A thrilling Oakland restaurant once drew national attention. Can a new chef reignite its relevance?
Snail Bar, opened in 2021 by chef Andres Giraldo Florez, is the one of the restaurants that helped establish Oakland's reputation as a national dining destination in recent years. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
At the end of 2021, as pandemic lockdown restrictions were slackening and interest in natural wine reached an all-time high in the Bay Area, Snail Bar was the place to be in Oakland. Lines of people willing to wait hours for a table crowded the restaurant's sidewalks. They sought additive-free wine, but also audacious cooking in the form of small plates that exhibited astonishing technical finesse without veering overly precious, such as best-in-class crudités with vegetables ethereal enough to make Alice Waters weep; pan con tomate veiled in translucent ham, ready to unleash a torrent of glutamates; and a virtuosic Colombian hot dog with a snappy-skinned link, a crumbling of potato chips and a line of quail eggs.
Snail Bar's palate was seasonal but kaleidoscopic, stitching together Latin American, Japanese, Korean and Spanish flavors with French training reflective of chef-owner Andres Giraldo Florez's experience working at Michelin-starred kitchens, such as Mugaritz in Spain, wd~50 in New York, Alinea in Chicago and Saison in San Francisco. Its attitude was chefs-with-arm-tattoos defiant and chronically online. Much more than a popular restaurant, Snail Bar helped make Oakland's dining scene a national fixation.
Florez had a hit restaurant, but his neighbors weren't happy. Within a year, Snail Bar, operating inside a two-story building on the corner of a cul-de-sac, was the subject of noise and sidewalk access complaints from residents. Perhaps a reflection of the same streak that animated his cooking, Florez gained a reputation for flouting city laws, and Snail Bar received multiple city code violations in 2022. Eventually, the restaurant's upstairs neighbor sued Snail Bar and the building's management, alleging in the suit that it failed to address his complaints, causing him to move out in 2024. Florez took over the two-bedroom apartment lease, and converted it into a café. Dubbed Upstairs, the café opened in 2025, but closed within days, due to permitting issues, to put it generously. Florez maintained at the time that he worked to address neighbors' complaints and attributed some of the problems at both businesses to city bureaucracy. Upstairs hasn't reopened, though Florez said it's still in the works.
Zachary Breaux, 26, was announced as Snail Bar's chef de cuisine in February, taking the helm from Florez, who moved to Europe but retains ownership of the restaurant. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
Last October, Florez announced his move to France and plans for a successor at Snail Bar. In February, he named a new chef de cuisine: Zachary Breaux, a 26-year-old self-described "Katrina baby," originating from Lafayette, La. Breaux's cooking talents earned him a scholarship to the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York, after which he went on to Atelier Crenn and Verjus. Last year, he committed himself to Left On Madeline, his "New Louisiana" popup, which pays homage to his upbringing. In June, he landed a residency dinner series at Cafe Colucci in Oakland. Florez, after three visits to the popup, offered Breaux, then 25, the job. "It was very out of the blue," Breaux said, but he accepted.
Snail Bar remains the Bay Area's exemplar of the natural wine bar - a field that includes Goodtime Bar (started by an ex-Snail employee), Michael and Lindsay Tusk's Verjus, and, most recently, the legacy-expanding Bar Panisse. Even as some of natural wine's funkiest fringes have fallen out of favor with forward-thinking drinkers, Snail Bar's wine director and general manager Carlos Camacho remains fully committed to the genre, as do its customers; orange wine is on a marked decline around the Bay Area, but it's still Snail Bar's best-seller. The wine list, largely French, with some Spanish and Californian wines as well, is 100% natural - also true of the sake selection.
Florez, who retains ownership of the restaurant, has given Breaux creative dominion over most of the menu. ("I trust him fully," Florez said.) Just five Snail Bar staples remain. Breaux continues to deliver on them, such as the namesake escargot ($24) slathered in cashew miso; "perfect vegetables" ($18) with a dip enriched with koji (a fungus used to make soy sauce, among other Japanese ferments); and that impeccably toasted sandwich ($17), filled with ham and hilariously stretchy Comté cheese and a side of pickled peppers.
