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    <title>Restaurant Reviews</title>
    <description></description>
    <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/restaurant-reviews</link>
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      <title>Certifiably Sweet and Sour</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:30418,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;800&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;1321&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="30418" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/5/image/30418/0613-dining-out-Agrodolce--opener.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F5%2Fimage%2F30418%2F0613-dining-out-Agrodolce--opener.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=800x1321%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Lemon Is Essential&lt;/strong&gt; Sweet-sour agrodolce over roasted chicken and semolina pudding&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;W&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="s2"&gt;hen &lt;/span&gt;you&amp;rsquo;re a chef and you run out of flour, you send someone out for it. When you&amp;rsquo;re Maria Hines and you run out of flour, it&amp;rsquo;s a problem of a different magnitude.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Hines&amp;mdash;James Beard Best Chef in the Northwest award winner and proprietor of Tilth and Golden Beetle&amp;mdash;opened Agrodolce in the last days of 2012. She was going for something between her first two restaurants: not the French-inspired Tilth nor the Middle Eastern Golden Beetle, but the Sicilian cuisine that lies between them geographically and borrows from both culinarily. She was also aiming to get Agrodolce approved by the same strict standard--bearer, Oregon Tilth, by which her two other restaurants had been certified organic.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;To achieve that level of virtue, Agrodolce&amp;rsquo;s chefs had taken to sourcing organic durum wheat berries from Idaho&amp;rsquo;s Purcell Mountain Farm, then milling them into the semolina flour they use to make the pastas by hand. I repeat: &lt;em&gt;milling them into the semolina flour they use to make the pastas by hand. &lt;/em&gt;So alas, when Purcell Mountain not long ago ran out of wheat berries, there was no simple fix. &amp;ldquo;Usually when your source is out of something, you change your menu,&amp;rdquo; Hines says. &amp;ldquo;But this was &lt;em&gt;wheat&lt;/em&gt;. In a pasta restaurant.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/agrodolce" target="_self"&gt;Agrodolce&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;709 N 35th St, Fremont, &lt;br /&gt;206-547-9707&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://mariahinesrestaurants.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;em&gt;agrodolcerestaurant.net&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span class="s2"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;$$$&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;With alarming resourcefulness (the kind that gets you pegged as a Rising Star, see page 77), Hines&amp;rsquo;s right-hand chef Jason Brzozowy managed to track organic durum wheat berries to a little survivalist store in Montana. Survivalist indeed. The tale illustrates the challenge of running a restaurant with sourcing and preparation standards as rigorous as Hines&amp;rsquo;s.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;span class="s3"&gt;And so, as it happens, does Agrodolce.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The high-ceilinged space is as gracious as it was at Still Life in Fremont, then later as the dear departed 35th Street Bistro. By day&amp;mdash;the place is open lunch or weekend brunch through dinner&amp;mdash;sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating rows of two- and four-tops. From the center of the room a ficus tree unfurls leafy branches over diners&amp;rsquo; heads. In back sits a small bar and a cozy sitting room with couches and a chandelier. Compared to Tilth&amp;rsquo;s funky farmhouse feel and Golden Beetle&amp;rsquo;s homemade aesthetic, pretty Agrodolce with its comfortable seats is the first Maria Hines restaurant you want to linger in.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;We arrived in the thick of Friday-night dinner, landing in a din that compelled us to stop talking and dive directly into the menu. (Rethinking the lingering.) Divided into starters, pastas, mains, and vegetables, the preparations showcase the gastronomic melting pot that is Sicily: plenty of citrus and olives and tomatoes with the Arab inflections of pine nuts and capers and raisins. We began with the Sicilian specialty of fried rice balls, or &lt;em&gt;arancini&lt;/em&gt;, crisp and yielding to a meaty ragu filling that spilled flavorfully across a puddle of parsley pesto.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;A wild arugula salad made glorious eating, its heaping tangle of bitter greens punctuated with dollops of ricotta &lt;em&gt;salata&lt;/em&gt;, red pepper, croutons, bursting jewels of blood orange, and fragrant herbs. It offered a sense of unrestrained abundance that is rare at Agrodolce, a kitchen so circumscribed by its organic mandate that innovation stays within bounds, and&amp;mdash;to remain affordable&amp;mdash;portions trend small (particularly at brunch) and ingredients few.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:30419,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;446&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="30419" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/5/image/30419/0613-dining-agrodolce.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F5%2Fimage%2F30419%2F0613-dining-agrodolce.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x446%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;A Place to Linger&lt;/strong&gt; Sunlight streams in through the windows, and a ficus tree unfurls its leafy branches.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Perhaps this is what makes some dishes so uneventful. A brunchtime sticky bun was standard-issue pecan with caramel and golden raisins. Both a bowl of slow-cooked rabbit cacciatore, made with the Sardinian semolina pasta balls called fregola, and a duck cavatelli made with Marsala, wild mushrooms, and toothsome pancetta grew tedious by meal&amp;rsquo;s end. The cavatelli was disappointing in part because I couldn&amp;rsquo;t help but contrast its strong Marsala flavor with the richer, more nuanced rendition at Altura on Capitol Hill.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Considering Agrodolce&amp;rsquo;s labor in simply making many of the pastas&amp;mdash;&lt;span class="s3"&gt;milling the wheat berries, milling them again,&lt;/span&gt; blending them in a special grinder, straining the grain to achieve the finest flour consistency, crafting the pasta&amp;mdash;perhaps the further work of perfecting the harmonies proved too much. I wondered: Were other problems we encountered&amp;mdash;the salty filling in the truffle-ricotta ravioli, the chalkiness of the orange dessert cannoli, the dryness of the brunch citrus-semolina pancakes&amp;mdash;the result of prioritizing execution last? Who has time for consistency when you&amp;rsquo;re twice milling your wheat berries?&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Right about the time this thought occurred, we hit a string of winners. A robust spaghetti&amp;mdash;a noodle that&amp;rsquo;s almost never handmade, but is here, with satisfying density&amp;mdash;came powered by Mama Lil&amp;rsquo;s peppers and a Skagit River Ranch beef &lt;em&gt;sugo&lt;/em&gt;. Better still was a brilliantly conceived dish of ragged-edged hand-cut tagliarini pasta strands doused in a briny cream of uni, or sea urchin, and clam. Pine nuts and romanesco, that weirdly intergalactic cauliflower-slash-broccoli, here cut into bits, rounded the flavors intelligently, with an essential squeeze of lemon.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;When this kitchen&amp;rsquo;s on, it&amp;rsquo;s on. My favorite meal at Agrodolce exemplified its name&amp;mdash;Italian for sweet and sour. A brined half chicken, pan seared and braised in chicken stock, was topped with a vinegary caponata of wizened Brussels sprouts leaflets, along with garlic, pine nuts, and golden raisins&amp;mdash;classic agrodolce&amp;mdash;served over creamy semolina puree. The flavors were collaborative and original, but the more improbable success was the perfect texture of the chicken, achieved without the sous vide machine that&amp;rsquo;s usually responsible when chicken is this moist. &amp;ldquo;No toys in my kitchen!&amp;rdquo; Hines declared, crediting Brzozowy for the dish. Chunks of quick-fermented and slightly sour focaccia, housemade of course and served with bracing Sicilian extra-virgin olive oil, were winning with a couple of vivid contorni&amp;mdash;seared broccoli in an anchovy vinaigrette and juicy lacinato kale with chili flakes.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;One final note about service. Waiters maintain an obvious rapport with one another, which creates a happy house for diners. There is, bravo, salt on the table. That said, service problems ranged from the delivery of unfortunate brunch toast&amp;mdash;could &lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt; cast more of a pall over morning hospitality than cold unbuttered toast?&amp;mdash;to the same minimalist menu descriptions that plague Hines&amp;rsquo;s other houses. A &amp;ldquo;pear and apple salad&amp;rdquo; was less a salad than an artfully composed yogurt plate with fruit for punctuation, along with a dollop of raisiny &lt;em&gt;mostarda&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Here was an organic dish, gorgeously plated, original in conception, supremely tasty: in short, Hines&amp;rsquo;s proudest calling card. In a house where the organic mandate can be constricting, you&amp;rsquo;d think she&amp;rsquo;d want to shine the brightest spotlight possible on the extravagant delights it can afford.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: June 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 22 May 2013 09:00:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/certifiably-sweet-and-sour-june-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/certifiably-sweet-and-sour-june-2013</guid>
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    <item>
      <title>Shanik and Awe</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:29108,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:1057,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="29108" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/4/image/29108/0513-shanik-review-opener.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F4%2Fimage%2F29108%2F0513-shanik-review-opener.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x1057%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Pura Food&lt;/strong&gt; The spicy crepe pura comes topped with potatoes, bacon, and onions.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="s2"&gt;uch is the buzz&lt;/span&gt; around Shanik that at 15 minutes to opening one recent weeknight, the line had already formed.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I stood amid the high-tech high-rises and restaurants on Terry Avenue, marveling at that street&amp;rsquo;s new thoroughfare status in a neighborhood that wasn&amp;rsquo;t even a neighborhood five years ago, shaking rain off my hood, and counting the crowd. &amp;ldquo;Well this part&amp;rsquo;s &lt;em&gt;exactly&lt;/em&gt; like Vij&amp;rsquo;s,&amp;rdquo; one guy smirked, and all 11 of us smiled knowingly. Everyone here knew Shanik&amp;rsquo;s famous sister restaurant in Vancouver; its freewheeling world-class artistry with Indian fusion is why folks willingly wait an hour for a table there, and why we were standing on a South Lake Union sidewalk in the rain.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;One young Indian woman in the group delivered the verdict everyone had come for. &amp;ldquo;Vij&amp;rsquo;s is better,&amp;rdquo; she pronounced, as her Indian companion stood behind her, impishly shaking his head. &amp;ldquo;No way!&amp;rdquo; he countered. &amp;ldquo;This&amp;rsquo;ll be my second meal here &lt;em&gt;today&lt;/em&gt;.