The heart behind the line
If you’ve ever tasted something here that felt just a little more alive—something unexpectedly layered, restrained in the best way, or quietly bold—you’ve experienced the work of Chef Sid.
He’s not someone who chases the spotlight, but his presence is everywhere. In the rhythm of the kitchen. In the food that makes its way to your table. In the way our team moves with confidence and care.
Sid’s story is deeply tied to Oceanside. He moved here as a teenager, met his future wife on the Strand, and never left. He’s worked in some of this town’s most iconic kitchens—from Tremont Street Bar & Grill to the now-closed Flying Bridge, a beloved harbor institution that once served scratch-made food with a live jazz soundtrack and a view of the boats. It was there, overlooking the water, that Sid first began to understand not just how to cook—but how to create a dining experience. It was also the place where, still young and early in his career, he was given the chance to put an entrée on the menu—an artichoke-stuffed chicken dish that marked his first real step from cook to creator.
He’s carried forward lessons from every kitchen he’s stepped into, refining his skills with humility, discipline, and a quiet, relentless desire to keep learning. He’s competed at the national level under the mentorship of Chef Robert Irvine, winning seven first-place awards, but what I love most about Sid has nothing to do with accolades...
Chef Sid gives form to ideas in a way that carries weight and meaning, and he does it without ever asking to be seen.
If you’ve ever tasted something here that felt just a little more alive—something unexpectedly layered, restrained in the best way, or quietly bold—you’ve experienced the work of Chef Sid.
He’s not someone who chases the spotlight, but his presence is everywhere. In the rhythm of the kitchen. In the food that makes its way to your table. In the way our team moves with confidence and care.
Sid’s story is deeply tied to Oceanside. He moved here as a teenager, met his future wife on the Strand, and never left. He’s worked in some of this town’s most iconic kitchens—from Tremont Street Bar & Grill to the now-closed Flying Bridge, a beloved harbor institution that once served scratch-made food with a live jazz soundtrack and a view of the boats. It was there, overlooking the water, that Sid first began to understand not just how to cook—but how to create a dining experience. It was also the place where, still young and early in his career, he was given the chance to put an entrée on the menu—an artichoke-stuffed chicken dish that marked his first real step from cook to creator.
He’s carried forward lessons from every kitchen he’s stepped into, refining his skills with humility, discipline, and a quiet, relentless desire to keep learning. He’s competed at the national level under the mentorship of Chef Robert Irvine, winning seven first-place awards, but what I love most about Sid has nothing to do with accolades...
Chef Sid gives form to ideas in a way that carries weight and meaning, and he does it without ever asking to be seen.
It’s the way he leads—with kindness and clarity. The way he interprets my ideas, not just executing them, but elevating them, seeing them fully, and then bringing them to life in a way that often surprises me. I’ll walk in with baskets of vegetables and fruit from local farms, or a dish imagined from memory—and somehow, chef Sid turns it into something that feels both grounded and new. That kind of collaboration is rare, and it’s the foundation of so much of what you taste here.
Chef builds systems that carry the soul of the restaurant forward. He refines our dough fermentation process like someone tuning a beloved instrument, adjusting until everything sings in harmony. He spends his mornings in the greenhouse, harvesting petite herbs, flowers and spring mix for our salads, moving through the ritual of watering, composting, and caring for plants that will later brighten your plate. He infuses oils, pickles everything I bring from the farm with a devotion that might go unnoticed—but is always appreciated. The chili oil, the basil that stays vibrant, the smell of the hot bread, the first clean snap of a pickle—those details are his quiet signature.
And when the team needs direction, he doesn’t raise his voice or demand attention—he simply shows up, fully present. He leads by doing, by modeling patience, by staying calm in the rush. There’s no bravado, no ego, just a quiet steadiness that invites trust. He moves through the kitchen with purpose, but never in a way that overwhelms. He answers questions before they’re asked, spots the thing out of place before it becomes a problem, and teaches in the small moments—while prepping, plating, or simply passing by. He doesn’t lead from above; he leads from within, shaping the culture not through slogans, but through presence and repetition, care and consistency.
One of the clearest reflections of that care is a dish we created together: Beets and Goat. It didn’t begin on the menu. It began in dialogue—an exchange of textures and memory, built around the idea of orange-roasted beets, whipped goat cheese, and garlic oil. It was close, but something was still missing. Then chef Sid brought in a bundle of chocolate habanero chilies his mother had dried and mailed from home. He infused them into our coastal flower honey, and everything shifted. The sweetness deepened. The heat softened. The dish came into focus. What began as an experiment became a signature. We hadn’t planned for it to stay. But some dishes tell you when they’re meant to.
Guests often comment on how happy the kitchen feels—how the cooks stay focused without ever seeming tense, how they move with intention but also with ease, how there’s laughter woven into the rhythm of the work. It’s something chef Sid cultivates through quiet leadership and deliberate example, setting a tone that values skill and discipline, but never at the expense of kindness or camaraderie. The result is a kitchen functions smoothly under pressure all while carrying a kind of lightness that only exists when people feel respected, supported, and proud of what they’re building together.
Chef Sid gives form to ideas in a way that carries weight and meaning, and he does it without ever asking to be seen.
But today, I wanted to shine a little light. So next time you're in, make sure to say hi to chef as well.
With love always,
Roxana
