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.

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.

Last night we enjoyed an evening of gastronomic theater at Stone Barns at Blue Hill. (I was going to chose “Life Event” on the status line, but was afraid my enthusiasm might be mistaken for something else. This was, however, a once-in-a-lifetime meal; and Murghk was nowhere near the kitchen.)

This is NOT your typical dinner at a really fine restaurant – it IS just like going to great theater and being fed at the same time.
The adventure began several weeks ago when we were able to obtain a dinner reservation for a party of three at the shamefully early hour of 6PM. Our vehicle was met at the entrance by a vartlet who checked our names against the expected guest list, took the keys and told us to follow the candles to the dining room.

The maitre d’hôtel met us in the bar/reception area, in front of a roaring fireplace flanked by comfortable chairs and offered to take our coats. No coat check ticket. We were then offered the opportunity to sit, warm ourselves and perhaps imbibe an appropriate adult beverage – or be escorted to our seats for the first act. We chose the latter and were ushered into one of the most beautiful dining rooms I have ever seen. The tables were large, well-spaced, and beautifully set, for a good reason which we soon discovered.
Before we could even notice that the standard restaurant breadbasket was absent, our captain began her opening monologue. The small booklet next to our napkins was not, she explained, the menu. It was an almanac of the comings and goings from the barns and gardens throughout the year. The only menu choice was either a five course, eight course or twelve course presentation – with or without wine pairings. We opted to choose our own wine, and after careful consideration, chose the eight course feast.

A brief word here about the only dissonant note in the entire symphony. As our cohort’s resident oenophile, I believe that there are exceptionally enjoyable wines which do not require the exchange of pictures of Ben Franklin with the sommelier. It is true that Ben loved his grapes, but Tom Jefferson actually practiced viniculture while Ben was a city boy. The exchange therefore of perhaps even a short stack of several Jefferson portraits might be more appropriate. To be direct, the paucity of bottles under $100 was a disappointment. That said, I ordered an Eola-Amity Hills Pinot Noir – the 2009 Louise Vineyard from Cristome and was transported! A really fine sommelier can make you forget the right column of the carte du vin faster than the sound of a popping cork. The wine was delicious, perfectly balanced on the edge of crisp and fruited with a luscious, lingering finish hinting at licorice and cedar. (It was soooo good that we drank a second bottle during the course of the evening….)

The reason for the generous spacing between the tables rapidly revealed itself. The waiters (yes- more than one attended upon our table), bus boys, and captain danced around the table placing and removing glassware, plates, silver and serving pieces in the most intriguingly choreographed manner. I suspect that the long leadtime for a dinner reservation is intimately connected with the staffing – teams of waiters dealt with several tables at a time, but because each table was at a different point in the meal, every dish was delivered and removed with no sense of hurry or delay. Location may be the key to real estate, but for dining, timing is everything. Stone Barn knows that – and delivers.

Our captain explained that the overture was designed to be consumed using the fingers. A presentation of the most miniaturized vegetables appeared – set on tiny spikes rising from a block of wood looking liked a venerable 2×4. The vegetables might have looked small, but their flavors were intense. Similarly the three stalks of locally grown fennel which arrived moments after we finished the asparagus and poached egg yolks which followed the mini-veggies.

There was a delicious, and surprising combination of pork liver pate sandwiched between little tiles of bitter chocolate, a “beet burger” slider bursting with vinegary flavor, followed by “the party in a pear tree” which I can only describe as sweet and savory, crisp and soft slices of various fruits and vegetables. Each was only a tiny bite, but so flavorful that they seemed bigger. Raw kale sliced paper-thin into circular “tortillas” which one could fill with a shrimp, a mussel, and several finely chopped vegetable relishes, and a yogurt mustard that was a revelation to the tastebuds.

The silverware finally arrived, and so did a Maine divers scallop, briefly introduced to what must have been a really hot flame. It was the best I have ever tasted in my life. The portion of lamb which followed was small, but mighty, the skin crisped and the underlying meat fragrantly moist and just pink. There was a crusty, dense, satisfying bread, served with locally churned butter that came from free-range cows, and had just the tiniest hint of hay from the cows’ winter diet. I remember a brioche with a marmalade which melted in my mouth – but exactly when it arrived is lost in the pleasurable mists of the wine. I must have swooned briefly because the next thing I remember was the cheese course – two different interpretations of cows’ milk – but so distinctive I could have been persuaded that one was a sheep in cow’s clothing. The cheeses were served with a quince and something preserve, and long soft pretzel sticks. Finally, it was time for desserts.