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;It&amp;rsquo;s the debate that&amp;rsquo;s divided a city. From the moment food aficionados got word Vikram Vij&amp;rsquo;s wife and co-owner, Meeru Dhalwala, would open a similar property in South Lake Union, Shanik (pronounced &amp;ldquo;SHAWN-uk&amp;rdquo;) stood poised to both please&amp;mdash;being the only Indian restaurant of any pedigree in the Seattle metro area&amp;mdash;and disappoint.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/shanik-restaurant" target="_self"&gt;Shanik&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;500 Terry Ave N, South Lake Union, 206-486-6884;&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://shanikrestaurant.com/" target="_blank"&gt;shanikrestaurant.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The wooden door at last swung open and a fleet of hostesses flurried out to greet us&amp;mdash;seemingly one for each party. Right away the room reinforced ambivalence: Flawlessly refined&amp;mdash;all upholstery and soft carpeting and comfortable chairs, classy wood slats and delicate filigree ironwork, soft Himalayan blues and champagne browns&amp;mdash;the midcentury elegance nevertheless struck a generic note. Where Vij&amp;rsquo;s offers underlit intimacy and a wink of hole-in-the-wall exoticism, Shanik is a creamy destination in a corporate building. A bar at the far end, with stylish low tables and backless stools, furthers the swank. I expected Don Draper to stroll out of the private dining room.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Instead a smiling waiter came around bearing a tray of the plump black-chickpea-flour dumplings called pakoras, here stuffed with spinach, onions, and potatoes. When another offered gratis cups of steaming chai, the lovely tone was set: Here lies hospitality. The chai on every visit was subtle and smooth; the pakoras hit and miss, sometimes overcooked. But that hospitality was always in play, from the respect the waiters showed their customers (writing orders down!) to the comfortably distanced tables.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The menu roams India, its fusion mainly taking the form of classic northern preparations&amp;mdash;the thick, complexly spiced curries, many with meat, that Americans are most used to&amp;mdash;made with Southern ingredients, like jackfruit and coconut, or Pacific Northwest ingredients, like salmon and locally sourced pork. Beef short ribs show up in a mild lunchtime curry with black chickpeas and fenugreek; salmon, marinated and smoky, in a coconut curry bright with ginger and prettily nuanced. At any given time Shanik&amp;rsquo;s kitchen must have a dozen sauces on the fire: a layered Punjabi curry&amp;mdash;dark and potent as mole&amp;mdash;starring chunks of overdone lamb and served at lunch over soggy rice; a braise of fall-apart-tender goat meat exotically perfumed with fennel and kalonji (black cumin); another curry, &lt;br /&gt; of kale, potato, and chunks of jackfruit, whose chewy consistency might&amp;rsquo;ve lent itself better to a mash. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Unquestionably there are execution problems at Shanik; more on that later. More deflating was the sameness of a menu whose fusion experiments registered more academic than thrilling: curries on rice, curries with flatbreads, repeat&amp;mdash;a far cry from the varied stylings that enliven Vij&amp;rsquo;s. Among my dining companions were an Indian one night, a vegan another&amp;mdash;and tellingly, the Indian was the only one who clearly saw the experimentation. Dhalwala sighs that she&amp;rsquo;s forever informing Indian diners that there&amp;rsquo;s no tikka masala, no tandoor oven&amp;mdash;one apocryphal tale even has Vikram Vij, down from Vancouver to work the door for his wife, gently persuading a traditional Indian family they&amp;rsquo;d best take their traditional expectations elsewhere for dinner.&lt;em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;If Indians bring hopes of classic subcontinental cuisine, Vij&amp;rsquo;s disciples demand dazzling innovation. Take the lamb Popsicles: The signature popularity of the trio of rack chops at Vij&amp;rsquo;s compelled Dhalwala to include them, reinvented, at Shanik. Dhalwala tells the story of this dish&amp;rsquo;s genesis a dozen years ago at Vij&amp;rsquo;s. Vij asked his new bride&amp;mdash;untrained as a chef but a natural in the kitchen&amp;mdash;to embellish a dish of lamb rack chops rubbed in white wine and Dijon. Deciding it wasn&amp;rsquo;t nearly Indian enough, she finished it with a curry. Vij balked, so the feisty Dhalwala went back to the kitchen and threw together a concoction of whipping cream, garlic, and turmeric. As she remembers, &amp;ldquo;He came running around the corner yelling, &amp;lsquo;This is it! This is fantastic!&amp;rsquo; And I was like, &amp;lsquo;Vikram, I was &lt;em&gt;kidding&lt;/em&gt;!&amp;rsquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;That&amp;rsquo;s the way they&amp;rsquo;re still making them at Vij&amp;rsquo;s&amp;mdash;but at Shanik, Dhalwala gets her curry. Shanik&amp;rsquo;s Popsicles are seasoned in a subtler, more traditionally Indian blend of cumin, cayenne, and her own garam masala, then presented atop a split pea&amp;ndash;and&amp;ndash;spinach mash in coconut curry. They&amp;rsquo;re a triumph, featuring pristine grass-fed meat, fiber-rich textures, sumptuous richness, flavor to the bone. And less of the thrill they deliver at Vij&amp;rsquo;s.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-right inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:29109,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;420&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;620&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="29109" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-right"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/4/image/29109/0513-shanik-review-diners.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F4%2Fimage%2F29109%2F0513-shanik-review-diners.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=420x620%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The difference between the dishes represents the difference between the restaurants&amp;mdash;even, perhaps, the difference between their operators. &amp;ldquo;He&amp;rsquo;s robust,&amp;rdquo; Dhalwala says of her husband. &amp;ldquo;I&amp;rsquo;m thoughtful.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Occasionally a dish will recall the kitchen where Dhalwala learned her chops. A spicy Indian crepe, or &lt;em&gt;pura&lt;/em&gt;, arrived topped with potatoes, bacon, and onions in a light tomato base, alongside a dice of crunchy beets with daikon. Here was the color vibrancy and sparkling innovation of Vij&amp;rsquo;s. Likewise sparked with that old gonzo spirit is a milky Indian custard for dessert, served drizzled with the herbal-fruity rosewater syrup Rooh Afza alongside a dish of fennel-candied almonds and cashews. Original and inevitable, both&amp;mdash;and miles apart from the bland rice pudding beside it on the menu.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;These days, perhaps the best way to enjoy Shanik is to expect neither traditional Indian nor mind-blowing fusion&amp;mdash;but superlative vegetable dishes. If Indians and foodies are troubled here, vegetarians are in hog heaven&amp;mdash;over farm-to-table preparations like Brussels sprouts with cashews, peppers, and paneer, or grilled eggplant slices over green lentil pilaf piqued with unexpected nuances from citrus to sneeze-inducing black cumin.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I say &amp;ldquo;these days&amp;rdquo; because the place is so obviously a work in progress. Shanik will be almost &lt;br /&gt; certainly be exponentially better a year from now. The vivacious Dhalwala and her business partner, Vij&amp;rsquo;s COO Oğuz Istif, micromanage in all the right ways, table-hopping nightly, asking questions of their diners&amp;mdash;&amp;ldquo;Is that lamb too fatty for you?&amp;rdquo;&amp;mdash;that another restaurateur might consider too intrusive to ask. The original, beautiful table dressings have already evolved to include elegantly dimpled drinking glasses and honeycomb votives; white overhead lights will soon be replaced with sexier amber fixtures.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;As for the kitchen, one can hope that execution errors will diminish as Dhalwala&amp;rsquo;s kitchen staff&amp;mdash;untrained Indian women, whom she hires in homage to her own immigrant mother&amp;mdash;absorb her way of doing things. (Hopefully some of that unfailingly polite front-of-the-house staff will absorb something back there, too. For a foodie destination, waiters are consistently underinformed about preparations and ingredients.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;At the moment, however, the thing at the top of Dhalwala&amp;rsquo;s mind is the naan. &amp;ldquo;I&amp;rsquo;m having a &lt;em&gt;hell&lt;/em&gt; of a time with it,&amp;rdquo; she admits, explaining that the same recipe responsible for the soft, fluffy flatbread in Vancouver produces too dense and heavy a product here.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Nothing wrong with two different naans for two different restaurants, right? Well&amp;hellip;right. Unless one&amp;rsquo;s just better.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: May 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 17 Apr 2013 09:01:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/shanik-and-awe-may-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/shanik-and-awe-may-2013</guid>
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    <item>
      <title>Dinner’s a Picnic at the Whale Wins</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-block inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:28205,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:463,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="28205" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-block"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/3/image/28205/0413-dining-whale-wins.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F3%2Fimage%2F28205%2F0413-dining-whale-wins.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x463%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=640x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 640px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/the-whale-wins" target="_self"&gt;The Whale Wins&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;3506 Stone Way N, Fremont&lt;br /&gt;206-632-9425; &lt;a href="http://thewhalewins.com/" target="_blank"&gt;thewhalewins.com &amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="s2"&gt;ome&lt;/span&gt; things about Renee Erickson just don&amp;rsquo;t change.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;If Martha Stewart doesn&amp;rsquo;t yet offer the paint color Renee Erickson White, it&amp;rsquo;s only a matter of time. Erickson&amp;rsquo;s Boat Street Cafe, which she opened in Belltown in 2003, is a whitewashed French farmstead; the Walrus and the Carpenter, which she launched seven years later in Ballard, a bleached and barnacled boathouse, complete with the single coolest white faux-coral chandelier in existence. Right on theme, the Whale Wins opened last October as a white wood-sided cottage, suspended like a stage set beneath the soaring rafters of the Fremont Collective warehouse. It&amp;rsquo;s named for a painting she loves, of a whale obliterating a whaling ship.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;White cinderblock walls, tidy framed windows, white marble counter and tabletops&amp;mdash;this is her breeziest beach house yet, a springtime pastoral with jars of her pickles and relishes displayed on shelves, wildflowers bursting from a vase, freshly cut firewood stacked neatly above the wood-fired oven. Walking into the turquoise restroom is like plunging into a pool. We came for dinner on a gusty night and were seated by the sliding glass doors that in summer will open onto a patio. In winter we were just cold.