Sassy Food

Coming of Age at Dahlia, and Aging

2010-06-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

Dahlia Lounge
2001 4th Ave, Seattle 206.682.4142

Below my sassy assistant recounts the sassying experience at Dahlia Lounge.

[What follows in the next couple of paragraphs is a brief pre-sassy disclaimer, explaining the gooey sentimentality I hold for Dahlia. Just skip it and scroll down if you can't handle it and want to get straight to the "sassy"]:

I had a formative experience at the old Dahlia back when it was located at 1904 4th Avenue. A former boss took me there for dinner as a gift before I shipped off for college in New York City. I had my first sit-down bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket (as opposed to chugged from a warm bottle in the back of a car). I had my first beef carpaccio - and was blown away. I had my first four-hour dinner. Dahlia was my first real dining experience that was my own. It was not with parents, and it was not an awkward and nervous pre-highschool dance dinner with mandatory non-alcoholic drinks. Dahlia provided me a transformative experience at a transformative time of my life.

Needless to say, that summer evening dining experience left me hungering for more of the same - food and dining at the center of ritual, sharing, celebration and social connection. As a result, I have a squishy soft spot in my heart for Tom Douglas and that initial Dahlia experience. So you see, I want to love Dahlia, but after many repeat visits to the current Dahlia, I hazard to state that Dahlia NOW is not what it once WAS. I'm perfectly willing to concede that my naïvité bonded me to Dahlia in much the way that a little chick imprints to the first being it sees upon hatching, and that as a seasoned eater, 20+ years later (gasp), I am simply more discriminating. In any case, I'll now get to the heart of the matter, to present and to the recent sassying at Dahlia.

Sassy Report: It was a rainy spring day in Dahlia Lounge a few weeks ago. The Seattle Restaurant deal (3 lunch courses for $15 dollars) was still on, and there was nary a seat to be found, except at the bar. I was feeling rather shy, all smashed up against people - more "sissy" than "sassy". I had the last seat in the house.

The man on my right had ordered the pork off the tasting menu. He complained repeatedly, to me, that it was the fattiest and most undercooked pork he had ever eaten. So, ordering off of the tasting menu myself, I skipped the pork, and opted for the seared tuna. As a starter, though, I chose the grilled asparagus, which was smoky and just a little lemon-y and lightly salted. It was just right. The shaved Parmesan added a little zing.

As for the seared tuna: yawn. It was fine. Maybe I'm just bored with seared tuna. Should I have ordered the grilled cheese on house made potato bread? Perhaps. Here's the thing with the tuna. It came with a citrus, greens and olive salad that was simply odd. It seemed that someone had just roughed it up, torn things apart and cared very little for how it looked. Has someone been gnawing on my olives? Well, luckily it tasted alright. Here's how it looked close up, before I touched it. I'm all for rustic, but this presentation was incongruous with the precision-cut tuna. The white you see is mashed potatoes. Somehow these flavors and textures just didn't work together.

On to dessert. I've tried Tom Douglas' signature coconut cream pie in the past. He's famous for it. People go ga-ga over it. I thought I'd give it a second go, to see if I had missed something the last time. Before I even tried it, I offered the woman to my left a bite of the pie. She had ordered a single crab cake off of the regular menu (also something Tom is known for). I considered asking for a bite of her crab, but I felt bad about taking away her precious morsel of crab meat. See, sassy isn't mean. Sassy isn't inconsiderate. Sassy can be a relaxed and respectful affair.

So Gina (below), was done with her crab cake, and I said,

"Would you like to try the Coconut Cream pie?"

She said, "oh, really? Well, if you don't mind...oh, that's good...it's light."

Well, I'm glad she liked it. Then I tried. But, I still don't get it. It's a piece of pie, mostly a big blob of whipped cream, with a little vanilla custard below and some overly chewy coconut shavings on top. It's, I'd say, 75% whipped cream and not a lot of flavor. I expressed my opinion to Gina. She seemed unwilling to be as critical. Gina was in town for the day on business. She used to live in Seattle, but moved back to her native Kansas City to start a family. She loves crab and dining out. It was nice to sit next to her and chat.

By this time, the gentleman next to me, who had ordered the pork, had complained to his server about the disgusting raw and fatty meat dish and as a result, his lunch was paid for by the house. Fair enough. Tom Douglas restaurants always accommodate dissatisfied diners.

Well, as for me, my espresso was great, but I was loud and vocal at the bar about my disappointment with the Coconut Cream pie. By now, the wine had kicked in, and I was feeling a little more sassy. I just have to give a little shout out to the daytime bartender, whom I adore. He had given me a generous pour of wine. On a previous occasion at Dahlia, he told me that I look like a certain celebrity. Always good for a big tip, but also, he's just nice. Several seats down were a couple of guys. One had the Coconut Cream pie (his opinion was neutral...not crazy about it, not disappointed either), and the other gentleman said he had just

ordered the Creme Caramel (above). When it arrived, he took a bite, then boldly slid his plate down to me without a word. I asked,

"Is this for me to taste?"

"Yes, see if that does the trick," he replied.

I was elated. I quickly grabbed a clean fork and tasted. This turned out to be the highlight of the meal, and to think I almost walked out without tasting something truly titillating. James was happy that I was happy. He was in town on business from San Francisco, selling wireless for personal cars and vehicles. He didn't want his picture taken, but he was generous, letting me work through what remained of his dessert. The creme caramel was accompanied by a crunchy rice crispy treat - a wonderful innovation based on the classic version. This one lacked the chewy marshmallow effect and seemed heavier on the butter and the crunch.

Although the meal was not mind boggling or transformative, the service was great, the company very pleasant. The final sassied dessert made the lunch worth my while. I'll probably opt for Lola or Etta's on my next Tom Douglas eating adventure. I think I'll retire from Dahlia for a while.

Whatever Lola Wants: Succulent Quail and Earl Grey Flan

2010-04-25T13:31:00.000-07:00

Lola
2000 4th Avenue, Seattle, WA 98121 (At the corner of 4th and Virginia
(206) 441-1430

Lola is sexier than all the other Tom Douglas restaurants. The menu is a little bit raw, a little bit rugged, a little bit dangerous. I'm completely seduced by the menu's intriguing and unusual offerings: slow roasted suckling pig with nettles, young goat with rosemary, and spiced quail with preserved lemons. And the desserts, well, I think dessert is what Tom does consistently well. At Lola, the sweet and sour of dessert are juxtaposed in exciting and complex ways. Take, for example: saffron custard with pistachios and rose or goat cheese turnovers, with pistachio, mint, and honey. Above is an image of the fig and apricot tart from last spring. After polishing off the first one, I ordered another. It was that good.

I lunched recently with friends at Lola. More of the same complex but complimentary flavors permeate the Lola's Mediterranean inspired menu. With the except for the condescending and sour (perhaps just bored or tired?) front person, our lunch experience was almost perfect.

The lamb kebabs with caramelized garlic and red wine glaze were tender and flavorful. Here they are (above) with the Greek salad, and in the foreground we have the luscious Greek Martini with barrel aged feta stuffed olives.

Every weekday Lola features a different lunch special. Thursdays is harissa spiced quail, and so I ordered it (above). Succulent, tender, juicy, and a little spicy, the elegant fowl was a delight. I picked up the delicate leg bones with my fingers, and sucked off every last bit of meat. I was a bit reluctant to try the "couscous." Having lived in Morocco for several years, I have been spoiled by the traditional fluffing and steaming of the real deal, and have even experienced the hand made, hand rolled and hand cut variety. I'm fairly certain that most any Moroccan expecting home-cooked couscous would be horrified to see chopped onion, red pepper and preserved lemon in the mix. Usually, meat and vegetables are painstakingly arranged atop beautifully fluffed couscous, which is flavored only by the vapors of meat or chicken broth. However, I was pleasantly surprised by this hybrid couscous experience. Although far from traditional, the couscous was actually delicious, not too soggy, and punctuated with just the right amount of preserved lemon to keep me interested. As a complement to the quail, it worked well.

Then there was dessert. The flavor of the goat cheese turnovers with mint was lovely, but the dough was too greasy. Maybe they had been deep fried too long, or perhaps over-fried. Regardless, we complained to our server that these little goat cheese critters were too oily.

To our shock and amazement, our server only recommended that we try the Earl Grey Flan next time we came in (we had been trying to decide between the turnovers and the flan initially)! As you can see, my dining companion was frustrated.

So was I. We explained, on a comment card that came with the bill, that it was odd that our server declined to offer us a different dessert. She must have read the card immediately, because within a moment, she brought out the Earl Grey Flan.Wheee!

We were thrilled to have sassed our way into new dessert territory. I am and was moved by the fig and apricot flavors mingling (you can even see how they create a little crossroads above). The bergamot flavor was rather muted but we detected tannins from the tea which left my tongue slightly prickled. I like the idea of the tea flavored custard, but we both agreed that we would have liked a stronger Earl Grey flavor. But the smooth flan was a nice vehicle for the fig and apricot. Here we are, happy again.

I take this opportunity to draw your attention back to my last Lola fig and apricot experience in the tart that I still yearn for. Tom, if you can hear me, my birthday is coming up. Please bring back the tart.

The Queen of Tarts

Toulouse Petit: Little Bite of your Alligator and your Beignets too.

2010-03-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

Toulouse Petit Kitchen and Lounge
601 Queen Anne Avenue North, Seattle, WA 98119 (206) 432-9069 Daily: 9 A.M. - 1:30 A.M.

I confess. I often crave hot pastry. I was thinking beignet and coffee, and so headed to Cajun inspired Toulouse Petit to see what I could taste. Right away I found a neighboring table with a plate of those deep-fried sugared dough triangles.

Oh yes! I sassied me some of that fried dough. Here I am (above) with the beignet-eaters in the midst of a successful sassy mission. Actually, they made it painlessly easy for me. I waltzed over, peered at their plate and asked, "are those the beignets?" After only a short pause, they countered with,"yeah, would you like to try one?"...and I reached and tasted - first their beignets, then later, their fried alligator. Yes, ALLIGATOR. Toulouse Petit serves it up deep fried in true southern redneck tradition.

From left to right meet Brandon, Jesse and Kasey (and then there's me, looking as though the vodka drink and sassy madness has gone to my head).

So, I sat with my new friends for a spell, sampling the fried gator vittles (see plate above and below). These morsels were thickly breaded and spicy hot, so it wasn't so easy to eek out the underlying gator flavor. I'd reckon a cross between swordfish and chicken - both in taste and texture.

I also sipped sweet Kasey's cocktail. Turns out these friendly folks all work at Via Tibunali, the famed Seattle pizzeria.

We must have created a commotion with the sips and tastes, because Joe, the day manager came over to see what was going on with us. He followed me back to my table, and instead of chiding me for wandering off to eat food from strangers, Joe, to my great glee, procured my own private plate of soft, warm, plump, dough-y sugar sprinkled buns.

Thoughout my foray into sassy territory, Wendy, my dining companion, patiently sipped her mint julep. Maybe she was also enjoying the view of Jason tending bar. We shared the fresh buttermilk beignets. The little side of chicory anglaise dipping sauce added just enough sweetness and depth to help them go down easy. But Wendy doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so I sucked down most of these babies myself with the help of a nice hot pot of coffee-press coffee. Instead of beignets, Wendy swallowed a half dozen oysters on the half shell for dessert. She captured me and generous manager Joe (below), discussing the beignets, the restaurant, the art of love and divorce, and sassying, of course.

The cocktails at Toulouse alone are worth a trip. Jason, the seems-like-a-celebrity bartender, is generous with his pours and kindly accommodated Wendy's request for ice cubes, rather than shaved slushy ice in her Mint Julep. It came just as she requested, and was filled with copious fresh mint and bourbon. She loved it so much that she pet-named it Jason's Julep. My drink, the Katie Mae, a beautiful combination of vodka, St. Germain, prosecco and grapefruit juice, was only half empty here, but I was fully happy.

You certainly to get your bang for your buck with Jason. He took a few minutes away from his busy bar to canoodle and sample my beignets (well, pose for a pic).

