I had never been to the Corson Building but have been very happy with head chef Matt Dillon’s other enterprises around Seattle (including the newly revamped Sitka and Spruce) so thought it would be an appropriate setting for our third anniversary.  The actual structure and grounds of the building itself cast a spell on me the moment I arrived, and Jonas and I spent an enchanted half hour sipping an aperitif walking the spaces in marvel.  An Italian family is responsible for the building and it shows in the quality construction. It’s worth going to the Corson Building for the ambience alone.  I was able to snap some photos in the kitchen of our upcoming meal, and it was a good thing too, since once we were seated there was very little opportunity for photography. 

Saturday evening meals are done communally at the Corson building, with essentially four tables that each seat eight people. If you are fortunate you will dine with jovial compatriots as passionate about food and wine as yourselves, or maybe not. We got lucky with most of our table mates, the couple across from us regaled us with tales of the inner workings of being defense attorneys- talk about the underbelly of society! 

The other reason I wouldn’t have been able to photograph the food is that the dishes are served family-style for the entire table of eight, and since we were at the foot end of the table, by the time each platter reached me it was no longer in a terribly photogenic state.  I think this is a brilliant way to set up an evening, and I don’t think concessions or adjustments based on dietary preferences are necessary, however the menu should be posted in advance so diners can choose whether to attend that particular dinner.  When my husband called to make the reservation they basically asked if any food would kill him, which it won’t, though the fact that he doesn’t eat seafood or mushrooms limited him to just two courses of the entire meal, which is significant considering what you’re paying.  Again, I don’t think a chef should make apologies for the menu he creates, and diners should be encouraged to step out on a culinary limb and eat outside their comfort zone, just make the menu available in advance. 

This particular evening the menu consisted of smoked trout with pickled vegetables and fiddlehead ferns, brine-cured local lox with crème fraiche, bresaola with raw beets, fennel and dill as well as horseradish and purslane to start.  Next we moved to a delicate halibut bone broth with steamed halibut and mussels from Taylor’s shellfish along with watercress, and lovage.  It was the standout dish of the night.  Next were soft shell crabs served with porcini mushrooms on a walnut sauce, followed by duck eggs with morels from Cle Elum served with leeks and caraway seeds.  We completed the savory dishes with duck from Stokesberry Farm braised in red wine with fennel, green garlic, asparagus, spring onions, and pea shoots accompanied by duck fat fried potatoes with pork belly cured like pancetta but flat, not rolled.  Dessert was an effervescent sorbet made with goat’s milk yogurt finished with strawberries and two types of shortbread cookies.  I greatly appreciate their use of local producers such as Stokesberry Farms and Taylor’s Shellfish.

We went to the Corson Building on the evening of the soft-opening for Sitka and Spruce, the head chef’s other local restaurant, so naturally he was attending to the details of the opening and not at the Corson Building.  I wish he had been with us instead, although I understood the circumstances.  I think perhaps the food suffered a little in his absence as well.  All of the elements were there, but several of the dishes fell flat upon execution. Sometimes too many ingredients marred the natural elegance of the base flavor in the dish, as was the case with the bresaola. Bresaola is my favorite cured cut of meat, made from beef eye of round.  Perhaps my expectations are too high, given that. The bresaola itself was perfectly cured, perfectly sliced and a thing of beauty. Unfortunately too many ingredients masked its flavor, and it wasn’t just me as I asked around the table if folks knew what meat they were eating and most of them thought it was a very mild pork. Had it been allowed to stand with fewer accoutrements it would have shone brighter.  The stronger dishes were the less complicated ones, such as duck braised in wine, and duck eggs with mushrooms.  I was surprised that the delicate halibut in clear broth was so delightful given that it was much more refined in presentation than everything else. In fact it was the only dish that was served individually to each patron. 

A quick note on the wine: the sommelier is a self-proclaimed Francophile, which is a wonderful thing to be most of the time. I love French wines, almost as much as I love Piedmontese wines, so I was mostly happy with his wine pairings.  I wish there were a bona fide red-only wine pairing, as we opted out of the whites, though instead of adding additional reds to our pours, he simply poured us more glasses of the two reds in his original pairing.  In retrospect I probably would have gotten a bottle or two of something I really loved, then maybe had a glass or two of his selections if they intrigued me.  Since the meal lasts from 6:30 until 10ish (which is long by American standards, though short and early by Italian ones) you could easily bring a few bottles and just pay corkage, sampling from his glass pours when they tickle your fancy. 

On the whole it was a Seattle dining experience I would recommend, though next time I go I will make sure Matt Dillon is in the house and I will attempt to learn the basics of the menu of the evening as well.

Next time you find yourself cruising South Genessee Street, stop into Flying Squirrel. If the Herb Alpert Pizza is on the menu that night, don’t hesitate to order it.  Follow it with a Molly Moon’s Salted Caramel Ice Cream Sandwich. You can thank me later!