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Erickson&amp;rsquo;s Whale menu also rings familiar bells: similar French implications as at Boat Street, similar simplified vision as at Walrus. Both Walrus and Whale are only &lt;em&gt;kind of&lt;/em&gt; restaurants&amp;mdash;the former more of a small-plate nosh bar with oysters and tipples, the latter a shareable-plates-on-shared-tables place where the wood oven dribbles out orders in whatever order it will. So you may get your spiral of braised pork shoulder on grainy mustard in a sauce of large-cut apples and onions before you get your Alaskan spot prawns with surprises of orange roe and a bold wash of anchovy butter. Vegetables are an emphasis in this house, and you may get them by themselves...before your meat arrives.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;None of which is the end of the world, as this is pure and lovely food, inscribed with Erickson&amp;rsquo;s signatures&amp;mdash;pristine sourcing (Carlton Farms pork, Local Roots vegetables), devotion to bold flavors, and real enthusiasm for what wood smoke &lt;em&gt;does&lt;/em&gt; to meat and vegetables, in terms of complicating and deepening their flavors (in her words, adding &amp;ldquo;a bacon element without any bacon&amp;rdquo;).&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The roasted Mad Hatcher Farms half chicken is the headline example. Erickson&amp;rsquo;s chef de cuisine here, Marie Rutherford, comes from Boat Street, which almost always has a roasted &lt;em&gt;poussin&lt;/em&gt; on its card; she knows what she&amp;rsquo;s doing. Her wood-oven version boasts an even crispier crust, even more impossibly moist flesh&amp;mdash;including its white parts&amp;mdash;and that inimitable smoky savor, served here with root vegetable puree, fired capers, and preserved lemon. It&amp;rsquo;s killer.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Erickson&amp;rsquo;s taking some heat for her room-temperature dinners. I&amp;rsquo;m not talking about her pickle plate (her well--deserved calling card), or cheese plates (a wedge of Neal&amp;rsquo;s Yard Blue Cheese with jammy pickled plums is tart and funky&amp;mdash;winning with slices of Columbia City Bakery baguette), or salads (like her breathtaking tower of lettuces, herb speckled and pocked with fistfuls of whole pistachios, moistened evenly with a dewy vinaigrette, then lavished with a fluffy haystack of grated Yarmuth goat cheese). One expects these to be cool. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:28206,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;801&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="28206" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/3/image/28206/0412-dining-whale-roasted-vegetables.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F3%2Fimage%2F28206%2F0412-dining-whale-roasted-vegetables.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x801%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Vegetables Rule&lt;/strong&gt; Roasted carrots and fennel are stunning.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;It&amp;rsquo;s when the kitchen presents slices of salt-roasted filet mignon with potatoes and horseradish cream at room temperature, or a tangle of roasty, woodsmoky carrots and fennel on a bed of sinus-irrigating harissa yogurt&amp;mdash;these are items many want to enjoy hot. Both were stunning at room temperature; I happen to like the vivid flavors brought by roasting to char, then cooling. But then, I like picnics.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;And ultimately, that&amp;rsquo;s the way to understand the Whale Wins: as a really fine picnic. You drop in (reservations are only for large parties); you admire the essential outdoorsiness of its charms (right down to the wood fire); you shiver a little; you nibble on this cooled dish, then that; you don&amp;rsquo;t linger long in these hard seats at these shared tables, no matter how much you&amp;rsquo;re loving the rich, rich butter-roasted zucchini bread&amp;mdash;a legend of a dessert from the moment the kitchen scattered salt across the first slice. If there&amp;rsquo;s culinary error afoot, it&amp;rsquo;s in that realm of richness unmitigated: a whole trout, skin crisped in the oven, ringed with a heavy walnut sauce; a thick slather of smoked herring butter and pickled fennel on toast, where the butter predominates. Nothing wrong with dishes like these; it&amp;rsquo;s just that they&amp;rsquo;re best enjoyed alongside other dishes.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;This may or may not happen at the Whale Wins. Accommodating (and at times chilly) servers try hard to bring dishes in requested pairings, but it&amp;rsquo;s not always possible. Candidly this makes me pine for the gastronomic bliss of Boat Street&amp;mdash;still, by my measure, the best of the Renee Erickson Whites&amp;mdash;back when Erickson was in the kitchen (she&amp;rsquo;s behind the scenes on all three of her properties now) and her plates were composed with memorably enlivening contrasts. Erickson&amp;rsquo;s particular gift as a chef lends itself to complete plates.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;But her gift as a restaurateur&amp;mdash;casting an atmospheric spell&amp;mdash;is in full flower at the Whale Wins, ruinous leviathan notwithstanding.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: April 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 20 Mar 2013 09:00:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/dinners-a-picnic-at-the-whale-wins-march-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/dinners-a-picnic-at-the-whale-wins-march-2013</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Seriously Syrian Dining</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:27322,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:593,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="27322" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/2/image/27322/0313-mamnoon-flatbread.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F2%2Fimage%2F27322%2F0313-mamnoon-flatbread.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x593%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Flatbread topped with tomato  and olive salad&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;R&lt;/span&gt;estaurant critics keep in their heads a running checklist of bad portents, and Mamnoon, the cosmopolitan hot spot across from Melrose Market, was crawling with them: shiny minimalist decor, bevy of beautiful women servers, wall of candles, Famous Guests (a prominent executive, a celebrated radio personality, Tom Skerritt), distractingly throbby technopop. There&amp;rsquo;s nothing wrong with such noise, but it just doesn&amp;rsquo;t say authenticity&amp;mdash;it says &amp;ldquo;style over substance.&amp;rdquo; If not for the Parka People, those sturdy provincials who act as extras in all Seattle scenes, we could have been in Toronto or Buenos Aires or Prague.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Then our small plates, or &lt;em&gt;meze&lt;/em&gt;, arrived. A cast-iron skillet was wall to wall with golf balls of dough, &lt;em&gt;khobz bi fleifleh&lt;/em&gt;, baked till golden and slathered with fiery red-pepper paste and black sesame seeds. A bowl of muhammara, a rosy dip of pepper paste and walnuts and cumin, was prettied with walnut bits and pomegranate seeds. We loosened chunks of the warm bread, featherweight yet rich as bread pudding, and dredged them through the muhammara, thickly nutty and redolent of bright fruit. None of this food was remotely like anything we&amp;rsquo;d ever tasted before, in this or any city. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-left"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/mamnoon" target="_self"&gt;Mamnoon&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;1508 Melrose Ave, Capitol Hill, &lt;br /&gt;206-906-9606;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://mamnoonrestaurant.com/" target="_blank"&gt;mamnoonrestaurant.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;This food&amp;mdash;so much for your restaurant critic&amp;rsquo;s radar&amp;mdash;was extraordinary.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Racha and Wassef Haroun opened Mamnoon in November, in homage to their homeland, Syria. Wassef, a Microsoft retiree, was looking to spend more time with family, celebrate his culture, and give Seattle something it lacked. A Middle Eastern restaurant seemed like a great way to do that&amp;mdash;never mind that they&amp;rsquo;d never owned one before.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Their timing coincided with a local surge in Eastern Mediterranean and Middle Eastern restaurants&amp;mdash;Cicchetti, Golden Beetle, Cafe Munir, Tom Douglas&amp;rsquo;s upcoming falafel joint. None quite hit the niche the Harouns were looking to fill. They sought to blend urban sophistication with rigorously authentic versions of the food Syrians and Lebanese&amp;mdash;whose culinary traditions cross borders&amp;mdash;really eat. Much of that food is built on bread, or &lt;em&gt;khobz&lt;/em&gt;&amp;mdash;the &lt;em&gt;man&amp;rsquo;oushe&lt;/em&gt; flatbread (on the lunch menu it&amp;rsquo;s in the plural, spelled &lt;em&gt;mana&amp;rsquo;eesh&lt;/em&gt;) that&amp;rsquo;s topped like pizza with spices and cheeses and meats, the &lt;em&gt;kulage&lt;/em&gt; sandwiches made of grilled pita, the focaccia-like &lt;em&gt;barbari&lt;/em&gt; flatbread of Iran, the astonishing aforementioned (and must-be-ordered) khobz bi fleifleh, also known as olive oil bread.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:27324,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;593&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="27324" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/2/image/27324/0313-mamnoon-sea-bass-for-two.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F2%2Fimage%2F27324%2F0313-mamnoon-sea-bass-for-two.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x593%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Crispy sea bass for two&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;Around all this pastry the menu arises in elegant coherence, offering spreads like the yogurt dip labneh or a lemony hummus; enough vegetables to excite herbivores, especially with a lush fried eggplant preparation, &lt;em&gt;fatteh betinjan&lt;/em&gt;; or wickedly crusty cauliflower florets served with the tahini-garlic sauce, &lt;em&gt;tarator&lt;/em&gt;; soups and salads; and fish and meats including a succulent lamb shank for two in a dark, herby sauce rich as good mole. The Harouns hired Lebanese cookbook author Barbara Massaad as consultant and Tom Douglas pastry alum Garrett Melkonian as chef. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Wise decisions, those&amp;mdash;for though in three visits I encountered the occasional overcooked chunk of chicken (&lt;em&gt;shish taouk&lt;/em&gt;) or plank of dry barbari or inconsistently seasoned &lt;em&gt;za&amp;rsquo;atar&lt;/em&gt; (the sumac-thyme-oregano condiment of the Eastern Mediterranean), the food at Mamnoon is overwhelmingly winning: nuanced in its spicing and consistently sumptuous without being heavy. I&amp;rsquo;m thinking now of the &lt;em&gt;samkeh harra&lt;/em&gt;, or Mediterranean sea bass, served as a whole fish for two: presented deboned on a platter, its fluffy white meat lavished with hot pepper paste and whole herbs and pine nuts, its crispy, salted skin a perfect foil for its juicy bed of cabbage and mint.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:27323,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;1205&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="27323" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/2/image/27323/0313-mamnoon-dining-area.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F2%2Fimage%2F27323%2F0313-mamnoon-dining-area.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x1205%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Savoring this sure-handed food, I kept thinking about the Syrian grandmother who &lt;em&gt;had&lt;/em&gt; to be back there cooking it, and how she must feel about the steel girders and sleek multicolored-clump-of-grapes light pendants and marble countertops and trompe l&amp;rsquo;oeil mosaic tables and filigreed wood screens that lent such forbidding chic. