la bête, in the former chez gaudy space, now looks more like this:

from seattle met

it looks pretty hot and i really think you should come in and check it out.  not only is the staff the most attractive, smart and most knowledgeable around, but the crab gnocchi is divine and gary’s cocktails are the best around.

plus, the sooner we get wildly busy, the sooner i can go out to eat again myself.

but when approached properly, without a time limit, on a day when there’s nothing in particular to be done beyond the hour of lunch, there’s nothing better.

at sitka and spruce, even getting to the restaurant should be approached in a leisurely way.  set in the far corner of the recently unveiled melrose building, as yuppie as an eggwhite veggie scramble, there’s enough to see, buy, and drink that you should plan for the delay.  peer at those sitting, mouths full of sandwiches, at the sunny tables at homegrown.  buy bacon from a t-shirt clad butcher at rainshadow meats, washington cheese at calf and kid, a bunch of sweet peas from marigold and mint, pause for a glass of bandol rosé at the lovely bar ferd’nand.  if you have money left, you can go to lunch.

this new form of sitka and spruce is, visibly, almost indistinguishable from the old, formerly tucked in that weird storefront in eastlake where a dry cleaners seemed far more likely than an adored restaurant.  now, the building’s (an old garage) windows sprawl to the high ceilings, and are tilted open when the day calls for it.  the other walls of the itty bitty space are windows, too, but look to the inside of the market.  there aren’t many tables.  this, combined with the expansive butcher block communal counter that extends into the kitchen, makes the whole thing feel like a grandma’s kitchen.

when you look at the the menu (an actual menu, not a chalkboard), though, it’s clear you’re at sitka.  at the moment, dishes are light, summery.  there’s cheese with a bit of fruit compote, a delicate green salad.  little toasts are shmeared with chicken liver and spotty with pickled golden raisins (a wonderful invention).  chickpea purée, brightened with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon and just slightly crisp kale.

tuna perches upon thinly sliced beets, golden raisins appear again, and feta brings the salt.  herbs, delicate greens, and something creamy make everything more fun.  more satisfying, though, was the seabass.  that’s it, above, where you see two perfectly fried eggs and very nice slices of tomato.  the bass is underneath, in purée form as, i’m starting to think, it should always be.  it’s the opposite of dry, as a filet can so often be, delightfully rich, and responds oh so well to having an egg yolk burst upon it (what doesn’t?)

dessert was a couple of baked apricots, sweetened gently, and it would be nice if i could have them for breakfast every morning.

many of the changes at sitka are improvements.  the space itself, for example, and its closer proximity to…well, most everything.  but it’s hard not to wonder if some of the changes that have made the place more approachable – reservations, smiley staff, safer food – simultaneously undermine what so many of us loved about the old place.  its edge, its risk-taking, its lack of concern for whether or not everyone loved it, may have been lost in the move.

but it’s early still, and there’s already lots to love, and it’s a worthy lunch experience if there ever was one.  dinner’s another story, one i’ll hopefully know more about soon.

but the opening of somewhere new – bars and restaurants alike – is a precarious and unpredictable thing.  there are a few things which make a business successful that you can measure with some certainty – location, for example – but far more that you can’t.  what makes a place catch on or not?  can it be pinpointed to one charismatic bartender, the quantity of seating, the peanut shells on the floor?

big mario’s, seattle’s millionth new pizza place, was born with a number of couple of legs up.  there’s the reputation of one of its owners, mike mcconnell of café vita, whatever that may be depending upon who you ask (but there’s really no denying he’s created some of the best looking and most reliable businesses around).  there’s the location (right next to vita on pike,  swaddled in capitol hill bars).  and there’s the simple fact that big mario’s has both pizza by the slice and a full bar.

somehow, in a neighborhood infested with hot dog carts, there’s been only one place to get a slice of pizza.  and it’s not a place where you can also enjoy a beer.  if you need any proof that this was a niche begging to be filled, stop by big mario’s – it’s been mobbed since day one, to the point that they ran out of dough and closed early last sunday.

in the front of the space is the pizza area, consisting of a counter for ordering, and a few high tables for standing and inhaling pizza.  the bar, with booths, is in the back.  thing is, when you’re sitting at the bar, or in the booths, you can’t actually order pizza – you have to go to the front and do so, and pay separately from your bar tab.  you order, not from the person behind the cash register, but on the other side, then pay, then stand among the crowd wherever you can, until your slice has been heated.  it’s rather arduous.