Of course we ordered some savory classics too: 'Barbecued' Shrimp New Orleans over Creamy Corn Grits and a Blackened Shrimp Po’ Boy sandwich doused in french fries. Everything tasted good. Wendy was passionate about the food. On previous visits to Toulouse, she had already sampled the blue crab remoulade and fried oyster po' boy, both of which she loved. I can't say that I was necessarily awed (or as she suggested, "transported out of Seattle") by the culinary experience at Toulouse, but I have only tried a few items on the menu (and none of those that Wendy had already sampled).

However, the affordable prices, plus the accommodating, gracious staff, plus the superb, strong cocktails, plus the aesthetics of the space itself (light, wrought iron, tile, woodwork), plus the compelling and unusual menu items (Louisiana blue crab with fried green tomatoes, escargots, steak tartar, crispy pork cheeks, spicy alligator, 'Bananas Foster' pancakes, beignets, etc.), plus the excellent dining compatriots, added up to a sublime experience, overall.

Maya, our beautiful server was diligent in her service and earnestly gave us wise advice...not only on what to order, but how to proceed, one step at a time, towards bodily and spiritual fulfillment (I think we were all still discussing romance).

Toulouse serves their expansive breakfast menu until 2:30 P.M., but if you get there before 11:00 A.M., Monday-Friday, every item is discounted down to six bucks. Toulouse Petit is the perfect venue to meet up with friends for brunch or happy hour. Lastly, I'm happy to report that there is a khamsa (a hand amulet popular in Muslim and Jewish culture) hanging over the doorway to ward off the evil eye. Toulouse is protected.

An Eva Restaurant Interpretive Dance

2009-12-08T22:55:00.000-08:00

Eva Restaurant and Wine Bar
2227 North 56th St
Seattle, WA 98103
206 633-3538

Eva is a festive, cozy, pretty little restaurant in the Greenlake area. We took advantage of the November Dine Around Seattle deal (3 courses for $30); this included a salad, an entree and a dessert.

The prawn salad went down fairly easily. Some flavorful Thai-inspired twists kept it interesting: a little lemon grass, basil, and onion.

The beef short rib and chanterelle pot pie (puffy pastry crust with chanterelles, beef short ribs, and vegetables in a broth) looked so pretty as other diners were receiving theirs. The sight of these little fluffy, pot pies delivered steaming to neighboring tables seduced all three of us. We all ordered one. Here is a fork's eye view of the pie.

I added a little salt and pepper to mine, and that short rib meat morphed into some downright delectable bites. Here's a view of the chantrelles, meat and vegetables on the inside.

SASSY

So, let's get to the sassy part of this adventure. I was with my two girl friends, let's just call one H (for Hestitant) and the other W (for Whatever). It's not that H doesn't approve of my sassy food activities, it's just that she is hesitant about being around when they take place. H didn't think she wanted to be seen with a sassy-er. So, I promised not to sassy anyone on this particular outing. W didn't care one way or another.

Well, the sassy just happened. I didn't even try. After finishing the main course, I made a little trip to the restrooms, and on the way, I passed a jovial table of five. They were all enjoying their desserts and it just slipped out of my mouth:

"Is that the chocolate torte?"

"Yes," was the response. "Would you like to try it?"
(it never ceases to amaze and delight me how readily people offer me their food!)

"Sure!" I said, with enthusiasm. And it was all over at that point. I was sassying.

I borrowed a clean fork off their table cloth, and dug right in. I tasted. And I tasted...the dark chocolate cassis torte with plum caramel... again and again. I tried more than I wanted to try, because Andrea kept offering. So, I kept taking those little bites. It was fine - good, in fact, but I couldn't detect anything in the way of plum caramel or cassis. Sure, that sauce was plum-y. But the cake was the standard, dense, flourless, variety. Nothing I hadn't tasted before...so I didn't get too excited. However, it was nice wedge of chocolate, don't get me wrong.

"Would you like to sit down?" said the slightly touseled man to her right.

"OK." I said.

So I shared a seat with Rainier (above). He poured me some red wine from their communal bottle, and I drank.

Two of the men at the table, including Rainier, had accents. I asked where they were from. Playful group that they were, they made me guess. So I played along and hazarded a few - "Denmark," I blurted out first.

"Nope...close," someone said.

Finally, I guessed Germany. Yes, Eckhart was from Germany.

"But Rainier, you have an accent too," I said, as he filled the glass again.

"But I'm from Brooklyn. I'm the Baryshnykov from Brooklyn. I'm an interpretive dancer, " said Rainier. I think he had had already had a few glasses. For all I know he could be an etymologist, or a deep sea diver, or an obstetrician, and just messing with me.

Soon thereafter, a plate of apple cobbler made its way in front of me.

"Here. Try this too. The cinnamon ice cream is amazing!" said Brent, the husband of kind Andrea, who had given me the initial chocolate bite (both above). The two were visiting Seattle from California, and everyone at the table somehow knew Rainier the "dancer."

Well, warm apple crisp is usually pretty good. This one had lots of crumbly brown crunchy topping. The apples were delicate. The ice cream? Yes. It was also good, as Brent said, although I have a cinnamon problem. I am really not a fan, and it sometimes makes me feel a little queezy, so I'm not the best judge of anything cinnamon flavored.

Rainier kept pouring the red wine.

Finally, they started settling up, so I ambled back to my table and shamefully greeted H and W. H seemed to forgive me, and realized that, at least this time around, my sassying was welcomed and encouraged by strangers at other tables, rather than shunned.She realized that I wasn't harassing people, but rather, the exchange was mutual, and mostly social.

Thanks Rainier, for the wine! Perhaps one day I'll run into you on the L train.

The Joy of Octopus and Memories of Pudding at the Bastille

2009-11-22T20:49:00.000-08:00

Bastille Cafe and Bar
5307 Ballard Avenue NW
phone: 206.453.5014

I didn't actually sassy anyone at Bastille. I almost did. The timing wasn't right. I didn't want a bite of the neighbor table's food.

I just didn't. I was perfectly happy with my octopus.

Grilled octopus with argan oil marinated chickpeas, preserved lemon and harissa

Having sampled a mere three dishes at Bastille, I have no place giving an overall assessment of the food, but I can say unequivocally, the grilled octopus is incredible. My little companion is more adventurous than most. Here she is...examining and enjoying an octopus.

A Nod to Jewish and Muslim Foodways in Paris
Interestingly, and, in a rather ethnically inclusive gesture, this menu includes Parisian specialties that are not necessarily "French" in origin. Included are foods that have become native to Paris via Jewish and Muslim immigrant populations. For example, the Jewish section of the Marais in Paris is famous for its falafel and this is reflected in Bastille's tempting falafel with goat's milk yogurt (which I'd like to try on my next visit).

And we see a generous nod to Moroccan cuisine in the dish I am still dreaming about, the grilled octopus. Argan oil is produced in small batches, as far as I know, only in the southwest of Morocco. Of course, chickpeas, preserved lemon and harissa are ubiquitous in Moroccan cuisine.

Argan Oil Goats
I have personally seen the goats climbing argan trees just outside of Tafroute, Morocco. I never would have believed that goats climb trees unless I had seen it with my own eyes. Kitty Morse has a nice article in Saudi Aramco World that includes photos of argan trees and the goats that climb them, here. Traditional argan nut collection methods are rather shocking: precious nuts are collected from the goat-expelled waste on the ground (yes!). But apparently, such traditional methods have since been replaced by direct-from-tree picking rather than from the goat waste. A bit of a relief for those of you who want to RUN to Bastille for a bite of the amazing grilled octopus.

The Atmosphere at Bastille
Yes, as so many reviews say, Bastille is cacophonous, but it is also bustling. It's alive! The owners envisioned a neighborhood hang-out, Parisian style, and have succeeded. Adorning this beautiful space are fixtures and objets d'arte gathered locally and from France. The bar was packed. The tables in the dining section were almost all occupied on a brisk autumn Wednesday evening. Indeed, this was a neighborhood nexus of activity.

The non-Sassy
I did strike up a lovely discussion the neighboring table. We discussed my food. We discussed their food. They took our pictures with my camera. We also discussed non-food related topics, such as public and private education in Seattle, and we even found friends we had in common.

The mother's silver sequins tank top hung seductively off her shoulders as she fingering her pink phone. I couldn't tell of those were false eyelashes or just really effective mascara. The father was wearing a nice suit, and looked neat, lithe and smart. They ordered a sweet bread stew and a flat iron steak with marrow butter. Reports all good. I just didn't feel like sampling their food.

Duck and Greens
We also tried the Duck leg confit with French lentils, bacon and Jerez sherry vinegar. It was rich and hearty. The sauteed greens with garlic (kale, chard, and mustard greens) was intensely lemony. It was good but overpowering. I prefer a taste bitter along side sour, in my greens.

My little companion wanted to try a dessert. We ordered a house-made ice cream and the special of the day: chocolate cognac trifle (chocolate cognac cake layered between whipped cream in a glass).

Both were pretty wonderful, but the trifle brought back a flood of childhood memories. I hate to admit it (and I mean no disrespect to the trifle or its creator), but its flavor was reminiscent of a jello chocolate pudding and whipped cream trifle that my mom used to make back in the 1970's. She layered whipped cream and chocolate jello pudding in tall wine glasses, then stocked them in the fridge. I used to savor every little bite while watching cartoons. The Bastille trifle threw me right back to age four.

Instant Jello Pudding Trifle
I couldn't stop thinking of this sensory bliss, so I had to make some jello pudding trifle at home.

First I whipped the whipping cream and added a little vanilla and sugar.

I wasn't sure if I should use the super instant Jell-O pudding (just add cold milk), or the Cook & Serve Jell-O (just boil a little with milk) variety, so I tried both.

The instant Jell-O flavor was what I remembered. It was much more chocolate-y. Both are a little too sweet, and not nearly as rich and delicious as Bastille's rendition.

I ditched the Cook & Serve version (I burned the bottom anyway) and layered the cold instant pudding alternately with the whipped cream. I used glass drinking glasses because I have only two pretty wine glasses and one of them was in use.

Be forewarned, the chocolate pudding contains red dye. After a day in the fridge, the whipped cream was tinged red. But it all tasted wonderful, nonetheless. Now, go to Bastille and have some octopus and trifle.

Egg Whites in My Cocktails

2009-11-08T18:35:00.000-08:00

In the past few weeks I've sampled cocktails at three trendy and rather lovely Seattle lounges: ART at the Four Seasons, Vessel and Tavern Law. Each offers an interesting assortment of cocktails (some classic recipes and others "signature," innovative concoctions). Call me a cocktail newbie, but the frothy egg whites gave me a huge thrill. Here's what I discovered (with a few minor sassy's along the way too).

ART (At the Four Seasons)

99 Union St, Seattle 206-749-7000

I discovered the Pisco Sour at ART, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. You can see the bitters being very precisely inserted and swirled atop egg whites by the expert mixologist. I was in good hands.

The classic recipe for a pisco sour consists of pisco (a brandy produced in Chile and Peru from distilled muscat grapes) lime juice, simple syrup, egg white and bitters. I ask a ridiculous number of questions, but the mixologist (I'm having a hard time knowing whether to say bartender or mixologist...this venue and type of cocktail seems to call for a mixologist) at ART graciously took the time to explain everything he was doing as he was preparing the cocktails.

Here I am enjoying the snacks as I contemplated the next round being mixologized.

ART has nice snacks. Nice presentation of snacks too. Very important.

There was an opportunity to sassy the mini burgers from the two men next to me at the bar, but I opted out. I did chat with them about the food, and in their opinion the mini-burger trio was pretty good. Here we have a nice view of the last half eaten mini-burger. As you can see, I am not an indiscriminate sassy-er. Many people have questioned me about this...so I'm showing my process here. Had I begun my interaction with this gentleman when the trio of burgers first arrived, I might have considered asking to try one. It is nearly impossible for me to consider sampling a fully picked-over dish, however. And yes, I always test the waters first, and assess the situation before diving in.

I did try some food off of the regular menu (rather than the bar menu or anyone's plate). The gnocchi with truffles, Parmesan and Italian parsley was absolutely lovely. I enjoy classic potato gnocchi (much nicer in texture than the semolina version). This was a luxurious, rich, almost smoky, smooth and decadent dish.

