When I lived in Tokyo, I ate a lot of katsu: katsu udon, katsu curry, tonkatsu, katsu sandwiches. You can find katsu everywhere in Japan and pair it with almost any dish. It’s like your favorite pair of jeans — it goes well with everything.
To make it, which is harder than it looks (believe me, I’ve tried), you first pound chicken, pork, or beef flat to an even thickness, then dip it in flour, egg, and panko breadcrumbs before frying it until golden and crunchy.
It’s something like a Japanese version of fried chicken. But Japanese people stick it everywhere — with fluffy milk bread for a quick sandwich, atop thick curry and rice, or floating in udon soup. My favorite is on a bed of crispy cabbage, drizzled with sweet, tangy katsu sauce and dipped in a chunky wasabi tartar to cut the dry breadcrumbs and add punches of sharp acidity. Add fluffy white rice on the side to carry all the many tastes and textures.
So when the server at Stake Chophouse & Bar recommended the wagyu katsu sandwich, my eyebrow furrowed. A katsu sandwich at a steakhouse?
When it came out, it looked like the royal queen of katsu sandwiches — a dollop of wasabi aioli with a tiny leaflet stuck into it. Pretentious. The brioche bread was fluffy but thinned from soaking in molten butter. The wagyu was cooked medium-rare, and the panko barely revealed itself at first glance. I bit into it and had a full moment of divinity. It was delicious. The wagyu especially wowed me — tender, melting, with just a bit of crunch from the breadcrumbs. The aioli added a slight tingling heat.
It did not resemble a classic katsu sandwich but rather a recontextualized, inspired version. The fried outer layer was so subtle, adding emphasis to the dish rather than being the main character, which is more typical of katsu. It did traditionally include a sweet katsu sauce, which is usually a blend of oyster sauce, sugar, vinegar, fruit and vegetable purées, ginger, garlic, and various spices — a complex sweet brown condiment to drench the sandwich in. And drench I did. I even asked for more before my four small bites of heaven were over. I guess, everything in life is temporary.
Stake is another David Spatafore Blue Bridge Hospitality restaurant, and after I found this out, I started to wonder what restaurant this guy didn’t own in Coronado. Walking in, it feels like a contemporary fine-dining space veering toward luxury rather than character. The orange-marble wall casts a warm glow over modern tables and chairs, contrasting with the blue carpets and creating a more dynamic environment, which I appreciated. Behind the bar, blue backlit LED panels highlight spritzes, rums, and whiskeys. Still, fancy shmancy is what came to mind.
Outside, fire pits flicker atop crushed fire glass, a go-to for higher-end restaurants. They did, however, provide a nice light and warmth so you could still enjoy the ocean breeze without feeling the goosebumps gather on your skin. That evening, a guitar player picked nostalgic songs from the 80s — Stevie Nicks, Dave Matthews, and the like — further emphasizing that a twenty-something like me didn’t belong there.
A single steak ranges from $83 to $120, and one could easily spend a hundred dollars without trying very hard. So instead of committing to a full steak, I turned to the wagyu pappardelle — a wide-ribboned pasta with minced wagyu instead of sliced.
The burrata on top was rich and silky, dramatically spilling onto the pasta. The sauce had a bold spice that made my lips red, pairing nicely with the long ribbons and delicate mozzarella. The wagyu added heart, but still medium rare so the flavors stayed intact. Mixed into the sauce and it was as if your classic bolognese had a millionaire cousin. Together, the textures created a rich, spicy bite. Tip of the hat to the chef.
Stake Chophouse & Bar is open Monday through Thursday and Sunday from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m., and Friday and Saturday from 4 p.m. to 10 p.m., with happy hour daily from 4 p.m. to 6:30 p.m.
