cantinetta

Gather round, cats and cabbage, and allow me to offer you a rare glimpse behind the curtain at the House of Icarus.  When I initially began blogging about the Seattle food scene (after that fateful meal at the Corson Building last summer), I made the conscious decision to do so anonymously.  It was my intention to provide objective commentary in as pure and unbiased a way as possible, admitting that the subjective nature of taste and experience inevitably renders this endeavor difficult.  Still, I felt that going into it without any strings attached, without any presumptions about who I might be or what I might say would prove to be a far more honest approach – and ultimately provide more value to you, the reader.

So what on earth does this have to do with Cantinetta?  Well, a few weeks ago we were entertaining guests from out of town, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to make the trek out to the residential hinterlands of Wallingford and see what all the buzz was about.  Cantinetta only accepts reservations for parties of six or more, and when we showed up on a Saturday night, the tiny Italian joint with a big reputation was already spilling onto the streets (staff scrambled to accommodate demand, setting up impromptu tables on the sidewalk outside).  We were told an hour wait, minimum, and slowly made our way through the crush of people towards the bar, also packed.

My first impression was that, for such a cramped space, Cantinetta sure manages to accommodate a surfeit of shrieking banshees.  The room is a sonic onslaught of noise, a din comparable to a Sonic Youth freakout (or Columbia City Tutta Bella on a Friday night).  The décor is rustic, with white lace curtains and antique mirrors and distinctive, almost medieval-looking wooden chandeliers.  There’s a dozen or so tables and banquettes of varying size, including one large communal table in the back.  The kitchen is separated from the main dining area, but remains visible through framed glass windows which lend the bustling chefs an almost voyeuristic appeal.  The whole scene is rather hectic, and didn’t exactly transport me back to Tuscany.

I was too busy observing the room and enjoying a glass of Sangiovese to notice that one of my party had broken away from the crew and was making small talk with a gentleman at the end of the bar.  She soon wandered back and I inquired after their conversation.  Imagine my chagrin – my horror – when I discovered that she had unwittingly “outed me” to one of Cantinetta’s co-owners.  Or maybe he was a business partner?  I can’t remember exactly – I was pretty mortified when he eventually approached me.  He then introduced me to the bartender, Randy Quarry (also part owner – eep!), who was very pleasant and amiable, while I in turn stumbled around and made an ass of myself.  We were seated five minutes later.

Coincidence?

Who knows, but the whole incident illustrates why I strive to keep a very low profile.  I don’t want preferential treatment – I want a genuine experience.  I want to be able to convey the closest approximation to an experience that you might have at any given restaurant on any given night.  Thankfully, nothing else transpired throughout the evening that struck me as partisan.  But enough of this navel-gazing!  How was the food, dammit?

We started with some antipasti, which was mostly fair to middling.  A plate of avocado and grapefruit with cured olives and chilies was smooth and salty, with a little kick, but nothing much else beyond simple presentation.  A panzanella salad with fresh raw cucumbers, tomatoes and onion was just fine (the tomatoes were ripe and juicy, but the bread was overly stale and hard to chew).  A skewer of porchetta wrapped in pancetta and served over grilled polenta with raw sage leaves was fatty, undercooked, and looked like a sad lump of gray matter on the plate.  Not good.

But all was forgiven when we arrived at the main courses.  This is clearly where executive chef Brian Cartenuto shines in the kitchen (I know very little else about Cartenuto, except that he’s from out of town).  I was ecstatic over a hot bowl of tagliatelle with rabbit ragu and succulent, earthy morels.  The broth was light and aromatic, a vegetable-base with lots of carrots and celery and black pepper.  The rabbit was mild and exquisite, and the noodles were perfect.  And yet, even this spectacular dish was upstaged by a sumptuous risotto stewed with confit of pheasant, shittakes and truffle oil.  The light gamey flavor of the pheasant provided a perfect balance to the creamy risotto and savory mushrooms.  Those two dishes alone warrant a repeat visit, and are easily some of the best food I’ve eaten all year.  The rest of the meal was rounded out with a meaty Hen of the Woods and prosciutto tortellini and a particularly fine hanger steak with Walla Walla onions and buttery porcini.