The veal schnitzel with white anchovies, capers, and duck egg was nice too - especially the anchovy-caper tapenade, for a little Mediterranean flair. After doing a little schnitzel research at home, it looks like Scandinavian countries traditionally serve their veal schnitzel with anchovies and capers. I also discovered what is known as the Holstein Schnitzel, which is served as above, with a fried egg, anchovies and capers. You can find the Emeril Legasse recipe here if you're inspired. I may not have been hungry enough, or maybe I just can't seem to enjoy breaded food as much as I once did, but this dish didn't do a whole lot for me. Interestingly, I couldn't detect a difference between the duck egg and standard fried free range chicken eggs. Perhaps my palate is not well trained in the various egg categories yet.

So, then, back to the egg whites in my cocktails...

Vessel
1312 5th Ave, Seattle, WA 98101 (206) 652-0521

Vessel is an urban, sophisticated bar. Patrons looked like professionals and for the most part, it was a thirty to early fifty something crowd. It isn't a warm fuzzy overstuffed couch kind of place, but rather a glass and iron, cool, dim, and trendy kind of place. In celebration of their third birthday, Vessel invited a line up of local celebrity mixologists who designed a special cocktail menu.

The Agricole Sour (below) was featured on this special menu. Instead of being distilled from molasses, agricole rhum is distilled from fresh sugar cane juice. This recipe consisted of Neisson Agricole Blanc, dark falernum, egg white, lemon juce, lime juice, and bitters.

What is falernum? It's a rum, clove, ginger, nutmeg, all spice, and lime concoction. The cocktail was suprisingly dark and complex in flavor and not at all sweet. The frothy egg whites balanced and brightened this cocktail. Yum.

At Vessel, the cocktail menu is sometimes perplexing, but always interesting. I had to ask the server (who was extraordinarily patient and willing to explain every detail of every drink to me) all about falernum and agricole.

Since we are focusing now on the egg white category, I'm also going to point out the Marmalade Sour - currently on the regular Vessel cocktail menu, and also made with egg whites. You can check out images and the recipe on superstar mixologist, Jamie Boudreau's Spirits and Cocktails blog here.

The food menu at Vessel is limited to just a few tapas-sized items such as butternut squash tartlets, tuna tartar, and chorizo sausage with mustard. Here is an after-I-sassied-the-truffle-potato-chips-picture of the neighboring table. The chips were very greasy and strong on the truffle oil. This was a tough sassy. The ladies were OK about letting me try their chips (and even would have let me sample their drinks, I think) but they were not so eager to chat. I also noticed that they only ate about two chips in the hour I was sitting there. Most of the drinks (I didn't try) at Vessel look amazing. The snow cone in the foreground above is very elegant mint julep. The ladies at the truffle chip table next to us let me borrow it for a moment so I could take this picture.

Well, I hung out at the bar a little (the atmosphere was festive because of all the guest mixologists working in honor of the birthday hoopla) and I asked around about other dishes and did a little opinion survey on the potato chips. An attractive woman at the bar, with a black leather jacket and a brand new very dark red manicure (see above) suggested that the potato chips that particular evening were unusually oily, but they were normally much tastier. I trust her. Fair enough.

On to the next egg white cocktails at....

Tavern Law
1406 12th Ave
Seattle (206) 322-9734

Tavern Law is a bit gimmicky with its "secret" upstairs - a second hidden bar inspired by the prohibition era speakeasy. Luckily, the drink and food menu compensate for the borderline cheesy theme. The cocktail menu is made up of a litany of classic period drinks from classic restaurants and bars. The revival of the speakeasy aesthetic and mood is a current trend in urban bars (from martinis served in tea cups or ceramic mugs, secret doors and sign-less entrances, to "old" wood and brick interiors). The New York Times even mentions Tavern Law in its recent piece on prohibition drinking and the recent re-birth of the faux speakeasy. In anycase Tavern Law is interesting and offers some unusual cocktails and a knowledgeable and committed staff.

Below is Vessel's rendition of the Clover Club cocktail, first served at the famed New York Waldorf Astoria hotel in 1935. The Clover Club consists of gin, lemon, raspberry syrup and egg whites.

Other pretty cocktails at Vessel and an example of the hand-written food menu (bottom left hand corner):

The cocktail menu is printed, but the food menu changes often and is written only on a blackboard or on a slip of paper by hand.

The service here goes above and beyond. It is outstanding. My uber picky self was bothered by the little shards of ice floating about in my Clover Club cocktail. They were destoying the smooth egg whites and distracting me from the flavor of my drink. But, before I could get too worked up about it, the bartender (this title seems more appropriate at a speakeasy) passed by and asked if everything was OK, and I mentioned that I wasn't enjoying the drink and why, and he immediately brought his straining equipment to the table and took care of business, straining each drink with great care. Then he sat and explained all about egg whites and drinks and the menu and and and...! For the next round, I asked for a pisco sour (since I was still dreaming of ART), and this lovely man enthusiastically brought me the house Pisco brandy at Tavern Law.

And here is the lovely bartender/mixologist (what did they call bartenders at a speakeasy?), posing with the chalk board menu behind him. That truffle risotto is pretty good. The beet salad with candied cashews was amazing and much more interesting that the far too common beet salad with goat cheese on every menu these days. The foie gras with angostura jelly was nice too.

I look forward to returning to sample more cocktails at Tavern Law, ART and Vessel...and I especially look forward to another stunning Pisco Sour at ART.

Bakery Nouveau: Breaking Bread (and still in search of a Cheese Danish)

2009-10-30T17:14:00.000-07:00

www.bakerynouveau.com
4737 California Ave SW, Seattle 98116-4412 (206) 923-0534

It was a fine morning. Almost sunny in Seattle. Brisk. I was still looking for a good cheese danish. Maybe this would be the day. (Well, it wasn't, although I discovered some unexpected gastronomic surprises. The "sassy" comes later, so scroll down if that is what you're after).

We walked into Bakery Nouveau and were instantly surrounded by a palpable cloud of warm, fragrant croissant mist. A beautiful feeling. I systematically examined the long case of chocolates truffles, cakes, breads and flaky pastries, and then began my series of requests for recommendations to anyone who would listen to them. The nice hipster boy behind the counter provided me with his personal favorites in various categories.

Twice-Baked Chocolate Almond Croissant
In the flaky sweet pastry category, he suggested trying Bakery Nouveau's signature pastry: the twice baked chocolate-almond croissant. Dense with butter, but crunchy in all the right places, this creation reminded me of gnawing off the crispy, textured edges around the top of a muffin (aka muffin-tops) - always the best part.

What sets the twice-baked croissant apart from other almond croissants? This thing is filled with REAL ground almonds, not almond extract flavored pre-bought pasty gunk. I couldn't detect even a hint of that too-strong cheater's almond extract. Don't get me wrong. There isn't anything wrong with the frugal and diplomatic use of almond extract, but the copious amount used in some baked goods (local almond biscotti, case in point) often makes me literally nauseous. More good points: the chocolate in the twice-baked croissant is deep in flavor, ample, and not waxy or chunky. Note the generous ribbon of chocolate splayed over the croissant top (above). This was like a chocolate-almond-sugar-butter par-tay.

Plum Danish
The helpful and patient man behind the counter went into a long explanation at my request, of what twice-baked actually means: already baked croissants - perhaps day-old, but he didn't say that - are literally opened up and stuffed with the necessary chocolate/almond combo and re-baked). He also recommended the plum danish. I was convinced to try the plum danish when he revealed that pastry cream was hiding beneath the fruit. The mauve, peeled, half-plum in the center was seductive, delicious, and sweetly sour.

What I didn't like was the hard crunchy sugar sprinkled on top of that lovely plum. My eating companion agreed that the sweet crunch did nothing to enhance the fruit, but instead distracted from its lovely texture and juicy flavor. The pastry cream underneath already provided plenty of sweetener. A bit more of that cream would have been nice... Perhaps it was a fluke, but the pastry itself was too dark for my taste - a few seconds over-baked. Too brown. I know. It's nit-picky, but Chef William Leary is supposed to be the best of the best, the creme de la creme of pastry baking with all kinds of accolades and awards. But awards shm-awards: product should speak for itself. I admit, at this point, I was having thoughts of Besalu's nectarine frangipan danish! You can see that important discussion here.

Quiche
Besalu on the brain, I thought I should do a bit of comparison tasting. Here's the mini quiche Lorraine (also recommended by the cute guy behind the counter, and I went with it because it's a classic. Well, and also, because of the B-52's song, which you can listen to here. Quiche Lorraine is traditionally made of eggs, cream, smoked bacon and cheese. I really enjoyed this little quiche. There were no actually bits of bacon, but a nice bold bacon flavor permeated the filling, and the crust was GREAT. It was thin, and didn't flake all over my lap or detract me from what shoud be the focus of the quiche, the egg-cream-bacon-cheese filling. Besalu's crust got in the way of eating - it was too dense and super flaky. This crust was subtle - artful. Pleasant.

The "Sassy"
At this point, we were stuffed. As I was bussing our table, I walked by a kind-looking gentleman with a beautiful olive fougasse laying prostrate on his table. I said, "That looks delicious," and he said, "yes, it's great. Would you like a bite?" - just like that!

And, of course, I said "yes! Yes I would!" I broke off a piece of the beautiful flat, braided bread. Wow. I confess, I didn't expect to be as impressed as I was. It was crispy and chewy on the outside, and soft but substantive on the inside, with a nice olive-saltiness. A fougasse is traditionally made with baguette dough, and apparently Bakery Nouveau bakes two varieties: a laminated version (layers of buttered baguette dough) and a regular version.

Come to find out after we chatted for a while, I had just broken bread with a pastor! Cliff introduced himself as a "lay pastor" at a local West Seattle church. After explaining "sassy food" to him, he was tremendously receptive to my food-sharing efforts as a means to engage with and connect with other humans. In fact, Bakery Nouveau even suggests on their website that one of the purposes of their bakery is "building community one bite at a time." I gave Cliff my card and he promised to email me, which he promptly did! He recently had some interesting adventures in Montenegro. His interest in food took him to a remote village where he discovered traditional prosciutto and cheese production there, and established relationships with people over food, much in the same way. He shared is pictures with me via email.

To Go
I shook hands with Cliff and we said goodbye. Butter was oozing from my pores, but my dining companion and I grabbed a few items to go, so we could continue the taste testing later. I picked up a cheese danish, a mini caramel apple tart, a slice of chocolate cake, and an assortment of Parisian macarons (since they are all the rage and I have yet to try one I like).

Cheese Danish: not so good. Tasted vaguely plastic-y, especially on the bottom. I'm disappointed.

Apple Tart was a BIG disappointment. Too sweet. Caramel was just goopy sugary stuff underneath the glazed apple slices.

The chocolate cake was good. A strong good. It was moist with a creamy, mousse filling that complements instead of battles with the rich chocolate cake.

I have come to the conclusion that I just don't like Parisian macarons.

Maybe I just don't get them. I would be happy if someone could help me appreciate what they are all about. Yes, I think they are pretty. Usually macarons are displayed together as a pretty pastel palate of lavender, mint green, baby pink, light yellow, and chocolate brown. Occasionally they are bright, as in bright pink. Despite being very pretty, every macaron I have had thus far, including Nouveau's, are far too sweet. The interesting flavors (like espresso, quince, passion fruit) are lost to me through all that sweet. Maybe if I tried the green tea adzuki macarons that use real butter blogger, Jen Yu, made, I'd feel differently. You can see her over-the-top-with-the-trend yet gorgeous efforts for the daring baker challenge here. She is truly an artist with the camera, and I don't doubt that her macarons taste pretty great as well.

Final Assessment
Olive Fougasse Bread = great, especially broken with Cliff

Twice Baked Croissant = great if you are in the mood for super rich, heavy crusty chocolate-y almond-y pastry

Chocolate Cake = nice, rich, moist, and layered with mousse. good stuff.