but once you’re sitting, finally, in a red leather booth with a piece of pizza and an old english 40 in front of you, things really couldn’t be better.  i’ve eaten pizza there twice now – and they couldn’t have been more different.  the first slice had crust that was extremely thin and cracker-like, to the extent that it split in half when folding was attempted – quite the faux pas when it comes to pizza that is new york style.  on the next visit, however, things couldn’t have been more perfect – crust had texture on the outside, and softness inside.  folding was done with ease.  i hope this will be the norm.  toppings were minimal, salty, and satisfying.

for a meal that is under $3 a slice and available at 3 am (they’re open till 4 am thursday, friday, saturday), there really isn’t anything better around (hot dogs are $5!).  new place awkwardness aside, there’s enough going for big mario’s that we’re all going to find ourselves here a lot.

but yesterday, i went to breakfast.  just hours before, i’d been at the snoop dogg show so maybe i wasn’t quite myself.  it has been years since i’d been to glo’s.  in that lapse, my mind had recreated their menu into something that contained only stuffed french toast and items asphyxiated by gravy and/or hollandaise.

these things can be had, it’s true, but i was surprised to find that the rest of the menu is fairly restrained.  it’s really everything you could want from a classic brunch joint.  buttermilk pancakes, french toast, granola with yogurt, corned beef hash, and….eggs.  omelets, sure. but more importantly, poached eggs.  potentially the most disappointing or rewarding preparation of eggs out there.

the crayola-attacked menu calls them “glo’s remarkable poached egg” and it’s true – they’re remarkable.  each and every one, in the form of eggs benedict, eggs florentine, or a simple egg breakfast, is exactly the same.  that is to say, perfectly poached so that as cooked through as the white is the yolk consistently gushes with the pressure of a fork in a remarkable way.

glo’s has held down the fort in its crook of olive way for as long as anyone can remember.  the dining room is carpeted, the tables are limited, and service is fine.  the coffee is less remarkable than the eggs, except for the way that it keeps coming so constantly throughout the meal.  but the butter is real, the maple syrup is real, and the most you can spend on one menu item is $12.95 for the lox and bagel.  the meat has actual flavor, the hashbrowns are the right combination of crispy and soft.

on a weekend morning, you’ll have to wait.  it’s a result of the small dining room, the under $20 menu, and those remarkable eggs.  but when your plate of food is in front of you, the purpose of breakfast may well become clear again.

believe me, i value these connections.  it does, however, make an objective opinion rather hard to come by.

hitchcock is out on bainbridge, that island across the bay.  it’s a mild commitment to get there, which is great, because it makes dinner more of an occasion.  going on a nice day is ideal, of course, so you can sit outside on the ferry, look at mt rainier and the skyline and think about how lucky you are to live here.  once docked, hitchcock is so close that you can’t use the walk as justification for dessert.

at the bar, there’s a woman mining for bone marrow while reading a book, two others gossiping over olives, and us – consuming everything on the menu without having to look at it and drinking a scandalous (though only upon reflection) quantity of wine.   the room is twice the length of its width, which is to say small.  there’s a few booths, a few tables, those well-loved bar seats.

the kitchen can be seen in the back – well-lit, lots of windows – but chef brendan mcgill’s not there tonight.  he’s in the dining room in cargo shorts, chatting about wine, explaining lovage, coppa, and where the name hitchcock came from (it’s his wife’s family name, they’re longtime bainbridge residents).  as the ex-chef of crémant, il bistro, and all the tribunalis, he’s got his shit figured out enough that he doesn’t need to be monitoring his kitchen constantly.

there’s a bites section on the menu, where nothing’s more than $6 and most things are 2 or 3.  calf’s liver, a bit irony and challenging to get a knife through, is presented gorgeously, piled with finely diced bacon, citrus, and pickled onions.  oysters are topped with potent apple oregano granita.

lox-like salmon, dense, tender, full of flavor, is brought to a new level by the herbs it is tossed with.  for me, these same herbs were the most important theme throughout the meal.  the ridiculously fresh mix, from nearby persephone farms, enhanced the flavors like eyeliner brings out an eye.  dill was especially prominent, as was the wonderful anise hyssop, with its fragrant licorice-ness.

out of everything, it was the foie gras terrine that i wished was twice the size it was.  a slice of blue cheese and cherry certainly didn’t hurt, but it was the terrine itself – smooth as hair gel, rich as can be and yet, somehow, still light – that really stuck with me.  if i had enough to churn in my ice cream maker, i’d bring it to world cup brunch this morning and my friends would be awed.