No, that final “s” is not a typo. The hypothetical eight courses included six savories and two sweets. One was a chilled sweet yogurt with green apple compote. The other, if I recall correctly, was a lovely two-spoon sized mousse. As the final dishes were whisked away, the captain presented a list of disgestifs, eaux de vie, and ngacs (calvados, cognac and armangnac) – as well as an assortment of teas and coffees. The decaf cappucino was a perfect finish, especially because another alcoholic beverage would have impaired my navigation. Not content to leave us with any room at all, the most delightful tray of itsy-bitsy sweets miraculously appeared. My personal favorite was the dark chocolate wrapped around a tiny dollop whipped cream.

The bill is presented in a discreet little envelop, probably to prevent one’s guests from suffering indigestion. The tariff is on a par with front row hit Broadway show tickets purchased from a scalper, but at least you don’t leave hungry.
As we walked out of the dining room, our coats suddenly appeared, as if by magic. And, lo and behold, the car was waiting at the end of the walkway, the seat warmers already on and the heat on.
What a way to go.

Peter Kelly’s X20 is an incredibly talented kitchen, housed in a sleek, beautiful location, and continuously undermined by its (mis)management. Saturday night was a prime example of how not to make your guests feel welcome and destroy their good will through the application of shrewd marketing.

First, make getting a reservation harder than it needs to be. Open Table should have at least some tables available for an ordinary Saturday night two weeks prior – or why bother listing with them at all? OK, so making a phone call isn’t difficult, and it gives one the opportunity to request a table on the first floor on the north side – and allows the restaurant to confirm your preferences directly.

Second, when the guests’ guests arrive, don’t honor the request. Instead, seat them in a claustrophobic room with no view and a traffic pattern that makes the landing approaches at O’Hare look empty. (Lest you think I’m being picky, we had EXACTLY the same experience on Thanksgiving – but because our fellow diners had not yet arrived, we were willing to insist on a better table even though it meant waiting an additional half hour.)

Third, make sure there are at least three parties of eight or more in the room, and, assigning your least experienced staff, make sure there are no more than 4 servers and a captain present. When your guests have been made as uncomfortable as possible (by closely following the steps outlined above), don’t come around and ask them about cocktails and/or wine until they’ve had time to fully appreciate your lack of concern (about 20 minutes). When asked “What single malts are available?” respond, “I don’t know.” and offer to find a menu. Wait another few minutes until one slightly sticky, lightly soiled menu is available before presenting it along with the dinner menus. Immediately dash off because the biggest table in the room is being presented with its birthday cake.

Fortunately the male, who was hosting the dinner for his offspring’s 35th birthday, is able to maintain complete calm in the face of ineptitude – so we didn’t have to make our way back to the valet parking and then go look for another venue at the last minute. Even more fortunate was the kitchen’s extraordinary ability make everyone forget about everything except the food. Had not the male’s cool head not prevailed, we would have missed out on a truly exceptional meal.

The bay scallops appetizer served in a light, beautifully airy vol-au-vent pastry shell with an gently scented cream sauce successfully pressed my reset button. An elegant, lightly dressed baby romaine salad tickled Milady’s palate with the crispy lettuce and a counterpoint of silken, but properly garlicky, Caeser dressing. The butternut squash bisque looked, and smelled delicious; just a hint of nutmeg dusting its surface. The Doctor (no, not that Doctor) skipped the appetizer and concentrated on one of X2O’s signature dishes, a pan roasted breast of Hudson Valley chicken, with braised fennel served over an apple and barley risotto. The combination gave off a delightful perfume of sweet and slightly sharp that quite literally made my mouth water. The rest of the table all opted for one of the evening’s special offerings. Roast venison with itsy bitsy brussel sprouts and spaetzle – an incredible combination of crunchy greens with crispy bacon smoothed with an almost creamy-textured spaetzle and picture perfect slices of venison. The saltiness of the bacon played well against the sweet meat. The 2009 Williamette Valley Pinot Noir chosen by humans had rounded tannins, gorgeous color and enough body to hold its own with the full flavors of the meal. It rounded out the four part harmony (meat, vegetable, starch and wine) I think the kitchen makes a consistent effort to present, perfectly.