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;But as I returned I understood that Mamnoon, which means &amp;ldquo;thankful&amp;rdquo; in Arabic, &lt;em&gt;belongs&lt;/em&gt; to that grandmother. Waiters are uniformly down to earth and informed. Weirdly, our food was never delivered by them, but by the aforementioned fleet of young women who, with near-perfect consistency, brought dishes to the wrong tables and described them inaccurately. A takeout window onto Melrose turns lunchtime salads and dips and kulage grilled sandwiches into humble street food, exotically tasty and underpriced at $4 to $7. A fuller sit-down lunch menu is promised soon.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Across the operation there&amp;rsquo;s an integrity you just feel, from a menu that lists the dishes by their native names (along with English descriptions)&amp;mdash;to its notable lack of French fries. Mamnoon looks like the sort of joint that would build its bar on slick cocktails and crowd-pleasing noshes; instead, it&amp;rsquo;s a joint without a bar at all&amp;mdash;just a lush velour and Persian carpet lounge behind the filigree screen. &amp;ldquo;Our consultants told us, &amp;lsquo;You&amp;rsquo;re on Capitol Hill, you need a bar,&amp;rsquo;&amp;rdquo; Wassef Haroun explained. &amp;ldquo;But that&amp;rsquo;s not common in our culture. And we&amp;rsquo;re not suffering without one.&amp;rdquo; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-block inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:27325,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:514,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="27325" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-block"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/2/image/27325/0313-mamnoon-kitchen.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F2%2Fimage%2F27325%2F0313-mamnoon-kitchen.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x514%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=640x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 640px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Culinary Tradition&lt;/strong&gt; Flatbread is the basis for meals that Syrians really eat.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: March 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 20 Feb 2013 08:00:00 -0800</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/seriously-syrian-dining-february-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/seriously-syrian-dining-february-2013</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Joule’s Steak House Makeover</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:26492,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;399&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;624&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="26492" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/1/image/26492/0213-rest-review-joule-steak.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F1%2Fimage%2F26492%2F0213-rest-review-joule-steak.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=399x624%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Petit tender&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;D&lt;/span&gt;ude, do you taste truffles in this tofu? &lt;em&gt;I think this is truffle oil&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;in the smoked tofu!&lt;/em&gt;&amp;rdquo; frothed one 25-ish brah with a trimmed goatee and a baseball cap. &amp;ldquo;I can&amp;rsquo;t tell,&amp;rdquo; answered Dude. &amp;ldquo;But I&amp;rsquo;m pretty sure these are fermented soybeans on my steak.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Say hello to the new normal in Seattle, land of the twentysomething connoisseurs, where truffles get tagged at 20 paces and even the frat boys know their fermented soybeans. A big reason is a pair of married chefs named Rachel Yang and Seif Chirchi.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Yang and Chirchi had earned their classical French stripes working in Alain Ducasse&amp;rsquo;s New York kitchens when they were lured west in 2006 to head up the kitchen of Coupage, the short-lived Korean-Continental restaurant in the Madrona neighborhood. Believing they could improve on that misplaced and overpriced&amp;mdash;and promising&amp;mdash;experiment, they set forth to launch a place &lt;br /&gt; of their own: a humble storefront in Wallingford they called Joule.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;When it opened in 2007, Joule was like nothing Seattle had ever tasted. Not only were Korean thrills like kimchi and fermented tofu and pickled vegetables still breaking news outside the exotic mom-and-pops of Shoreline and Federal Way, we&amp;rsquo;d never seen them fused with classic Western cuisine. I&amp;rsquo;d walk into the pretty little Joule-box to have dinner, yes, but mostly to have my head explode: kalamata olive gnocchi with Gruyere and pickled red pepper; roasted fennel soup drizzled with chili sauce and topped with clams doused in the Hong Kong seafood sauce XO; roasted carrots with ginger butter and&amp;mdash;&lt;em&gt;what are those?&lt;/em&gt;&amp;mdash;pickled grapes. The East-West collisions were startling. Back then what I would overhear from neighboring tables was studied silence, as diners parsed this weird-ass fusion with laboratory fascination.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/joule" target="_self"&gt;Joule&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;3506 Stone Way N, Fremont, &lt;br /&gt;206-632-5685; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://joulerestaurant.com/" target="_blank"&gt;joulerestaurant.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;What a difference five years makes. In that time, Yang and Chirchi became a brand. Their chaser to the success of Joule was the more casual, more contemporary, more affordable Korean street food cafe Revel and its modernist cocktail bar Quoin in Fremont; joints which, through accessibly innovative comfort food, big noisy vitality, and killer cocktails, snared and schooled a youthful fan base. For chefs who had been reinventing culinary wheels nightly at Joule, the more categorical approach of Revel&amp;mdash;differently accoutered dumplings, pancakes, and noodle bowls&amp;mdash;equaled more freedom.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;So that&amp;rsquo;s how they decided to recast Joule, which moved to the Fremont Collective last October. Now it&amp;rsquo;s a steak house, featuring lowbrow cuts and elevated preparations. Take the petit tender, the teres major portion of the shoulder which is often dismissed by chefs as a part of the populist chuck, but which in Yang&amp;rsquo;s hands goes buttery as tenderloin.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The petit tender is then draped in its rich juices and topped with a compound butter of preserved tofu, an ingenious element evoking both the heady fermentation of Korean cuisine and the tangy blue cheese butter so often used to top Western steaks. Skipping across the plate were frizzled shallots for crunch and&amp;mdash;Dude was right!&amp;mdash;fermented soybeans. Fusion at its astonishing finest.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The beef preparations are delectable as they are cerebral, and exactingly prepared. The concept is up to you, a la carte: You may choose a main&amp;mdash;four steaks, four &amp;ldquo;other than steaks&amp;rdquo;&amp;mdash;and/or your choice of starter, salad, rice or noodle, and vegetable. As in most chef-driven restaurants, invention belts loudest off the starter list&amp;mdash;beef tartare with Asian pear and spicy cod roe aioli; toast with oyster butter, smoked marrow, and pickled shallot.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:26495,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:519,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;250&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="26495" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2013/1/image/26495/0213-rest-review-joule-kitchen.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2013%2F1%2Fimage%2F26495%2F0213-rest-review-joule-kitchen.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x519%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=250x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 250px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Perfectionist at Work&lt;/strong&gt; Chef Rachel Yang shows her kitchen staff how fusion&amp;rsquo;s done.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Me, I was interested in the lower reaches of the menu, where I could craft dinner combos like the kalbi short rib steak&amp;mdash;the house signature, imported from the original Joule at the insistence of addicts&amp;mdash;with the spicy rice cake. I learned too late that dishes arrive serially here unless you request them together. I would have loved to alternate bites of the steak with the rice cake, which turned out to be extraordinary: sauteed slices of Korean mochi, bound in a fierce brown sauce with chunks of chorizo and pickled mustard greens. As a girl in Korea, Yang would enjoy after-school treats of sliced rice cake from street vendors; I wonder if it was half as satisfying as these chewy-on-the-inside, crispy-on-the-outside pennies, edged with salt from the greens and fire from the sausage.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I could go on. Instead I&amp;rsquo;ll leave you with guidance for your own reconnaissance. Servers are pros: quick and friendly and fully informed. If it&amp;rsquo;s available, tofu lovers should aim into the smoked tofu with honshimeji mushrooms and soy truffle vinaigrette&amp;mdash;a dish of quiet pleasures positively swelling with umami. Best of the vegetables is the charry Chinese broccoli with walnut pesto. Everyone will relish the meaty burger, impossibly juicy with kalbi, and offset with horseradish and pickled vegetables. Dessert you can skip. Never Joule&amp;rsquo;s strong suit, these sound fascinating&amp;mdash;ubu cheesecake, apple bread pudding with foie gras, chocolate sesame cake&amp;mdash;but lack the courage of their flavor convictions. If you&amp;rsquo;re going to put foie gras in my apple bread pudding, I want to taste it. (I guess.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I&amp;rsquo;m pretty sure Dude couldn&amp;rsquo;t taste his either; I&amp;rsquo;d have heard about it. The tables in the sleek room with the lofty rafters and the wall of windows are lined up like good soldiers across from the open kitchen, leaving diners shoulder to shoulder with strangers in awkward proximity.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Then again, everything about the place screams New Paradigm: the long communal table in the bar, the forefronting of the cocktail program (cocktails here are muscular and exciting), the shared front door (with neighboring restaurant the Whale Wins). You walk in and the place hits you in all your senses&amp;mdash;loud Oakland blues, big buzzing crowd, smoky aromas from the grill.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;All of which makes this Joule less the spiritual descendent of its reverent predecessor and more that of its jumpy sibling, Revel. All right by a new generation of beer-pong foodies, more than all right by me.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: February 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 23 Jan 2013 08:19:00 -0800</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/joules-steak-house-makeover-february-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/joules-steak-house-makeover-february-2013</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Tale of the Wandering Goose</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:25361,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;640&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;919&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="25361" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/12/image/25361/0113-wandering-goose-review.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F12%2Fimage%2F25361%2F0113-wandering-goose-review.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x919%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&amp;ldquo;&lt;/em&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ug met Goose one fine clear morning in her garden.&amp;rdquo; &lt;/em&gt;I sat in the skinny restaurant sipping my breakfast latte and pulling warm cinnamon-sugary apple slices out of a half-moon of shattering pastry with my teeth, one by blessed one, when I noticed those words burned into my table.