I’m back with my weekly review. And forgive me, though I’m a San Diego native, I’m still new to Coronado cuisine. When I chose this week’s review, Peohe’s, I didn’t realize it has been around for decades.
Turns out, San Diego food reviewer David Nelson reviewed it in 1988 for the Los Angeles Times when it opened — and quite generously — so I was curious if it still lived up to the “upscale Charthouse” reputation Nelson once gave it.
Peohe’s (pronounced Pee-oh-ee’s), meaning “a warm gathering place” in Hawaiian, bills itself as “specializing in fresh tropical seafood dishes influenced by Pacific Rim flavors.” With that description, I was ready to be exported to the Hawaiian islands and taste fresh sashimi amidst bright polynesian ingredients like tropical fruits and root vegetables.
I booked a reservation and immediately made my first mistake: I missed the warm haze of sunset, which should be a requirement for an island-inspired waterfront eatery.
Walking in feels like stepping into an old hotel lobby, transported not to a warm Hawaii, but to the cold ghost of what once was. A small trickling aquarium sits off to the right, awkwardly tiny compared with the scale of the massive, multilevel room. On the other side of the bathrooms, an indoor waterfall whispers words of the past.
I followed the host down a walkway that made me feel like Alice in Wonderland, truly never-ending. The carpet is worn, and with so few customers, the whole place feels a bit forgotten. The too-bright lighting fixtures only add to the eeriness. But maybe I just came too late; my server did say the place gets packed in the summer and during sunset. I noted 7 p.m. is too late for a sleepy island.
I hoped the food would cancel out the ambiance — or lack thereof. I sat down, ordered a couple tasters of sparkling wine to start the night, and watched the San Diego skyline, which looked like a string of pearls atop the dark water.
I ordered what the server recommended and then chose something of my own because I wanted to try as much as I could to do accurate research. And, OK, the name was a bit funny. It was called the “Pupu Platter”. It apparently refers to small finger foods or shareable plates, a Hawaiian version of tapas, perhaps?
But there was a reason the server didn’t recommend my choice. When it came out, slightly too quickly, it wasn’t even edible. My eyes weren’t drawn, and my taste buds were not curious. When I nibbled on it, my intuition was right. I didn’t go back for seconds.
The Thai chicken spring rolls looked like they had been sitting, with oxidized lettuce and hardly any taste or texture of chicken. The runner who dropped the dish didn’t explain anything on the plate, so I didn’t know which of the three sauces went with what.
I could deduce that the soy sauce went on the lobster California rolls, but if you blinded me and handed me Vons California rolls, I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. The coconut shrimp was cold, and the shrimp cocktail was not cold enough.
And the tuna poke just stared at me — jiggly and raw atop a limp seaweed salad — wanting to be the star of the show, but it was tasteless and, again, not fresh. I’ve had a traumatizing experience with food poisoning, so I didn’t go any further.
On to the crab cakes — now we’re getting somewhere. While they were modishly presented and a bit of a messy lump visually, the meatiness paired well with the creaminess of the remoulade, tartar’s fancy cousin. The mustard was prevalent, and the tanginess of the capers was woven in subtly, but neither overpowered the crab. The sauce had hints of red bell pepper to add some acidity and balance the creaminess. I only wished I hadn’t been so jaded by the other dishes by then.
Then the finale: a fire-crusted salmon, which made me feel a bit better about the restaurant as a whole. With this, I had hope. A bite into a crusty outer layer paired with delicate inner flesh — not too fishy or overcooked. It had a tangy spice with a bit of a kick on the outer crust. It was served on a recontextualized mango sticky rice that tasted fluffy, sweet and sour. It came with two generously sized shrimp that had a fleshy texture — not too dry — along with a lemon shallot butter and an avocado pico de gallo with corn and tomatoes, finely diced. A slow start, but a strong finish to the evening.
Overall, I wished I’d gone at sunset. Maybe then the space would’ve felt inviting instead of cavernous on a quiet Sunday night. The restaurant’s extravagant scale may have been novel in the ’80s, but now the grandeur feels gaudy. Today’s gastronauts want warmth, character and something a little more intimate than a spot that takes up half the ferry landing. And like the interior design, the menu needs a revamp, but the spark is there, it just needs someone to turn it into a flame again.
Peohe’s is at 1201 First St. in Coronado. It is open from 11:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. daily, except Sundays, when hours are 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.
