"My brother drove us out to Port Costa the other night for what he promised would be a unique meal in a unique setting. Port Costa, a town of roughly 250, is little more than a strip of buildings nestled off the train tracks by the Carquinez Strait. After ducking into the Warehouse for a game of pool and a cold beer, we headed across the street for a meal that can only be described as a string of hits. We opted to kick things off with this curiously named dish that turned out to be exactly what I was hoping it would be: freshly-fried chicharrón-esque chips ($12) coated in clove and anise-heavy “pho spice” that crackled and spit like a hot flame when doused in lime juice. Little gems salad with kumquat followed, as did a litany of center-stage-worthy sides. The only miss of this meal for me — and a partial save by the pile of snappy pickled vegetables served alongside at that — was the hot chicken. I know there’s a hot chicken craze sweeping the nation right now, but if I’m seeing “Nashville hot” on the menu, I’m banking on the level of heat to deliver. Instead, I would’ve rather slurped down a bowl of the pork stew with tomatillos, guajillos, and polenta that mysteriously disappeared around the same time this entrée showed up." - Paolo Bicchieri