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Glancing around the place I saw that every wooden table had words burned in: the one where a young daddy pushed bits of biscuit into his baby&amp;rsquo;s rosebud mouth, the one where a trio of Capitol Hill matrons shouted Democratic politics over dark green salads, the one where a beautiful, fine-boned hipster with a platinum bob and ebony roots stretched fire engine lips around a biscuit sandwich thick with peanut butter and housemade honey.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The words were phrases from restaurateur Heather Earnhardt&amp;rsquo;s forthcoming children&amp;rsquo;s book, &lt;em&gt;Bug and Goose&lt;/em&gt;. Earnhardt has three young children. She is also a photographer, a potter, a gardener, a chicken raiser, a beekeeper, and one hell of a baker. These days she&amp;rsquo;s usually behind the antique pastry case or in the kitchen of the little joint she opened in October, Wandering Goose; wiping her hands on a floral apron, embracing about every third guest with a haven&amp;rsquo;t-seen-you-in-forever hug and a wide, lipsticky smile.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p class="p1" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/wandering-goose" target="_self"&gt;The Wandering Goose&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;403 15th Ave, Capitol Hill, &lt;br /&gt;206-323-9938; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thewanderinggoose.com/" target="_blank"&gt;thewanderinggoose.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Pastries overburden the pastry case: big almond&amp;ndash;orange blossom and -blueberry-buttermilk and pumpkin Bundt cakes, raspberry thumbprints and triple chocolate chip cookies, platters of corn bread and layer cakes and biscuits filled with raspberry freezer jam. Alongside sits the Hoosier hutch Earnhardt found broken and battered on Craigslist; it reminded her of her North Carolina grandmother&amp;rsquo;s, so she repaired and prettied it with whitewash and wallpaper. Pendant lights are made of sugar sacks, condiments served in mason jars. Dividing her restaurant from Ethan Stowell&amp;rsquo;s Rione XIII next door are panes of vintage glass, with a half-painted mural of scarlet wallflowers shambling across the rest of the room.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Earnhardt came up amid the bullfrogs and fireflies of red dirt North Carolina, learning to bake from that same Carolina granny who ran her 50-year catering business with a Sunbeam mixer and a Hotpoint oven. By the age of eight Earnhardt had refined her own recipe for pumpkin bread, which she peddled to the neighbors out of her little red wagon. Culinary school was looking unnecessary.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Earnhardt wound up in Seattle via Tucson, where she and a dozen of her artist and chef friends moved en masse from North Carolina, and after waiting tables at Phinney Ridge&amp;rsquo;s Carmelita she partnered with chef Ericka Burke to open Volunteer Park Cafe in 2006. It was her first baking job. Instantly VPC&amp;rsquo;s casual country-store aesthetic seized the heart of Capitol Hill, with Earnhardt&amp;rsquo;s pastries a moist and expert and altogether compelling part of the draw.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Life thickened. Volunteer Park Cafe ran into neighbor troubles, creating tensions between the partners, and Earnhardt sustained a personal tragedy: the death of an infant daughter. She and her husband split. Last year, so did she and Burke, who still has the VPC. &amp;ldquo;We are very different people,&amp;rdquo; Earnhardt says carefully. &amp;ldquo;She wanted a $32-plate-of-fish place. I wanted to do something more affordable, more casual. The food I grew up on.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&amp;ldquo;They ate thump-ripe watermelons and gorged themselves on sweet greens.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/em&gt; One knows from the first squeeze of the latch that Volunteer Park Cafe and Wandering Goose spring from the same DNA: The piled-up pastries with labels toothpicked in; the drop-in-all-morning-and-afternoon vibe; the hipster-folky aesthetic, here with the supple fiddles of bluegrass and zydeco swelling in the air. And yes; the discomforts sociability brings&amp;mdash;too-close tables, the door swinging right into one of them, the fact that that door swings open a &lt;em&gt;lot&lt;/em&gt; (people like it here), the uncertain service setup (order at the counter; they bring it to your table) and, often, the long wait for it.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;One ends up shrugging: Can what goes down in Grandma&amp;rsquo;s kitchen really be judged as &lt;em&gt;service&lt;/em&gt;? &amp;ldquo;Oh! I meant to catch people before they got water!&amp;rdquo; apologized one cheerful staffer as she caught me returning from the serve-your-own spigot with a full glass of ruddy water. She explained that work in the neighborhood was making the water muddy and replaced my glass with a clear one from the back. Even the water at Wandering Goose seems to pine for the red dirt of the South.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The blackboard over the pastry case calls out Cheerwine cherry soda from North Carolina, Abita Root Beer from Louisiana, and Webster&amp;rsquo;s Seltzer from&amp;hellip;well, Capitol Hill, but handcrafted and delivered by Webster himself on his bike, so Southern in spirit. I ordered my lunch&amp;mdash;with a slice of chocolate Bundt cake to nibble while I waited for it. (Don&amp;rsquo;t judge: It was still warm from the oven.) The cake was a wonder: thickly chocolaty with a delicate crumb, its icing shined and sweetened with Steen&amp;rsquo;s, the South&amp;rsquo;s signature cane syrup.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Earnhardt bakes out of instinct and love; she says she&amp;rsquo;s hopeless for it when she&amp;rsquo;s grumpy. She works out recipes on friends and family and, for a time, one unbelievably fortunate garbageman, who&amp;rsquo;d find bags of her experiments carefully tied to the can handle. That&amp;rsquo;s how she comes up with secrets like how to end dry corn bread forever. (Pssst: just a little sour cream, which makes her corn bread the best in town.) Cookies are big and caramelly, often strewn with little rocks of salt to bully out the flavors.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Her biscuits, the rightful specialty of the house, crackle thickly at the edges and surrender to fluffy interiors that melt away on the tongue. Pure pleasure with butter and raspberry jam, they become another pleasure entirely when piled with soft egg and cheese and Benton&amp;rsquo;s chewy bacon. Or with fat chunks of fried chicken, sharpened with aged cheddar and flooded over with fiery sausage gravy. On a hill full of biscuits, these are the runaway best.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;About that fried chicken. Earnhardt&amp;rsquo;s longtime pal Michael Law was part of the aforementioned Carolina-to-Seattle migration, only he pit-stopped a few years in the kitchens of New Orleans and San Francisco, including the latter&amp;rsquo;s fried chicken house Front Porch. Upon his arrival Earnhardt snapped him up as her chef, a move that would have been savvy, even if only for the chicken: a buttermilk-and-thyme-marinated marvel with a delicate crust giving way to uncommonly flavorful meat, moist throughout. At lunch three pieces arrive with a biscuit, collard greens, and a dish of Sea Island peas&amp;mdash;a nuttier heirloom version of their black-eyed cousin, served in a rich soupy juice and topped with chowchow, the neon-yellow pickled cabbage popular across the Carolinas. The chowchow lent its bold hit of vinegar to the peas, which was pitch perfect on the tongue and represented a nice marriage: new Northwest meets Old South.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Law&amp;rsquo;s wise palate adds the bitter crunch of pumpkin seed brittle to a saturated salad of dark greens and sweet vinaigrette; a feisty wash of pepper jelly to a crunchy fried oyster-bacon sandwich on toasted brioche. Only Fridays does Wandering Goose do dinner: a four-courses-for-$38 arrangement with a fixed menu, a 7pm seating, and a no-reservations policy. The line began clumping outside the door around 6:30 for our New Orleans&amp;ndash;themed dinner, which began with a thick pumpkin soup, ragged with chunks of the squash, and brightened with a clove--fragrant dollop of creme fraiche. The soup was at once silken and steely, with spice that resolved itself in the back of the throat.&amp;nbsp; A black-eyed pea &amp;ldquo;salad&amp;rdquo; was actually a warm stewy shrimp Creole, thrumming with an elegant bass note of modulated Cajun spices. A quail Andouille jambalaya entree was notable, too, for the nuance and restraint of its spices and the meaty novelty of the quail.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Service in this more formal context was still a little slow, still deeply dear&amp;mdash;still, in short, Southern. We sat savor-ing ramekins of fallen chocolate cake in huckleberry-blueberry sauce with cinnamon-kissed whipped cream, as we -chatted about how very little this restaurant felt like a restaurant. Except for&amp;nbsp; the chefs, of course, whom we spied from time to time, cooking feverishly back in the kitchen. Chefs who make it look easy.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;And on our table: &lt;em&gt;&amp;ldquo;You have made your way into this heart of mine like a stone falling into a clear pool.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Published: January 2013&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 19 Dec 2012 09:00:00 -0800</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/the-tale-of-wandering-goose-january-2013</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/the-tale-of-wandering-goose-january-2013</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Tuscany, Kirkland Style</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:24295,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:999,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="24295" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/11/image/24295/1212-restaurant-reveiw-volterra.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F11%2Fimage%2F24295%2F1212-restaurant-reveiw-volterra.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x999%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Polenta and wild mushrooms&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;n 2005, before the word &lt;em&gt;locavore&lt;/em&gt; hit the Oxford American Dictionary and Ballard Ave became Seattle&amp;rsquo;s unofficial progressive dinner, a restaurant called Volterra opened along its northern reach. It was Tuscan: named after the Italian village where owners Michelle Quisenberry, who handled the front of the house, and Don Curtiss, the chef, were married.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The place enshrined an Old World rusticity in a warm and ruddy palette, with food to match. Hearty, autumnal, big on meats and mushrooms and truffle oil&amp;mdash;it was dinner you wanted to wrap your face around, particularly this time of year. Dishes on the long menu rarely changed and immediately ignited fan clubs: wild boar tenderloin with gorgonzola sauce, herby seared half chicken with vegetables and mashed potatoes, pork jowl and foraged mushroom pasta, oil soup, crab ravioli, the list went on. Diners developed cravings and those who lived on the Eastside complained to Quisenberry and Curtiss: &lt;em&gt;Why can&amp;rsquo;t you open a satellite on our side of the expensive bridge?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;In September they did, in the storefront of a new downtown Kirkland apartment building with free parking beneath. Forget brand identity; this new Volterra couldn&amp;rsquo;t look more opposite from its sister. Glassy and contemporary&amp;mdash;banquettes and tables on one side of the room, a small bar with Chihuly drawings on the other, open kitchen in back&amp;mdash;Kirkland Volterra rang more Milan than Tuscany. Neutral sheers shimmered at the doorway beneath an icy Swarovsky crystal chandelier.