linguini with bagna cauda is of the most delicate (house-made) sort, and hard breadcrumbs make it crunch properly.  “mount it with the bone marrow”, we were told, and i suggest everyone does the same, for what must be the most decadent pasta dish on the island.

the constantly changing menu is composed of neither small plates nor appetizers and entrées.  in what seems to be a popular move lately, there are instead different categories – in this case the bites, cold dishes, and hot dishes.  though many will no doubt be confused, it actually offers optimal flexibility to the diner.  share a few things if you want, or get a salad followed by a hunk of meat if that’s still your thing.

if you’re really set on having an entrée, “hot” is where to look.  plates here are familiar and while they roughly follow the meat/veggie/starch model, manage to cling to the spontaneity and inspiration of the smaller dishes (sweetbreads with mussels, perhaps).

one day there might be halibut, with oysters cooked so quickly they probably didn’t realize what was happening to them.  or pork, cosmo pink on the inside, crisped on the out.  the apple risotto is on the sweet side, but the herb salad more than compensates.  the night i was there, it was the  duck confit that really had it all.  there’s demi glace, for one thing.  and duck, crispy, salty, and luscious.  also, cherries, and, tucked underneath, greens with a suggestion of blue cheese.

there was no way dessert was happening after all of this, so you’ll just have to check that out for yourself.

and not full like the way i’m full after i take a po dog deep fried danger dog (it’s bacon wrapped, deep fried, and topped with chili sauce) to the face late night, but pleasantly, comfortably full.  a feeling that can only come from quality, relatively healthy, and excitingly affordable food.

the mongrel, on a funny little patch of broadway behind my old seattle u dorm, still feels as new as it is.  it’s neat and tidy inside, classy even, with paper and salt on the table but no hot sauce.  on a monday night, business is mellow, the pace is leisurely.  and the food is good.  if i still lived in that dorm, still had to walk down the hall to use the bathroom, still had a meal plan, i’d be at el mestizo all the time.

in fact, even though it’s not right out my front door, i think i’ll find myself there often enough anyway.  there are the tamales, for one thing.  $3.50 gets you more than twice the food you’d expect.  that’s two large, banana leaf wrapped masa logs.  the softest, moistest of masa, that is, teeming with mole or tomatillos, chicken, and flavor.  no joke – it’s a meal.

speaking of mole, the most intriguing of sauces.  get at least one dish with it at el mestizo.  never the same at any two institutions, this version is particularly mesmeric.  it borders on dessert-like and a spoonful on vanilla ice cream wouldn’t seem out of place.  but the complexity that i love about mole is intact, and, mixed with the corn tortilla, chicken, and queso blanco of the enchiladas ($12), manages to avoid cloying with skill.

tacos ($2.50, far smaller than the tamales considering the similar prices), are pleasantly straightforward.  tortillas are handmade, the chorizo is excellent.  picaditas ($6) are three mini, slightly thicker corn tortillas, black beans, queso fresco, and crema decorate them and make a solid snack.

the beer options are what you’d expect.  margaritas are margaritas, though the mango jalepeño makes an effort at changing the pace.  its thickness and mango flavor make me suspect there’s real fruit involved, and the sharp heat of the finish confirms the pepper.  it works, though the intensity of flavor means one is enough.

it didn’t hurt that the whole meal – including drinks and enough leftovers to feed a family of four – was only around forty bucks for two of us.  i like it here.

this menu radiates what so many places lately have been lacking – fun.  it’s playful (tater tots), inventive (razor clam sausage), and yet still familiar (iceberg lettuce).  happily, this confidence comes out in the flavors, too.

the iceberg lettuce salad is perfect for when you feel obligated to get a salad but don’t especially want one.  there is lettuce involved, to be sure, and the head is sliced in half, so it’s far easier to manage than a wedge, but it’s so covered in other goodies that it really just becomes a crunchy vehicle.  which is great.  there’s creamy, not-too-sharp blue cheese dressing, tiny halved cherry tomatoes, and bacon that is generous and assertive.  it’s like an atkins diet blt, with shaved celery and radish to class it up.

the clams were by far the least interesting part of the clam dish.  not because they weren’t perfectly good clams, but because every other element was so excellent.  there’s the razor clam sausage, an intense tomato broth, buttery croutons, and herb mayo – get them all in one bite and it’s pretty much heaven.

