News
Two Cooks and Two Meals
First, a confession: I was going to write about Julie and Julia—the much-discussed movie that juxtaposes the life of Julia Child with that of Julie Powell, a spoiled New York blogger who spends a year making every dish in Mastering the Art of French Cooking and whining about ti—but once I sat down to write, I realized: I just don't have much to say. Basically, everything you've read about it is right: The half of the movie starting Meryl Streep as Julia Child and Stanley Tucci as her husband, Paul, sparkles: Streep inhabits Julia, perfectly capturing her trilling voice, her lumbering posture, her wicked humor, her sexiness. (Yes, sexiness). And the half featuring Powell? Well, unlike some reviewers, I didn't want to kill her, but I did find her utterly void of any inner spark that would have made her half of the movie compelling. When a recipe succeeds, she celebrates; when it fails, she pitches a fit, and leaves her long-suffering boyfriend (the burning-hot Chris Messina) to pick up the pieces. Yawn.
So instead, I want to tell y'all about two meals that were as different as Julie is from Julia, though both were extraordinary in different ways.
I did not have this burger. But I coveted it.
The first was at Spring Hill, the West Seattle restaurant that was named one of the "ten best new restaurants in America" by Bon Appetit . Instead of ordering entrees (risky at prices near $30), we went with a series of small plates, most of which were not just excellent but exciting. First, a "vegetable tasting" that consisted of a vinegary, decadent (!) cold beet soup topped with a swirl of creme fraiche and a shower of dill; a mild yellow pepper stuffed with goat cheese, fried, and cleverly disguised as a spring roll, served with an elegant pile of frisee; and an underwhelming pile of salad greens, shaved carrots, and thinly sliced radishes on top of a square of puff pastry. The plate was billed as an entree ($18) but wasn't quite a main-course portion; as a starter, though, it was exactly right—light, fresh, and seasonal, with a different variety of textures and flavors in each bite.
Next up: A saucer-size raviolo filled with a lightly poached duck egg yolk, floating on top of a piquant oil-based green sauce and topped with paper-thin fried garlic chips and a few slices of salty duck proscuitto. The raviolo would have worked better if it had been served immediately post-poaching—as it was, the egg was cooked just a few seconds beyond runny, so what could have been a brilliant "aha!" moment was something less, though still divine. (And I could eat those garlic chips by the handful.)
Roasted, al dente hen-of-the-woods mushrooms were a nice, almost crunchy textural contrast to creamy Anson Mills grits and a "bath cooked egg" (this one properly runny) but the shards of Parmesan on top were one element too many in an otherwise perfectly executed dish.
I wasn't a huge fan of the steamed manila clams with razor clam sausage (the salty sausage, while great on its own, was too much when combined with the even saltier sauce), but the veal sweetbreads were a revelation. Sweetbreads—the thymus glands of a young calf (although "sweetbreads" can also refer to the pancreas)—overcook easily; treated lightly, however, they have the texture of a perfectly pan-roasted scallop with almost no "organ" flavor (a flavor that, by the way, I happen to like). Spring Hill's sweetbreads were breaded in a panko coating, lightly fried, and served with a palate-cleansing pile of kohlrabi coleslaw and a generous dab of fresh honeycomb.
Spring Hill is ambitious, seasonal, and exciting, and even when it overreaches, it's still worth trying.
The second meal, much in contrast to our multi-course upscale bonanza, consisted of just one dish: The divine chicken adobo at Oriental Kitchenette, a tiny stall attached to the Asian market and the House of Woks and Bowls in Pike Place Market. I must have walked past the Kitchenette on my way to Fero's Meat Market a thousand times, but never noticed the tiny steam table loaded with rich chicken and pork adobos, salmon soup, and bihon pancit (stir-fried noodles with vegetables and meat). I was finally tipped off to this tiny dining spot by the excellent if unfortunately named Seattle food blog Pat My Butter, and it's going to be hard not to make it a daily stop. For just $6, you get a huge pile of steamed white rice, a generous serving of cabbage-studded pancit, and two or three slow-cooked drumsticks in a river of tart, garlicky adobo sauce. It's not fancy food, but it will make you very, very happy.
So instead, I want to tell y'all about two meals that were as different as Julie is from Julia, though both were extraordinary in different ways.
I did not have this burger. But I coveted it.
The first was at Spring Hill, the West Seattle restaurant that was named one of the "ten best new restaurants in America" by Bon Appetit . Instead of ordering entrees (risky at prices near $30), we went with a series of small plates, most of which were not just excellent but exciting. First, a "vegetable tasting" that consisted of a vinegary, decadent (!) cold beet soup topped with a swirl of creme fraiche and a shower of dill; a mild yellow pepper stuffed with goat cheese, fried, and cleverly disguised as a spring roll, served with an elegant pile of frisee; and an underwhelming pile of salad greens, shaved carrots, and thinly sliced radishes on top of a square of puff pastry. The plate was billed as an entree ($18) but wasn't quite a main-course portion; as a starter, though, it was exactly right—light, fresh, and seasonal, with a different variety of textures and flavors in each bite.
Next up: A saucer-size raviolo filled with a lightly poached duck egg yolk, floating on top of a piquant oil-based green sauce and topped with paper-thin fried garlic chips and a few slices of salty duck proscuitto. The raviolo would have worked better if it had been served immediately post-poaching—as it was, the egg was cooked just a few seconds beyond runny, so what could have been a brilliant "aha!" moment was something less, though still divine. (And I could eat those garlic chips by the handful.)
Roasted, al dente hen-of-the-woods mushrooms were a nice, almost crunchy textural contrast to creamy Anson Mills grits and a "bath cooked egg" (this one properly runny) but the shards of Parmesan on top were one element too many in an otherwise perfectly executed dish.
I wasn't a huge fan of the steamed manila clams with razor clam sausage (the salty sausage, while great on its own, was too much when combined with the even saltier sauce), but the veal sweetbreads were a revelation. Sweetbreads—the thymus glands of a young calf (although "sweetbreads" can also refer to the pancreas)—overcook easily; treated lightly, however, they have the texture of a perfectly pan-roasted scallop with almost no "organ" flavor (a flavor that, by the way, I happen to like). Spring Hill's sweetbreads were breaded in a panko coating, lightly fried, and served with a palate-cleansing pile of kohlrabi coleslaw and a generous dab of fresh honeycomb.
Spring Hill is ambitious, seasonal, and exciting, and even when it overreaches, it's still worth trying.
The second meal, much in contrast to our multi-course upscale bonanza, consisted of just one dish: The divine chicken adobo at Oriental Kitchenette, a tiny stall attached to the Asian market and the House of Woks and Bowls in Pike Place Market. I must have walked past the Kitchenette on my way to Fero's Meat Market a thousand times, but never noticed the tiny steam table loaded with rich chicken and pork adobos, salmon soup, and bihon pancit (stir-fried noodles with vegetables and meat). I was finally tipped off to this tiny dining spot by the excellent if unfortunately named Seattle food blog Pat My Butter, and it's going to be hard not to make it a daily stop. For just $6, you get a huge pile of steamed white rice, a generous serving of cabbage-studded pancit, and two or three slow-cooked drumsticks in a river of tart, garlicky adobo sauce. It's not fancy food, but it will make you very, very happy.
Filed under
Share
Show Comments
