The Whale Wins

Renee Erickson has done it again with The Whale Wins. It's full of homespun elegance, just this side of precious, with servers in striped aprons, a massive bouquet of pink tulips at the door, and spare but pretty decor.  A wood-fired oven lends warmth to the room, and flavor to your meal. They take no reservations for smaller parties, and are excruciatingly popular, so prepare to wait a hell of a long time at peak hours.  

We certainly did. We were told it was a two hour wait, so we made for the chilly front deck to clutch cocktails and though Mr. Pants was drinking a very well-made twist on an Old Fashioned (the Normandy Old Fashioned) made with fragrant Calvados, he was getting ferociously peckish. 

Chilly cocktails on the chilly front deck

Dutifully feeding Mr. Pants my toothpicked, brandied cherry from my Michters (yay!) manhattan to fend off his hunger pangs, we killed a good hour and a half before we were summoned back to the warm bustle of the restaurant to eat.

A generous slab of Bleu de Basque cheese with honey and golden raisins was perfect with the dregs of my manhattan. Huge slices of crusty, soft bread and butter were welcomed by Mr. Pants, (now wild-eyed with hunger).  Then came firm, slightly sweet roasted carrots with fennel and a sweet, spicy, rich and succulent Dungeness crab with harissa butter that was annoyingly messy, and completely worth getting your hands dirty. Simply prepared trout with lemon and capers went great with our bottle of Hungarian Tokaji (Kiralyudvar, Furmint, & Tokaji Sec, to be exact). 

Half Dungeness crab with harissa butter. 

My new favorite dessert was a remarkable " Eton Mess" made with a creamy-tart mess of meringue, whipped cream and a bright rhubarb compote. The name is derived from (if the cute story I heard is correct) a traditional English dessert of berries, meringue and whipped cream that was crushed inadvertently by a dog on the way to a picnic, and the meringue broke up into pieces, and they ate it anyway. You would too.   

"Eton Mess" dessert.

We spotted our favorite butcher, dining at the bar, who said it was quite the hangout for others in the restaurant biz, and maybe I'm shallow but I kind of like that. 

Erickson is a master with simplicity, innovation, and excellent locally-sourced ingredients. I can't wait for her next venture, said to be a spin-off of The Walrus and Carpenter in Ballard, called Barnacle. We'll be there. But I'll bring snacks for Mr. Pants, for the wait. 

Highlights: Reasonably priced and unusual wine list, harissa crab, trout, Eton Mess dessert. 

Disappointments: Wait time can try your patience. 

Mr. Pants: Very impressed. 

Bitterroot BBQ: A Night of Gluttony

We were about to take my half-brother, who eats fish, but no other meat, to Ballard's beloved Walrus and Carpenter for oysters and trout, when the gorgeous, smoky smell wafting out of Bitterroot Barbecue abruptly led to a delicious change of plans. 

One side of the table ordered the aptly named “Cowboy Killer”, a manly, meaty platter of one-half smoked chicken, pulled pork, brisket, ribs, three sides, AND an option of pork belly. So of course we added the pork belly. With each bite we tasted salt, smoke, spice, and sweet, as well as the juiciness of the meat.  Bitterroot gets more points for a variety of sauces on hand to doctor your meat— my favorite, was the chipotle, (the hottest one) though the others enjoyed the mustardy sauce.   

The other side of the table selfishly ordered an ENTIRE slab of baby back ribs. Spoiler alert: it was me.  I was dreaming of a feast of meaty leftovers, and I made those dreams come true the next evening and the next.  Ribs were tender and smokey, and a little extra sauce added punch.

My non-meat-eating brother, tried everything on the table, and deemed it damned tasty.  We felt like a corrupting influence.  Plus, after the "Cowboy Killer" I have no idea how he still fit into his skinny hipster pants. 

Highlights: barbecued meat, creamy cheddar grits, collard greens, excellent bourbon selection, well-made cocktails.  My hair smelled like smoked meat the next morning so I could relive the experience. 

Disappointments: Maybe the fact that we were given a table for two, but there were three of us.  The meat made up for this.  No reservations, so prepare to wait. 

Mr. Pants: NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!! (direct quote)

Ma'ono Fried Chicken and Whiskey!

I'm showing remarkable restraint by not moving to West Seattle, so I can be closer to Ma'ono and it's fried chicken. 

The folks behind Spring Hill have joined the ranks of those restaurants that are focusing more on comfort food— smart during a recession. But it isn't always less expensive, as evidenced by the chicken at Ma'ono. It isn't cheap, and it's worth every cent. 

On our first visit, we dined with another couple who I like to call our "Fried Chicken Friends" mainly because we are close enough that I don't mind them seeing me attack a platter of fried chicken- which can get frightening.  