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/volterra-kirkland" target="_self"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Volterra&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;121 Kirkland Ave, Kirkland, &lt;br /&gt;425-202-7201;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://volterrakirkland.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;em&gt;volterrakirkland.com&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The effect is generically sophisticated and, with all its hard edges, deafening. &amp;ldquo;Welcome to Volterra!&amp;rdquo; the hostess shouted as we entered. &amp;ldquo;We&amp;rsquo;re &lt;em&gt;so&lt;/em&gt; happy to see you!&amp;rdquo; (Since our visits, they&amp;rsquo;ve attempted to resolve the noise problem with acoustical panels.) She seated us in the section of a particularly avid waiter, who scurried over from across the room whenever I so much as raised my head. I began to wonder if they knew I was a critic. Over the course of my visits, as I observed waiters treating all their guests with the same level of obsequious enthusiasm, I realized it was the style of the house. (On another visit we shivered in the entry nearly a half hour&amp;mdash;the bar was full&amp;mdash;waiting for our reserved table. The waiter comped our wine and appetizers, which was a great touch, and delivered an apology so fulsome and overwrought it rang bizarrely self-flagellating.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;We surveyed the long menu to find nearly every one of Ballard&amp;rsquo;s greatest hits. A couple appetizers&amp;mdash;polenta custard oozing fontina and covered with wild mushroom &lt;em&gt;rag&amp;ugrave;&lt;/em&gt;, a flaky &lt;em&gt;crostata&lt;/em&gt; pastry lavished with sliced Yukon golds, goat cheese, and smoky tomato vinaigrette&amp;mdash;were terrific; still the stuff of midnight cravings. Dungeness crab ravioli, housemade egg pasta stuffed with improbably flavorful mascarpone-crab mixture, was offset brightly with tomato cream. The boar amounted to tender, tender slices poured over with a masterful and subtle Gorgonzola cream sauce, along with rosemary Yukon gold potatoes and&amp;mdash;a happy departure, as sides go&amp;mdash;pea vines with rods of celeriac. &lt;br /&gt; Portions are enormous.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Volterra knows its meat. Twelve fleshy ounces of New York &lt;em&gt;bistecca&lt;/em&gt; arrived grilled and heaped with sauteed leeks, fried prosciutto, and melting Gorgonzola&amp;mdash;every bite oozing and peppery. At lunch (an Eastside-only departure for Volterra), chunks of lean Hoffman Ranch flatiron steak pocked a giddy salad of bright romaine hearts, red onion, diced tomato, Gorgonzola, and Castelvetrano olives, in a fine &lt;em&gt;guanciale&lt;/em&gt;-shallot vinaigrette&amp;mdash;a satisfying romp, and a smart one.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;When I was undecided at dinner between two pastas, our waiter helpfully suggested half portions of both, an option not listed on the menu. (All right, so obsequious service has its uses.) Unfortunately the lamb rag&amp;ugrave; over housemade orechiette was oddly muted in flavor; the pesto pasta with wild Gulf prawns&amp;mdash;despite peppercorn pasta and juicy prawns&amp;mdash;too bland.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:24296,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:718,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="24296" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/11/image/24296/1212-restaurant-reveiw-volterra-dining-room.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F11%2Fimage%2F24296%2F1212-restaurant-reveiw-volterra-dining-room.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x718%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;We&amp;rsquo;re Not in Ballard Anymore&lt;/strong&gt; With its banquettes and wall of windows, &amp;shy;Kirkland Volterra looks glassy and contemporary.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Alas, too much gastronomic uneventfulness was on display for a house of this pedigree and these price tags. Some plates offered a single sustained note where a more nuanced harmony would have served, like the famous haystack of pork jowl pasta with wild mushrooms and truffle butter. That lush trio of ingredients with its housemade tagliolini managed to taste only of truffles&amp;mdash;a heady rush, to be sure, but hard to sustain interest to the bottom of the dish. Lamb shank over polenta fell obligingly from its enormous bone, but offered nothing but rosemary to pique a palate that&amp;rsquo;s seen this preparation so many times before. Even desserts like lemon mascarpone custard and a weirdly espresso-bereft tiramisu wanted depth of interest.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;What&amp;rsquo;s going on? Curtiss no longer cooks at either restaurant; Curtiss was a terrific chef. This may explain the difference between the vivid and compelling cannellini bean soup with nuances of rosemary and a float of fine olive oil I pronounced legend during the early days of Ballard&amp;mdash;Volterra&amp;rsquo;s famous oil soup&amp;mdash;and the underseasoned pretender I sampled in Kirkland. Or maybe it&amp;rsquo;s an Eastside thing. Whether a consequence of a tamer surburban palate, the proliferation of Eastside chains, or table-turning chefs aiming for mainstream popularity&amp;mdash;this kitchen has tamed its fullest flavors.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I suspect there&amp;rsquo;s a better explanation. Maybe our palates have simply evolved. When Volterra opened in Ballard, after all, Seattle hadn&amp;rsquo;t yet experienced what would turn out to be the biggest paradigm shift restaurants have seen since the midweek-dining revolution: the shift toward chef innovation. What before had been sufficient for a chef&amp;mdash;write a relatively unchanging menu, perform it consistently so that diners develop allegiance to favorites, treat those regulars like gold&amp;mdash;became a dated recipe, as a restless band of young Turk chefs who favored microseasonality and culinary improv began to change things up every night. In 2005, the fact that Volterra&amp;rsquo;s food was tasty and consistent and pretty darned Tuscan were enough. Then we met Tilth. We met Joule. We met Sitka and Spruce.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Of course restaurants will always succeed by enticing regulars to crave favorites: Volterra&amp;rsquo;s wild boar in Gorgonzola alone reminds us that that illustrious gastronomic tradition isn&amp;rsquo;t going anywhere. It just won&amp;rsquo;t dazzle the inquiring Seattle palate with&amp;nbsp; quite the same intrigue.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 28 Nov 2012 08:00:00 -0800</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/tuscany-kirkland-style-december-2012</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/tuscany-kirkland-style-december-2012</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Chihuly’s Cafe and Collections </title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-slideshow-block inline-slideshow mceNonEditable" data-include-caption="true" data-slideshow-id="894"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;
&lt;div class="slideshow-image-div"&gt;&lt;a class="slideshow-image-link" href="/slideshows/chihulys-cafe-and-collections-october-2012"&gt; &lt;span class="slideshow-image-wrapper" style="width: 640px;"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F9%2Fimage%2F18035%2F1012-collections-brushes.jpg&amp;amp;resize=640x" alt="" /&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-slideshow-caption" style="width: 640px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;eattle Center has traditionally been a terrible place to be caught with an appetite. Ever since I was a kid there&amp;rsquo;s always been something cheerfully awful about the food&amp;mdash;the &amp;rsquo;60s-sitcom quality of dinner at the Space Needle, the carny corndog-giness of the Food Circus. The place was generic and predictable in a hometown way, like the Fun Forest&amp;mdash;so it wasn&amp;rsquo;t very good, but it was kind of great.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;My, how the Next Fifty changes things. The Food Circus at the Center House is now called the Armory, and it houses satellites of very admirable nosheries, among them Skillet, Pie, Eltana Wood-Fired Bagels. As for the Fun Forest, its pavilion is now Chihuly Garden and Glass, the pretty-darn--permanent exhibit of hometown glass artist Dale Chihuly that opened in May. Across its north side stretches its windowy commissary, Collections Cafe.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/collections-cafe" target="_self"&gt;Collections Cafe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;305 Harrison St, Seattle Center,&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;206-753-4940; &lt;a href="http://www.chihulygardenandglass.com/" target="_blank"&gt;chihulygardenandglass.com&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;$$&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;A few things make the cafe important, not least a highly visible street-level location, which makes it as close as Seattle Center&amp;rsquo;s ever had to a main restaurant. Space Needle execs (the contractors for the cafe) hired Jason Wilson, the James Beard Award&amp;ndash;winning chef and owner of Crush, to consult, which helps explain the grilled octopus plate on the starter list and the pickled watermelon rind in the green salad. Just reading through this menu&amp;mdash;lamb-strawberry tagliatelle, speck-fig flatbread, ahi-tapenade sliders&amp;mdash;is more interesting than 49 years of eating around here.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;But being in the space is the most interesting of all. Dale Chihuly, artist, may be the subject next door, but in this sunlit shaft of a room it&amp;rsquo;s all about Dale Chihuly, collector&amp;mdash;the Tacoma kid who foraged beach glass off the Puget Sound shore and made it his first collection before he turned five. Since that time the 71-year-old has assembled more diverse collections, 28 of which decorate the cafe.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:17895,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:655,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;200&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="17895" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/9/image/17895/1012-dining-collections-cafe-open.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F9%2Fimage%2F17895%2F1012-dining-collections-cafe-open.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x655%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=200x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 200px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The first collection we encountered was the crowd of chipper hostesses in lacy skirts&amp;mdash;well they looked like a collection&amp;mdash;who cheerfully placed us on a wait list and asked us to take a seat. (Ten-minute waits were the norm on my visits, though reservations are available.) The room is as sunny as they were: cool blond wood with lime-green chairs and black-and-white checkerboard upholstery, brightened with backlit color-splashed panels of Chihuly drawings on one wall and long windows on the other. From the ceiling, naturally, vintage accordions. A whole mess of &amp;rsquo;em.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;ldquo;If I had to pick only one instrument to hear, it would be the accordion,&amp;rdquo; Chihuly opines in a tidy little chapbook the Hostess Collection distributes at the door. Never mind your opinion of accordion music&amp;mdash;the vintage instruments are a transfixing and elegant piece of design when suspended en masse from the ceiling. (He also writes, &amp;ldquo;I think just about everybody likes little ceramic dogs.&amp;rdquo; By the time you&amp;rsquo;ve settled into your table you probably &lt;em&gt;will&lt;/em&gt; like little ceramic dogs, even maybe adore them, given how adorable they look in a little ceramic herd.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Most collections are fitted into the modified map tables at which diners are seated, like the alarm clocks under the glass of our table. &lt;em&gt;&amp;ldquo;Aaoow!