Eat Here Now is a first look at some of the newest, hottest restaurants around — the ones we think are worth visiting. We dine once, serve forth our thoughts, and let you take it from there.

There is no “long story short” way to describe Meski, the city’s most exciting new restaurant. In complete defiance of best business practices, there’s no one-liner pitch — no easy nutshell. 

How can I begin to explain an intimate, Vegas-lite, self-proclaimed “diasporic bistro” serving a mashup of Ethiopian and Dominican food in a vibey, dark, and feminine space on a decidedly un-vibey corner of Post and Larkin Streets? 

Though it opened only at the beginning of April, Meski has already become a celebrity-athlete hangout. That’s because the Golden State Warriors’ own Draymond Green is one of the three owners. I suppose most stories about Meski would lead with this fact. But the truth is, the restaurant’s draw is a lot more than Draymond. 

There are the food and cocktails, of course, which are very good. And there’s the design, complete with a two-floor pillar of interwoven plants, African masks, and paintings — a collaboration between Oakland-based designer Kalu Gebreyohannes-Royster and artist Taylor Smalls. And then there’s the fact that there’s no shortage of people to ogle. 

Meski is quickly securing its place as a scene in a city that, unlike New York and L.A., often eschews them. And, unless you are a deeper person than I, you will find it provides a little thrill.

When I was there Friday night, I was transfixed by a fashionable woman who was all cheekbones and looked like she’d just stepped off a runway. Meanwhile, the eyes of everyone in the dining room were on a corner tucked behind the bar where, our busser excitedly confirmed, Warriors guard Gary Payton II (aka GP2) was ensconced. (The following night, he returned, along with Green, after the Warriors’ Game 3 playoff win.)

But unlike a lot of see-and-be-seen spots, Meski takes its food seriously — and even more so the origins of the cuisines it serves. The menu is a tribute to the heritages of the other two owners: Guma Fassil, a former event producer (and a longtime friend of Green) who is first-generation Ethiopian, and chef Nelson German, who is Dominican. German, whose other two restaurants are Oakland-based Sobre Mesa and AlaMar Dominican Kitchen, describes Meski to me as “celebrating a blend of Black food cultures and giving honor to the people who shed their blood and freedom for us to be here.”

German — who, as a “Top Chef” alum, has his own bit of celebrity aura — is warm, calm, and positive. He’s the kind of guy whose face spreads into a proud grin when he whips out pictures of his 6-month-old son. He’s a gracious hospitality vet who often says, “I got you” — and he does. So it’s not surprising that he welcomed Fassil and Green one night last December when Sobre Mesa had just closed. “Fassil came in after a Martin Lawrence show and said, ‘I’ve got Draymond Green in the car. Do you still have food?’” 

From that meeting, Green and Fassil — for whom the idea of Meski was already a twinkle — brought German on as chef and a partner. Suddenly, a berbere-spiked Ethiopian menu became equally Dominican, with sofrito (a mix of herbs — both cilantro and culantro — peppers, onions, and garlic) as a base. The result is that, in one breath, the menu speaks of green olives and plantains and Ethiopian coffee and fried goat and injera chips and yellow Dominican rice. In fact, most of the dishes are complete amalgams, like duck-fat yuca fries with korerima, an Ethiopian spice, served with a salsa made with African chiles.

For someone who feels like she’s seen it all, I definitely have never seen a menu like this. Made up of items from two cuisines that rarely get center stage, it’s playful and dynamic yet isn’t overintellectualized or full of flourishes. “A lot of people don’t want to see their food modernized,” German says. “That’s why we’re serving things in a comfort-food way.” 

Whereas some of the dishes are intentionally down-home, many are pretty and delicate, including a tiradito ($19), salmon cured with the classic Ethiopian chile-spiked spice mix berbere and blood orange, and an aguachile sweetened with passion fruit and heated with a little mitmita (another chile-based Ethiopian spice). More hearty is a dish of sweet plantains with salty Castelvetrano olives and “salsa Afrikana.” 

Not everything is so humble, though. After all, real ballers want to ball out. For those moments, there is a Tsar Nicoulai caviar service ($125) with berbere creme fraiche and injera chips. There is also a 32-ounce tomahawk steak ($165) with cashew salsa macha and awaze butter, which feeds three to four. The cocktails are appropriately complex: a piña colada spritz ($18) made with clarified coconut milk, an Ethiopian milk punch ($19) with whiskey, grapefruit, coffee, and a Cocoa Puffs milk wash. 

The restaurant is named for Fassil’s mother. Meski (a nickname) opened an Ethiopian restaurant in Berkeley in 1993 and ran it until she died in 2019, when Fassil took over. (It is now called Meski’s Kitchen & Garden.) 

A few of the dishes at Meski pay direct tribute to her cooking and that of German’s mother. For a taste of this, order the Yetsom platter ($29) — a vegan selection of braised collard greens, carrots and green beans (which were a little on the crunchy side), more of those perfect plantains, and something called “habichuelas misir wat.” The latter is a blend of the red kidney beans German ate as a child (in the Dominican Republic, beans are “habichuelas”) and the Ethiopian red lentils (misir wat) that Fassil grew up with. It’s all served with injera, the fermented, floppy, pancake-like Ethiopian flatbread, used as a sort of edible serving implement. 

Fassil says Green is a dedicated destination diner who appreciates Michelin-star level restaurants. But it’s obvious that home cooking has meant a lot to his business partners. Clearly, they are also good sons. (“This would have gone beyond her wildest dreams,” Fassil says of his mother.) Which goes back to why Meski — with its low lighting, black walls, women in strapless dresses and hot-rolled hair, thumping bachata and Bad Bunny — is a difficult restaurant to explain succinctly. It’s authentic, and it’s trending. It’s heartfelt, and it’s hot. 

Speaking of nuance, there’s just one request: Despite his history as a party guy, Fassil really would appreciate it if you don’t call Meski a club. “I’m scared of that word,” he says, smiling. This is fair. Clearly, one word — of any sort — does not Meski make.