Quiche Lorraine= good crust, pretty good but slightly too creamy filling

Plum Danish = ok ...or good, if you're hungry

Cheese Danish = not good

Apple Caramel Tart = yuck

Macarons = double yuck (and probably my problem - in my opinion these should just be used as decoration)

Cafe Besalu - In Search of Cheese Danish in Seattle

2009-10-14T18:16:00.000-07:00

5909 24th Ave NW, Seattle, WA 98107

(206) 789-1463 Hours: Wed-Sun 7-3

I made the trip to Besalu in Ballard seeking cheese danish. When I think cheese danish, this is what I think of (courtesy of the lovely Pink Stripes blog). Sadly, I did not find my dream cheese danish at Besalu, but instead found a beautiful plum danish with frangipan. Not at all what I'd been craving, but heck, this was the dance of the sugar plum fairies on pastry. With a light dough and a moist center, this danish struck that difficult balance between dense and lusciously light and sweet. The almond padded plums were divine (see below, left corner).

While I was savoring my little bites of heaven and enjoying the very nice, almost-strong-enough espresso (Lighthouse Coffee), I eyed the two plates of spinach quiche at the neighboring table. I asked how the quiche was, and both ladies raved and raved and raved and raved ... not only about their spinach quiche, but about many of the pastries at Besalu. They introduced themselves as Kelly and Misty and explained that they make special trips, across opposite bodies of water, to meet up at Besalu for buttery bites together.

So....I tried Misty's quiche, and as I was attempting to delicately extract a bite with my clean spoon she insisted that I make my bite larger. She said something like, "you need to take a bigger bite, a REAL bite...get some crust too..." Wow, I thought! OK! So, I enlarged my bite - yes I did! And, indeed, it was very good spinach quiche. The crust was light, layered, flaky and buttery. The filling was also light and fluffy but filled with spinach and topped lightly with cheese. This is not your average paperweight-style re-heated lump-of-egg and heavy-tasteless-cheese quiche. I have to admit that I wasn't dying over the bite. I like my savories less flaky, although I recognize that this quiche sets itself apart, texturally and aesthetically. It did look lovely. By now I had croissant-like flakes all over my lap.

Anyway...Misty and Kelly were kind, energetic, interesting, engaging, and extremely generous. They asked me not to take their photographs, but they did liberally share conversation, pastry recommendations and goddess cards. I picked Bast (I always knew of the Ancient Egyptian cat goddess as "Bestat"). The card read "Your independence is a foundation for your strength and success." The Bast entry in the accompanying booklet told me, more or less, to act more like a cat: to seek play, to act independently, to be self reliant now, to pursue projects on my own.

As I look into Bast/Bastet a bit more, I see, according to Wikipedia, that Bastet fittingly means female devourer (yeah, of pastries and other people's food...)! Perfect. Serendipitous, even.

Here is my grown-up (in human years )dining companion reading the booklet entry on Ishtar, the goddess he chose. Ishtar is all about boundaries. The quiche is in the background. I guess my independence is pushing me to cross boundaries and eat at other people's tables.

We tried many other pastries - some fantastic. Others, less so.

The checkerboard shortbread was buttery and rich in chocolate, but a little grainy. To my great dismay, the hazelnut twist impressed me the least. Hazelnut and dark chocolate is a personal favorite pairing -a common combo in France and Germany, but little seen on US territory. This twist had me intrigued, but on first bite: I tasted only bread and orange. The flavor of hazelnut was lost under all that orange, and a certain amount of sugar-sweet brings out hazelnut flavors. This twist was almost savory and far too bread-y. Bummer.

We had to get a second checkerboard shortbread because my grown-up companion sampled the first checkerboard cookie before knowing that my littler companion had already laid claim to it. When she noticed the missing corner chunk she was mortified enough to spend 15 minutes standing in the out-the-door and growing, Sunday-morning, customer line for an unblemished cookie.

Luckily other kind standers-in-line held her spot as she darted back and forth between our table and her place in line. Besalu is a little gem of a bakery - a friendly, wholesome, bread-baking-in the oven, neighborhood bakery, but of a world-class caliber. See, Besalu's pastry chef, James Miller, was nominated as a semi-finalist for the James Beard Outstanding Pastry Chef Award for 2009.

As I hovered in the back, asking celebrity pastry-maker James Martin a series of most likely annoying questions as he tried to work, he mentioned to me that he would soon be bringing apples from his orchard in to the cafe. So, let it be known that apple-quince pastries are in the works for the near future. As we were sipping the last of our coffee and dusting the flakes off our clothes, a tray of beautiful plum tarts came out of the oven. Here they are before they were even put out in the pastry case.

Other pastries we sampled: The Pear Galette was a big favorite. Light, uncomplicated by any distracting flavors, and truly amazing. The nectarine-cheese danish: lacking in creamy umph and a tangy bite. Boring.

I left Besalu wondering if really, this was one of the best pastry in the country? Could it really be? Well, I left with the resolve to continue my prowl around town for a decent cheese danish. But I may just have to return again for another plum-frangipan danish or a plum tart. At this rate, and based on reports, I may not find a better danish anywhere this side of the Mississippi.

Cafe Campagne

2009-10-06T12:28:00.000-07:00

Cafe Campagne

www.compagnerestaurant.com

1600 Post Alley at Pine
Seattle, WA 98101
(206) 728-2233

This place is great. It is provincial-style French food in the Pike Place Market. People rave about Cafe Campagne, so, since I am so often disappointed by other people's favorites, I went in with low expectations. However, from the start to the finish of my experience, everything was wonderful. Plus, it was one of those almost hot September days in Seattle (yes, I know, I'm most likely violating some sort of food-reviewer's protocol by waiting more than 2 weeks to post my review - please forgive), and I was reveling in the last bit of real sunshine before the grey autumn chill.

First off, I was quickly seated on the patio outside at a lovely four-person, table-clothed table, despite being all alone. That was nice. I'm annoyed by the condescending games some hot spots play. The restaurant might be eerily empty, but the staff can't find a single place for you to sit, and then they sneer at you as though you should have known better than to show up without a reservation. Granted, I had arrived at Cafe Campagne at that awkward time between lunch and happy hour. Most places don't have hundreds of reservations for 3:40. Regardless, the hostess was gracious and the server was even more so.

I should probably also mention that upon entry, I was greeted by a lovely bouquet of sunflowers and a menu bathed in light. The entry was clean and lovely.

I also appreciated the fact that the servers poured drinking water from glass pitchers without ice. There was no ice! I repeat: the water was room temperature and beautiful. I even confirmed that the absence of ice was intentional. Refreshing not to have to ask for "water no ice" for a change.

Well, I had an hour to kill and I was hungry. It was almost 4 P.M. Happy hour at Cafe Campagne starts at 4, and it looks wonderful. For only $2 you get a hefty Petite Burger D'Agneau (Small lamb burger served with balsamic onions and aïoli on gougère) and $1 for the Pâté Sandwich (Country-style pork and chicken liver pâté on gougère).One very nice feature of Cafe Campagne is that you need not order a full glass of wine, but may order3 oz. wine "tastes" for a few dollars. During happy hour these "tastes" are half off.

Alas, I ordered off of the lunch menu because I didn't have time to wait for happy hour to start. On the server's recommendation, I ordered the Pâté de Campagne (country-style pork and liver pâté with traditional garnishes) and a nice glass of dry white wine. The garnishes included little mini pickles (cornichon), a generously sized and well dressed mixed green salad, two types of mustard, black and green provencal olives (you can see them peeking out from under the onions in the lower picture), and several slices of pickled onion. I was also served a lovely little baguette with a beautiful clean triangular pat of unsalted butter. This was a meal.

I finished off my wine and a good portion of the lovely, rich hearty pâté. Then, I had to go...so I asked for the bill and collected my things.

As I was leaving I befriended a neighbor. He comes to Cafe Compagne every year from Chicago. He loves it. He ordered and loved the Calamar à la Provençal (Squid sautéed with olive oil, garlic, parsley, capers and lemon), which had been on my mind since looking at the menu.

The "sassy" came as I was walking away, up the alley. I turned to get a final shot of the patio, and two gentlemen asked if they were in the picture. You can see them, behind the Vespa scooter.

So, I came back and said that they were, and could I please take another shot. They said, "Sure."

Then, I walked up to their table and chatted with them for a moment, asking how their meal had been. I explained that I had just eating a few tables down, but was on my way. They explained that everything had been delicious, and WOULD I LIKE A BITE OF THEIR FOOD?

Why yes, I said. (This is sassy at its best - when I don't even have to ask!)

They handed me a piece of what looked like ricotta and bacon pizza (see the hand, above, coming towards me...), but on the menu is described as Tarte flambée (Savory bacon and onion tarte). It wasn't hot out of the oven, so I'm giving the tarte the benefit of the doubt. It was really just ok. Dough-y. No bright flavors of which to report. Bacon was flat. Onions flat. Tasted a lot like a drier version of one of Pagliacci's no tomato sauce ricotta cheese pizzas. I also tasted their Pommes Frites (french fries), which had also lost some of their luster, sitting outside, now, for half an hour or maybe more ( you can see them hiding under a napkin on the left).

Although these sassied bites were fun, they weren't the most tantalizing, gastronomically speaking. Meeting these two charming gentlemen, both in the health care industry in the New York City area, was the highlight of this sassy experience, and worth the effort. They were in Seattle for a conference and both were full of life and humor. My yearnings to return to NYC re-stimulated, I said goodbye and considered how much I enjoy how bites of food facilitate meetings such as these.

Ethel's Chocolate - Las Vegas!!!

2009-09-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

Ethel's Chocolates
http://www.ethelschocolate.com/

Ethel's Chocolates are visually seductive, and for this reason they deserve mention. Sexy, trendy, and a little bit sassy, some of these chocolates actually taste pretty good too. Ethel's Chocolates is named for Ethel Mars, the mother of Forrest Mars (the candy magnate who "invented" M&M's and Mars bars). Owned by Mars Inc., Ethel's Chocolate factory is located just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada, and offers taste tours for those who want to sample the goods.

It was Sunday insanity at the Las Vegas airport. Everyone was on their way out after a weekend of sleepless debauchery. We were jostled and pushed about with the swarms of other traveling bodies, and found our way, eventually, to our gate. A quick search for some snacks to complement Southwest's in-flight service of ginger ale and crackers brought us to a slick outlet for these handsome chocolates.

Somewhere between Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf , Sbarro, Starbucks, and a generic sandwich stand, was the oasis of Ethel's Chocolates. We slipped in and away from the buzzing crowd and ogled the pretty pretty chocolates in the pretty pretty glass case. One piece for $2, or twelve of your choice in a little box for $16, and so on. The savings continued as you increased the number of chocolates in the box. The workers kept rattling off the savings in dollars. We chose sixteen, and half of them the kind with the hipster retro graphics, supposedly filled with something alcoholic.

I wasn't expecting these things to taste like much, but some of them were pretty good. There were a few, though, that weren't so good. According to the website, Ethel's chocolates are designed by Jin Caldwell, a former pastry chef for Wynn-Las Vegas and the Bellagio Hotel. To me, however, the chocolates are mostly about presentation. The little retro graphics are masterful, but fillings and flavors aren't consistently great. Overall, the chocolate is a bit waxy, but kudos for all the dark chocolate!

The lemon meringue (above) is fairly great: tangy, lemony along side dark chocolate. The balance is nice, if you are a lemon meringue pie person. The Etheltini is delicious with a chocolat-y vodka creamy middle.

The Lemon Drop (with the lemon wedge above), is pretty good, not too sweet, but can't taste the vodka at all. The Chocolapolitan (labeled "Cosmo", which they claimed was a vodka chocolate cosmopolitan), was pretty good, but all of these supposedly liquor filled chocolates are a far cry from their European counterparts (think the German Asbach Uralt brandy filled chocolates that can actually get you tipsy). I could only taste the alchohol if I closed my eyes and tried really hard. So, on the plus side, these alcohol-filled chocolates are kid friendly!

The perfecto mohito (see the graphic of the green drink above) just sucked. Strange sour lemon lime and mint flavors and icky sweet. I couldn't even finish my 1/3 of a piece ration (morsels were divvied three ways for taste testing).

