fernet love

08.27.11: tasty n sons, portland

littlexraygirl — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 17:09:44 +0000

it was a sweltering, powder-in-your-panties kind of august day as peachy lefevre and i headed down to oregon wine country for anne amie vineyards’ annual summer bbq. so do you remember that scene from thelma and louise where they get ogled by a trucker? ok, well maybe that didn’t exactly happen to us exactly, but i digress. first thing on the agenda was to get into the ever-elusive, no-reservations brunch joint of tasty n sons. living up to the hype, this sister restaurant of toro bravo served up the best i’ve had of gourmet southern fare while north of the mason-dixon. we started with a refreshing averna/cucumber cocktail, and then graduated to a fried green tomato, egg and cheddar biscuit. and there’s one thing you can’t deny about southern food, that shit is hearty, which helped power us through what ended up being an extended day of strolls through the city, naps in the park, and epic hill climbs.

southern girls do it better

08.19.11: ba bar, first hill

littlexraygirl — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 05:57:55 +0000

just like any other skilled service professional, a good bartender can be considered a pied piper; where they go, i will follow. it takes time to build a rapport, and when you throw in a specialized skill on top of that, the choice was clear when evan announced that he was going west side to manage bar at a new vietnamese venture. the latest addition by the owners of monsoon and baguette box, ba bar follows suit with a contemporary take on vietnamese cuisine, but with a street food twist. bourdain may have summarized street food best as, “the biggest empty space, the biggest gap in what should be a premiere and always vibrant food scene in america is that we don’t have [...] food courts where mom and pop specialists can set up shop [...] making one dish they’ve been doing forever and ever.” while ba bar tries to answer the call, their menu is diverse (and nowhere near street prices); thus quality and authenticity suffer. street staples like pho and vermicelli bowls lack luster, and one would be better served biking down 12th to the ID (though do try their clams steamed in dry shrimp, củ kiệu, jalapeno, and saigon beer). but hey, at least i know the drinks are good enough for which to brave the bridge; evan’s got the tiki game on lock, exactly what i’d want to sip on while floating down the mekong.

double happiness

08.18.22: suite 410, downtown

littlexraygirl — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 21:54:25 +0000

this marks my hundredth post, which conjures images of fireworks and champagne bottles popping (oh wait, maybe that’s just new year…), but i’m sad to report that suite 410 doesn’t really foot the bill. self-proclaimed as an “urban neighborhood bar”, a mal-alignment of expectations was presented; sure, it’s in downtown, which could be construed as “urban”, but “neighborhood bar” is far from meeting expectations. there’s no sense of cheers, but rather an ambiance fit for a hotel bar, with a brushed steel/lacquered wood bar and piston stools that convey somewhere far from home. our bartender was a young lad no older than a quarter century, with a faux hawk that would make belltown rise up in applause. after pointing out to him where the fernet was located at his own bar, i asked for a ginger back, at which point he mixed what i later found out to be “bartender’s ginger ale“, a concoction of sprite, coke, and a dash of angostura. while i’m usually a purist, i can’t say that i mind being hoodwinked in this situation, as some ginger beers can be overpowering and syrup-laden. throw in a complementary communal fruit and cheese plate during happy hour and we’ll call it even.

poppin' bottles....if he can find 'em

08.12.11: teardrop, portland

littlexraygirl — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 17:50:03 +0000

as my friends and i get older, there seems to be an increased frequency of wine-based birthdays. this particular instance led our group on a jihad to oregon wine country, with a somewhat pre-meditated portland cocktail stop along the way (me: “do they even *know* what fernet is in salem??”) i’d been at the doorstep of teardrop three times before without avail, but fourth time must be a charm because i was finally able to get past the CLOSED sign and in through the front door. a crew of vested barkeeps manned the sleek, circular bar, inviting us to imbibe from their carefully curated list of libations. with a barracks built of small plates, we began to drink, like cocktail chipmunks storing up for the cold, cold winter. that’s when something strange struck me…why was every drink i was ordering from my bartender being made by another bartender? was this a pyramid scheme…or worse, was i being outsourced?? sure, the drinks were good, one such highlight being a fernet-based cocktail with a scotch wash, but i would hope for some level of loyalty and integrity when it comes to sitting at the bar. if i had wanted a middleman, i would have just seated myself at a table so that the server could have jumbled my order instead. ok, so maybe that’s a bit harsh since the drinks turned out fine, but i can’t help but feel neglected when the person in front of me is backed by a ghostwriter.

