The Kids Are Alright: The Crosby

If you drive by The Crosby during any given night, you’ll see you’re in the land where the cool kids roam. The crowd outside boasts skinny jeans, cheap fedoras, thick-frame glasses and DJs carrying crates of vinyl. In ever-artsy downtown Santa Ana, this has been the buzzy place for almost two years, so there’s no way you can imagine a calm, great meal here. But visit in the early evening, and there’s almost no one—mostly city and county workers waiting for the traffic to die down. Sometimes, you won’t even get a menu until minutes into your visit. But open that slender book and a new, wonderful world reveals itself, one so stunning you can hardly believe that you’re still at The Crosby.

Try the ahi tuna—don’t worry, this is not the average appetizer. About a dozen lightly seared pieces get splayed out on your plate like a deck of cards, lightly dusted in six-spice seasoning pepper; pickled cucumbers and carrots accompany the dish. An artful smear of Sriracha hot sauce is on the side, more Basquiat squiggle than Pollock streak. Recommending an appetizer as an introduction to a restaurant might seem odd, but this is the gateway to what, with time and a bit more concentration, can become one of the county’s great spots.

The Crosby’s transformation from hipster hang into one of O.C.’s more exciting restaurants is brilliant. For its first year, chef Aron Habiger focused mostly on simple bar foods that ensured sales, if not gourmand praise. Pastas, pizzas, salads and sandwiches dominated the menu, and were maddeningly hit-or-miss. Some pizzas were worthy of Mozza; others, little better than cardboard. And I gave up on the pastas after an unfortunate incident involving too much cream.

But you could tell there was potential. The starving artist grilled cheese is a remnant of those days, a simple sandwich packed with Gruyère and musky mushrooms, with a chilled shooter of tomato juice. So easy to prepare, yet with flair and at a bargain rate of $5, it revealed Habiger’s constant tweaking of classics combined with culinary school chops and a bit of the Food Network’s "Chopped" program ethos: Do what you can with what you have, but do it spectacularly.

When The Crosby secured its full liquor license a few months ago, its owners—Chris Alfaro, Phil Nisco and Mark Yamaoka—took the reins off Habiger, who immediately revamped the menu and began a monthly rotation of dishes that showcase his creative talent and inventiveness, making The Crosby a must-visit for foodies.

The more popular dishes do make the permanent menu. Habiger calls one of them the jerk carnitas torta, but it’s really a sandwich of cochinita pibil, a style of pork preparation native to the Yucatán that sees pig slow-roasted for hours in banana leaves, achiote and citrus. I’m not sure what black magic Habiger and his young, tattooed sous chefs practice in The Crosby’s tiny kitchen, but they nail the dish down to the pickled purple onions Habiger preserves personally. He could cut down on the meat by half as to not overwhelm appetites, but all that means is you have leftovers for two more meals.

The pizzas are now consistently delicious as well—pepperoni and sauce, though simple, is satisfying, with a sturdy crust and creamy cheese. I’m still not too crazy about the pastas—though better executed, they’re rather pedestrian—but the vegan chili makes up for it. While the orange “chicken” (tomato slices fried and glazed with orange sauce) will trick you into thinking it’s hen, it’s more than a mere vegan gimmick. And if you insist on classicalism, Habiger’s French onion soup—a broth as dark as night, onions transformed to sugar, and cheese thicker than Play-doh—will make you think you’re now at Marché Moderne.

It’s the monthly menu, however, that makes a visit to The Crosby truly necessary. You’ll probably never taste the dishes I’ve enjoyed, but I’ll describe them just so you can understand how eclectic and great Habiger and his crew are. Sous chef, Josh Han’s pork belly creation is perfectly caramelized, each slice featuring a quivering layer of blubber. A pizza packed with wine grapes, rose petals, and a drop of agave nectar, as simultaneously sweet and sharp as described. Squid stuffed with Filipino-style sausage, then grilled.

And Habiger doesn’t skimp on the desserts. Again: stick with the monthlies (he hasn’t updated the regular menu’s desserts). I fondly remember the avocado mousse flan, touching on Vietnam and Mexico for a taste somewhere between fig and a smoothie. And my next birthday will feature his candy corn cake; the taste is so intense, you’ll have flashbacks of every elementary school-age Halloween you ever celebrated.