it’s easy to forget that steak tartare and actual steak are the same thing, as they serve such different purposes in a meal and satisfy such different cravings.  so to have some of each on a plate, in spring hill’s steak hot and cold dish, is fresh and smart.  herbs flavor both – mixed in with the raw, as a chimichurri atop the cooked.  binding it all together from beneath is yolk.  it’s more than yolk, though, because its texture is thicker than yolk and a skin doesn’t form on it as it sits on the plate.  if i’m not mistaken, it’s one of the touches of molecular gastronomy spring hill uses throughout their food.  it’s subtle, and the techniques are used not just for novelty but because they actually add to the food.  the best part of beef steak hot and cold, though?  the potato crisps.  airy, crunchy, and perfectly wavy for transporting the tartare.

midway through our first course, our second course arrived.  “i hope i’m not rushing you,” our server said, as she clearly rushed us.  with six dishes on the table and three people trying to have a conversation, food was inevitably cold by the time we got to it – a tragic thing, considering its quality.

the arctic char was stunning.  perfectly cooked – just barely done and ridiculously tender.  the grilled rapini was extremely smoky, and it worked.  roasted fingerlings and sour cream sauce rounded things out, but could be easily forgotten next to the beauty of the fish itself.  and the burger…well, it lives up to its reputation.  think of all the best burger adjectives you can (juicy, bacony, tender) and they all apply.  the meat itself (from painted hills) is clearly great quality and the interior is pleasantly pink.  the bun is soft and of proportionate size.  the bacon and beecher’s cheese don’t hurt a bit.  every dish was as salty as possible without being too salty – perfect.

our share plates, pooled with clam juice as they were, had to be our share plates for our hamburger as well.  the wine list was requested as plates were being cleared, yet no “can i get you something else to drink?” came for a good twenty minutes after.  small, amateur flaws that when, piled atop one another, taint the meal.  oddly enough, we got an industry discount.  a kind gesture, but it does beg the question – how did we get such lame service especially when it was known we work in restaurants?

three ice cream flavors are offered – get a scoop of each.  this night it was vanilla with rhubarb, popcorn, and orange sherbet.  rather than committing to a whole dessert, there’s the lovely option of “a couple of bites” – a few root beer madeleines, a little bowl of orange julius, just enough flavor and sweet to be a proper end to a proper meal.  based on food alone, i can report with certainty that this was the best meal i’ve had in a good while.

lampreia. site of my most disappointing (if you use a money to quality ratio) meal ever. apparently the formula wasn’t working as a general rule, as the place has recently morphed into bisato, a casual, bar-centric restaurant with only subtle whiffs of the stuffy, precious restaurant it used to be.

chef/owner scott carsberg is an intriguingly controversial figure. there are those who think he can do no wrong and those who have been offended by his notoriously salty personality.  at bisato, he lurks just between the kitchen and dining room, shaving flesh-like prosciutto from the seriously sexy red slicer, wiping plates, and eying his diners from under his hedge-like eyebrows.  under his watch, there was no way i was pulling a camera out at the bar so,

sorry, no pictures!

that being said, the general vibe in the restaurant has drastically improved.  staff is overwhelmingly male and handsome, you can see out the windows, and guests and staff alike felt comfortable laughing aloud.  the kitchen (with the exception of carssberg, in a saggy polo) wears white dress shirts under their aprons, the floor staff ties.  our bartender was by far the most charming, capable server i’ve had since…well, i’m not sure.  long time.  it wasn’t just the australian accent that allowed him to get away with calling us “girlies” and “my darlings” – it was that he was so dashing, expert, and professional in every other way.  wine suggestions were spot on, there was no pressure to order more than meat and cheese, and he made us laugh.  i wish we could have brought him to spring hill with us.

while i can only attest to the deliciousness of the prosciutto (exceptional), olive oil (great) and the cheese (cheese, accompanied simply), i can say that the menu is to the point, with plates hovering around $10 (though how many you’d need to compose a meal is worth considering).  food is delicate italian – your ragu may come in a quenelle – and carefully arranged on white plates.  both wines by the glass (of the delicious italian variety) and cocktails are pleasantly priced.  had the venetian sunset (grappa, campari, orange) come in pitcher size, i’d have happily stayed at bisato all night.  at my house this summer, it will.

soon enough, i’ll sit at a table, bravely take photos, and be able to report fully on food.

