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UPDATE: October 7
Well, looks like as of last month, Madoka has closed for good. Sorry Islanders. Auspiciously, it also appears that Alvin Binuya has returned to his original gig at Ponti in Fremont.
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So as previously recounted, I decided to leave my urban comfort zone and wound up daytripping to Bainbridge Island a couple of weeks ago. The ultimate destination was a place called Madoka, a pan-asian “fusion” restaurant that I’d heard good things about. Chef Alvin Binuya (formerly of Seattle’s Ponti and Axis) practically invented the genre, so I figured I was in good hands.
The experience wound up being pretty disappointing. I blame Doc’s. And myself. I instinctively trusted that it would be great, because Kimagure Orange Road is pretty much my favorite anime of all time, and the main character is named Madoka. +5 shame points.
*THIS* is the entire reason I went to Madoka. OMG DUMB.
For starters, we ordered a duck & pepperjack cheese quesadilla with smoked poblano salsa and a bowl of watermelon gazpacho. Both were nice enough with some subtle heat. Unfortunately, the duck was completely lost under the much stronger flavors of the quesadilla – it could just as easily have been tofu for all I know. For the main course I had a yellowtail tataki that was equally underwhelming – the fish was fresh, but that’s about it. The bok choy on the side was actually more interesting, and all it had going for it was a simple tamari sauce. The fish was served cold with a side of piping hot beets, which clashed on the plate, on my palette, and with the universe at large.
Neither wine they recommend paired well, a local Sauvignon Blanc and a Pinot Gris from Oregon (I actually had to send the first one back because there was a considerable amount of sediment in the bottom of my glass… that could very well be the first time I’ve ever done that). My partner’s salmon was good-not-great, served with the skin-side of the filet plated ON TOP of the accompanying greens (scales what?), and the side of yukon gold potato purée tasted like baby food. After eating a bite of the salmon, I think my exact quote was: “Criminal”.
Lord now that I look back, it was actually worse than I thought. So odd considering that this was supposedly the place to go on the island. Binuya was in the house, so I can’t really fall back on an off-crew as an excuse. Given my experience traveling around the Puget Sound, it’s probably safe to say that island people simply judge things differently. But then, maybe I’m just being an islandist.
I will compliment them on the space – it was gorgeous. Bi-level, cool and dark and modern with Japanese accents. Romantic and comfortable, with a view of the open kitchen so you can watch the chefs at work (which I love to do).
I wouldn’t go back. For that matter, I don’t really feel like I have much use for Bainbridge Island. Skip it.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to hop on the ferry to Bainbridge Island. Partially on a whim, but mostly because it had dawned on me that (somewhat unbelievably) I’d never actually been. In need of a destination, I did some research and determined that Alvin Binuya’s Madoka would be my eventual goal. More on that later.
Explored the island, enjoyed the sun, found a decent wine shop and scored another bottle of that Felsner Grü-V that I’d been enjoying all summer. After finding our way back to the populated portion of the island, we had about 90 minutes to kill before our dinner reservations, so the decision was made to grab a cocktail at that “cute” place right on the harbor that looked promising. Doc’s Marina Grill. That was the beginning of my island nightmare.
Upon entering, the hostess greeted us kindly enough, although I was somewhat taken aback because she seemed to be about twelve years old. She walked us through the restaurant, past the patio, out towards the lawn and finally seated us behind a hedgerow completely obscured from sight by any potential servers. Not that I thought this would be a problem. Why would it be?
About 20 minutes passed watching the endless stream of tourists meander by the marina before I kicked over my chair in frustration and headed for the exit. It was one of those places where any waitstaff who do occasionally materialize somehow manage to avoid your eye with surgical precision. Despite my best intentions, cooler heads around me prevailed and I was coerced into seeking out some service. Somehow I managed to stumble over the 12 year old hostess, politey inquired WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT?, and was given a big thumbs up and a *sparkle*.
The Bainbridge Marina. Is that a mannequin??
Another 20 minutes passed, and still nothing. At this point, I was completely obsessing over the menu. I mean, READ THIS:
Most restaurants go out of their way to please every customer. Not Doc’s! We recognize that our approach won’t be for everybody. Because, frankly, not everybody knows how to have fun (If you’re one of those, we can recommend several fine, local restaurants). Above all, Doc’s is about great food and a good time.
Really? Really Doc’s? It was like they were taunting me now. Throwing the gauntlet. Fearing violence, my dining companion left to try her luck locating a server. And what do you know? Success! Finally! We ordered some wine and inquired after the appetizers, ultimately choosing some sautéed artichoke hearts (QUOTE I’ve had everything on the menu, and that’s one of my favorites ENDQUOTE). So yeah. Those artichoke hearts were pretty much what I imagine Satan’s asshole tastes like. Abomination! Seriously, somebody in the kitchen opened a can, dumped the contents into a saucepan and laughed all the way to the bank. The island bank.
About the only thing I can say in fairness to Doc’s is that there was nowhere else to go. Additionally I should admit that frankly, I just don’t know how to have fun. FRANKLY.
absinthe and oranges 