There were many many flavors, shapes and permutations of these chocolates that I didn't buy or sample, so I can't comment on the cabernet wine or the champagne chocolates, or the many truffles and brittles available at Ethel's. In any case, these chocolates would make great gifts for someone who isn't overly discerning about their chocolate, but who enjoys a visual feast.

And... there are Ethel's lounges in Las Vegas (one in the Flamingo Hotel) where one can sip coffee and other beverages on plush couches while eating vodka chocolates. Might be a fun diversion from the slots.

Txori Bar

2009-09-27T00:55:00.000-07:00

Txori Bar

2207 2nd Ave

Seattle, WA 98121-2016

(206) 204-9771

http://www.txoribar.com//

We had the amazing fortune to sit at a table next to the folks that make Txori possible! Pictured above: the general manager (cool do and glasses), the pastry chef (looking sassy and awestruck), the office manager (sassy pink skirt) and the chef (hat peeking out) - and that's me in the back, all fuzzy. It wasn't a full-on "sassy." We only sampled some dessert from their table (ironically enough these Txori insiders were eating an elaborate smorgasbord of cupcakes from the Yellow Leaf Cupcake Company, located around the corner. This group was apparently tired of their own insanely amazing desserts). Throughout the evening, however, this friendly group also offered us fabulous menu suggestions, and they tolerated all of my incessent questions and musings with humor and patience... (e.g. "what do you like on the menu? ...what's that?...look at this!...etc.).

Here's the view towards the front door from our table:

My dining companion was only seven years old. Although this is a rather sophisticated and elegant Basque inspired tapas joint, we both enjoyed it. Fun finger food. Excellent service. Pleasant atmosphere.

We started out with drinks. She ordered sprite on the rocks and I ordered a campari and soda.

We sandwiched ourselves between two other tables, so that I could ogle their food and ask opinions of our aforementioned neighbors. They raved about the stuffed squid in its ink on fried bread (calamares en su tinta ), so I ordered it. I am also partial to cured anchovies, so I ordered that too.

Below is the squid:

The anchovies:

As you can see, the format is somewhat like sushi. Something on top of a bite and a half sized piece of bread. This makes eating bites off of other people's plates difficult.

The middle aged couple at the table to the other side of us were eating a plate of mushrooms, a plate of meatballs, and then later the braised oxtail tartlet. The tartlet looked like scrumptious morsels of meat wrapped in filo dough. Flaky and buttery. However, this couple was not as approachable as the Txori all-star insider table. When I asked how the mushrooms and meatballs were, hoping that maybe I could move in for a taste, the gentleman turned to me and explained that the mushrooms were "amazing and mind-blowing" and that I "had to order them."

Well, this is the point at which I would normally say "can I have a bite?" However, with him I hesitated, because, as much as I like getting to know people, socializing and sharing food, I also don't want to ruffle feathers or butt in when I'm not wanted. Sometimes you just know, and anyway, I was already getting the death stare from the gentleman's female companion. She was nice enough, but wouldn't talk. So....I backed off and ate my squid in its ink, which was exquisite, warm, tender, and fresh:

I also ordered those meatballs that Kent, the fabulous waiter, suggested I order for my little companion who he thought would love them. Made of veal and pork, these meatballs were incredible. Swimming in just enough beautiful rich sauce, I could have eaten about 20 of these things.She loved them too.

Kent was pretty fab all around. I ambled up to the bar to watch the chefs, look at the case (set up much like a sushi bar) and ask questions. I spotted a small green stuffed thing which looked unusual, so I asked the busy chef what it was. He shot me an annoyed look and told me it was a "date". Well, I know enough to know a date when I see one, so I turned to Kent, who clarified that it was in fact NOT a date. The kitchen staff were messing with me, and in true-to-form kitchen staff tradition, behaved like gnarly smart asses. Kent kindly answered questions, explained specials, and somehow by the time I got back to my table I had ordered a savory cone of cream and anchovies, supposedly a classic Basque snack. Not sure how I feel about this one. Sounded interesting in theory. Was very pretty when they arrived at the table, but harder to eat.

Kent also managed to add more St. Germain (elderflower blossom liqueur) to my cocktail when I told him I could only taste the cava rosada, a sparkling Spanish wine but mostly the orange soda. As pretty as this drink was, the taste was rather bland and heavy on the orange, even with the extra splash of St. Germain. Not as heavenly as described by here by Cornichon. Note the bottle of still water behind my drink (no throat numbing ice...hip hip hooray!).

But...our server's most wonderful contribution to my experience that night was his dessert recommendation: olive oil cake. I must have cringed, because he offered to pay for it if I didn't like it. How do you pass up an offer like that? I was sure I would hate it, because I'm not often impressed with dessert to begin with, and olive oil in a sweet cake sounded too strong. I ordered the chocolate mousse as a back up. You can see the mousse on the left (much better, by the way, than Cafe Press chocolate mousse) and the olive oil cake nestled against a dollop of crème fraîche on the right. This olive oil cake was a moist, rich, not too sweet, wine-soaked, masterpiece.

Thinking myself lucky to have the pastry chef right next to me, I asked her how in the world she made it...."lots of wine and lots of sugar..." The next day I tried to make one and I used lots of wine and lots of sugar, but mine tasted nutty and yeasty and border-line yucky. If you go to Txori for nothing else, go for a coffee and olive oil cake. You will not be disappointed. Peace out.

SPECIAL RECIPE EDITION: Almost Gluten Free Plum Tart

2009-09-17T16:08:00.000-07:00

Almost Gluten-Free Plum Tart

A lovely friend of the family gave me a big bag of Italian plums, so I made a couple of almost gluten-free tarts.

I do not have celiac's disease (as far as I know), but I avoid gluten and challenge myself to bake gluten-light, and/or gluten free. If you are gluten intolerant or allergic, you can use rice or millet flour instead of spelt flour. Spelt is actually very low in gluten, but it is not gluten-free. As a general rule, I also bake without cow's milk, but I do use butter.

This recipe is loosely adapted from a combination of recipes I no longer have on paper, but can vaguely call up from memory, and a couple that I found on the web: one from (glutinous) Epicurious and one from Gluten Free in South Africa.

RECIPE
This recipe makes enough dough for two 9 inch tarts. Preheat oven to 425. Important note: When you use flour that is gluten free, or almost gluten free, I recommend using a tart pan with a removable bottom if you want to easily cut pieces that stay in tact. Gluten free crusts crumble and disintegrate easily.

Tart Pastry Dough
2 cups white rice flour

1 cup white spelt flour (or a gluten free flour: millet, rice, quinoa, etc.)
1 stick plus 3 Tbsp unsalted butter cut into small 1/2 inch pieces (very cold or frozen)
1/3 cup organic sugar
2 packets of vanilla sugar (I brought these back from Germany, but you can probably find them in a European import store)
pinch of sea salt
4 egg yolks
1/3 cup almond or rice milk

Filling
4 pounds of Italian plums (or a big bowl full), pitted and quartered
2 Tablespoons cornstarch
3/4 cup sugar + 2 packets of vanilla sugar (or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract)
Juice from half a large lemon

Preparation
Dough: Put the flour, sugar, salt and butter in a large bowl. I don't have a food processor, so I use two sharp knives and I cut the flour-butter mixture with one knife in each hand, chop chop chop, alternating hands, bringing the knives toward you until the little lumps are the size of breadcrumbs. This takes some time, but it's fun. Now, mix in the yolks with a big wooden spoon or your hands. I just use my hands. Much more efficient. Slowly mix in the milk, 2 tablespoons at a time until you can form the dough into a firm smooth ball that is not sticky. Divide the ball into two balls and set aside, or refrigerate until you're ready to bake. You can keep the pastry dough wrapped in plastic for several days in the fridge or frozen for a week or two. When you're ready, push the dough into the bottom of the pie pan with your fingers, spreading to cover bottom and sides. You may need to redistribute it a bit to cover all surfaces. Now, you're ready for the filling!

Filling: Mix quartered plums with cornstarch, sugar, vanilla and lemon juice. Allow 10-30 minutes for sugar to dissolve and juices to flow and mingle. Arrange plums in a circle, skin down, starting from the outer edges of the tart pan. Pointy end towards the center. Layer the next circle on top of the first. Keep creating circles until you fill the pan and cover up all the pastry. Pour juices from the filling mixture on top of the tart.

Bake: Bake at 425 for the first 15 minutes. Reduce to 350 for 30-40 minutes. Crust should be golden and plums bubbly. Allow to cool for at least a half hour.

Enjoy with coffee or tea!

44 Degrees North and BlueWater Bistro

2009-09-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

BluWater Bistro (South Lake Union)
http://www.bluwaterbistro.com/loc_lu.php
1001 Fairview N
Seattle WA 98109
(206) 447.0769

....and 44 degrees North Vodka
http://rockymountainvodka.com/index.cfm

This place, the BluWater Bistro (note the spelling of "Blu") is good for one thing, and one thing only: a quick drink on a sunny day to satisfy the need for a little sun on a crowded frat-partyesque patio, and if you like watching seaplanes land, that too. But this is not a final destination. This is where you stop on your way to someplace else. I happened to be there for happy hour the other day. Waitresses were as sweet and accommodating as can be, but also as skanky as they come - hair freshly dyed, with plenty of spray-on-tanned skin showing. Bartenders seemed freshly California, half high, or just stooopid, but, you know, super-friendly. The plastic removable leg on the outdoor plastic table spontaneously fell off as we sat there sipping away. Table even tipped over. Drinks spilled. The place is a mess. However, I discovered a new-to-me potato vodka in the process, and so, despite the BluWater, this discovery blissed me out.

Normally I don't go in for flavored or infused vodkas, but the surfy-dude bartender pointed out a potato vodka grown and raised in Idaho – a choice of either wild huckleberry or Rainier cherry infused. He pointed out this special little cocktail item on the menu: Cherry-Chocolate Press, described as Idaho potato-vodka infused with carob and Rainier Cherries, mixed with soda and sprite. OK. A yummy cherry chocolate soda! A perfect drink for this bubble gum Tiki paradise. I tried it. It was fine – and rather luscious to look at, with fresh cherries bobbing around in the glass with the ice - but it was watered down by all that sprite, and I really just wanted a straight shot of that vodka stuff. So I marched over to a different wingy bartender and asked for a taste straight up. Without hesitation, he poured me a mini shot. Zingy. Cherry. But not over the top. Not exactly smooth as silk, but with a nice zip and flavor, especially in contrast to the watered down sprite-filled “cocktail” I had out sitting out on the patio.

Steve Body of the Seattle Examiner gives 44 degrees North infused vodkas a thumbs-up in his recent review of potato vodkas. Sadly, he neglects my own personal potoato favorites, Koenig (also an Idaho potato vodka…with lovely vanilla underlay http://www.idahopotatovodka.com/vodka/) and Chopin, the best Polish potato vodka money can buy. If you want to check out Body’s incomplete and rather generous potato vodka review: http://www.examiner.com/x-14279-Seattle-Spirits-Examiner~y2009m6d22-QPR-drinks-for-summer-Consider-the-humble-potato

The half-hour BluWater jaunt was worth the table spills and light classic hits.

Now, I’m on a mini mission to try 44 Degree North's Huckleberry extravaganza.

Cafe Presse

2009-05-14T16:37:00.000-07:00

Café Presse

www.cafepresseseattle.com
1117 12th Ave Seattle, WA 98122
(206) 709-7674

At Café Presse the tables are so damn close together, it is hard to squeeze between them to get to your seat. Peering over the shoulder of your immediate neighbors and ogling their food just happens - whether intentional or not. It is bustling and loud. Soccer games are screened here regularly. The menu is written in French. It is fancy-ass in an understated Euro way. So....as usual, I resolve to spend under $25, try other people's food, and interact. This time around, I met up with my writer friend,Wendy (see above: sassy yellow shirt and her comments to follow in
grape), for lunch-time nibbles. She had already secured the strategic corner table in the front room, when I arrived, and we ordered two lovely Betons, (a cocktail made with tonic and Becherovka, a Czech liqueur...one of these digestive bitters with 32 or more herbs...). Becherovka isn't as bitter as Campari (the electric red Italian one) or Cynar (the artichoke one, also Italian). Bitters are the hip genre at Cafe Presse. Try to tell the waitstaff that you're too cool for bitters and see them sneer down their nose rings at you. We were a little concerned when the waitress informed us that today was the bartender's first day of duty, but luckily Betons are a snap and we were able to instruct him. Wendy and I were ecstatically engaged in conversation, not having seen each other for a while (and having the sorts of complicated lives that require frequent updating of friends as well as libations). The server, unusually forgiving (some waitstaff at Presse are snarky and impatient) having given up on the possibility of us actually ordering food, I think, told us about the desserts. She described the strawberry pot de crème as heavenly, and to support this claim, mentioned that the couple at the next table had just ordered it.

