that Commonwealth makes it clear a portion of its six-course, $80 tasting menu receipts are "donated to a local charity."
At the same time, I can't help but notice the difference in the names. "Commonwealth" suggests the public good, while "Oro" — a nod to the Old Mint — connotes the riches of empires. San Francisco's motto is Spanish for "Gold in peace, fire in war." It's lofty nonsense. Just plain "Oro" would suffice.
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