The desserts were outstanding creations. The chocolate praline tart was a work of art. Its honey ice cream and accompanying Florentine were just the right sticky-sweetness. The pistachio dariole tasted of pistachioes and whipped cream, wrapped with a dark chocolate shell. The Doctor refrained from indulging in dessert, but her coffee was fragrant and hot. The decaf cappucinoes for the rest of the table were appropriate to the standard of the rest of the food and happily well above the standard of the service.

Would I recommend the humans return? On the one talon the food was heavenly. On the other, the entire concept of the upstairs should be recycled – perhaps reserving the space solely for large parties and attendant staff looking for large tips based on party hosts who are out to impress their guests with the concept, not its execution. Yes, I want to go back – but I’ll stick closer to the kitchen.

First impression – July 2012

I accompanied the humans to dinner last night at La Panetiere in Rye and left completely satisfied.
The room is lovely – uncrowded with a really nice yellow and golden tone to it. The chairs are comfortable enough, though some seem to need reupholstering to keep humans with larger posteriors from coming in contact with the frame. The maitre d’ was welcoming, not at all the epitome of French head waiter snobbiness I feared, and actually smiled when he complimented the humans on their choices. And just what were those choices, I hear you ask.

To begin, Milady had a “mikado” of warm, tender green and white asparagus. The “mikado” being juicy sections of grapefruit and a bit of frisee. The combination silken texture and citric bite was delicious and a perfect way to get ready for the rest of the meal.
The male had les escargots Provencal. Unlike the typical bourgeon preparation of garlic and butter, these snails were nestled in a puree of vegetables and topped with a fragrant tomato puree. Sigh.

Milady departed from her usual entree choices and had a delightful breast o f duck – sliced and plated with lentils and oyster mushrooms. The interplay between the rich duck meat and delicate mushrooms was like having your tastebuds exposed to flashing lights – contrasts of taste and texture making for a wonderful dish.

The other entree was soft-shell crabs in the style of Grenoble. No breading o r frying or sautéing in butter – rather a bit of olive oil in a very hot pan so the shells were just on the verge of crispness, and a bit of this and that topping the crabs, with a fragrant puree of green beans. Again, a dish where the contrasts made each of the very fine ingredients stand out but harmonize. Slurp.
The wine was an elegant 2007 Chateau La Tour Carnet. While classified as a Quatrièmes Crus in the arcane (and archaic) 1855 system, the wine was outstanding. The restaurant specializes in Bordeaux classifications, and has an incredible list, but don’t go bargain hunting – there aren’t any. On the other hand, just reading the list can give one hours of enjoyment.

The meal finished with a chocolate tasting selection – Napolean, white chocolate sorbet and ganache – Milady chose a homemade chocolate ice cream which was among the best ever tasted. Then, realizing it was Milady’s birthday, a beautiful marzipan plaque with “Happy Birthday” drizzled on it in melted chocolate , was presented. The decaffeinated Sumatra coffee was almost an anti-climax. Smooth, with almost no acidity, it complimented the smooth, sensuous nature of the entire experience.
Rave, rave, rave.

Return Engagement – October 2012

Let me start with a disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, a bargain-obsessed couponer. Still, when La Panetiere offered a Groupon dinner for 4 worth $370 for less than half, I began an immediate search for dining companions.
Sitting through a meal with four humans can be trying, especially with a special, limited menu (the Groupon Gourmet Tour Gastronomic) but WOW! The evening got off to a good start when the hostess noticed that our reservation was made through Groupon. She asked for the coupon and that was that. I love a restaurant that handles all the details and has the confidence to book tables only once an evening. No one ever hurries the diners, because there isn’t another couple waiting for the table. “Une autre tasse du cafe, madame?” not the as yet unrequested l’addition and a calculating stare.

As we were seated the maitre d’, who doubles as the sommelier, asked whether we preferred our included bottle to be red or white. We chose red and received a good, very serviceable 2009 Tisdale California cabernet sauvignon. Little cheese puff amuse bouches miraculously appeared, and the house-baked petit pains (olive, tomato or plain) were proffered. In best French fashion, a huge tub of fresh sweet butter was deposited as well. A little sip of wine and we were off to a very good start.
So, the meal began with a choice of salad or soup. The salad was a beautiful seasonal one, with just the right mix of frisee, red lettuce, a chickpea or two, a bit of cucumber and onion and dressed with a very light citrus vinaigrette. The soup was a two-in-one: a soup plate with half tomato bisque and half with a creamy corn chowder. Sitting side-by-side it looked yummy, a nice visual yin-yang to the soup course.

