The Better Half is a restaurant after my own heart, and the hearts of all adventurous foodies. Almost everybody I know (including the pickiest, crankiest, “allergic to everything” gourmet princess in all my acquaintance) has embraced it as their new favorite — and those who haven’t live out in La Mesa. The motto of world-traveled chef John Robert Kennedy is clearly “Don’t bore, explore!” He most recently cooked at Cafe One Three, but past credits include stints working under four of cuisine’s 800-pound gorillas — Thomas Keller, Daniel Boulud, Gary Danko, and Charlie Trotter. And you know those guys don’t hire just any old schnook!

I’m not crazy in love with every single dish here. In fact, I have some reservations about several them. But frankly, I’d rather be quibbling with chef Kennedy’s least perfect creations than gobbling the flawless, clichéd “Cal cuisine” palate-pleasers of less passionate chefs.

Even the owner has heavy foodie cred: Zubin Desai, an east Indian ex-Manhattanite, was most recently manager-sommelier at Solana Beach’s awesome Blanca. He named the Better Half for the worldwide wine list — all in half bottles, which are perfect for singletons, couples, and groups eager to tinker up their own flights. Prices range from dead cheap to aristocratic, but most are affordable, and some (particularly the French bottlings) are bargains, considering quality versus price. And if you want to bring your own prized bottle to match with a good dinner, corkage is just $5 — or free, if you share a little with the staff. (Nearly all the servers are trained sommeliers, i.e., genuine wine enthusiasts. They’ve also tried all the food, so they can provide intelligent explanations.) A similar sense of generosity, and of high ethics, seems to pervade every aspect of this restaurant’s operations. Look at the boilerplate and notice the amazingly reasonable prices for food with top-notch ingredients and labor-intensive preparation. Each dinner even begins with a charming little amuse-bouche. How these people make a profit is beyond me.

The restaurant occupies the space that was formerly Talus Café, slantingly across the street from Chilango’s. (Yes — rejoice! Chilango’s has reopened, right where it used to be! I really wanted to get that in early here!) One plate-glass front window affords a full view of the immaculate kitchen, including a front-window corner filled with varied Bread & Cie loaves — and while you’re gaping at the cooks, they’re likely to grin right back at you. (They actually look happy at their work.) The interior is oddly bifurcated, with the reception desk and kitchen to the left of the entry on a small open courtyard with pots of herbs (I spotted lemongrass, fennel, and a young bay tree). The dining room is in a separate structure, up two shallow stairs and through a door on the right, with sparkling little lights (romantic but exceedingly dim) and tables topped with tan butcher paper over tablecloths. Near the front is a fireplace filled with empty wine bottles and two tall candles in glasses. Music plays softly, if at all, but one table of loudmouths or squealers anywhere in the room can be excessively audible — not a din, just an affront to the sweet ambience.

Posse stalwart the Lynnester, always the first to try a new restaurant, has gone berserk for the Better Half, eating there about once a week since the opening two months ago. Her delightful mom, Mary Anne, is spending the winter here, escaping the frosts of northern Michigan, and she and long, tall Ben-the-stew, fresh off the plane from Bangkok, joined us for a meal. A few nights later I returned with another friend to try more of the menu. I want to go back again tomorrow.

“The ‘tarte du jour’ is always great,” Lynne counseled as we scrutinized the menu, “and so is the ‘always-changing soup.’ ” One night’s tart, with a light, buttery pastry crust, had a savory filling based on English Wensleydale cheese. Another evening’s soup du jour was a potato bisque so comforting I wanted to take a bath in it. “Yesterday, I served my grandmother’s garlic mashed potatoes,” the chef was telling another table. “Today, I turned them into a soup. I was brought up not to waste good food.”

Seared “Uncured Bacon” belly offers long-braised, tender pork belly, lightly crisped by a final sear, mingling with a warm salad of baby greens in aged sherry vinaigrette, just right for balancing the lush, fatty meat with a sharp complement.