Desserts were a mixed bag, with a Rainier cherry custard that had a very strange, rubbery texture and a key lime cheesecake so utterly out of place on the menu that we simply had to try it (the Cantinetta folks must know something about Tuscany that I don’t).  It was awesomely tart, with a beautiful raspberry coulis and chocolate and graham cracker.  We finished up and rolled out into the warm night air.  I breathed a small sigh of relief.

In addition to the (mostly) stellar food, the waitstaff were pleasant and unpretentious, helpful with the wine list and generally attentive.  If only they could do something about the noise level… I feel compelled to repeat that the place is crazy loud.  Know what you’re getting into.  Maybe try hitting it up before the supper rush?  Maybe bring earplugs?  Cantinetta has great potential to be a romantic dining experience, with the oil wick candles and cozy room – but it’s all very boisterous at the moment.

Anyhow, I know this was a little more personal information than I usually inject into these posts, but I thought the experience and my reaction deserved mention.  Thanks for indulging me.  More importantly, thanks for reading.

rancho bravo tacos

Continuing with our cheaper eats around Seattle theme from last week, we now pay a visit to one of the many fine taco trucks which grace our fair city.  These precious mobile kitchens provide an invaluable service to any citizen who originally hails from a land south of the Siskiyous but has since expatriated to the Great Northwest (*guilty*).  The taste of home, or at least a closer approximation than anything you will ever, ever, EVER find at Azteca (for the love of all that is good, stay away).  Specifically, let us pay a visit to the beloved Rancho Bravo Tacos truck, which can be found stationed in the Winchell’s Donuts parking lot on 45^th in Wallingford (on the corner of Thackeray, just down from Dick’s).  It’s actually more of a shiny, silver trailer than a truck.  Just look for the canopy and the picnic table and the freaky Bullwinkle mascot.

And let’s get this out of the way first: Rancho Bravo is not Skillet.  Nothing is Skillet.  Skillet is the godhead.  But this city has an astonishing lack of street food vendors, so we have a duty to spread the love around as much as possible.  And of course, TWO TACOS FOR $2 PEOPLE.  The tacos are served in warm, soft, double-layered corn tortillas with lovely bright purple pickled radish, diced white onions, a touch of lime and a surprising assortment of meats to choose from.  These range from the usual carne asada or basic pollo to tongue or tripe (if you’re feeling particularly brave).  The fish tacos are undoubtedly my favorite though, and some of the best around period.  The taste of the smoky, grilled tilapia conjures happy memories of barbeques on the beach in Mexico.

And that’s the primary thing that Rancho Bravo has going for it, unique and genuine flavors.  Honestly, I can’t even figure out half of what’s going on in the vibrant array of homemade hot sauces on offer.  The bright orange sauce has a deep smoky flavor, the mustard-colored sauce has a thick consistency and a slow, steady burn.  My favorite is the bright green cilantro-based sauce, which is fresh and herbal and wonderful on those fish tacos.

But the main event at Rancho Bravo is the burritos.  For $4.25, the Rancho burrito is stuffed with either black or pinto beans, rice, diced tomato and onions, cilantro, and shredded Monterey Jack cheese.  Can I just say, hooray for black beans?  For 50 cents more, you can upgrade to the Bravo, which has sour cream and grilled onions.  I actually find simpler to be better in this case, especially when you’re dealing with incredibly rich and complex flavors like the pulled pork carnitas or the mole chicken (which is easily the best thing on the menu).  This is probably an appropriate time to mention that despite repeated attempts to talk myself into liking the al pastor at Rancho Bravo, I always wind up being disappointed.  It’s just too bland and greasy.  Al pastor is truly an endangered species in Seattle, and so I will take this opportunity to give another shout-out to La Carta de Oaxaca (spicy pork is spicy).