&amp;rdquo; &lt;/em&gt;screeched one elderly tourist toddling right into our conversation,&lt;em&gt; &amp;ldquo;You gawt the alahm clawks!&amp;rdquo;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;(&amp;ldquo;Aaoow, you gawt the fishing&amp;hellip;thingies!&amp;rdquo;&lt;/em&gt; we overheard as she passed the table with the decoys.) Such interruptions are the norm at Collections, &lt;br /&gt;as when a staff photographer ambles by to introduce himself and offer a free photo.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-right inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:18053,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:315,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;200&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="18053" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-right"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/9/image/18053/1012-dining-collections-cafe-slider.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F9%2Fimage%2F18053%2F1012-dining-collections-cafe-slider.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x315%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=200x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 200px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The Fun Forest may be history&amp;hellip;but the spirit of the midway is alive and well at Collections Cafe.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The menu offers similar sparks of novelty. Fresh lemonades come brightened with pomegranate and basil, strawberry and lavender, or (the best one) honey and cucumber; there&amp;rsquo;s also wine and beer. A salad featured mixed greens and toasted pistachios as the straight men to sheets of milky ricotta &lt;em&gt;salata&lt;/em&gt;, strips of pickled watermelon rind, and chunks of grilled watermelon oozing sugars&amp;mdash;a genuinely innovative success. Nicely cooked tagliatelle pasta arrived tangled in mild braised lamb and topped with a toss of arugula and strawberries. &amp;ldquo;My first reaction was, that sounds nasty,&amp;rdquo; said Wilson of an idea from a fellow chef. &amp;ldquo;But then I tried it and it&amp;rsquo;s &lt;em&gt;insane&lt;/em&gt;!&amp;rdquo;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:18055,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:579,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;200&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="18055" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/9/image/18055/1012-dining-collections-cafe-patio.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F9%2Fimage%2F18055%2F1012-dining-collections-cafe-patio.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x579%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=200x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 200px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;We know what you meant, Jason&amp;mdash;but it&amp;rsquo;s actually more like &amp;ldquo;a little nutty.&amp;rdquo; Occasionally you get the feeling that this kitchen is trying too hard to make up for Seattle Center&amp;rsquo;s insipid culinary past, as when short ribs promisingly done in chocolate stout arrived way over-peppered. Or when you spy that grilled Pacific octopus on the menu, prepared here with berbere-spiced fingerling potatoes and Castelvetrano olives.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Wilson fought for that octopus, wanting what he calls the Americana-themed menu to reflect uniquely Northwest ingredients. &amp;ldquo;I couldn&amp;rsquo;t imagine that the chairman and CEO of the Space Needle were going to say, Yeah, let&amp;rsquo;s go octopus,&amp;rdquo; he recalls. &amp;ldquo;But when the chairman tasted it he said, &amp;lsquo;You win. It&amp;rsquo;s amazing.&amp;rsquo;&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;nbsp;And it would be amazing if it had the courage of its convictions. Two pink grilled tentacles curled prettily across the potatoes and green olive slivers&amp;mdash;a good deal at either $8 for the small or $11 for the large. But the berbere, the Ethiopian spice blend on the potatoes, was uncharacteristically muted.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Blandness is the besetting sin at Collections, afflicting the chopped salad and the speck-fig flatbread&amp;mdash;the latter a particular shame as it creeps right up to the edge of interesting, peeks over, then loses its nerve. The crisped ham made beautiful music with the figs and sherry gastrique drizzle; all marvelous against the naan. But the ricotta, even herbed, was too flavorless a foil.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-right inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:18054,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:636,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;200&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="18054" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-right"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/9/image/18054/1012-dining-dessert.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F9%2Fimage%2F18054%2F1012-dining-dessert.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x636%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=200x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption mceNonEditable" style="width: 200px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;I wish this cool joint would stop playing to the cheap seats&amp;mdash;even elderly Iowans like flavor, and even Seattleites sometimes want to eat at Seattle Center. This kitchen knows that crowd pleasing doesn&amp;rsquo;t have to be boring: witness its dandy starter of beautifully seared prawns on frisee with salsa verde, its fine apple-slaw pork ciabatta sandwich, its big burger intelligently loaded with red onion jam, Beecher&amp;rsquo;s Marco Polo cheese, Peppadew pepper aioli, and bacon.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Desserts generate further applause, especially that mother of all crowd-pleasers, two gooey brownies over Snicker brittle with vanilla ice cream, banana slices, and a drizzle of salted caramel. I was trying to figure out how I might lick my plate when I glanced up and spied a freaky looking character gazing disapprovingly down from his perch on the wall. Part of Chihuly&amp;rsquo;s collection of the early twentieth-century carnival prizes called chalkware, this dude looked like the spawn of a kewpie doll and that serial killer clown from Stephen King. I&amp;rsquo;m pretty sure he knew I was a restaurant critic.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;The Fun Forest is dead. Long live the Fun Forest.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 11 Sep 2012 11:12:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/chihulys-cafe-and-collections-october-2012</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/chihulys-cafe-and-collections-october-2012</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Chihuly’s Cafe and Collections</title>
      <description>Seattle Center’s old Fun Forest gets a plateful of Americana, courtesy of Dale Chihuly.</description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 11 Sep 2012 11:08:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/chihulys-cafe-and-collections-october-2012</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/chihulys-cafe-and-collections-october-2012</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Belle Clementine’s Big Table</title>
      <description>&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:17340,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;400&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;655&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;291&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;400&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="17340" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/8/image/17340/0912-belle-clementine-table.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F8%2Fimage%2F17340%2F0912-belle-clementine-table.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x655%2B400%2B291&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p1"&gt;It is a truth universally acknowledged that a party in search of a restaurant meal must be in want of its own table.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;span class="s2"&gt;&amp;ldquo;I &lt;em&gt;hate&lt;/em&gt; communal tables,&amp;rdquo; was the unanimous upshot of a highly scientific diner poll I conducted for this story. Which included myself. For me it&amp;rsquo;s a practical thing: There aren&amp;rsquo;t enough minutes in my life to be with the people I love, so spending precious free time drumming up conversation with strangers sounds like a lot of work for a dubious return.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;David Sanford is a guy who couldn&amp;rsquo;t agree less. The Stanford grad and former &lt;span class="s3"&gt;Silicon Valley techie opened a restaurant &lt;/span&gt;in Ballard last winter, Belle Clementine, to be a place where the previously unacquainted&amp;mdash;let&amp;rsquo;s not call them strangers&amp;mdash;would sit around big tables passing around family-style platters of three courses and, well&amp;hellip;forging community.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;You could look at this as the pet project of a raging extrovert who&amp;rsquo;d happily go to a dinner party every night. Or the inevitable career move of a committed foodie who had stints with the Santa Cruz&amp;ndash;based, traveling farm-to-table dinner series, Outstanding in the Field, and the Georgetown restaurant that James Beard Award&amp;ndash;winning chef Matthew Dillon opened in 2008 as the first family-style restaurant in Seattle, the Corson Building.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Or you could look at Belle Clementine as one seriously earnest young man&amp;rsquo;s shot at improving the world.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="sidebar-right"&gt;
&lt;h2&gt;Restaurant Info&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="/restaurants/belle-clementine" target="_self"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Belle Clementine&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;5451 Leary Avenue NW&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;Seattle, WA 98107&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;206-257-5761;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.belleclementine.com/" target="_blank"&gt;belleclementine.com&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;$$$&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Sanford grew up on Mercer Island, where he found himself increasingly distressed by the high school&amp;rsquo;s storied cliquishness. In 2001, his senior year, he helped organize a youth summit where &lt;span class="s2"&gt;facilitators worked to bridge divides. &amp;ldquo;I&amp;rsquo;ve &lt;/span&gt;always had friends in diverse circles,&amp;rdquo; he says. &amp;ldquo;I finally realized I wanted to start finding ways to bring these groups together.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;An amateur cook, Sanford found the table to be a uniquely powerful place to do that. As his world got bigger he encountered the gastronomic societies of Basque Spain; the Vietnamese guy cooking by the side of the road who invited young Sanford to share his snails.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&amp;ldquo;I have an operating thesis, not just for Belle Clementine but for my life,&amp;rdquo; Sanford says. &amp;ldquo;That is: to create experiences for people that help them realize that we&amp;rsquo;re all basically the same on a fundamental human level. It&amp;rsquo;s an ancient idea, and breaking bread together exposes it. We all need to eat.&amp;rdquo;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-block inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;scaling-type&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;in-proportion&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;fill-color&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;#000000&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:408,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:640,&amp;quot;scale&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;100&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="17338" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-block"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/8/image/17338/0912-belle-clementine-salmon.