outsourced

08.11.11: artusi, capitol hill

littlexraygirl — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 00:09:08 +0000

everyone that knows me knows that my favourite nosh spot in seatown is spinasse, home of the best homemade pasta you can get after the sun goes down (the sun’s still up, you say? then head directly to mike easton’s il corvo). however, what spinasse lacks in its cocktail menu, siamese sister venture artusi more than makes up for next door. perusing the artusi menu, it’s hard to miss the heavy-handed application of amaros throughout their speciality cocktail list (not that there’s anything wrong with that). what did surprise me, though, was the caliber of dishes there as well. while beets and tuna may sound like an odd pair, their baby beets with salsa tonnata was set on repeat at our table, and the promise of tripe with bone marrow and local black truffles set my hopes ablaze. now maybe i’ve been spoiled little girl, but after great marrow experiences at st. john and holeman & finch, what showed up at artusi was less than upbeat, and most dismaying- it was sans bone. i guess we can’t be good at everything, can we??

all amaros' parties: best name EVER

08.04.11: golden beetle, ballard

littlexraygirl — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 06:44:00 +0000

when summer ramps up in seattle (yes, there is summer here), outdoor patios are all the rage. like cockroaches flocking to leftover meat, seattlelites fill up outdoor seating in restaurants and bars across the city. such was the case on a balmy thursday afternoon, as the sun beat down upon our melanin-deprived limbs on the front patio of maria hines‘ newest culinary venture, golden beetle. while i usually never trust a girl bartender, maria has somehow managed to hire my exception to the rule, marley tomic-beard of bathtub gin fame. with marley manning the bar, i felt at ease ordering a bartender’s choice (aka “i’m in your hands”) alongside muhammara (or rather four orders of it, but who’s counting…) other happy hour highlights included braised goat tagine (beef is so 1994) and the chickpea stew (which may not sound sexy, but trust that i was licking the plate). and as luck would have it, a real-life golden beetle flew in to join us, landing on my wine menu and pointing me to the rosé…ahhhh summer in the city.

beetlejuice

07.27.11: il bistro, downtown

littlexraygirl — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 23:26:34 +0000

after a disappointing re-introduction to rn74, i was ready to make amends with my psyche and head down pike to il bistro. now, if you know me, you also know that im a big fangirl (squee!) of david nelson and all that he’s doing for bars around seattle. when i found out that il bistro had swiped him up from tavern law, i immediately sounded the alarm and gathered the troops for yet another cocktail thursday. that night, i had the first of many, many+ delightful drinks, the most notable being the blood and sand: a refreshing scotch cocktail (or as i like to call it, “scotch light”). that was then, but what now? well, to put it simply, i practically live there. what prompted the transition? a couple of months back, i received the unfortunately news that naga, my suburban schooner of spirit water, was losing its helmsman evan martin to ba bar on the hill. after having discovered the power of cocktails and wi-fi there, i needed to seek out a new safe house for my anti-social, alcohol-inspired authorship (aka “laptop at the bar“). and while il bistro may not have wi-fi, rules are made to be broken, and the power of david nelson’s barside manner along with the modern convenience of phone tethering can incite a flood of inspiration. throw in little late night happy hour nosh and the flames keep burning bright ’til closing time.

