This column originally ran in Wednesday’s Off Menu newsletter, where you’ll find restaurant news, gossip, tips, and hot takes every week. To sign up, visit the Standard’s newsletter page and select Off Menu.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss California cuisine. If only a little bit.
Of course, “California cuisine” is a broad stroke (we don’t need to go way back to Alice Waters). But I’d say it could be defined by an ingredient-driven, local, seasonal menu that often pulls from a global pantry.
The ’90s and early 2000s nailed this kind of cooking — it was a time when chefs felt compelled to name-drop farms and put tapenade on everything. Dinner began with a beet-and-goat-cheese salad and ended with molten chocolate cake.
The years were dominated at first by the likes of, yes, Zuni Café, but also Slow Club, Foreign Cinema, Chow, and Chez Nous. In 2005, there was Coco500. In 2006, Nopa defined a neighborhood. Then in 2012, the decidedly more quirky State Bird Provisions secured its place as the best restaurant in the U.S., according to Bon Appetit, compelling hopeful diners to camp out for hours in lawn chairs.
I have always loved these restaurants. But for a long time, I was frustrated by the lack of culinary diversity on a higher dining level, in our very diverse town — by the fact that we didn’t have more chefs like the late Charles Phan, a guy who cooked his heritage. For him, the California lens was there, but the lead was self-identity.
But in the past 10 years, the landscape has radically changed. It’s fair to say ambitious restaurants would be hard-pressed to be competitive — or at least compelling — without telling a chef’s culinary story. In 2025, it seems, it is no longer enough to hang a menu on valuing ingredients alone. Or just making something tasty.
Case in point: When Bill Addison released his spot-on SF picks for the L.A. Times’ Best 101 California Restaurants last fall, he included Four Kings (I mean, is a best-of list even a best-of list without Four Kings?), Lunette, Minnie Bell’s Soul Movement, Californios, Copra, Mister Jiu’s, Dalida, Reem’s, Kin Khao, Noodle in a Haystack, San Ho Won, Liholiho Yacht Club, Aziza, and Prubechu. Every single one of these restaurants is a personal expression of the chef. (There is one exception: The Progress, which Addison describes as having a California menu.)
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I love all these restaurants, too. But I’d forgotten the comfort of what was.
A few weeks ago, I found myself at Kis Cafe. Gen Xer Luke Sung, who just came out of retirement, opened the cozy Hayes Valley spot in May. Back in 2000, the chef had opened the popular, small plate-y Cal-French restaurant Isa, which he sold long ago.
Whether it’s intentional or not, Sung’s simple, wine-friendly menu at Kis is a love letter to the California cuisine days of yore: bruschetta, steak carpaccio, hangar steak with chimichurri, chicken liver mousse. It is delicious, expected, and easygoing. There is no emphasis on regionality. One night, there was even roasted asparagus with my old buddy tapenade. It was like greeting a long-lost salty friend. (Sundried tomatoes: I await.)
Sung, a first-generation Taiwanese American, came up making mother sauces in French kitchens like La Folie, the “Iron Chef” era. I asked, if he were younger, would he have chosen to cook differently? “I think I would have tried to do Northern Chinese cuisine, but at this point, I’m a better Western cook,” he said. “I want Kis to be a no-ego place where people can just come and feel free to chillax.”
— Sara Deseran, @saradeseran_food
What does California cuisine mean to you? Email me at sdeseran@sfstandard.com.