The shared appetizer course is one of the differences between the full on menu and the Groupon offerings. Still, when the escargot are served in little pastry pillows, one scarcely notices that the portion is shared – until it’s all gone all too quickly.
My humans both chose venison as their main course. Silky textured, slightly sweet as venison should be, grilled medium rare and sitting next to incredibly delicious red cabbage. A bite of one then the other made my mouth as happy as the time I ate a whole knight en brochette with a tun of wine. Speaking of wine, the humans went off the reservation on the second bottle (most definitely not included under Groupon). I think I understated the quality of the cellar last time. We drank a 2005 Bernadotte – once touted by Sherry-Lehman as one of their “unsung heroes of Bordeaux” right up until it was all sold out…The wine blossomed with the venison, exploding in the mouth with just the right balance of acidity and sweetness, and leaving me wishing the humans would take me here more often. The other couple ordered, IMHO, lesser dishes. The filets mignonettes of beef were perfectly cooked, beautifully presented, tasty, but really exciting. Safe, comfortable and familiar – which come to think of it is a very nice recommendation. The veal shank was much more interesting. Cooked to perfection, the fragrant veal sliding off the bone at the touch of the fork – ah, sigh – so good it’s hard to remember not to embarrass my fellow diners by picking it up in both hands to get at the really good parts…
Are we up to dessert already? La Panetiere does wonderful soufflés – and a very nice nougatine as well. Groupon eaters share one dessert per couple, and that great coffee is a la carte – but absolutely nothing can dim a fabulous meal, especially when one is paying something less than half price. (Just remember the staff who made it all happen- my understanding is that the gratuity should be based on the value of the meal, not the net amount paid after coupons and comps. That way they’re happy to see you return).
Rave,rave,rave redux.

The humans and I arrived after a long but not very arduous flight from the right coast to the left one last Tuesday. I’m not sure what I expected – but I’ve been continuously surprised by the local food, wine and beer. Pacific Northwest food sensibilities are different. Where right coasters enjoy a good meal and seem to judge on the bases of quality of ingredients, quality of preparation, harmony and/or contrast of flavors, with a modicum of interest in the physical setting, left coasters include concerns like localness of the ingredients, their sustainability and the quirkiness of combinations when passing judgement on a meal. Sometimes the results are along the lines of a maple-bacon doughnut flavored beer. Other times the results are Pacific oysters so fresh that the mignonette actually detracts from them. Yes, they serve oysters with restaurant-specific mignonettes with nary a glimpse of ketchup-based “cocktail” sauce in sight. If all oysters were as fresh as these, the red sauce makers would be limited to adulterating bad french fries and greasy burgers…You probably want to know where we’ve been and what we’ve dined on, so I’ll try to give you some idea of why Murghk simply must send a TARDIS if he ever expects me to return – I lose my FAA air-worthiness certificate at 25.8 boulders gross weight and I’m perilously close.

To begin, we met the youngest hatchling and his mother and everyone decided a late lunch was in order. We went to a converted firehouse in Ballard known as Hi-Life. The atmosphere was decidedly casual and friendly enhanced no doubt by the very un-Seattle 100º temperature and blindingly bright sunshine. The food might best be described as “West Coast locavore sustainable pub-style” and delicious. I feasted on corned beef hash and eggs. The hash was discernible chunks of really good corned beef held together with potatoes and onions and crowned with two perfectly poached eggs. The crustiness of the hash and silkiness of the egg yolks combined to remove any post-ariel anxities with a soothing security blanket of comfort food. Milady chose a summer salad, with slices of steak. Crispy fresh veggies, nicely grilled steak strips were the essence of a simple but elegant salad. The hatchling sucked on a bottle of soy milk and watched contentedly. He isn’t yet permitted to indulge his apparent interest in what the grownups are eating – but he has learned “restaurant manners” and was demonstrating his mastery of them.

Dinner later that evening was at Blue Water, another Seattle-casual eatery located adjacent to Green Lake and I’ll be writing it up as soon as I lick the splotches of Caesar salad dressing off my notes…