Lucky Number Three | Rascal’s Marks Anniversary with Fermented, Flower-Forward Feast

Three is a lucky number. I have always believed that.

It proved itself again on March 12 at Rascal’s, where the Santa Barbara vegan restaurant celebrated its third anniversary with a one-night, multi-course tasting dinner collaboration.

Inside the small Haley Street space, rapid jazz played in the background while white chef coats moved quickly through the open kitchen window. You could hear the calls — “hands,” “order up” — as plates moved in meticulously planned succession. Plants filled the room, with splashes of orange, red, and yellow throughout. Overhead hanging bulbs cast what could only be described as a blood-orange glow.

Only 24 seats were available for the seven-course collaboration between Rascal’s chef-owner Dalan Moreno Griffin and guest chef Miguel Angel Servin, who currently works at the Michelin-starred restaurant Lilo in Carlsbad and runs a pop-up alongside chef Jose, focused on fermented California cuisine.

“Miguel and I met at a place called Californios,” Griffin said, referring to the two-Michelin-star San Francisco restaurant where the pair first worked together. “We stayed in touch ever since…. The rest is history.”

Griffin said the collaboration allows chefs to experiment in ways traditional restaurant structures sometimes do not.

“Cooking, like anything in life, is about learning more,” he said. “Bringing ideas together is super amazing…. It gives people an area to be creative in different ways.”

For Miguel, that creativity is rooted in fermentation — a craft he traces back to the humble pickle.

“About four years ago, I had a pickle — a really good pickle,” he said, laughing. “I didn’t know what was different about it until somebody explained…. It was all natural fermentation. I’ve been chasing those strange, hoppy, sour flavors ever since.”

Fermentation, he said, is both an ancient necessity and modern possibility — a way of unlocking deeper flavors in vegetables while reconnecting with traditional processes.

The Cigarette Is Vegan

The menu began with a koji beet “cigarillo,” cured and aged beets rolled into something that looked, unmistakably, like a cigarette — with flowers on top. I ate it in one bite: pickly beets balanced by sweet strawberry preserves.

Then came a wildflower salad — borage, nasturtium, miner’s lettuce — the sort of plate that felt like it had been assembled in a garden rather than a kitchen. I had never been told to eat my flowers before, but I might start now. A tangy white asparagus note alongside the vinaigrette cut through the florals with an unexpected punch.

Now that we had eaten our greens, it was on to the bread and butter with a twist. A house-made bolio served with salsa macha vegan butter, which was creamy but still carried a dark smokiness that kept my taste buds on high alert.

My server, Chloe, said the fourth course was her favorite before setting it down. I soon found out why — because her own elbow grease, literally, went into its formulation. A roasted pepper and alfalfa tostada featured masa grown in Santa Ynez, harvested by the Rascal’s team, then ground and shaped in-house. Fresh serranos added heat to the tangy avocado mousse, while the red bell pepper tasted intensely fresh.

Fermentation — a central theme of the evening — reappeared in the huitlacoche and masa dumplings, which were my personal favorites. Chloe described them as a deconstructed mushroom quesadilla, but I found them adjacent to a Mexico City version of pesto gnocchi. A poblano green garlic chive romesco sauce was herby, almost cheesy, rich yet toasted. Small green corn puffs sat atop the sauce, still warm, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside.

Between courses, I sipped on a guava agua fresca that tasted like summer — the tropics, the jungle, the beach. It felt like a dopamine rush, or maybe that was the sweetness talking. Either way, it worked.

Vegan Needed

Griffin founded Rascal’s three years ago, though the broader project dates back nearly a decade. The Santa Barbara native and longtime vegan said he saw a gap in the restaurant landscape. “I found there was such a lack of vegan options in Santa Barbara,” he said. “I felt it was a necessity to try to help in that way.”

At Rascal’s, menus are built around seasonal produce sourced from nearby farms, an approach Griffin says keeps the restaurant grounded in both sustainability and place. Tortillas are stone-ground and pressed in-house, and the kitchen has eliminated processed seed oils in favor of avocado and olive oils.

Two Desserts, Thank Goodness

On to plate number six: The first dessert came as a cara cara and blood orange sorbet, layering tangy citrus with coconut cream and crisped rice crunchies, all glazed in a kombucha-tinged sauce that leaned sour rather than sweet.

The final plate, number seven, was an Oaxacan chocolate banana cake — a small, gooey circle of banana bread topped with roasted banana miso ice cream and airy cinnamon-sugar “scraps” that added texture against the cold creaminess.

I ate both desserts extra fast to ensure they did not melt, and perhaps because I could not slow the speed of my spoon between bites due to the deliciousness.

Before I knew it, my anniversary feast was finished. Given how good year three tasted, I can’t wait for year four.

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Rascal’s, 432 E. Haley St. Suite # A, rascalsvegan.com