Smoke, citrus, salt: these are the components of seaside cuisine, the essential sensations one associates with a meal cultivated by and enjoyed along some blue-hot coastline. Together, on one plate, they suggest freshly-tamed produce, searing temperatures, and an intensity on the palette. So why change a classic formula? “We’re not trying to do anything new or different,” says head chef Jesús ‘Chuy’ Cervantes, “we’re just really trying to highlight the ingredients.”
Smoke, citrus and salt are the fervid core of Cervantes’ kitchen at San Damián, a new restaurant set back from Venice Beach, where Baja origins and contemporary flourishes coalesce to form a refreshing marisquería experience. The latest in a long line of sophisticated offerings from Michelin-honoured chef Enrique Olvera, 15 miles west of Downtown LA’s Damian, San Damián is something akin to a sister restaurant—an outspoken younger sibling taking cues from its elder, while fluently shifting into a path entirely its own.
In the leadup to its opening, Cervantes, whose tenure at the helm of Cosme and Damian has made him one of the bright stars of contemporary Latin American cuisine, spoke frankly about relishing the chance to explore, with San Damián, what the success of Damian had perhaps precluded. The original plan was for Damian to cater to a breezy marisquería crowd, but the investment in an in-house molino and the popularity of the taqueria side of the business turned it into a masa-forward restaurant.
If there is some cross over in offerings between the two, there is a fundamental difference in philosophies. Damian is established, unhurried and resolute; it holds fort in an old warehouse converted with a modern sheen. Its new sibling, housed in an old burger joint and dealing with tighter availability for marine produce, is more adaptable, some would say playful. And anyway, doesn’t that just sound right for a restaurant in Venice?
Olvera aficionados will surely recognise the bones of the space—it is the same location as Olvera’s Mexican food-stall homage ATLA, which closed after two years in 2025. Gone are the former’s famous tortillas, but still remaining is the sense of a restaurant wedded to a Mexican sensibility.
Olvera is a CDMX child; Cervantes grew up in El Paso, a gaze’s-length from Juaréz across the border, but most of his family is from Chihuahua and Baja. His world is that of an American whose everyday life quite literally looks upon the Latino world. After plying his trade out East for a decade or so, Cervantes has followed a new wind of inspiration that takes its cues from the culture of the Pacific. Ingredients are sourced from all over the coast—from Acapulco to Baja, from Sinaloa to the Bay Area, along the entirety of the Californian shoreline.
Tostada de Atún with leaks, brown butter and shiro dashi
View from the dining room, featuring a piece by Taller 36, a project by Marcela Calderón Bony
There are, of course, many of the Olvera classics: those who expect an al Pastor from an Olvera restaurant will warmly receive the Kanpachi al Pastor, while others will be just as impassioned by the carne asada and fried quesadillas. But these are, let’s say, the expected dishes; what the intrepid foodie might be more curious to try are the Kumamoto oysters, the rockfish ceviche, possibly (or probably) with a house margarita. It’s a palette that comes from the Valle de Guadalupe, Ensenada, and beyond.
The design and furnishings by Alonso de Garay, a staple of an Olvera restaurant experience, accentuate the directness of the food by crowning it in an atmosphere of organic simplicity. The ceiling is woven in sisal, a textured earthen fabric; finishes are in lightly-coloured wood; a perfume of palo santo wafts through the space; and bright wall-length windows invite in the splendours of the Californian sun. Think something between a mid-century Californian pad and an Oaxacan country house. Which, in its own way, is about as consummate a metaphor as any for San Damián.
In a corner of one of the world’s most exciting food hubs, one can be offered a taste of the splendiferous cultures of the Pacific coastline—the heat of it, the flavour, the zest, and the colour—and perhaps even finish the meal with a short stroll to the nearby boardwalk, where Pacific distances expand and contract in a vast tableau of blue.
Sitting down with Olvera and Cervantes, two men who call that tableau of blue home, we discuss marisquería traditions, the exchange of culinary ideas across generations, and staying true to the spirit of Los Angeles.
