Big Chickie Pollo a la Brasa

A whole lot of folks now detour through Hillman City since the very careful proprietors of this refurbished gas station began peddling their Peruvian charcoal-roasted rotisserie chicken. Choose quarters, halves, or wholes—dark or light meat (some nights juicier than others, alas)—then fill out your plate with your choice of insanely terrific sides: lime-glazed sweet potatoes, corn salad, a mouthfiller of a crunchy kale slaw, and a carb loader’s dream of cheesy potatoes are among the best. Technically the only seating is at outdoor picnic tables, with sheets of clear plastic to keep out the elements in winter (read: bring the Polartec)—but the chili-spiced brownies for dessert have warming properties of their own.

Canal Market

Like its sister restaurant Volunteer Park Cafe, Canal Market in the residential Portage Bay community is every inch the neighborhood haunt: lots of happy regulars, lots of confused nonregulars. The vintage-chic charmer with the mustard walls belongs to that ascendant genus of high-end retailer, cafe, and takeout spot every place seems to want to be these days—organic pretzel sticks, boutique mortar-and-pestle sets, bushels of fresh leeks—but once you order at the counter, take a seat, and get your food, you’re in a restaurant. Grilled sandwiches are small but with enormous flavor, galettes (like a recent one sweet with caramelized onions and gruyere and ham) are crusted with a thousand sheets of flake, cookies are peerless. Salads are more of a crapshoot; service trends toward aloof.

Cantina Leña

Tom Douglas is up to his old tricks in this bright Belltown space—showing us exactly how crisp pork carnitas needs to be to render nachos impossible to resist, just how festive orange paint can make a metal chair, precisely how many tortilla makers must be visible in back to convey maximum authenticity. It’s very casual, with plenty of margs and other cantina cocktails, and full of flavor—from the achiote-rubbed pork shoulder for stuffing into tortillas to the mescal-smoky caramel dipping sauce for the churros. When the flavors work, as in those (overgreased) nachos, good luck pushing the platter away.

Gnocchi Bar

When a classically trained chef turns her fancy to gnocchi—order first, ask questions later. At this nondescript joint in the epicenter of Capitol Hill’s Pike/Pine, some six or so sauce variations appear on delicate potato dumplings, those sauces being reliably robust and sure handed, from a vegetarian combo of roasted portobellos, artichoke hearts, and fiery Mama Lil’s peppers in pesto to a classic meatballs with red sauce. Salads are much more seasonal and thoughtfully composed than they could get away with being, and desserts (in addition to a lineup of gelati from cotenant D’Ambrosio) include a boozy tiramisu. Portions seem small until about halfway in.

 

Good Bar

Out of one of Pioneer Square’s really stunning historical rooms—two airy levels, broad pillars, marble bar, vintage bank vault doors—come mostly small plates of food made on two induction burners and one convection oven (to justify the adult beverages). Those bevs are masterful, particularly the craft cocktails and a very well-curated selection of beers. The food—notably a fathomless sloppy joe (emphasis on the sloppy) and a deconstructed potato salad that eats more like addictive fries—is in capable hands as well. Whether the sports fans in this stadium district are into deconstructed anything will be the question for this fine establishment. Louder than hell.

Lark, Bitter/Raw

John Sundstrom relocated his fanatically beloved Lark to the warehousey flank of Pike/Pine off Madison, spinning out a starlit space—indigo banquettes, white linens, a welkin of pendants overhead—as elegant as any in town. Out of the rafters he carved a casual bar, Bitter/Raw, offering charcuterie and crudo, along with plenty of bitter cocktails. But Lark, once the upstart that pioneered small-plate dining, has become the noble elder; grownups come here for that disappearing species—relaxing high-end dinners—assembled either from small plates or a combination of mains and Sundstrom’s famous grains. The menu is long and speckled with old favorites (eel with saba, skillet of mascarpone-creamy farro) and executed, as in crisped pork belly with cauliflower puree and rye whiskey glaze, with Lark’s reliably able hand. Less sure is service, throwing into bold relief the poise of this food even as it reminds that this is, after all, still Pike/Pine.

Mammoth

From the primal folks behind Bitterroot BBQ comes a sandwiches-and-beer-taps pit stop in Eastlake, on the way to everywhere. The place, all right angles and white tile and international beers lined up inside the fridge case, is a monument to precision—but the sandwiches, 16 of them, are a bit wild. We favor the warm ones—try the Predator: a French roll slicked with caper aioli, then overstuffed with warm fried chicken leg, hunks of pork belly, swiss cheese, roasted red peppers, and arugula—enjoyed with a Porter or Belgian from the taps. Kids welcome; ice cream sandwiches for dessert. Primal indeed.

 

Manolin

Lending new meaning to the term watering hole, this enchanting little haunt clad in sea-blue subway tile and anchored with a happy rounded bar for enjoying small plates of seafood feels a little like being underwater. Bracing cocktails are big on piscos and cachaças, and the food can evoke the same lower latitudes, like plantain chips (which longed for a dipping sauce) or rockfish ceviche lushly partnered with cubes of avocado and sweet potato, then lit bright as a Baja sunset with chilies and plenty of lime. Stick with the seafood—denatured, smoked, poached, or grilled—perhaps enjoying it out the paned French doors around the open-air fire pit. Sweet service.