i recently hit up two so new they’re still blinking in the sunlight.  they sound like they might be a cute brother and sister pair.  it was luc’s first week open and marjorie’s second day – too early for real reviews to be appropriate, but i can tell you what i know so far.

marjorie, tucked in a quiet armpit of the chloe apartments on madison, is tiny!  it’s warm, well-windowed, and painted a great royal blue.  there are maybe eight bar seats, maybe 20 in the dining room – perfect, really.  from the bar, you can peer into the kitchen (also tiny) and see the slew of ex-harvest vine chefs who have landed there.

the menu follows the major guidelines of the invisible new-seattle-restaurant rulebook.  first of all, there’s pizza (sheep’s milk ricotta, with either truffle or ham).  then there’s burrata (balsamic and sea salt).  and hamachi crudo (smoked salt, cucumber, lavender), a terrine, and scallops (lobster, mussels, saffron).

the plantain chips – thin as fingernails, well-seasoned, and plentiful to the point you wonder whether they’re reproducing on your plate – come with fresh pineapple, avocado, and tomato.  it’s a nice enough way to coat your stomach for a glass of wine.  more fun, though, is the terrine.  there’s at least duck and pork in there, balanced with spicy house made pickles and (why don’t we see this more often?) fruit and nut bread that worked perfectly with the meat.

it was fun to watch owner donna moodie welcome friend after congratulatory friend in the door that night, and i doubt there will be many nights in the future when she doesn’t get to do the same.  you’ll be wanting to get there early – especially when it’s decent enough out to have the front garage doors open.

and then there’s luc.  it’s the chef in the hat’s new, more casual café just up madison from rover’s and everything about it is more mature, more madison valley.

the place was packed on a wednesday night – apparently it’s been like this since opening day.  chef thierry, his wife kathy, and a hostess with an ipad did their best to keep things in order and prevent wheezing, red-wine clutching (and fully grown) business men from getting in physical fights over barseats.  the space is modest, and the bar is clearly the heart of it all.  the menu is hearty, affordable, and largely french (except for the pizza that no chef can manage to leave off a menu anymore).  trout amandine, sabayon, pot-au-feu, potato gratin.

chicken liver mousse is extra livery – the tart rhubarb gelée on top is on vacation when it comes to balancing out the dizzying strength of the liver.  a smoked salmon tartine is just that.  there are capers and creamy goat cheese and it’s all perfectly tasty.  my general wish for the menu and the items we tried was that, while it was great that they were rustic and casual, just a hint of that rover’s flair and novelty would have elevated them to memorable.

the boeuf bourguignon, however, is stunning.  ridiculously rich and beefy, as classic as it could be  i regret only that i was too distracted by eating it to get a proper photo.  sorry.  next time.

while i didn’t get much farther than the crémant de bordeaux on the wine list, a cursory glance was enough to tell that it’s interesting, carefully considered, mostly french, and worth further exploration.

it’s going to be a good summer.

i love that the menu is one page, front and back, and not extended by a hundred dishes that are merely the same ingredients rearranged.  carbs are available in about any form you want – as noodles, as dumplings, as a pancake.  don’t not start with the green onion pancake.  it’s salty, crispy, chewy, and leaves a dainty film of grease on your fingertips.  what more you could want from a pancake i can’t imagine.

dumplings are pudgy and as individual as snowflakes.  “dumpling with hot and spicy sauce” has pork in it, and as a result is more flavorful and worthwhile than “vegetable dumpling with hot and spicy sauce”.  regardless, though, they’re both texturally exquisite and should be bathed in as much hot and spicy sauce as possible.  an under $5 order of dumplings could easily be a meal on its own. 

den den main is peanuty and rich, though less so than that at seven stars peppers.  you’d be fine just skipping it, actually, and instead focusing on the beef noodle dish – serious beef broth with serious chunks of beef, crisp, difficult-to-get-in-your-mouth bok choy, chilies and green onions.

food isn’t instantaneous.  this is good, as it means the dumplings aren’t simply removed from the dumpling warmer to be brought to your table.  everything is homemade, by practiced hands, by someone who cares and could cook your meal in their sleep.

also, it’s a quiet restaurant.  there’s no music, most of the diners are in pairs, and a loud laugh might make you feel self-conscious.  maybe peoples mouths are too full to talk, i don’t know.  but when prices are so absurdly low and food is so lovely, atmosphere is about as insignificant as that last noodle you’ll be way to full to maneuver with your chopsticks.