Ma'ono's version was some of the best I've had.  Ever.  Reserve your chicken when you reserve your table, as they do run out. You can even get a gluten-free version if you choose, just reserve it 24 hours in advance.  

It came to our table perfectly seasoned, the best burnished shade of fried, moist, salty and crunchy.  The bird, from Mt. Vernon, Washington, is served with a bright, pungent kimchi on the side, white rice and two dipping sauces.  Dipping sauces! Mr. Pants can attest to my love of dipping things in sauces.  

Good whisky-based cocktails paired beautifully with our meal. I didn't need our order of  Spam Musubi, though many at our table liked their sodium-packed hamminess. Brussels sprouts with bacon and caramelized apples, were autumnal and terrific, and grits with Beecher's cheese went fast, they were so meltingly cheesy and buttery. 

This place really is about flavor.  You can get a side of spicy-hot kimchi with live-shucked oysters, pork cracklins, or Manapua (Steamed BBQ Pork buns). Chicken not your thing? You can have  Rainbow trout,  a Chinatown steak or a 1/2 pound burger with special sauce and fries. 

A side of carrots were served with goat's milk yogurt, sesame puffed rice, and coriander and coconut chutney. One of these "garnishes" would have been enough, all together it was overkill. 

Garlic green beans were delightful, dressed with Szechuan sauce and toasted sesame; as were slightly crunchy stir-fried greens with green garlic chili and lime.   

Upscale comfort food has its cost. However, portions are generous and we took home a second meal in the form of our leftovers. Ma'ono is comfort food with gilt edges. 

Highlights: FRIED CHICKEN! Cocktails, kimchi, grits. 

Disappointments: Banana Cream pie wasn't thrilling; side of carrots overcomplicated. 

Mr. Pants:  Greasy-fingered, happy Pants

Most Beautiful Bar: Essex

Not only is Essex one of the most quietly beautiful bars in Seattle, it's also one of the best bars in Seattle.  This is the way my dream bar would look, had I the resources to create one.  Marble bar and tables, candle-lit, the banquette sleek and horizontally paneled with burnished wood, patterned wallpaper, Essex feels historic, yet hip.  And too dim for photos. 

I loved it even more seeing they had a drink with the name of my favorite Yo La Tengo song: "Autumn Sweater." 

We ventured to Essex on one of those sopping wet, cold, miserable Seattle nights near Christmas, when the streets were empty of people, and we were the only ones to walk in at first.  

Our bartender, Niah, was excellent. You could tell he knew his craft and loved it.  He made Mr. Pants a fine Pisco Sour, and made me a personal concoction, created for an upcoming competition.  Among other beautiful things, it tasted of smoke, caramel, and the orange fragrance from the twist, and best of all it was not sweet.  I love cocktails, but most are too sweet for me. He gave us tastes of various brands of rye whiskey after I said it was one of my favorite spirits.

We have to go back to try the food, as we only had a small plateful of Doritos, scooped hilariously from a cut crystal bowl at the end of the bar. 

The chef was off that particular near-Christmas evening, so they weren't serving food, (other than those Doritos).  We were crushed.  We took a masochistic look at the menu anyway, to find beer-boiled soft pretzels, cured meats, cheeses and more.  Another couple of people came in and we all conversed.  Could have stayed there all night but for the lack of food.  The bartender suggested we call and get Thai food delivered, and we 
were sorely tempted. 

I'm only sorry we don't live closer, to venture to this glowing jewel of a place on other sopping rainy nights.   We would certainly be regulars. 

Highlights: Staff, ambiance, cocktails, must return for the food. 

Disappointments: Chef on vacation. Heard talk that they were scaling back their food offerings. 

Mr Pants: Happy, a tad tipsy. 

New York CIty!

I love New York.  Hot dog carts, celebrities slinking in red-lit Chelsea bars,  falafel stands, leafy parks with bubbling fountains. Washington Square Park, filled with people at 10pm where two young women handed out pizza to those that appeared to be homeless. 

Brooklyn Bridge and skyline from Brooklyn

Art-deco skyscrapers, the rumble of the train to Brooklyn, the Lower East Side tenements propping each other up under the collective weight of history, their walls rich with the dust of accumulated human memory.  Ridiculously opulent hotels and crumbling brownstones with terracotta trim.  Sleek new urban parks like the Highline, snaking through part of the city, and diner-breakfast cheese blintzes with a side of blueberry preserves served by a brusque Romanian waitress.  Hasidic Williamsburg with the men in black suits and hats, and the smell of smoked fish and matzoh ball soup, and every woman pushing a baby carriage. The vacuous glitter of Times Square, and freshly scrubbed, Beaux-Arts beauties like the New York Public Library.  I love it all.     

