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.