Monthly Archives: February 2013

Bastille, Seattle, 2/21/13

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I love a good bistro meal. Soupe a l’ognion, moules frites, croque monsieur, pate de compagnie – just set the dish in front of me, pour me a nice glass of red wine, and I’m one happy dragon. The night we set out for Bastille, in the heart of darkest Ballard, it was chilly with a wind that made my wings creaky. I spotted the classic French storefront of small paned glass and black wood with the name handpainted in the center of a single larger pane, just in time. Murghk was beginning to despair of ever getting warm again but entering the main room through set of classic velvet windbreakers cheered him right away. Much larger than it seemed from the outside (vaguely reminiscent of a TARDIS though in that regard only) the room has a high ceiling and tiled floors with a nice mix of booths and tables filled with a congenial crowd. There’s also a patio with gas heaters and candle-lit tables, the weather the night we visited wasn’t clement enough to warrant the risk.

Recognizing our semi-frozen state, the waiter immediately brought the drink menu and a suggestion. The hot toddies he recommended were just the right temperature, fragrant with good rum, a swizzle stick of cinnamon and a wedge of lemon. Thus, we were not only able to warm ourselves to ward off ague, but also to prevent scurvy. Once properly settled, perusing the menu brought additional warmth. The classics were all present and accounted for, interspersed, as is the local custom, with notes on sourcing.

A bottle of a 2010 Williamette Valley Pinot Noir from the winelist proved tasty and reinforced my prejudice that ordering a good wine need not be reserved for an occasion; rather, a good wine can turn a meal into one. The kitchen turned out a very tasty steak frites, with the beef being a well-cut and properly prepared hangar steak. The frites were crispy, lightly salted and thoroughly enjoyable. For the life of me, I have no memories of the rest of the food, and my usual tasting notes apparently didn’t survive the subsequent trans-Pacific flight. I remember feeling contentedly full, and that Bastille was a close to a Parisian bistro as I’d yet encountered in Seattle; a perfect setting for a casual French meal in the heart of Ballard.

Ruth’s Chriss, Wailea, 2/24/13

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As a card-carrying carnivore I view steaks as comfort food. Well-prepared quality beef with the appropriate sides can send me into a state of rapture. Substandard materials and/or preparation leave me very unsatisfied, and given the prices charged by most establishments, poorer for the experience in both purse and purpose. Normally I refuse to review franchise restaurants because I believe great culinary art is not a commodity and can’t be reproduced at will from a corporate protocol. (“Hey Gauguin, I need two water lilies and a starry night; hold the moonbeams.”)
Still, our recent dinner experience bears examination and comment. Our reservation was honored despite the surprise appearance of the hatchling. A highchair was cheerfully provided and no one batted an eye. The wine list was presented and contained several respectable bottles which could be ordered without arranging for a second mortgage. We ordered a nice bottle of a 2009 Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon and encountered an uncomfortable moment. The cork was not presented until it was requested. Given the absolute price of the bottle (though it was relatively modest in context) and the not unreasonable concerns one might have about transportation and storage in a tropical climate, presenting the cork instead of making it disappear would have been appropriate. When presented the cork was fine, and the wine deliciously rich with blackberry and cedar flavors mingled with a bit of earth. Complex and full-bodied enough to compliment and contrast with the beef.
We ordered the beef carpaccio, crab-stuffed mushrooms and a wedge of iceberg lettuce with bleu cheese dressing as appetizers. A loaf of warm, but not crusty, fresh bread was placed on the table and the feast began. The lettuce wedge and dressing were nothing extraordinary, but totally consistent with expectations. The stuffed mushrooms were interesting, but again, nothing distinguished them from other recently consumed fungi, except that as a matter of personal preference, Murghk always lightly sautés the caps before stuffing them and finishing them under the broiler. The carpaccio was outstanding. Incredibly thin slices of beef bedded on fresh lettuce with just the right amount of a light horseradish dressing, a bit of capers, a dash of onion and beautifully plated to play the red, green and white against one another and suggest the flag of dish’s country of origin. OK, maybe a really good corporate protocol can describe how to plate an offering attractively.
It had been a long day, and the hatchling began to lose his equanimity. Several attempts to amuse him failed, and his parents did the right thing – they requested their dinners to go so that the hatchling’s discomfort would not upset other diners. Ruth’s Chriss’ staff handled the situation brilliantly. The entrees (a ribeye and a petit filet), which were plated and table-ready, were repackaged quickly and efficiently. The sides (broiled tomatoes and island corn) were identified and added to the parcel. It was all done with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of goodwill. This left Milady and I alone to enjoy our dinners – no matter how much the hatchling’s presence might have added.
Milady prefers her beef with just a touch of pink remaining; I, on the other hand, insist that once the refrigerated chill is gone, dinner is served. Each of us received our filet exactly as ordered. Ruth’s Chriss advertises that their steaks are cooked at 1800˚ and brought sizzling to table-side on a 500˚ plate so they stay hot. I’ve always wondered whether a steak on a 500˚ plate would continue to cook even as it was being eaten. It doesn’t really, though I am at a loss to explain how that works. The beef itself was tender, flavorful, nicely presented, and otherwise undistinguished. The accompanying asparagus were barely cooked, which is the way both Milady and I find it most appealing. It didn’t need the Hollandaise Sauce – freshness is its own reward. The detritus left by the departing parents and hatchling were swiftly and discreetly removed, but the untouched wineglasses were left for our enjoyment. A thoughtful touch which did not go unnoticed, and made up for the earlier faux pas with the cork.
Milady is a consummate expert on cheesecake (she makes the most delicious Italian and New York styles when I’m not trying to maintain my flying weight) so her opinion is highly valued when a restaurant presents it as a signature dessert. Ruth’s cheesecake was really, really good. Smooth, luscious, melt on your tongue and flow down to your tonsils cheesecake. One slice contained enough calories to eliminate starvation in a third world country, but the beauty of it is that you hardly can think about anything but the flavor.
My judgement of Ruth’s Chriss is mixed – the food was very good, but without the excitement and flair great dining should engender, the service was largely outstanding, and the prices astronomical. I would call it a place for carnivorous comfort food if one is on an unrestricted financial footing.