BUT, we decided on something savory instead of sweet and ordered the gateau au foie de volaille ("Smooth chicken liver terrine, dried cherry compote" - see image below), and continued to ponder drinks, round two. You may suspect it was all about the drinks for us, and truly for me, that's part of the appeal of sassy food. I'm not rich. Roxanne and I wanted two drinks apiece and we wanted to try more than the chicken liver. Can you fault us? I have to admit, I was hesitant about the whole thing. I admire Roxanne's finesse, but I am not nearly as bold. I love reading about her sassy adventures, but how would it go over for a more reserved sort, like me? I worried it would be awkward. Maybe "our prey" would say no. Maybe they would begrudgingly say yes , and we would sample in uncomfortable silence. Maybe they would insist the server toss us out of the restaurant (and I might add, Roxanne says if it comes to that, which it never has, she's okay with it...). Could we get away with Betons on the sidewalk? And what's the difference between pulling a sassy on the sidewalk and being a bum? Anyhow, then...

The neighbors' pot de crème arrived and I asked them if it was good (I steeled myself, here it comes...). They replied that it was BETTER than good. That it was perfect and beautiful, far surpassing the mousse. (Oh! Here it comes! Now! No!) My cue to sassy them......... "Can I try some?" The man had ordered this bowl of creamy white stuff and he said (.....after possibly the slightest flicker of hestitation or register of surprise), "Sure."

Immediately, his gorgeous friend, who had ordered the mousse au chocolat with whipped cream, offered up a bite of hers, not to be outdone, I suppose.

The strawberry pot de crème, was fine. It was firm and set. It was delicious, as cream tends to be. It was smooth, sweet, creamy, luscious. Cream is cream, after all. Faint strawberry flavor and glumps of strawberry in there too. OK. It was worth a bite or two, but I'm not going to unabashedly recommend it.

The chocolate mousse, had no depth of flavor, no soul. It was just a no-nonsense, rather sad fluffy sweet blob of whipped chocolate stuff on the plate, next to the blob of perfectly fine whipped cream. We all four came to that agreement, I think. Pot de creme - good enough (for some of us, really good, opinions varied). Chocolate Mousse - nothing special.

Once, a long time ago, say a year, at Cafe Presse, I had a chocolate cake along side a couple of these blobs of whipped cream. I've never forgotten that cake. I loved that cake. That cake killed me. I continue to think about that cake quite often. I've never seen it there again. I'm suspicious that it was made with whipped egg whites instead of the standard baking powder rising agent, because it was smooth, delicious, spongy, rich, and yet simple. Cafe Presse can certainly get dessert right, but today, neither of these did diddly squat for me. But...what was lacking in our bites, we made up for by way of social interaction with our fellow eaters - our tastees. And this is when I converted to sassiness. I had gotten over the ease in which samples were offered up, but what really astonished me was how the act of food sharing allowed for further (non-forced) intimacies between us. We laughed together about the very act of asking a fellow diner for food. The woman confided she has a friend who successfully asks strangers for sips of drinks and told us about her own concoction, a drink we will merely call p.j. Her companion advised us on our next drink choices. Our waitress, rather than bristling at this unusual food-sharing intimacy seemed completely approving, ready to sit down with us if given the cue. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt other diners were taking note and actually feeling a little left out. They were certainly watching us with interest. Perhaps we were just having a slightly better time than one generally has there.

You can see from the above picture, how well acquainted we all were by the end of the lunch hour(s). You can see us displaying the aforementioned desserts. Immediately following the snapping of the pic, Wendy and I shared our chicken liver terrine with our new friends. The terrine is lovely. Smooth, full, creamy - that savory fat satisfies the palate. I think the French nutritionist, Besnard, who theorizes a 6th type of taste bud, the fat responder, is right. (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4399584.stm) There is nothing quite like the feel of sweet or salty fat in the mouth (think potato chips, chicken skin, ice cream, cookie dough)...fundamentally (dare I say), gratifying. The fatty rich melds with and complements the strong sharp mustard. Skip the cherries. They don't work.

A little mustard, a little smooth terrine, and a little bit of bread. Mmmm. Winter fat stores. And I was glad that Roxanne neglected the cornichons, all the more for me and such a nice foil for the creamy richness of the liver.
(Image of the chicken liver terrine taken at Cafe Presse's sister restaurant, Le Pichet, courtesy of http://blog.foodista.com/)

Over the course of sharing the chicken liver, we got to know a little more about our new friends. The chocolate mousse eater owns a daycare off Eastlake, and has developed a nice, wine-drinking community surrounding it. The pot de creme-er works for Monsieur Tom Douglas at Dahlia Lounge. His cocktail expertise helped make up for the bartender's lack thereof. She throws spectacular parties with creative naughty cocktails (as does Roxanne!), and so we traded recipes.

Our server was infinitely accommodating as we perused the drink menu and dilly-dallied deciding what drinks to order for round two. Finally, though tempted by Strega, a sweet Italian digestif composed of 70 different herbs and yellow from its saffron, but uncertain as to how to guide the bartender into making a satisfactory cocktail out of it, I chose the bitter old standby, Campari and soda . I wanted to try a St. Germain cocktail (St. Germain is a French liqueur made with elderflower, in a fancy bottle - http://www.stgermain.fr/).

The recommendation all around, including from our neighbors, was to douse some champagne with the St. Germain, but to me, dumbing-down champagne with anything at all, lesser or equal, is a disappointment. I know others disagree. I don't like nuts or crunchy things ruining the texture of my smooth ice cream either. Mixing only works with some things. So....after asking the bartender for his advice, too, and after he had none to give, I settled on a shot of St. Germain over ice. It was sweeter than what I wanted, but I love that spunky almost grape-ish floral essence. The St. Germain website calls its flavor "captivating" and "hard to pin down". I think it tastes like a watered down version of muscatel wine.

We didn't have it this time, but my favorite dish at Cafe Presse is the Oeufs plats, with jambon, and fromage (“Two eggs broiled with ham and Gruyere”). These beauties come broiled under melted cheese, over salty ham, in a hot French gratin dish. All the egg items are phenomenal here, as are the pommes-frites (french fries). The main entrees are a bit disappointing overall. Oregon Natural Beef hanger steak, for example, is nothing special, and you would be better off having steak at one of Seattle's excellent steak houses for a few dollars more. But Café Presse is always great for its lighter fare, cocktails, liveliness and potential for socializing.

Case in point, the first time I ever went to Café Presse, my daughter ordered the pain au chocolat à l’ancienne (“Bittersweet chocolate melted on baguette”). By the end of breakfast, after dunking her bread into warm milk, licking and pawing the drippy goopy chocolate, our neighbors, some nice, heavy-set dressed-in black 40 somethings had taken pictures of her chocolate covered face and promised to send them to my email address. And they did.

But back to the story at hand...
...after a half hour into our new sassy-based friendship, I finally worked up the guts and asked "Uh, can I try some too?" Everyone looked a bit shocked that I even felt the need to ask. "Of course!" they responded. I honestly couldn't assess the pot de creme, so taken was I by the whole endeavor. Wow! Kind of thrilling. I'm now all for Presse's absurdly tight table arrangements as well. I can't wait to go somewhere with Roxanne where she'll have to get up and venture over to another table to get sassy. Then I will really see how it's done! Truly, though, as she says, it really isn't hard. Almost everyone who partakes in food-sharing is secretly or not so secretly delighted to be doing this.

2009-04-13T12:16:00.000-07:00

Barolo Ristorante
1940 Westlake Ave
Seattle, WA 98101
206 770-9000
www.baroloseattle.com

It was a quick drink and appetizer the other night at Barolo. I was with a friend who was up from LA on business. We sat in the lounge area on white leather couches with low white coffee tables. I kept knocking my knee against the base of my martini glass and elegantly spilling a Chopin lemon drop on lap. Smooth. Sexy and svelt black-clad hostesses and waitstaff buzzed about. This place is decidedly unrustic. It is loud. It is crowded. It is loud dance music. It is the place to be seen. It is the place to wear your silver belted taupe trench dress and your Manolo Blahniks. Our server was a green-eyed, tight-bodied, dark-haired beauty. Sweet, not too knowledgable, and not too quick on her feet.

To whet the appetite we ordered:

Polipetti e Ceci
Baby octopus, garbanzo beans, fresh herbs and wine reduction

It rocked! Yum. I love when Seattle restaurants can serve seafood without breading and frying it to death. But beware, the little garbanzo beans swimming in wine sauce, bless their hearts. They must be individually speared, or they roll right off the fork prongs and onto the nice white leather couches and dress pants of one's cocktail companion. The luscious herbed garlic-laden sauce is perfect for bread soaking, but the set up (leather couches, low table, well dressed date) is not so ideal. Again, drippings on my skirt and sweater, to the horror of my companion. I stopped slurping.

The couple across the low white table from us ordered something that looked like a bit like mush.

"What is that?" I mused.

"Risotto with veal," they proudly replied. "It's not on the menu, but we have it here all the time. It's one of our favorites. They made it for us."

My guess was that his name was Cecil and she was Miffy. Neither one looked as though they had really ever worked a day in their lives, in a distinguished, public service kind of way. They weren't over dressed, and they had that bored, stiff, but pleased look. She was strawberry blonde and he had swept back dark brown Euro hair. Neither were over 35.

"Can I try the risotto?" I asked.

"Sure," said Miffy, "if you can find a fork." Cecil looked mildly amused. Our place settings finally arrived via the green-eyed vixen.

I tried the risotto. One bite. Didn't get any of the veal in that first bite, so I took another big bite. It didn't impress me and I told them so, "Yeah, it's good, but doesn't knock my socks off. It is very comforting though."

They explained that the risotto and some other meat sauce pasta dish were their favorites, but that this particular risotto wasn't quite up to snuff. I'm not so sure I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt on the risotto. As far as a pasta dish goes, I'm so unaccustomed to ordering pasta dishes at restaurants because it is so easy to replicate good pasta with meat sauce at home, for about one one-hundredth of the price. I mentioned all of this, but they claimed that the meat sauce was really astounding.

I didn't have time to sample anything else at Barolo, but I'll be looking out for the meat sauce next time, and a decent heighted table made for eating and drinking.

The Pink Door Terrace

2008-11-06T16:59:00.000-08:00

The Pink Door

1919 Post Alley
(Between Stewart and Virginia Streets)

206 443-3241
http://www.thepinkdoor.net/

Pink Door on Urbanspoon

(Shame on you Urban Spoon people! #5 Restaurant in Seattle???!!! Why ever for? Haven't you noticed that only half the items on the menu are palatable...or do spiffy views and pretty drinks disable Seattlite's taste buds?)

The rule is: Spend no more than $25, taste as many different dishes as possible, off of other people's plates.

September. Perhaps the last warm summer day (read: over 70 degrees Fahrenheit - this is Seattle):

I arrived to meet my friend who had just returned from a 5 week research trip in Liberia (West Africa. The brown one next to Sierra Leone). She had already ordered a drink: Pimms and Sprite. What is Pimms, I asked? Well, my friend says she discovered it through a “neo-colonialist ex-pat party network” in Monrovia, Liberia. However, she says that Heineken is the true favorite drink among this young set - a group of uber smart youth who have been installed to rebuild, redesign and reconstruct the Liberian government after years of devastating civil war. Apparently the drink was originally served as a hoity-toity digestive in the United Kingdom – a gin based, herb infused fruity and spicy summer refresher. Seems it can also give you that dreamy expat feeling. Wheeee! It is fun to feel powerful and fancy. It is!!!

