An Eva Restaurant Interpretive Dance

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

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 only 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 unconventional: the nuts are collected from the goat-expelled waste on the ground, but apparently, such traditional methods have since been replaced by direct-from-tree picking, by human hands. 

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 woman's silver sequins tank top hung seductively off her shoulders as she fingering her pink phone. I couldn't determine if her eyelashes were real. Her lean and fit husband, ordered 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, which was rich and hearty. The sauteed kale and mustard greens with garlic was intensely lemony. 

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 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 mother used to make. She layered whipped cream and chocolate jello pudding in tall wine glasses, then stocked them in the fridge covered in saran wrap. I savored every little bite while watching Tom & Jerry. 

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 great, nonetheless.  Now, go to Bastille and have some octopus and trifle.

Txori Bar

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.