La chaudrée (fisherman's stew) at Snail Bar in Oakland, CA on May 4, 2026. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
One signature was inconsistent, though: The frequently refreshed tostadas had strong toppings - avocados ($19) one week, beef tartare ($25) another - but the fried tortillas were stale on two separate occasions. Speaking from experience, I wondered, "Who left the tostada bag open?"
Still, even just a few months into Breaux's tenure, it's clear why Florez saw him as a successor, with a similarly genre-bending cooking style that pulls equally deftly from his experiences working in fine dining and his stints as a pasta maker.
Case in point: the springtime special of pig skin ragu lasagna that takes days to make. It consists of a decadent pasta - house-made with 30 egg yolks - adorned in verdant leek oil, nutritional yeast breadcrumbs, and a "Creole XO," a heavily spiced shellfish sauce. (The frequent use of "Creole spice" or "anything that has smoked paprika and marjoram" is Breaux's one concession so far to his background.) Braised, chilled overnight, then put through a meat grinder, pig skin forms the sauce base, along with the tomato paste, garlic and the Holy Trinity - bell peppers, celery, onions. Rested another day, the skin mixture turns into "bulletproof" aspic, Breaux said. The dish was unbelievably sticky and undoubtedly filling, yet, courtesy of the citrus-infused ricotta, manifested surprising lightness.
While the popularity of orange wine has waned throughout the Bay Area in recent years, it remains the best-seller at Snail Bar, according to wine director Carlos Camacho. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
Steak tartare tostadas at Snail Bar in Oakland, CA on May 4, 2026. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
A spring visit yielded juicy clams marinated in a bold leche de tigre that incorporated cacao and coffee, then topped with rice powder, whose nutty crunch brought to mind Thai laab. And while a special of beef tongue skewers, which arrived at room temperature and didn't quite measure up to the many great izakayas in Berkeley, disappointed, its replacement the following week, did not: Croquettes ($18), dabbed with a bittersweet mandarin condiment, featured thin, crispy exteriors dusted in bay leaf powder that contained a satin-smooth mixture of bechamel and beef tongue, which brought sweet, meaty funk.
This level of backflip-worthy cooking is why I go to Snail Bar. At a time when so many natural wine bar menus feel familiar, it continues to push boundaries. Breaux demonstrates that after five years in operation, the Snail Bar ethos has plenty of juice. Breaux credits the easy transition to a strong kitchen crew, which includes sous chef Steven Bravo and Upstairs manager-to-be Sammy Chang.
On a recent Friday, Snail Bar was a full house: fashion guys wearing the baggiest pants on the planet, dates falling in love over a plate of tostadas and, in one case, a woman dressed in top-to-bottom black with a tiny dog whose skinny limbs looked to be dyed jet black. The restaurant seemed different, more mature in some ways. I no longer felt like I was at the messy, if fun, Snail Bar of the past, but at a restaurant building a path toward longevity.
Recent desserts at Snail Bar include a panna cotta with Hennessy crème (left) and an île flottante with blueberries and seascape strawberries. (KELSEY MCCLELLAN/For the S.F. Chronicle)
Snail Bar
Hours: 5-10 p.m. Friday-Saturday, 5- p.m. Sunday-Monday.
Accessibility: All on one floor. Outdoor seating includes sidewalk tables and a parklet.
Noise level: Moderately loud inside, quieter on patio.
Meal for two, without drinks: $75-$150
What to order: snails ($24), ham and cheese ($17), beef tongue croquettes ($18).
Meat-free options: "perfect vegetables" ($18), desserts like banana cotta with hennessy crème ($12) and île flottante($14).
Drinks: Wine, sake, beer and nonalcoholic beverages are all natural. Ask wine director Carlos Camacho what he's excited about. Don't sleep on the sake.
Pro moves: If you're just interested in snacks, opt for the staples such as snails or crudités, but if you're hungry go for the weekly specials.
