Those Cohns, they can crank ’em out. Sure, they’ve
managed to take one stupidly named restaurant and turn it into another
stupidly named restaurant, but with BO-beau, they’ve given OBecians a
quaint and stylish offering, with great food to boot.
Red Velvet is intimate; you enter through an unobtrusive
side door that’s part of a Little Italy high-rise. The waterfront-facing
wall of windows is framed by flowing drapes of a Cabernet-colored
material that recalls the restaurant’s name.
What the hell is a gastropub? I mean, really, between
restaurant, bistro, café, grill and eatery—just to name a few—there’s no
shortage of clever monikers for places that all do the same thing:
I generally drive through Rancho
Santa Fe; I rarely stop. It’s certainly a lovely place, but like the
majority of San Diegans, I’m in neither the age nor income bracket of
people who generally chill out in the tony enclave.