Williamsburg Bridge

We were there to see Mr. Pant's mom, and attend a wedding held across the water from the NYC skyline in Brooklyn.

View from the Highline

The Met

Mural along the Highline

More Highline

View from the Highline

Dining: We eschewed anything Momofuku-related in favor of the The Dutch, where we drank excellent Manhattans (of course!) had cold, perfectly succulent oysters, smoked roasted chicken with wild mushrooms and carrots, an intriguing sweet corn pudding and pie, among other things.  

Smoked chicken at The Dutch.

Eataly, Mario Batali's ode to Italian gastronomy was a food museum. We only had time for gelato but it was the best damned gelato I've had outside of Rome and Florence.  Tart cherry, hazelnut and pistachio were intensely flavorful. I'm spoiled forever. 

Guggenheim Interior

We met our fascinating, well-traveled friend Tom at Radegast Hall & Biergarten, a very cool beer hall, in and old long building reminiscent of a barn, where I commited the cardinal sin of ordering something other than beer.  Then we walked over to Isa, in Williamsburg, for superb paté and roasted chicken, and an excellent plate of merguez and polenta. 

Cocktails at Isa in Brooklyn

At The Spotted Pig we sat next to the most vivacious, talkative and hilarious 5-year-old girl from Italy (how much for the little girl?).  One cuban sandwich, that Mr. Pant's found too salty, (too much pickle) and burrata on toast- with roasted peppers, arugula,house made panchetta and little cherry tomatoes… fantastic. 

Final NYC lunch at the Spotted Pig. Burrata on toast with all the trappings. 

I just liked this door in Brooklyn.

Delicious dosas in Amagansett, (Hampton Chutney Co.) after almost running over Alec Baldwin. 

We drove into the town of Amagansett for lunch, and narrowly avoided hitting Alec Baldwin, walking to his car with his kids. EVERYONE summers in the Hamptons.

Phenomenal sea bug at The Lobster Roll restaurant in Amagansett.

This was our first visit to the Hamptons. (I had NOTHING to wear!) we frolicked in the strong Amagansett surf, saw our lovely, gracious hosts Kate and Joe, who were so kind as to put up with us and our lobster cravings two nights in a row! 

Highlights: The Dutch, The Spotted Pig, seeing Mr. Pants' Mom, the ever-gracious Joe and Kate, dinner with Tom at Isa, Dosas and Lobster in the Hamptons, Tribeca Grand Hotel, Guggenheim. 

Lloyd Martin

LloydMartin is cozy, with clubby dark wood everywhere, and I envisioned it in winter, the wall of windows steaming up, and lots of pastas and braised meats on the menu. But it was finally "summer" in Seattle, that brief respite from from the dark months, full of entropy, and devastating sadness, perked up by the occasional stew.  I digress.  

The chef knows what he's doing.  There wasn't a thing we didn't like– rare for us, especially with Mr. Pants (aka Fussy Pants) along for entertainingly critical commentary. Tucking into a plate of snap peas with chevre, grated horseradish, lemon and radish, we knew we were onto something good. And when we polished off the house mozzarella with English peas, mint, chili, and toasty bread we knew we were onto something great. 

Fettuccini Bolognese with Bison, and Mr. Pants' order of oxtail gnocchi (perfectly light and perfectly cooked) with foie gras emulsion, hit all our cravings for haute comfort food.  Other menu items that looked intriguing included poached shrimp with chorizo and white beans, duck confit, and braised veal with king oyster mushrooms.  Everything is served up on truly exquisite, unique antique plates. 

Strawberries on biscuit shortbread were balsamic-marinated, local, and red all the way through, and offset by creamy marscapone.  I love desserts that aren't too sweet, and this was a terrific meal-ender, even if there could have been more strawberries and less biscuit. 

Highlights: Ambiance, anything with meat, anything seasonal. 

Disappointments: Dessert could have used more strawberries, less biscuit.

Mr. Pants: Sated. Tiny bit miffed that he couldn't come up with anything critical to say. 

Crumble and Flake Bakery. YES.

Yes, it's a pain to get to Crumble and Flake at a time that is far too early, and find a long line, and yes your blood pressure rises as you realize you may not get the canelé or the croissant you're coveting, as you see the greedy backs of the people in front of you ordering them up like entitled jerks. You feel it can't be worth it, and you won't return, until it's (finally) your turn, and there's one last grapefruit macaron for you, and even a canelé and yes, one last buttery croissant and you get them all like the entitled jerk you are, and you feel the collective despair and disappointment in the line behind you as you get the last brownie, and you clutch your little bag of treats and take a first melting, ostentatious bite before you even start walking, in front of all those still in line and you say yes, yes, I will come back, yes I will. Yes.