Little Mountain

Little Mountain arrives on the Montecito scene fusing local bounty with the neighborhood’s sophistication.

By Maddy Sims

Photography Kort Havens

Tucked beside the iconic Pierre Lafond market, Little Mountain has quickly become Montecito’s newest hot spot—and not only for the fire-kissed dishes coming out of its hearth. The address carries history (it once housed the Pierre Lafond Wine Bistro) and everything about the restaurant, down to its name, feels like a love letter to Montecito. 

Step inside and it’s like entering a friend’s sprawling estate, one with impeccable taste and an effortless sense of hospitality. In the two airy dining rooms high ceilings, cozy tables, and beautiful art create a setting that’s both elevated and inviting; the bar has the charm and sophistication of local favorites like Honor Bar and The Manor Bar; there’s a private dining room ideal for intimate gatherings and a serene outdoor patio perched above the river. At the center of it all sits a custom wood-fired hearth, the glowing anchor of the open kitchen. It’s more than a showpiece, the kitchen’s rhythm revolves around it. In every way, Little Mountain reflects its surroundings: sophisticated yet grounded in nature. 

That sensibility extends to the food, which pays its own tribute to the mountain community. Chilean-born Chef Diego Moya, who comes to Montecito by way of New York, embraces the region’s extraordinary agricultural abundance with a sense of passion that shines through in every dish. He works closely with local farmers, building the menu around what’s tasting best at any given moment. His preparations are focused and thoughtful, highlighting vegetables at their peak. Many dishes bear the touch of the hearth: aromatic, smoky, and layered.

We begin with sourdough and house-cultured butter infused with hoja santa—a small but telling sign of Moya’s plant-driven sensibility. The hiramasa with manzano pepper and pineapple-guava aguachile is bright and balanced, its herbal notes adding nuance. Market greens follow, crisp and lightly citrusy, with just enough parmesan to enhance rather than obscure.

A surprise course of Santa Barbara sea urchin arrives next: snap peas and roe adding crunch to the soft, custardy uni, finished with marigold. It’s one of the night’s most memorable bites. The badger flame beets, presented in a romesco-style preparation, are another highlight. 

At our server’s suggestion, we order the Santa Barbara halibut. The fish is expertly cooked—crisp-edged and pillowy soft inside—and served with a rich beurre blanc, wild mushrooms, and charred peppers. A side of koshihikari rice with sesame butter, simple yet satisfying, completes the dish. The roast chicken, glazed with turmeric and cooked over coals, is equally impressive: aromatic, lightly smoky, and surprisingly light. We enjoy it alongside the patatas bravas, a can’t-miss dish. 

Dessert brings a variety of thoughtful finales. The café de olla cheesecake is luxuriously rich without leaning overly sweet. We also try the wild California bay cream with fennel caramel, a dessert made for non-dessert lovers. With amber fennel caramel suspended over bay leaf-infused cream, it reads as an homage to Montecito’s mountain trails. I find it fascinatingly delicious, though those craving something sweeter may prefer the chocolate mousse with cacao nibs.

Cheesecake

In a year filled with notable openings, Little Mountain stands out as one of the most compelling. The concept—California coastal cooking—may appear understated, but it’s executed with meticulous care. Moya’s plant-forward approach celebrates what makes this region so special: its year-round natural abundance. The open-fire cooking pays homage not only to the mountain landscape, but also to the area’s Mexican heritage. Still, the restaurant maintains that ineffable Montecito allure. The menu is pared down, but the dining experience itself is expansive. The building appears unassuming, but the inside is gorgeously designed. A-listers casually walk through the space. It’s a natural fit for the neighborhood. It’s a Sunday night, and Little Mountain is totally full. The restaurant may be brand new, but it feels as though it’s been here forever.