Kennedy is one of the few local chefs whose charcuterie platter is entirely housemade, an ever-changing array. (We just missed a pastrami.) It always includes a wonderful “signature” country-style pâté bound in grape leaves marinated in upscale gin. One night there was a duck terrine and turkey sausages, the next time a goose ballotine and Thai-style lamb sausages. Unfortunately (to my taste), the chef’s charcuterie palate runs lean — the duck and goose creations and both types of sausage were on the dry side, probably from lack of fat, and actually needed the coarse-grain housemade mustard that I applied to them for moisture. The plate includes a cornucopia of garnishes — chopped black figs, smoky-tasting fried caper berries (a new and fabulous flavor to us all), cornichons, chopped walnuts, mixed olives, and baguette slices. By the way, it’s sized to feed two easily — a whole French picnic lacking only les fourmis (ants).

The salmon gravlax is house cured, too. It comes with light, spongy buckwheat crepes on which you can lay the salmon (like blini), or else you can roll them up into Baltic mini “burrito-vskis,” with garnishes of dill-mustard sauce, crème frâiche, capers, and pickled caper berries.

Between the appetizers and entrées there’s an amusing inter-course, harking back to the sorbet course of those gluttonous grand dinners of the Golden Age. It consists of miniature ice cream cones topped with the day’s fruit sorbet, a charming palate cleanser.

Lynne’s favorites are the Kurobuta pork scallopini, Cabernet-braised short rib, and braised oxtails. (She said she wasn’t crazy for the duo of duck or the deep-fried frog legs — “the batter wipes out all the frog flavor.”)

The short rib is deep-flavored, its falling-apart meat imbued with rich wine sauce. “Oh tempora, oh morels!” I murmured when, exploring the plate, I found the delectable mushrooms. (They must be reconstituted dried morels this time of year.) The “starch” is called Cauliflower-Horseradish Mash, but it’s not a smooth purée and I doubt there’s any potato in it — the cauliflower still has a bit of crunchy vegetal texture. (The horseradish is just the barest nip.)

Braised oxtail is sort of funny looking because the sauce of banana-infused coconut broth has the gray-white color and creamy texture of Southern white gravy — except it doesn’t go pasty as it cools. It’s even more amusing given that the accompaniment consists of grits — flavored with kaffir lime and lemon grass. So, not Southern but Southeast Asian-inspired, right down to the garnishes of caramelized shallots on the meat, mint and basil on the grits, and delicious all over.

I was direly tempted by the pork scallopini, but even more tempted by a walk on the wild side of the range. Antelope osso buco (made with free-range antelope from a Texas game ranch) was a must try: I’ve attempted cooking antelope myself and wasn’t happy with any of my creations (the only thing I got right was braising it), so I was eager to try it cooked by a pro. Well, the discouraging word is, I’ll eat the deer, but let the antelope play. It’s just not to my taste. The tender meat isn’t gamy — its flavor resembles mature (half-grown) veal with a smidgen of lamb in its DNA. The chef braises it on the marrow bone in a terrific cassoulet of white beans and pancetta, with a fillip of fetal mustard greens. I did like the marrow, and the meat is probably as good as antelope gets. You should try it if you’re curious and you like braised veal. The only thing that might really improve this beast might be to treat it as Trinidadians do with their “wild meat” manicou (a big, fatty water rodent) — swamping it in a spicy curry so you can barely taste the meat itself.

Still game for game, I tried the stuffed quail, its cavity filled with a farci of chicken meat, apples, mushrooms, pistachios, and Bosc pear. It comes with short-grain wild mushroom risotto and a garnish of “bull’s blood” — beet microgreens. As with the pelmeni (below) and some of the charcuterie, the forcemeat was on the dense, dry side, despite the fruits. We also tried one evening’s seafood du jour, a lovely, tender piece of halibut with mango sauce and golden pilaf.

Choerni-Pelmeni is a Russian fantasy inspired by the grandmother of co-owner/hostess Elena Pozdniakova — although her babushka never made this fancy a version. It has black squid-ink pasta (decidedly al dente) filled with a concentrated forcemeat of crawfish, shrimp, blue cheese, and herbs, in a luxurious saffron and sherry-cream sauce. For some reason (probably the slight toughness of the pasta, as well as the lean filling), none of us really loved the dish, but it was certainly interesting.

