Review: Nostalgia on the menu at Ramos House


Review: Nostalgia on the menu at Ramos House

Citrus salad with toasted almonds and real cottage cheese at The Ramos House Cafe, located in the Los Rios Historic District in San Juan Capistrano.

The Ramos House Cafe

Rating: 2 1/2 stars

Where: 31753 Los Rios St., San Juan Capistrano

Hours: 8:30 a.m.-3 p.m. Tuesdays-Sundays

Don't miss: Pain perdu, citrus salad with cottage cheese, Scotch quail eggs, lox, mac 'n' cheese, hot chocolate.

Where to sit: Any of the non-communal tables around the perimeter of the patio.

About the noise: Blissfully relaxed and conversation-friendly, except for when the train whistle blows at the depot just a few steps away.

Where to park: It's best to avoid Los Rios Street. Easier parking can be found on Verdugo near the Capistrano Depot.

Cost: Tuesdays-Fridays, à la carte: appetizers $4-$10, entrees $13-$19, desserts $7. Saturdays and Sundays, three-course prix fixe, $35.

Phone: 949-443-1342

What the stars mean:

0 = poor, unacceptable

1 = fair, with some noteworthy qualities

2 = good, solid, above average

3 = excellent, memorable, well above norm

4 = world-class, extraordinary in every detail


Time stands still on Los Rios Street. Just around the corner, I hear a rooster crow and a sheep bleat. Seldom does a car drive by.

Visitors of all ages meander down the middle of the road, gawking at California history, admiring the daisies and bougainvillea, pointing at the hummingbirds. Most who loll up and down this street are just killing time. They've already put their name on the list at The Ramos House Cafe, and they're just waiting for their table. Meanwhile, pop! There goes another Champagne cork.

The Ramos House is a wooden, prairie-style cabin that dates to 1881. The kitchen is indoors, where the chef/owner lives. The dining room exists outside on the covered side patio and front porch, where tables are draped with burlap and the silverware is rolled up with old-fashioned dish towels. Tables are adorned with fresh pink tulips and potted herbs. The exterior walls of the house are paneled with distressed lumber, the sort of time-washed, salvage-chic style that has become so trendy these days – except this is the real deal.

A table nearby erupts with giggles and oohs and ahhs. I turn to look. Their first round of bloody marys has arrived. Made with soju instead of vodka, the cocktails are stuffed like something out of a Pixar flick, with green beans and celery stalks and even whole crab claws protruding from the glass. The table goes suddenly quiet as everyone takes their first sip. Then more giggles ensue.

No matter the time of year, brunch always feels like a celebration. And at The Ramos House Cafe, it's always brunchtime. I recommend starting with the Scotch quail eggs and the basil-cured lox. These eggs are soft-boiled then wrapped in a thin sheath of pork sausage and rolled in fine breadcrumbs and deep-fried. The salmon is cured in-house and seasoned with basil. Slices of the fish are draped across a plate and sprinkled with chopped egg and onion confetti. With a bottle of Champagne, I could sit here all afternoon nibbling on just these little snacks. But of course, I'll end up wanting more.

One of the most beguiling things on the menu is a salad of fresh California citrus and cottage cheese. On the surface, it sounds dull. But it's truly a revelation. The salad is composed of orange and grapefruit segments along with toasted almonds and artisanal cheese. Sweet, sour, salty... sublime. The cheese tastes more like mascarpone than cottage cheese.

There's always someone at my table who prefers to start with something sweet. The beignets are light and puffy and fragrant with cinnamon and apples, deep-fried until dark and golden, then dusted in powdered sugar and served in buttery, drippy caramel sauce. And there is almost always some sort of French toast (pain perdu). On my last visit, this was listed as goat cheese pain perdu with roasted peaches, and while it's not quite peach season, this turns out to be remarkably good. I can only imagine how much better it will taste when fresh peaches hit the market.

The aroma of truffles tickles the air when the fava bean spread arrives. It's a bright green purée speckled with a thousand little flecks of black truffle. It comes with two skinny slices of baguette, which prove to be an insufficient ratio of bread for the overly generous mound of spread. How does one eat the dip once the bread is gone?

Most of the portions are quite generous. The mac 'n' cheese is a large bowlful of gooey macaroni clinging to sliced mushrooms and more black truffle. I sense there's a hefty dose of truffle oil in the sauce as well. And while I have serious doubts as to the mushrooms' wildness, this is a dish that does not disappoint.

The split pea soup is my least favorite dish. It's a somewhat sludgy brew that tastes more like baby food than soup. And it's garnished with one oversized ravioli filled with what is described as duck but tastes oddly like canned deviled ham. I'm not sure how one actually achieves this flavor and texture. Or why.

As I glance around the room, it's clear that the most popular dishes are the scrambled eggs. I'm most intrigued by the fried chicken scramble, which our waitress affectionately describes. Chicken breasts are battered and fried, then chopped and folded into scrambled eggs. I'm dining with someone who doesn't eat pork, for religious reasons, so we zero in on this one instead of the scramble made with bacon.

And when the scramble arrives, it is an eye-catching tower of fluffy eggs mounded atop golden potatoes and crowned with two pointy shards of cornbread. I'm still focused on another dish when my devoutly religious friend digs into the eggs and appears to be loving every bite. And then I take a bite of my own, and I taste a wonderful, smoky ... "Stop eating that!" I say, pulling it toward me protectively. "It's filled with bacon."

They've served us the wrong dish. Instead of the fried chicken scramble, they've cooked and served the smoked bacon scramble. This seems especially odd since before sending our order to the kitchen, our waitress came back to the table to double-confirm that we wanted the fried chicken scramble.

I can see the horror and pain in my friend's face. This is someone for whom avoiding pork isn't simply a lifestyle choice but rather a deep, lifelong religious conviction. This is the point at which I debate whether I should mention aloud how delicious I find the bacon scramble.

On my next visit, I again order the fried chicken scramble, and this time it arrives as ordered. The eggs are tossed with large chunks of boneless fried chicken, moist and meaty, interlaced with tidbits of dried fruit that taste like cranberries. And although it's very good, the chicken gets lost. Because of the way it's chopped and tossed and drenched with egg, we don't get to experience the joy of fried chicken, the crisp crust that forms such a perfect seal around the steamy white meat underneath. Fortunately, there's another fried chicken dish, a salad, that lets us experience just that.

Remember those cinnamon apple beignets? Those same beignets are listed again on the dessert menu. I guess you could start and finish with the same dish, and they're good enough to be tempting. But I think the better way to finish, or maybe even begin, is with a cup of hot chocolate. Sip it slowly. Linger. Make it last. Those people lolling about in the street can keep waiting.

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