Queen clams for signature raw clam dish with persian cucumber and salsa macha
Fresh kanpachi for Kanpachi al Pastor
Mole verde for Orzo con Mole
Queen clam shells
| Elroy Rosenberg | How does the experience at San Damián relate to what someone might find at its downtown predecessor? |
| Enrique Olvera | San Damián isn’t an extension of Damian so much as its coastal counterpart. They share a language, but speak it with different accents. Damian looks inward, taking its time over longer meals and deeper conversations. San Damián faces the ocean, it’s brighter, more immediate, built around seafood, cocktails, and the easy rhythm of Venice. They recognise each other across the city, but each has its own personality, pace, and point of view. If anything, they’re companions. They nod to one another from opposite sides of Los Angeles, sharing the same values but living different lives—like you and me, probably. Damian invites you to settle in for the evening. San Damián captures the feeling of wandering in from the beach, ordering something fresh—a drink, maybe another—and letting the day unfold from there. |
| ER | At San Damián, down to the tiniest olfactory details, texture and character seem to be priorities. How did you and Alonso de Garay think about its design? |
| EO | Working with Alonso was less about presenting ideas than about listening to each other. Architects and cooks solve different problems, but they both think about rhythm, light, texture, movement and memory. We kept asking the same question from different disciplines: how do we make people feel comfortable enough to stay a little longer? Neither of us wanted to impose a restaurant on Venice. We wanted the restaurant to feel as though it had quietly belonged there for years. That meant paying attention to light, materials, proportions, sounds, and even smells—not as decorative elements, but as part of the experience of hospitality. The room should feel discovered rather than designed. |
| ER | You’ve spoken to The Manual Review before about allowing yourself and your team a certain freedom in your search for perfection. What kind of freedoms and philosophies does San Damián express? |
| EO | I’ve become less interested in the idea of perfection and much more interested in the search itself. Cooking is a bit like casting a film: you’re always looking for the right ingredient, the right balance, the right moment, but you don't always know what you’re looking for until you find it. That requires a certain openness. At San Damián, we gave ourselves permission to be lighter, more immediate, to let the ocean, the seasons, and the neighbourhood influence the food. The philosophy isn’t about lowering standards—it’s about staying curious enough to let the food surprise you. Good cooking isn’t only about knowing what you’re looking for. It’s also about recognising it when it appears, I think. |
| ER | You’ve mentioned your interest in the generational exchange of ideas between younger and older chefs and restaurateurs. What have you and Chuy Cervantes been able to give to each other? |
| EO | One of the greatest rewards, [as a chef], is watching someone you’ve worked alongside develop their own voice. Every kitchen depends on the passing of knowledge—not as something to preserve unchanged, but as something each generation reshapes in its own way. The goal, for me, has never been to create copies, but to help others become better than you were. That’s how a craft stays alive. A kitchen only grows when knowledge keeps moving, right? Recipes, techniques and instincts are passed from one person to the next, but so are confidence, curiosity and generosity. Seeing younger cooks take ownership of that tradition, and ultimately surpass their teachers, isn’t the exception. It’s the hope, right? |
| ER | What was your starting point for conceptualising the menu at San Damián? |
| Chuy Cervantes | We always look towards what is closest. [Los Angeles has] incredible seafood, produce, and a climate that’s similar to parts of Mexico. From there, we built a menu that respects Mexican techniques, while celebrating what’s available around us today. |
| ER | Is there a particular essence or a viewpoint that you think San Damián articulates? |
| CC | I think there is. It’s rooted in Mexican seafood tradition, but not limited by it. We aren’t trying to recreate one region of Mexico—we’re creating food that feels honest to LA. The menu should evolve depending on the seasons and [the] best seafood available. |
| ER | What unique elements does Latin American culture offer in today’s restaurant scene? |
| CC | Latin American cuisine has always been about adaptation. It’s built on generations of different cultures [that have influenced] one another. That creates a cuisine that’s naturally innovative, while staying deeply connected to tradition. |
| ER | How do you keep your gaze broad, while delivering a specifically Pacific Coast experience? |
| CC | From the Pacific Northwest all the way down the Mexican coast, there is a wide range of diverse ingredients and preparations for them. Inspired by this, it only feels natural to deliver this type of experience. |
| ER | Does the word “marisquería” define what you do at San Damián? |
| CC | For me, a marisquería is about celebrating seafood in a way that feels vibrant, generous and approachable. At San Damián, seafood is the focus, but fresh masa, vegetables, and the overall experience are just as important. I hope it feels like a marisquería that could only exist in Los Angeles. |
San Damián's host stand, featuring a ceramic piece by Taller 36, a project by Marcela Calderón Bony
Prawns al Ajillo with prawns from Caledonia
Seashell found at a local antique store
Dining room, featuring Oscar Haggerman chairs and tables by Artless