Omega Ouzeri

Like his Vios, only fixed in the alt-hipster latitudes of Capitol Hill’s Pike and Pine, Omega Ouzeri enshrines the Greek food of Thomas Soukakos’s youth in buoyant fashion. Small plates bearing Greek salads bursting with ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, red-pepper kopanisti dip laced with goat horn chili fire, zucchini fritters concealing little detonations of mint—plates like these can be assembled into winning little noshfests and lubed with ouzo or wine quite affordably during happy hour. Larger plates might include vivid renditions of gyros or whole branzino or shellfish in ouzo-spiked tomato sauce. All of which you enjoy in a blanched, minimalist, lofted space that’s pulsing with noisy vitality, open to the sidewalk in summer, and presided over by a roaming Soukakos, who’s friends with everyone in the place.

Quality Athletics

With its ironic, shiny Astroturf decor, attention on the menu to high-quality ingredients, and menu items like tartines and quinoa salads—this all-day drop-in spot near the stadiums is not your daddy’s sports bar. Some will like it better, with its emphasis less on sports bar classics and more on platters to share (fish tacos, 24-ounce grilled tri-tip) around the game on TV or the fire pits outside. Some of the more exuberant attempts at originality fall flat, so we advise sticking with tried and trues, like a braised lamb tostada with avocado cream and cotija cheese or the simple veg plates from the roof garden. Private rooms. 

Shaker and Spear

The restaurant anchor of the Kimpton Palladian Hotel is a fish house from Tulio chef Walter Pisano—and
it shares Tulio’s hotel-restaurant tendency toward lowest--common-denominator dishes. That said, sometimes the global fish preparations land in a pretty terrific place, as with a grilled octopus starter over salsa verde and chickpea puree. The cozy room is a stunner by the natural light of day or the warm dimness of night, wrapped in lush textures from wood to glass to brick to steel, showcasing a vibrant open kitchen—and delivering significantly more there than the menu does. Servers are not always knowledgeable but are reliably charming. There’s a bar in the restaurant and also one off the hotel lobby: an underlit beaut called Pennyroyal, simmering with boho elegance.

Single Shot

The occupants of maybe two dozen apartments in high-density North Capitol Hill can just about glance out their windows to see if Single Shot has an open table—but it won’t. The place is small, after all, and possessed of whatever intangible it takes to invest a place with a sense of place. Sipping a lush cocktail at the marble bar amid this welkin of starry votives is just what you want to do in your neighborhood pub, nibbling off a menu featuring a mix of pizza, pasta, charcuterie, pub cheese, a few entrees, and a few desserts. What it lacks in consistency it makes up for in excellence if the place is on its game, making Single Shot a crapshoot—but one that the ambience makes worthwhile. Allow time to find parking, though moving to the neighborhood may be faster.

Slab Sandwiches and Pie

Around the corner from and sharing a kitchen with John Sundstrom’s magnificent Lark is its daytime takeout sibling, dedicated to the reinvention of sandwiches and pie. About a half dozen of the former are on hand any given day, including things like short rib meat pies and English muffin breakfast sandwiches and gluten-free flatbread. (If the Spanish sardine sandwich is on offer, get it: a masterpiece of meaty fish and piperade and plenty of lemon on a yielding French roll.) Pies are equally various and sure handed, with offerings like caramel apple pie between slabs of biscuity pie crust that exist at the corner of divine inspiration and butter. Not much seating.

Stateside

As elegant as Vietnamese food gets in a town of a billion Vietnamese restaurants, the casual Stateside captures French colonial Indochina in both setting (breezy and subtly tropical, with a wonderful cocktail bar) and food, a tasty and exacting survey of the roots and branches of Vietnamese cuisine. Chef Eric Johnson brings us a few French and Chinese influencers (the Hunan-spiced pork ribs are stunning, though searing), a number of Vietnamese classics like crispy duck fresh rolls and frisky green papaya salad, and a few interpretive dishes—which is where the play happens. If master stock crispy chicken is on the card, order it; a master stock is the poaching liquid that is never thrown away, lending each new dish the savory potency of every chicken that’s come before. Great service; very loud. 

 

Tray Kitchen

The “tray” in question is the dim sum cart that rolls around this casual, airy Frelard space roughly every 10 minutes on busy weekends—stocked with small plates of global innovations, like Moroccan spiced lamb with beet relish, kimchi falafel, or the crowd-pleasingly feisty Korean fried chicken wings. You point to plates you want (waiters tote up your bill on your table, just like in dim sum) or order off a fresh sheet—and often you’ll be rewarded with fine dishes. Consistency is a problem with this many choices however, as is excessive loudness and steady interruptions, making conversation unlikely. Adjust expectations and by all means order dessert: our matcha green tea semifreddo was a revelation.