Wild Ginger

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Last night we braved an actual Seattle rainstorm and dined at Wild Ginger. Contrary to popular (right coast) belief, local residents do not live in a state of persistent denial about their meteorological milieu. Our arrival at Sea-Tac was during a period of liquid sunshine, but our even hosts agreed, as we left for dinner, that it was raining. We parked in the public parking lot at Target, put the hatchling in his all-terrain manually-motivated vehicle, emplaced the liquid sunshine proof plastic bubble, and trudged uphill to dinner. (Note for further exploration: Why is everything in Seattle uphill from wherever you are?)

 Crossing the threshold, we were confronted by an impressive reservations desk personned by two young women who, at the sight of the hatchling, went into instantaneous warm welcome mode. The hatchling was removed from his atmmv, it was wiped down with a dry towel and then parked out of sight. We were escorted through a large, well-designed two story space to a comfortable “boothette” (my description of a table with benches on either side where the benches are shared back to back with neighboring tables). The hatchling was seated at the end of the table in a highchair.  The rest of us sat on the very comfortable padded benches with plenty of room.

 Wild Ginger is a Seattle Asian fusion restaurant – which means I shouldn’t have been surprised by the presentation of an extensive, affordable and interesting wine menu. West coast wines from both California and Oregon, nicely organized by varietal, then vineyard, then year were complemented by interesting Italian and German offerings with enough good French bottles to satisfy even a Europhile. We chose a Raptor Ridge 2010 Pinot Noir which was prominently featured among the evening’s specials. The wine was just as good as I remembered it from our visit to Oregon last August. Cassis and darker fruits predominated, with tannins that moved from slightly sharp when the bottle was first opened to liquid silk as the air did its work.

 The menu is inclined to Chinese and Malay (as opposed to Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean – though some dishes sounded very Korean-inspired) on the Asian side of the fusion. The ingredients include some very non-Asian items – and let this be a gentle warning, peanuts are profoundly present. We shared several small plate appetizers – perfect little oysters wrapped in bacon and satayed (is that the word to describe the use of a small bamboo skewer for cooking?), short ribs also skewered and served with a lemon-based dipping sauce, and a third satay of scallops with a soy and black vinegar dipping sauce. Each of the satays was presented with small rounds of cooked cucumber and carrot shreds – the hatchling loved the roundnesses – and devoured them with a giggle. I think that was all for the initial set of dishes but my aging memory may be failing me. Sadly, our waitress’ much, much younger memory failed – the anticipated potstickers were lost somewhere between our intentions and the table (no harm, and she more than made up for it later). 

 The main courses were, in  a word, WONDERFUL! Wild Ginger makes a fragrant duck unlike any other in the world. Perfect rice buns surround a duck which has been rubbed with star anise and ginger (and, I suspect a bit of cardamom) then roasted and sliced into bun-sized pieces served on a bed greens. The traditional (for Peking duck) bean paste applied with a scallion brush has been foregone for a plum, black vinegar and coarse black salt dipping sauce. The hatchling got his own plate of rice buns, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy – both as food and demonstrations of gravity at work. Sweet and sour pork was a classic balance playing both sides of my tongue like few dishes have in recent memory. Lamb chops (a special) were spectacular – grilled to medium rare with a ginger and plum glaze, sprinkled with peanuts and sesame seeds. Knives were provided for the fastidious, but talons (or fingers in the case of humans) and teeth were encouraged by the waitress. 

Let’s pause a moment before continuing to dessert. Nothing in the universe can save a bad kitchen, but, as I commented when talking about X20, nothing can kill a great kitchen faster than bad staffing. Our waitress made an outstanding dinner extraordinary. She went to great lengths to make the hatchling’s parents feel that the hatchling’s presence at a serious dinner table (and make no mistake, Wild Ginger is  very serious gastronomy) was completely welcome and natural. Her playful attitude towards his gravitational experiments provoked smiles all the way around – and her attempt to try on his parka after he offered it to her was a classic. Better still, she reviewed our choices both for diversity of flavors and order quantity – making sure we had enough, but fulfilling our intent to taste a wide variety. When one of the hatchling’s parent mentioned a peanut allergy, she made a note to tell the kitchen that peanuts were not to be used in any of the dishes. When the lamb chops arrived sprinkled with peanuts, she went back to the kitchen and returned with a chop prepared peanut-free, and made us feel that it was a pleasure to do so. She was knowledgable, enthusiastic and conscientious. The undelivered potstickers were compensated for by her gracious, unexpected and completely unnecessary offer of dessert on her. 

Dessert is not exactly an Asian food tradition. On the other hand, most of the dishes on the menu have almost nothing to do with mainstream Asian food realities and available ingredients – I think that may be the point of “fusion”. In any case, dishes of mango sorbet, coconut gelato and ginger ice cream completed the meal at our waitress’ suggestion. The mango sorbet was great; nice flavor, perfect texture, soothing to the palate. The ginger ice cream was flecked with shreds of ginger; it provided a sharp edge of flavor that removed any lingering traces of grease from the tongue. The piece de resistance was the coconut gelato – an absolute “must order”. Creamy, real coconut morsels in a rich gelato. It teetered on the edge of overpowering the Tokai suggested as an spiritual companion, but never fell. 

 As Nero Wolfe, my gourmet hero and favorite detective would have said, “Most satisfactory.”