Rancho Bravo also serves gigantic torta sandwiches in hoagie rolls, and they have rice and bean bowls and quesadillas and homemade horchata.  The tamales are also made from scratch and sell out quickly and often (although they can be special ordered in large batches).  More importantly, Rancho Bravo recently opened a permanent drop-in kitchen in the old KFC on Capitol Hill across from Oddfellows on 10^th Ave.  They just draped a banner over the front window and called it Open.  It’s utterly surreal, but perfect for a late night bite after the bars close (open until 2:30 AM on weekends)!  Additionally, owner Freddy Rivas and everybody in his crew are welcoming and kind and multilingual.

Once upon a time, I thought the burrito was the perfect food.  Rancho Bravo reminds me why.

joule

There are some wonderful things happening with food over in Wallingford these days, and I credit chefs Rachel Yang and Seif Chirchi for leading the way.  Since opening Joule last year at 45^th and Burke, the husband and wife duo behind the only French-Korean restaurant in Seattle have been consistently producing some of the most innovative cuisine in the city.  At turns adventurous and elegant, their food has a serious mindedness that is belied by the playful menu (with course headings like Simmered, Crisped, Sparked, and my favorite, Staff of Life).  This laser focus is almost certainly the result of Yang and Chirchi’s previous employ at the ridiculously high-end Coupage in Madrona (which imploded shortly after their departure) and before that at Alain Ducasse in New York City.

Joule is a contemporary space with lots of dark wood offset by soft yellow paint and the most beautiful wallpaper in town – an exquisite deep indigo backdrop covered with white leaves and pink fairytale hummingbirds.  A pot of reeds filled with little white lights sits at the edge of the bar, where patrons can sit and watch Chirchi and Yang at work in the prominent open kitchen.  There may be jazz playing on the stereo, and some of it may be French.  It’s the perfect atmosphere to enjoy one of Joule’s seasonal cocktails.  Try the pomegranate tarragon shrub, a vinegar-based drink served in a carafe filled with fresh pomegranate seeds and ice.  Or the Parisian Sake, a mix of Kurosawa and St. Germain with a slice of grapefruit that is exceptionally bright and clean.

The menu at Joule changes with the seasons, and a recent visit found a strong emphasis on early winter greens.  We started with a creamed Swiss chard with hazelnut salt, which was slightly bitter and buttery and warm (and just a little too salty, dammit Seattle).  Even better was a zucchini pancake with shrimp and smoked chili vinaigrette – sweet and fluffy, with the occasional burst of cilantro.  We also enjoyed a piping hot baguette with housemade seaweed butter.  It was the perfect synthesis of East and West.

For the main course, I was compelled to order the wild boar spare ribs with spicy Korean barbeque glaze and collard slaw (more of that perfect chard with pickled daikons).  The ribs were so tender that the meat slid right off the bone with a poke from my fork.  The glaze was sweet and smoky with a little bit of heat, but nothing outrageous.  Restraint was further shown in the pickled cucumber kimchi with shitake mushrooms that I ordered on the side.  I’ve had some kimchi that was so far off the Scoville heat spectrum as to render it inedible.  In fact, I’ve never had kimchi quite like this before, remarkably briny in flavor.  Also unique: the housemade soy sauce, which tasted like it was mixed with sriracha or some other red chili paste.  I could not get enough of it.

We ordered several other entrees and passed the dishes around the table, including an enormous whole mackerel with smoked tomato puttanesca.  The fish was cut down the middle, but otherwise it was all about digging out the fragrant meat and dodging the bones (I’ll be honest, I appreciate the presentation of serving a whole fish, but it’s an awful lot of work to get through one).  Additionally: bison and lamb.  The bison hanger was served with a garlic chive chimichurri sauce, and while I found the meat a little too chewy for my taste, there was none of the gaminess that I usually associate with buffalo.  The lamb sirloin was absolutely perfect, with a subtle spiced yogurt and quince-ginger chutney.  Seldom have I experienced lamb that good.

For dessert, the signature “Joule” Box is imperative.  Vibrant slices of ruby red grapefruit, bruléed and served over snow white tapioca pearls – utterly original and positively delightful.  While we were savoring the sweet and sour of the grapefruit and tapioca, chef Chirchi came out from the kitchen to introduce himself, inquire after the meal and thank us for coming.  It was a gracious and authentic gesture, and one that I genuinely appreciate.

All told, it was another wonderful and satisfying experience.  I love this city.