So while she sipped her Pimm’s, I sipped my own snotty summer drink, a Grape Knee-High (vodka, triple sec, Chambord, and lemon juice) made of course, with Chopin, my favorite potato vodka.

The Pink Door terrace swarmed with the after-work, after-shopping-at-the-Pike-Place-Market-crowd. Small groups of 30-something friends and couples of all ages sauntered in to get on the wait list. We got the last no-reservation-required table outside. It was a perfect spot to relax on a warm day – a vibrant, densely packed patio with views of Seattle’s Puget Sound and the sunset. There were perhaps 40 tables outside. Perfect for me and my need to see and taste everyone’s fancy ass food.

We ordered the Cheese Board Deluxe – a beautifully arranged cheese selection on a wooden board. Our server placed it near the edge of our table, so that its length served as a cute metaphoric social bridge between us. We savored the little wedges of artisanal Italian cheeses (albeit all cow’s milk, to my great dismay – was hoping for some sheep cheese), dipped and played with the luscious fig & chianti compote, and spat at the the sucky-ass house-made wafer thin cracker. The cheeses were great - pungent, flavorful, and varied - one blue, one harder and stinky, one mid-aged and milder. The cracker was spiced, speckled, rough, ruffly light and strongly flavored. It’s texture and flavor overpowered the lovely cheeses, so we tended to sample the cheese alone, or in conjunction with the sweet compote. Good job, Pink Door, on the cheese selections and presentation. Redo, please, on the cracker.

Our waiter was a consummate geek - glasses, scrawny, thin and mousy and terribly serious. He wasn’t cool geek, you know, with a cultivated geek look. We asked what, on the menu, he recommended. He offered: the risotto, and the Special of the Day (whole fish, Mediterranean style, with head on, accompanied by a nice fresh pesto sauce), and the sautéed calamari. OK. I had a rough road map now, and knew what I was looking for (fish, risotto, fish risotto..). And as the Chopin started to kick in, I needed some substantial food to soak it up. The little cheese bites weren’t doing it.

So…I got up and meandered about, overtly eyeing everyone’s table. I looked at their food. I looked at them. I found a joyous couple finishing off the remains of the whole fish Special of the Day.
“How was that?” I asked. This led to a long conversation with a seated couple about fish, seafood, about how great whole fish are, how we aren't bothered by the head, the Mediterranean region, Seattle, the Pink Door. I was hunched over their table, standing. I told them I hadn’t been here, to this restaurant, in years.
“Where have you been then?” they asked.
“Morocco, I guess,” I said.
“Ooooh….” and we launched into a long discussion of North Africa. He had been there – driven across the border to Algeria, back in the 60’s….
“Is that the pesto that came with the fish??” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Can I taste it?” It was electric green, syrupy pesto sauce in a little cup.
“Sure..here dip the bread in it.”
“Mmmm…. Lovely, thanks”
“Mmmm.” I tried it again, with more bread. I asked this vibrant and loquatious couple what other food they recommended. They had already devoured their fish. The woman raved, over and over again about the calamari. She kept raving...it wasn’t deep fried...I had to order it. She was sincere. I believed her.

I headed back to my table. My poor friend had finished her Pims, so we went for round two. And to my great joy, the couple next to us had just ordered the calamari. Score!!
“Is that the calamari?” I asked the male half of the couple. They had to be in their late 50’s early 60’s.
“Yes, do you have a fork?”
“Yes. Here.”
He gave me a nice bit of sautéed calamari in spinach, tomato, garlic and wine sauce. Wow. I didn’t like it – much too much black pepper. I couldn’t taste the calamari. Maybe most people don’t like to taste their calamari. I’ve heard a lot of complaints about chewy rubbery texture. It reminds me of how novice oyster eaters drown the poor things in cocktail sauce. OK folks, if you don’t want to taste your food, let’s just eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, alright? Less pepper next time.

The couple with the calamari then asked me if I wanted to marry their son. What? They said he was well established, single and living in San Francisco. They had just come from visiting him. He wasn't settling down. I wondered what they had in mind. Why me? I eat other people's food! They gave me his website...

We called it a night at the Pink Door and made our way to the next stop on our circuit. Great Grape Knee-High, nice pesto sauce and cheese selections on a beautiful and lively terrace with friendly folks. Calamari and crackers – not so great. I may meet my new husband. OK. Not bad. Only spent $25.

Ocean City Restau

2008-10-19T15:23:00.000-07:00

Ocean City Restaurant
http://www.oceancityrestaurant.net/

609 S Weller St

Seattle, WA 98104

(206) 623-2333

I scored some chicken feet at dim sum this Saturday at Ocean City in Seattle's International district! It's fun to chew on the bones. I was on the prowl for duck tongue, but two gentlemen at a corner table had a bowl of chicken feet that caught my eye.

I had left my own table and friends to wander around, looking at everyone else's food. These two 30-something guys seemed especially passionate about chewing on their chicken feet, as they established a white cartilage and joint pile in a white bowl. Both looked Southeast Asian (although I didn't ask) and had leather jackets and longish un-washed hair. When I asked, the more assertive of the two said the other was a regular, and ate chicken feet here all the time, although both of them were giving me the "why the f&$k are you asking us these questions" look. They were embarrassed, but I persevered. I wanted to try the chicken feet. I never had. "Could I try one of those"? Ha ha. Nervous laughter from the two of them. They handed me the whole bowl, thanked them profusely. I offered to give them my sticky rice in trade. They refused. I offered again. They refused again, so I took the feet back to my table. Delicious sauce. It is a homo sapien instinct to gnaw on bones. In Morocco they have a special verb for just this: "mishish"= to suck and chew off every last piece of flesh on a bone, like a cat. It is satisfying and primal, and I enjoyed it, along with I'd say 80% of the other clientele (although the thick and goose bumply skin was the hardest to get over). Everyone was eating chicken feet!

After discussing duck tongue for a quarter of an hour with the waiter, and after refusing to order the whole bowl of approximately 20 little 1 1/2 inch tongues, he finally brought me one little tongue in a big old white bowl. It looked ridiculous, lonely and sad in the big bowl, but I was thrilled. The flavor was just like Peking Duck - sweet, succulent, but little Peking Duck tongue is grisly, chewy, cartilage-y. Deelish!

Chinese Food Dare: Elaine gets Sassy

2008-09-11T16:17:00.000-07:00

Click on the Youtube link to see Elaine doing what we do, sort of....

Note: We are not affiliated in any way with the Israel Medical Emergency Service, which is advertised at the beginning of this clip. Please be patient...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gepNBBfurS0

Serafina Osteria & Enoteca

2008-07-03T18:48:00.001-07:00

Serafina Osteria & Enoteca
2043 Eastlake Ave East
Seattle, WA 98102
206.323.0807
http://www.serafinaseattle.com/

Sassy R had to try the calamari at Serafina after hearing how good they were from the guy at the Waterfront. It was around 9 p.m. after a long day's work. Sassy R met her "friend" in the lovely arbored back patio lit with white lights. It's a hidden garden paradise right off of busy Eastlake.

We ordered calamari, of course, with two campari and soda drinks on ice, and the oh-so-satisfying "plin" - one of my true loves. I fantasize about the plin at Serafina just a little too much. See, Sassy T and I had them last week, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about them since. They are delicate little handmade stuffed pasta pockets (angolotti), filled with braised pork shoulder, savoy cabbage and Reggiano. They are approximately the size of a small walnut. Smooth, rich, robust pasta with some umph, some texture, some chew - like your Italian or Eastern European grandma would make. These lovely little darlings are arranged in a shallow bowl in elegent butter chive sauce and can be ordered as an appetizer (small bowl, but plenty) or entree (big ol' bowl). The butter sauce is abundance and lovely for bread dipping. But the plin...oh the little plin. It is hard to eat these things slowly. They are so damned satisfying.

But this post was about the calamari. The calamari? Also good. Unlike calamari almost everywhere else in this town and on most appetizer menus in the US, these are sauteed, not deep fried. Garlic. Bread crumbs. Lemon. Salt. Parsley. A little red chili flakes. None of that overly chewy previously frozen texture. No fishy stench. Pretty great. Best in town? Not hard to accomplish, so yes, perche non?

Save as a Favorite

2008-07-02T20:42:00.000-07:00

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2008-07-02T20:34:00.001-07:00

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The Waterfront Seafood Grill

2008-07-02T19:18:00.000-07:00

Waterfront Seafood Grill
206.956.9171
2801 Alaskan Way, Pier 70
Seattle, WA 98121
http://www.waterfrontpier70.com/waterfrontpier70/

Yeah, so it started out with a strong desire for Kumomoto oysters on the half shell. Seattle has been sunnier than usual the last few days, and these two sassy ladies knew that the view, service, drinks and the oysters at the Waterfront are pretty hard to beat. Super fresh oysters...super sweet views from the patio of Puget Sound. You pay a hefty price for that view and have to sit amongst the conventionally beautiful and botoxed (women and men), a sea of $350 sunglasses and brand new never-been-worn-before business casual attire, and some older folks on vacation from the midwest and Florida, but it's probably worth it once or maybe twice a year (the number of days outdoor seating in Seattle is even an option!).

The oysters were beautiful. Sweet, fresh, slippery, fresh and ocean-y. I like to squeeze just a little lemon juice on mine, then slide it into my mouth straight from the shell. Sassy T does the same. Puget Sounds smells salty sometimes in the summer sun, which was a nice complement to the oysters. Glass of dry white. View of the Olympics, the water. Doesn't get better.

It started with oysters but moved quickly into ruby beet and arugula salad, tuna tempura, ceasar salad, and chevre potatoes gratin. Of course, when the four guys discussing friendlyfavor.com, some kind of new website, ordered calamari, we eyed their plate. Looked good. Sassy R asked for a bite. One of the boys, ahem, men, immediately issued the disclaimer that it was not as good as Serafina's calamari. I hadn't realized that Serafina was famous for its calamari. He said this was too greasy. It was. Deepfried, batter dipped. Not great. Some guy ordered a plate of calamari behind us later and the whole patio stank of rotten fish for several minutes until the steam stopped floating off the little tentacles. Well, the calamari was fairly standard and not at all worth its price. Oh well.

The highlight of the evening (second to the oysters) was the strawberry rhubarb tart. Rustic crust folded artfully around the perimeter, covering the filling...with a small gentle soft opening in the middle sprinkled with streusel in the center. It wasn't too sweet, and was oven-warmed just enough... and it was served with delicate homemade vanilla ice cream. Perfect. Our calamari neighbors eyed it and commented. One guy stood up and came over to our table. He wanted some. We gave him a clean spoon. He took a bit. Then he ate more. We chatted. We chatted about their start up, how to find investors, where he grew up (Seattle). He was handsome and in his early 40's. He was charming. He was polite. He had another bite. We paid our bill and before our luscious green-eyed server could take away the wedge of tart we hadn't finished, we passed the picked-apart leftovers over to our friends' table. They even accepted our bowl of melted ice cream and thanked us. They ate it! Testiment to how fabulous this dessert really is.

Serious Pie - A Tom Douglas Pizza Restaurant

2007-12-02T20:15:00.001-08:00

Serious Pie
316 Virginia St.
Downtown/Belltown
Monday-Saturday, 11:00am-11:00pm
Sunday, 4:00-10:00 pm
No reservations Phone: (206) 838-7388
Take out available [including beer and wine!]

There were three of us, two sassy she-critics and one well-heeled, discerning uber-metro sexual. The metro man had confessed that Tom Douglas’ pizza almost made him cry – it was that good. We had never heard of a man crying over food so naturally we had to witness this spectacle. Plus, this was the perfect venue to experiment with our new endeavor – tasting other people’s fancy ass food (schmancy pizza in this case) - an attempt not only to exchange conversation and interact with humans in a restaurant, but also to eat beyond our monetary means.

