Pat My Butter

there are smokestacks. ratty mint green motels.  lots selling lawn cherubs and cement fountains.  train tracks, cars, and then suddenly a coffee shop, a bakery, and the corson building.

this is georgetown, the seattle neighborhood of the future.  it’s taken me months to get to the corson building, matt dillon’s latest adventure, largely because most of their dinners have happened on weekends, impossible days for anyone who works in a restaurant themselves.  now, though, there are a couple sundays offered a month, as well as thursdays weekly.

the building is small and cottage-ish, mossy green on the outside, white and cozy within.  a glass of syncline rosé is put in your had when you enter (if only this could happen every time i make an entrance) and you’re encouraged to peek into the kitchen and make your way to the patio or look at the chickens out back.  the garden beds have just a few visible shoots, but it’s easy to see that this will be a lush and glorious place to eat dinner in the summer.

we’re inside tonight, at three communal tables in the small room, whose center is occupied by a fireplace.  neighborly introductions are made around the table.

this was a thursday, a night when the menu (there’s one seating, 7:00) is $50 (a friday or saturday is $90). after we’d sat, sous chef emily crawford described the menu to the extent that we were wiping the drool from the corners of our mouths before we had food on the table.  somm marc papineau briefed us on the wines, and we began.

i peered down the long table, the april evening light falling through the window onto the white button ups and pink cardigans of my well-groomed dining companions.  it was like a spread in gourmet, maybe easter on the farm or mothers day in the country.

you have the option of a $30 wine pairing – since it’s your only option, it had better be good, and it is.  the wines are quirky and interesting, well-matched and delightful.  glasses are topped off as you drink and it feels like a bargain.

a beautiful italian sparkling wine was poured, and the first plates passed.  housemade salami was topped with dates, toasted almonds, and slivers of parmesan.  then there was this extraordinary yogurty cheese (labneh is the official name in its home, lebanon).  made by letting home made yogurt drain a day or so, it was thick and tart, a cross between sour cream and cream cheese but so much better.  good olive oil and a salsa verde, forest green and filled with grassy nettles, preserved lemon, and shallots completed the dish.  only buttery housemade crackers could (and did) improve it.  i could live off this first course and be a very happy person.

next was soft-scrambled eggs, some of them from the chickens just outside.  the color of kraft mac and cheese and cooked with utmost tenderness, this was the essence of eggs.  with just caraway and salty morels, it was a challenge to keep in mind that the dish had to be passed to eight other people.  a level of trust is required at this sort of dinner – not in your server, but in your tablemates.  it’s easy to imagine one side of the table – consciously or not – over-serving themselves to the extent that the other end misses out.  my group seemed to be there for the love of communal dining and no one was shorted.

sea bass was the least interesting course, with artichokes and tiny red potatoes.  the fish was cooked with the same delicacy as the eggs, but without the same intensity of flavor.  the guinea hen finale was far more exciting.  legs and wings were tossed with purple-streaked, youthful arugula and fried bread (more like fry bread than skull-splitting croutons), making almost a clunky salad of the best kind (mostly meat).  bowls of home made mayo came to the table.  i would have been fine if the croutons and mayo had made up a course of their own.

happily, dessert was subdued, a platter of sliced, multi-hued citrus, and mini macaroon sandwich cookies.  best of all, it came with delight in a glass – a deep and beautiful coteaux du layon.

courses were flawlessly timed.  as tables weren’t turning that night, there was no rush, and one round could settle before the next arrived.  someone described the corson building as a DIY restaurant.  you do serve yourself from big platters passed around, you do help yourself to coffee at the end (every servers dream).  but the pressure is relieved in other ways – you don’t have to navigate a menu, for example. service might seem hands off, and both the kitchen and waiters have it easier here than in a traditional set up (thanks to the passed-around plates and the fact that everyone eats the same thing), and yet, as a diner, i wanted for nothing.  our tiny water glasses remained filled, our wine stayed plentiful, our napkins were refreshed upon returning from the restroom.

in fact, you get something better than serve-from-the-left-clear-from-the-right service here – the time to chat with the person who chose your wine or scrambled your eggs.  they’re not too busy making cappuccinos or taking reservations to tell you the whys and hows of your meal.

on our way out, a server asked our group if we were in the industry.  he’d guessed because our hair wasn’t gray.  the crowd here is older, civilized, and able to spend a lot on dinner.  you have to plan ahead to have dinner here and make sure there’s a hundred dollars in your bank account (it will be well spent), which means visits will be an occasion.  but that’s what makes it so wonderful.