Entrées come with a “lagniappe” — a bowlful of chopped brussels sprouts for the table to share. By some miracle, the chef makes them delicious.

Excited by the array of French wines in halves, I enjoyed putting together mini-flights from “undervalued” regions — first whites from the Loire, with a Vouvray (always great with charcuterie or gravlax) and an obscure Menetou-Salon from Domaine de Chatenoy, which proved more acidic but mellowed in the glass — it eventually went well with the pork belly. For the entrées, we paired red Rhônes, a smooth and mellow Châteauneuf du Pape and a 2004 Guigal Côtes du Rhône (young, still a little rough, a better match for short ribs — or buffalo, or hairy mammoth — than for the gentle antelope).

Desserts are all house-made, and as is typical of small restaurants with no full-time pastry chefs, they tend to be simple. But even before we get there — you’ve got half-bottles, and you’ve got a cheese course listed among the appetizers. The cheeses include samples from England (a terrific lemon-rind Stilton), France, and Spain (no Wisconsin! That’s the opposite of “on, Wisconsin!”). The plate is well worth ordering in lieu of or in addition to dessert. It, too, includes half a dozen garnishes, including honeycomb and numerous fresh fruits. Okay, a nitpick: The cheeses were served too cold. But this is not a cocktail party, and on a chilly, sparse night, nobody knew that Grommit was gonna come in woofing for cheese.

The bread pudding (based on the chef’s grandmother’s recipe) was soft, light, and friendly, punctuated by peach slices. (The leftovers made a superb breakfast.) The chef sometimes alternates this with a venturesome dark chocolate and black truffle (!) bread pudding. The latest addition to the menu is maple crème brûlée. Seasonal fruits are either wrapped in buckwheat crepes or baked in a crisp. Having tried the crepes, I’d guess the crisp is the better deal. There’s also a chocolate decadence, and I don’t care how good it is — it’s had 33 years of nonstop faddishness, and I don’t want any more of it. It’s older than tiramisu or pterodactyls.

I envy the Lynnester, living just a few blocks from Better Half and able to eat there at will. Blogs on Chowhound and Yelp are filled with screaming raves, and reviewers in the local small papers are equally ecstatic. The intimate, bistro-style environment proves to be a remarkably apt venue for a remarkable chef who doesn’t want to grind out those standard pragmatic, please-all, mainstream menus of the Gaslamp and the upscale hotel dining rooms, but to rove wherever his culinary imagination takes him — and us. You go, guy!

ABOUT THE CHEF

California-born John Robert Kennedy slid into cooking serendipitously after a successful military career that took him to 36 countries. “I was a Ranger in the U.S. Army and I’d always enjoyed cooking, and when I got out of the Army, I looked at…what I enjoyed doing — and believe it or not, a kitchen is the closest to a regimented system outside of the military. They don’t call it a ‘kitchen brigade’ for nothing.

“But — all those years in the military, there were some things that happened. I won’t go into detail, but I look back and I guess I’m trying to make my amends. And one of my ways to make amends is by taking nice natural ingredients, the basics of life, and putting all my mind and my energy into making these dishes [with them]. It is an all-encompassing passion to me — I live, I breathe, I cook. Zubin and I, we are really trying to do the absolute best we can on a daily basis. It’s not just about profit; we love what we do. It’s a karmic thing.”

Aided by his veteran’s benefits, he got his degree in culinary arts from the California Academy of Culinary Arts in San Francisco and then worked with Thomas Keller at French Laundry, Charlie Trotter, Daniel Boulud, and Gary Danko. But after a long stint at the banquet department of the Manchester Hyatt here, he was ready to rock ’n’ roll, yearning for something more creative. He seized the chance to work at Cafe One Three. There, too, the menu the owners wanted was more limited than what Kennedy wanted to do, and he was thrilled to move over to the Better Half, where owner Zubin Desai gave him sole charge of the menu, allowing him to purchase any food he wanted to use.