life imitating art

07.27.11: rn74, downtown

littlexraygirl — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 05:21:52 +0000

when i heard that restaurant magnate michael mina was planning to open a satellite restaurant in seattle, i was excited to say the least. after having a memorable experience at rn74 sf, i expected to be transported back to that feeling when i was a) really looking forward to the hype, and b) relieved that despite the hype, it didn’t suck after all. my first introduction to rn74 seattle was through mention when discussing murray stenson‘s retirement from zig zag. word on the street was that murray left zig zag after getting an offer he couldn’t refuse from mr. mina, but that raised the question of “why would a big shot restaurateur want to take the focus off of his food at a wine-centric restaurant and rather share the limelight with a world-class craft cocktailer??” after consulting a couple of industry cronies, we all came to the conclusion that it was “so no one else can have murray.” however, things don’t always turn out as planned. murray never made it there (everyone’s got their own conspiracy theory), but i figured the level of bartending there had to be at least half way decent to attract the likes of a local celebrity. boy was i wrong. so wrong. as i walked up to the bar to meet my asians/amies, the corner of my eye caught the sparkle of glitter eye makeup on the bartender…WHAT??? don’t get me wrong, glitter has its place in the world alongside unicorns and strip joints, but not at a reputable place of business, and definitely not the bar of a james beard candidate. immediately, my instinct was to bolt, but i resisted and calmly opened the menu. that’s when i saw the “HE AIN’T HEAVY, HE’S MY BROTHER, a shot of fernet with a cock ‘n bull ginger back: an industry staple”. now normally, i would jump for joy, but let’s think this through– WHY would you put a shot and back on a menu?? and then reveal it as an industry staple?? it’s like a kiss-and-tell, and all the sparkle in the world can’t hide that, no matter how good the offer sounds.

fish and chips and....curry??

07.22.11: the trophy room/shorty’s, belltown

littlexraygirl — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 06:21:39 +0000

in continuing with the theme of “dive-as-fuck“, i came upon shorty’s and it’s trophy room on a whim. what “whim” you ask? well, frankly i don’t remember, but i do know that it wasn’t something wonted because the only thing i hate more than clowns is belltown, which i try to stay away from as much as possible. however, i found out about the trophy room cocktail lounge within shorty’s (a bar within a bar, what??) and had to see this recursion for myself. i envisioned something like that scene from alien (no, not the sigourney weaver panty scene) where the baby alien chestbursts from one of the crew members. nevertheless, i proceeded with caution and pushed my way past the crust punks and pinball fanatics to the alternate universe/back bar of the trophy room. it just happened to be booked for a private party that night (bartender’s birthday), but jawn was kind enough to help out a couple of parched belles and oblige us a drink at the bar. as the cocktail thursday crew grew, i didn’t want to overstay our welcome and proceeded to shepherd the villagers to other pastures (aka shorty’s). one thing to note of this emigration: the wonderland of spirits offered at the trophy room is not mirrored at the bar of shorty’s [read: there is no fernet up front]. desperate times called for desperate measures, and i ended up trafficking the sacred elixir between bars. i imagine marco polo experienced something similar while traversing the silk road, and perhaps he put it best when he wrote, “i have not told half of what I saw.” in other words, you’ve just got to see it to believe it.

bright lights, smaller city

07.14.11: the summit public house, capitol hill

littlexraygirl — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 14:14:13 +0000

here’s the thing about fancy craft cocktail bartenders: when asked their favourite drink/watering hole, more often than not their reply involves some dive-as-fuck bar and a shot of whiskey with a beer back. the same can be said of chefs and their favourite food; essentially it boils down to the fact that when you do something all day, the last thing you want when you punch out is something complicated. simplicity and function win almost every time, and this is how i came upon the summit public house. by recommendation of david nelson, he warned me multiple times that his preference was not my “type of place” but like a small child told not to do something, i immediately added it to the cocktail thursday list. located on the same block as sun liquor, the summit public house is everything that my typical “type of place” isn’t: bartenders in t-shirts, [insert sport here] on the tele, that distinct smell of bleach cleanser and wet wood so customary of dives…this is not a place where you’d order a drink with any more than two ingredients. but where david went wrong is this: i refuse to be boxed into a single paradigm. and while i may not be defying gravity, i do find that everything isn’t black and white nor either or; take the summit’s power outlet situation for example. while it may be on the ceiling and unpractical for modern applications, a fellow patron was able to make it work and charge her dangling iphone while watching stage 12 of le tour de france. austerity can indeed lend itself to multiplicity, so maybe there’s hope for me and my “type of place” after all.

dive as fuck