The tables at Serious Pie are long, high and family style, with dark leather padded bar seats and candles. The lighting is more or less perfect: low and reddish. Everyone looks good in this light...almost like a tinted mirror. No, we were not all dressed up, or showing any cleavage. But here, we thought, was the perfect opportunity to get to know our table neighbors and taste a few of their appetizers.

Nobody could have prepared us for what transpired. Call it the power of visualization, the power of sassy…? The two sassies went in wanting to "create community at the table. " To say we ended up satisfied and satiated by way of our dinner selection as well as that of our table mates’ dinner selections and wine, is an understatement.

So how did all of this happen? One sassy critic had to go to market so she was a bit late for this outing. The other sassy critic, call her sassy T, arrived around 7:20ish to meet said metro – the one who wept tears of joy over his last Tom Douglas pizza and didn’t have to think twice about accepting our invitation to dine here. So metro, yet so sure of himself [or just jonesing for more pizza]. He insisted on guiding me [sassy T] through the menu. He even took it upon himself to order for me while we were waiting for the second sassy to show. How completely unnecessary. Before I even had a chance to return the server's salutations, metro didn't waste any time and ordered two mozzarella di bufalo, san marzano tomato pizzas, one fig, walnut and rossini bleu salad with rosemary foccacia and one pear Izze soda. I was able to order my drink at least: one pomegranate Izze soda. Why two of the same pizzas? Well, no one said he was a seasoned metro. Perhaps he was just too excited about being back in his own pizza-flavored garden of Eden. I must say it was cute how he offered to guide me through the menu. Adorable.

Then there were three of us, which was good because the food came just as the second sassy critic arrived. According to metro man, the pizza wasn’t the usual out-of-this-world-make-grown-men-weep affair. However,you can argue that Serious Pie is some of the best pizza in Seattle. The crust was perfect. Seasoned just right, not too thick, not too thin or soggy or chewy. Perfect as perfect can be for a pizza crust. The tomato sauce had a tinge of sweetness, but didn’t overpower the other ingredients. The buffalo mozzarella was so nice …not the congealed silly putty that most places try to pass off as mozzarella.

The sassy who went to market does not, as a practice, eat cow's milk products. This also means she does not dream of finding the perfect pie as metro dude and sassy T often do. However, she is not above tasting prized pizza, whipped cream on desserts, really good chocolate mousse (you get the idea). Duty called and she sampled the pie regardless of her dairy-eating habits. The experience of a serious slice of bufalo mozzarella did not temp her to convert back to the other side. Sassy T liked it though. Didn't looove it, but would definitely go back for more. This Serious Pie outing was not life changing. No one wept. Of course, it would have helped if we tried more than one kind of pizza. We could have ordered more, but the two pies were quite filling for two (and one sampler).

The lusciuos figs with rosemary foccacia, walnuts and rossini bleu cheese was an excellent start. Appetizer portions here are not huge, thankfully, yet they're just big enough for two people to share. The roasted seckel pear, prosciutto, and pecorino de remo did not impress unfortunately. It was the only true disappointment of the evening. The prosciutto was thinly sliced and piled in up in a blob between two lovely little roasted pears. Sassy 2 ate the pears happily. The prosciutto, on the other hand, was chewy and fibrous. Are they getting this from somewhere inside Washington state? Can you even do that with prosciutto? I must say that prosciutto in Seattle has been disappointing in general. Not sure what's going on, but there seems to be a dearth of high quality Italian pork products here.

Anyway, this dinner was more about accomplishing our above stated goal: eating other people's fancy ass food. Ultimately it wasn’t only about what we ate, but the circumstances surrounding the consumption (and the bill). The group of six who sat down soon next to us asked how the pizza was and we immediately offered them a slice. They politely declined as is the custom in this Protestant-dominated, tech-addicted, workaholic, no-fun society we inhabit. We hoped that they would give us a tiny taste when their appetizers arrived and sassy critic one overtly complimented and ogled their appetizers - particularly the fresh figs with walnuts. They offered and she tasted. What else do you do when you taste a stranger’s food? Start talking.

Next thing you know, the group's leader [aka the guy with the company's credit card] at the table, feeling the sense of power and liberation you can only get from putting a corporate expense account to good use, offered us some wine. "White or red," he said. Sassy one said "white," and Sassy T said "red." Corp. Manager turned to the waitress (attractive red pigtailed hair, subtle nose ring and high cheek bones) and said "I don’t care I have an expense account. One of each…" You might think he was abusing the privilege of a corporate account. But no, he was simply inspired by the magic of near-perfect pizza, wine and fresh figs. Perhaps our initial offer of the mozzarella di bufala must have sparked his generosity. Plus, he doesn't live in Seattle, so talking to people face to face doesn't feel like being a contestant on Fear Factor for him. Sitting at the same table may have helped. Might as well throw in the moon phase too, which, if I'm not mistaken, was waxing crescent. [http://stardate.org/nightsky/moon/]

They offered appetizers, we offered pizza, they shared wine, we gave our desserts [chocolate cannoli and pear tart - the cannoli was the better of the two, the pear tart lacked flavor]. Just as importantly shared conversation. Yes, we had a conversation. Turns out corporate manager was born in the same town as sassy T [same hospital too] somewhere east of here. He also hung out at the same bar where she worked as a bartender. A little hole-in-the-wall just blocks from their alma mater. Although neither recognized the other, both knew that sassy T - before she was sassy T and he was white collar wonder boy with a corporate account - poured him many mugs of beer. Maybe even his first mug of beer? Maybe she signed his mug club card? Congratulated him and sent him on his way? Who knows? It doesn't matter.

What mattered that night at Serious Pie was that strangers sitting at the same table began to talk, that pretty good food brought good people together, that people weren't too busy, tired, timid, self-interested to spend their time [and share their wine] with each other, that a man with a corporate account wasn't afraid to use it. We exchanged emails and business cards, but we'll probably never see or hear from each other again. That's okay. That one night was all we needed.

Wild Ginger: The Bar

2007-11-07T12:05:00.000-08:00

Wild Ginger
1401 Third Avenue
Seattle, WA 98101
Reservations 206.623.4450

OK. We heard that this was the quintessential cougar den (translation: meat/meet market for mature unattached ladies). So we went for happy hour on a Monday at around 5 p.m., with friends, to check it out. The afterwork downtown crowd for sure. What did we find ? Well.....

More well dressed architect wanna-be single/married men on the prowl than we expected. A far far cry from the Allegro crowd. No hippies. No academic posturing.

We were hungry. It was happy hour. We ordered fancy shmance drinks - of course with potato vodka, which they have at Wild Ginger. Hurrah. But only one brand. So, how about those precooked shrimp in curry sauce? They sucked donkey, and we told our waiter. He kindly took them off the tab. The pork potstickers, however, rocked. Satisfying. Not too salty but salty enough. Nice firm dough, well cooked. Halibut with lemongrass was amazing. Not overcooked (or precooked..thank God). I can't figure out why a restaurant of Wild Ginger caliber would have pre-cooked shrimp lying around...waiting to be doused in whatever sauce happens to be ordered. For shame.

Well, after ordering upwards of 50 dollars in finger food, these two sassy chicas were still hungry but not willing to plunk down more cash in this overpriced candled joint. The table across the way, surrounded by 4 suits ordered a large plate of sexy green beans, steaming and glistening.

When we asked to taste their spicy green beans, naturally the suits thought we were talking about something else ...something that needed large doses of viagra to function. But no, ‘tasting the green bean’ is not a euphemism. We just wanted a taste of an actual green bean. Of course, the only thing the suits heard was "we want... your...." So naturally they beckoned us to their table. Since it was my idea to taste their beans, I had to go. Trying to look as if I did this all the time, I sauntered over to have a nibble. Biting my lip [this was my first time ...] I slowly pulled one out, trembling but excited all the same. What in the world was a [formerly] respectable girl thinking by putting his green bean in my mouth? And so early in the evening too. A green bean, goddamn it. It was so long and smooth. But as with many veggies past their prime .... it was limp. Not so sexy. The bean had been steamed a bit too long although it still had some flavor. Limp beans can’t stand up to a spicy schezwan sauce. Plus, they weren’t steaming, they were tepid. Not the restaurant’s fault. The suits barely touched them. Apparently green beans are bait here. It worked... but not the way the suits expected. I got what I wanted. See ya suits.

I would go back to try more green beans though. They were lightly coated in the schezwan sauce - not drowning in it. A properly steamed green bean is firm, long, lucious and knows exactly how to take on a little hotty sauce.

Would I go back to Wild Ginger? Yes, but only with a large rowdy group. The drinks were expensive but worth it. They have an impressive cocktail menu serving old standards, such as the Sidecar, alongside trendy yuppie-in-denial drinks like mojitos. Added plus: our server man was fun and thought the suits were wankers. Thank you server. It's basically hit or miss with this one though and for the price the food should be out of this world. While the pot stickers and halibut were amazing, the pre-cooked bland shimp and overcooked beans were no excuse for any restaurant for any price. In the restaurant biz? Stick to what you do best. If that means having a smaller menu, then so be it. It's worth it. If your food is consistantly good, no, great, then people will flock to your place even if you only have a few items to offer. There seems to be this pressure to offer everything to everyone.

This is not a cougar den at all. It’s a manther cave. Ladies, if you’re that desperate [and who isn’t at some point], leave your dignity at home. Manthers look somewhat respectable when blurry. But don’t get too close unless you’ve had more than a few of Wild Ginger’s sidecars. Unlike cougars, manthers do not age well. The manthers/suits had mini grand canyons etched into their faces. I thought if I got any closer I would fall into one of their crevasses. Amazing how a guy at any age thinks he’s all that and more to the ladies. Got to hand it to you guys, you’ll still try even if you are obnoxious and/or spineless twits.

Lark

2007-11-07T10:44:00.000-08:00

926 12th Ave Seattle, WA 98122
tel: (206) 323-5275
email: info@LarkSeattle.com

Hours Tuesday through Sunday 5:00pm to 10:30pm

The sassy critics met at Lark on at around 7:45 on Tuesday, Election Day, November 6th. We sat among 40 somethings, most of whom seemed carelessly wiling away a Tuesday evening drinking wine and sampling delectables. There were a few ethnically diverse "groups" that reeked of Microsoft, but other than that, a pleasant environment for a couple of ladies in their prime.

Our waiter was cute in that I'm-in-a-band-but-I'm-really-sensitive-and-smart-and-read-a-lot kind of way. He also had sexy teeth and was pleasantly accommodating to all of our (my) incessant questions. There is a lot to learn on the Lark menu and I just gotta ask. Sorry. I got the feeling though that when HE asked me how the duck was, and when I was honest about the beautiful tang of the huckleberries being drowned out by the vinegar, and the meat being dry and not doing it for me, cute waiter turned off a bit and wasn't as attentive anymore. Maybe I annoyed him?

The Muscovy duck salami (not to be confused with the Crispy Liberty Farm duck leg with huckleberries and Walla Walla onions - the one I griped to the waiter about) with Ginja cherry and cinnamon preserve kicked our asses. Rocked our worlds. Last piece of salami had to be cut into two pieces to share. Divine balance of salty and sweet tang. Cinnamon preserve was honey like and a perfect complement to the rich deepness of the duck.

The seared Sonoma foie gras with poached quince and pain d'epice (aka sweet spice bread...) was divine. Pure liver, seared ever so rare, ..rich, buttery, flavorful, melt-in-your-mouth amazing. We found that the spice bread overpowered the beauty of the liver and had to be savored separately - alternately between bites of foie gras and the mini quince cubes, to cleanse the palate. Perhaps the spice bread provides those less adventurous souls with something to mask the flavor? Whatever.

The quince tart tatin was by far the highlight of the evening though and had I been hungry enough I could have eaten 3 or 4 servings myself. Our sweet waiter recommended the Tokaji - a Hungarian dessert wine - as a nice accompaniment to the tart. Perfect. He was spot on with all of his recommendations. I regret not taking him up on the pork tenderloin, however. The Tokaji was light and fruity without any syrupy sweetness. Perfect perfect.

Chef John Sundstrom definitely has his shit together, providing the interesting and the truly unusual in a town where people still seem excited by ye old standards: cantaloupe and prosciutto or anything seared. We thoroughly enjoyed Lark.