“It’s been a beautiful partnership,” he says. “It’s almost a family here, and I get creative freedom. When I signed on, Zubin told me to take a rest for four days and think about what I wanted on the menu. I went home and watched the Food Network for two days, went on the Internet and looked at menus — and it wasn’t about what people were doing but what they weren’t doing. They weren’t doing a lot of braised items, and very few people here were doing their own charcuterie. They’re doing charcuterie platters, but they’re all purchased products, and they’re all bland and…I was going, ‘Why?’ It’s such a passion to me! I’m really old-school. I love doing jarring and preserving, making pickles, mustard, and things like that. That’s what I really get a kick out of doing.

“When I mentioned I wanted to do charcuterie, Zubin was absolutely thrilled — in fact, for Hanukkah, he bought me a cold smoker. [Editor’s note: despite the Irish-sounding name, Kennedy is Scottish-Jewish.] I told him I like to go down to the farmers’ market in Hillcrest to shop, and I always wanted to go down there with a Radio Flyer wagon, and when I came in to sign the contracts, he said, ‘By the way, chef, I have something for you,’ and there out on the patio was a Radio Flyer with a big red bow around it. He’s an absolute godsend patron. He fills that niche that I lack in wine experience — I love my wines, but he’s a sommelier. We have such a good time, we sit down at the ‘family meal’ every night and drink a little bit of what we call ‘kitchen juice.’ It reminds me of the family meal at the French Laundry.

“We really wanted to do a nice fine-dining approach, with tons of good service, but we didn’t want people to be gouged. We’re having such a good time, and I think it comes through in the way the public has reacted to us. I’m so touched and happy that people are liking what I’m doing. And my sous-chef, Jake Hoyer, whom I took with me from One Three, has just turned out to be phenomenal. And the response from all our food purveyors has been fantastic, too. For instance, Monterey Fish has waived their usual minimum order for us — we’re way too small to meet it, but their guy really believes in what we’re trying to do…and Specialty Produce is brokering a deal with an organic farm, and I’m hoping to eventually become one of the only certified organic restaurants in San Diego. I don’t know if I can achieve that; we might have to substitute with some natural ingredients. But that’s where we’re aiming.

“I want to let the menu ride for another month, and then Zubin and I will sit down and decide what we’ll do next. The idea is to let the public taste the menu, but in about a month we’ll have to switch the menu to keep them from getting bored, because we’re getting such repeat-customer business.” Future possibilities include wild boar and buffalo and perhaps, eventually, a New Orleans–style Sunday brunch. Meanwhile, Kennedy keeps himself interested by constant changes on the “du jour” part of the menu — every day a different soup, tart, charcuterie choices, special appetizer, seafood special, and desserts. “The trend that I’m really pleased to see in San Diego is that some of us chefs are really trying to push the bar up. While San Diego’s not been the most fantastic culinary hot spot, there are a few chefs now who are really trying to raise the bar, and I think it’s starting to take hold. So many people were drawn into that Gaslamp fiasco — all that glitz and glamour but no substance to the food there, the same repetitive menus. I’m really pleased the way it’s starting to go in San Diego.”

The Better Half Bistro

4 Stars (Excellent)

127 University Avenue, Hillcrest, 619-543-9340, thebetterhalfbistro.com

HOURS: Tuesday–Sunday, 5:00 p.m. “till whenever” (at least 10:00 p.m., later on weekends).

PRICES: Appetizers, $7–$15; entrées, $15–$22

CUISINE AND BEVERAGES: Seasonal menu of creative, wine-friendly cuisine with French technique, global influences, ingredients organic or natural. Huge list of international wines by the half-bottle, at wide price range but mainly affordable. Corkage $5 or less.

PICK HITS: Daily soup, daily tart, “uncured bacon belly,” charcuterie plate, cheese plate, Cabernet-braised short ribs, oxtails in coconut sauce, bread pudding. The Lynnester’s pick: pork scaloppini.

NEED TO KNOW: Small restaurant, reservations essential (especially on weekends). Two shallow steps up to dining room (possibly wheelchair accessible with a helper to push, unless chair or occupant is oversized). Accessible heated patio in fair weather. Rather dim lighting. Most dishes gluten-free. No vegetarian or vegan dishes on written menu, but two vegan-adapted entrées are always available, and/or made-to-order dinners accommodating any off-menu food needs (e.g., allergies, taboos), or special inspirations of the chef available by calling 24 hours ahead.

This restaurant is closed.