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F8%2Fimage%2F17338%2F0912-belle-clementine-salmon.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=640x408%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=640x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption" style="width: 640px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p2"&gt;&lt;span class="s4"&gt;I know I did, arriving at belle&lt;/span&gt; Clementine with my husband and daughter one balmy weeknight. Only I was pretty sure I didn&amp;rsquo;t need to do it with the couple sniping at each other in the parking lot. Hoping they wouldn&amp;rsquo;t be our seatmates, we walked in to the airy, warehouselike room on Leary Way&amp;mdash;a former auto shop&amp;mdash;where vertical windows and three long tables filled the space between concrete floors and soaring fir ceilings. From every seat, diners could spy Sanford industriously mandolining squash in his bright kitchen.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;We lurked at the entry awaiting instructions, slightly intimidated by the big party of 10 hooting with laughter at one of the tables. Finally we approached the second table&amp;mdash;maybe it was seat-yourself?&amp;mdash;and the host scurried over. &amp;ldquo;No, no, I have you over &lt;em&gt;here&lt;/em&gt;,&amp;rdquo; he said upon learning our reservation name, and lead us to the one empty table. We watched as the parking lot fighters got a big welcome at the Fun Table.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Wow, okay, maybe I wasn&amp;rsquo;t thrilled to sit with strangers&amp;mdash;but seated alone at the communal restaurant? &lt;em&gt;Was it something we said?&lt;/em&gt; It recalled the first time I dined at the Corson Building, and my friend and I were seated at a 10-top whose eight other occupants were celebrating a birthday. We spent the whole ride home discussing the stunning food and who had a worse time enjoying it: the party with the uninvited guests, or the uninvited guests themselves.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="blockquote"&gt;&lt;span class="s1"&gt;We lurked at the entry, slightly intimidated by the big party of 10 hooting with laughter at one table.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Oh, the myriad ways one can feel awkward around a big table. But it wasn&amp;rsquo;t always this way. Through most of civilized history the eating-house norm was the &lt;em&gt;table d&amp;rsquo;h&amp;ocirc;te&lt;/em&gt;, or &amp;ldquo;host&amp;rsquo;s table,&amp;rdquo; where diners would gather around a common board to eat whatever the cook had made. The restaurant as we know it today didn&amp;rsquo;t develop until postrevolutionary France, when a bunch of suddenly unemployed royal chefs needed new patrons and new ways to lure them. They dreamed up private tables and menu choices&amp;mdash;bright new novelties in the early nineteenth century, which set the template that remains today.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;So it&amp;rsquo;s been fascinating in recent years to watch chefs across Seattle and the country find so many new ways back to the table d&amp;rsquo;h&amp;ocirc;te&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt; A half-decade ago saw the heyday of &amp;ldquo;underground&amp;rdquo; restaurants; unlicensed insider dinner parties in whispered locales, like Gabriel Claycamp&amp;rsquo;s Gypsy and Michael Hebberoy&amp;rsquo;s One Pot. There are the &amp;ldquo;family suppers,&amp;rdquo; or special dinners held on restaurants&amp;rsquo; dark nights, as at Volunteer Park Cafe and Pantry at Delancey. There are &amp;ldquo;chef&amp;rsquo;s tables,&amp;rdquo; where groups sit around a kitchen table to watch the chef at work, as at Restaurant Bea or MistralKitchen&amp;rsquo;s Bijou room.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;And then there are the restaurants with set menus and fixed prices&amp;mdash;some with individual tables like Wallingford&amp;rsquo;s Art of the Table, some with set seatings like Wallingford&amp;rsquo;s vegetarian restaurant Sutra, some where big platters are brought for sharing, as at Corson. When owners of such outfits talk about the wholesome joys of shared dining, they typically ooze the same communitarian sincerity as Sanford. So it feels peevish to note the clear business advantages to such models&amp;mdash;predictable ingredient costs, lean kitchen staffs, complete creative freedom, fewer wasted seats, and/or the overhead-maximizing transformation of dark nights into dinner parties.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p4"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-right inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:17337,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:566,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;300&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="17337" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-right"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/8/image/17337/0912-belle-clementine-chef.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F8%2Fimage%2F17337%2F0912-belle-clementine-chef.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x566%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=300x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption" style="width: 300px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Matchmaker Host&lt;/strong&gt; David Sanford builds community, one meal at a time.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p2"&gt;&lt;span class="s4"&gt;&amp;ldquo;We&amp;rsquo;re sorry,&amp;rdquo; our host darted&lt;/span&gt; over to whisper, &amp;ldquo;but your tablemates just called; they&amp;rsquo;re delayed in traffic.&amp;rdquo; In a weird phantom limb moment we began missing our friends we hadn&amp;rsquo;t met yet. On the other hand&amp;hellip;uh, might it mean more food for us? Because the starter platter had been promising: Washington sardines, meaty as small trout, stuffed with Castelvetrano olives and fried lemon and garlic, lolling on buttered crostini and scattered with nutty arugula blossoms. We especially appreciated the Ligurian touch of briny fish on buttered bread; butter Sanford was now telling the room had been churned on a farmstead in the Skagit Valley.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;He was giving his nightly speech on what seasonal foods we&amp;rsquo;d be eating and which local sources they derived from, a speech both informative and straight out of &lt;em&gt;Portlandia&lt;/em&gt;, as he seemed ever on the verge of revealing our sardines&amp;rsquo; family name. (He has an operating thesis, after all.) He explained the drill for the evening: Three family-style courses for $40, gratuity and glass of wine (or juice) included, wine list available on the side.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;By the time the salad arrived our phantom friends had blown in&amp;mdash;a family, it appeared. (We assumed it was a family of six until the host politely dispatched two of them: A couple drifting in off the street who had probably heard the laughter from the Fun Table and mistaken Belle Clementine for an ordinary restaurant.) The heaping bowl of Little Gem greens, full of crunchy lettuce hearts and butter-tender radish slices and carrot ribbons, glistened with a peppery dill vinaigrette. As I tilted up the bountiful bowl for my neighbor to serve himself, and then he did the same for me, I felt a rush of something warm and mutual, something that got at the essence of being fed.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;Our table partners were a worldly and engaging couple with two grown children; they were from Mercer Island, where I grew up, so we immediately plunged into hometown gossip. Turns out they&amp;rsquo;d known Sanford as a kid. When the platter of roasted coppa came around, juicy slabs of pork shoulder over a generous bed of crusted gnocchi with porcini, the mom confessed mortification over all the boxes of Kraft mac and cheese she&amp;rsquo;d probably fixed Sanford as a boy. It was a dish of soft pleasures, alight with the green crackle of snow peas. A side platter of thin-sliced summer squash topped with a peppery tangle of onions and fresh mint delivered the simple essence of the season. When my daughter sighed loudly over this one, our tablemates made sure it came around to her often.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;&lt;span class="s3"&gt;It was the classic vacation experience: Reluctantly meeting the folks in the resort hot tub or at the bed and breakfast table whom you don&amp;rsquo;t expect will enhance your world&amp;mdash;but who do, sweetly, and no thanks to your lousy attitude. Sanford relishes this part of his business, constructing seating charts for his 12-person tables with an eye toward simpatico guests, within the narrow field of information&amp;mdash;name, food allergies, composition of party, celebrations&amp;mdash;he&amp;rsquo;s given. Then he works each evening out like a puzzle. Many diners arrive as a group, like the Fun Table, but he does what it takes to avoid the dorks-at-the-birthday-party scenario. And he beams over successes, which he says he hears about frequently, as when a couple up from San Francisco bonded so strongly with their tablemates they made plans for a return Seattle visit.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-left inline-image mceNonEditable" data-crop="{&amp;quot;id&amp;quot;:17339,&amp;quot;width&amp;quot;:400,&amp;quot;height&amp;quot;:637,&amp;quot;top&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;left&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;0&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;scale_width&amp;quot;:&amp;quot;200&amp;quot;}" data-image-id="17339" data-include-caption="true" data-layout="inline-image-left"&gt;
&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a class="lightbox" href="/data/images/2012/8/image/17339/0912-belle-clementine-peppers-serving.jpg"&gt; &lt;img src="http://www.seattlemet.com/images/change?src=%2Fdata%2Fimages%2F2012%2F8%2Fimage%2F17339%2F0912-belle-clementine-peppers-serving.jpg&amp;amp;cropify=400x637%2B0%2B0&amp;amp;resize=200x%3E" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;
&lt;div class="inline-image-caption" style="width: 200px;"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;Image: &lt;a class="attribution-link" href="/producers/olivia-brent"&gt;Olivia Brent&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;By the time dessert hit the table, our new friends were pouring us splashes of the 2004 Barolo they had brought while we were collaboratively reforming U.S. health care policy. Dessert was deflating&amp;mdash;local berries and stone fruits macerated in French dessert wine over lackluster sponge cake&amp;mdash;but by this time culinary criticism felt as unnatural and unseemly as it would at a dinner party. The particular wonder of the table d&amp;rsquo;h&amp;ocirc;te dinner is how it&amp;rsquo;s at once all about the food, yet sentimentally outside the realm of judgment. No wonder communal dinners are the restaurant rage of the decade. What chef wouldn&amp;rsquo;t love that?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p class="p3"&gt;As we got up to leave, the Fun Table was still in high howl, and I wondered how it would have been if we had been seated next to the parking lot fighters. Would they have dragged us into their drama? Hogged the gnocchi? Ignored us completely? Possibly. The question is whether it would have diminished the powerful feeling that we had, for a couple of hours, transcended the bounds of tribe. &amp;ldquo;People talk about the Seattle Chill,&amp;rdquo; Sanford muses. &amp;ldquo;But at the end of the day, we&amp;rsquo;re all humans.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;</description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 22 Aug 2012 10:45:00 -0700</pubDate>
      <link>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/belle-clementines-big-table-september-2012</link>
      <guid>http://www.seattlemet.com/articles/belle-clementines-big-table-september-2012</guid>
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