Sitka and Spruce has been at the top of my very short list of must-try Seattle establishments for countless moons.  While I can make excuses galore about why I haven’t managed to venture in for crudités until now, the real reason is the façade.  Every time I drive by, a little wave of excitement bubbles up inside until I see Subway slinging sandwiches next door and my pitter-pattering heart halts with a shudder.  I honestly cannot figure out why on earth Sitka and Spruce is quaintly nestled between a drycleaner and a franchise sub shop in a dinghy stripmall circa 1992, but I no longer care. 

The place reminds me of high school gym class.  In the beginning of a semester you were supposed to demonstrate your lack of prowess in any number of demeaning athletic activities, only to improve over the course of several months until at the end of the class you were doing back-flips off the high beam.  I would always deliberately underwhelm Mr. Tinker, the Green Beret dropout-cum Gym teacher on the first day.  That way, when I would progress 300% by the final coup de grâce I could ensure myself at least one A+ on my frequently questionable report card.  Sitka and Spruce is much the same in the sense that you are not blown away at first glance, but once inside things just keep getting better and better until you leave bursting at the seams of satisfaction and blissfully intent to return again soon. 

Exterior aside, once you walk into Sitka and Spruce, the competent staff put your soul at ease.  They only take one reservation a night for parties of 5-12 since the place is sooo tiny (maybe 20 seats?), so Nick, Jean Francois, Jonas and I were left to battle it out with our fellow patrons for a post.  This turned out to be a good thing, as friendships are forged in the convivial ruckus of waiting for a communal table.  We popped down the street for a quick drink and when we returned, we ordered while standing and then were seated alongside Steven and Yoko, our newly-acquainted communal dining partners in crime.  They were mid-stride through a delectable-looking appetizer which was also on its way to us, so we bonded over selection kinship right away. 

The reason we ordered before getting to the table is that everything is fresh and constantly changing at Sitka and Spruce, so rather than print a new menu daily, they write everything up on a chalkboard at the beginning of the night.  This is probably one of the many factors that contribute to the exceptional value found all over the menu from wine to dessert.  We stood close to the chalkboard to order so we could ruminate on what sounded good to all, but truth be told, if I had returned I probably would have just asked the very competent staff to bring out their recommendations until we were full.  This is essentially what happened- I think between the four of us we ordered virtually everything on the menu which was great because their family-style serving allows everyone to try a bit of everything.  The wine-selection is also ever-changing and holds its own on an adjacent chalkboard.  It’s relatively obscure but the servers know it well, and we were perfectly matched with a 2007 Vacqueyras by Jean-Marie Arnoux that suited our entire table just fine, especially at a mere $32 a bottle(or three)! 

I don’t want to focus specifically on the nuances of our plates since everything changes so drastically daily, but generally speaking, trust is the name of the game here- even if you think you won’t like something, try it- chances are you will be pleasantly surprised.  I have never been a huge fan of scallops or beef tongue, but at Sitka and Spruce, both dishes managed to shine.  My utter favorite plate of the evening was the soft-shell crab.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat it at sushi again after having this wonderfully old-world inspired preparation, and I’m already stalking S&S in the form of phone calls to see if they’ll be re-featuring it soon. 

The communal tables and order-off-the-chalkboard aspects of the dining experience lead you to feel more like you’re at a secret supper club during prohibition; like you’ve stumbled on a gem of a place that you want to nurture and protect along with all your newfound friends.  Chef/Owner Matt Dillon has had so much success with Sitka and Spruce that he’s opened an offshoot called The Corson Building in Georgetown that takes the supper club idea to a whole new level; look for a review of The Corson here soon.  Meanwhile, content yourself to frequent Sitka and Spruce on Eastlake unless the rumors are true and a move to Capitol Hill is actually imminent (which is pretty likely, though word is that Dillon plans to leave a sandwich shop in S&S’s current location.) It’s one of those rare places that, while the proverbial dodgy dingle-ball curtains really don’t match the cashmere carpet, at the end of the meal you’ve whipped out your iPhone to clear your calendar for next Friday night so you can return for another dose of de-lish.

Mark Fuller of West Seattle’s newish and dramatically acclaimed Spring Hill Restaurant is going to cost me close to $200, never mind the bill from dinner the other night.  In fact it’s a damn good thing this place is not around the corner from me, because if I were eating there weekly, my kitchen could not handle the amount of sheer gadgetry this hot new chef would unwittingly inspire me to go out and buy.  I have been just fine for the last 30something years without a pasta sheet maker or ravioli former.  I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to my pasta; I prefer hand-rolled, stretched and cut, and until now saw no reason to change that.  I’ve never been a big fan of buying extraneous kitchen junk because all the “things” in the world do not a chef make.

 In college, when I had left behind my father’s Henckels and before I could afford decent knives of my own, I took my cue from Uncle Pauly of GoodFellas and sliced my garlic with plain old razor blades.  Fast, effective and no-frills has always served me well in the kitchen, but after one night at Spring Hill, that’s all gone out the window.  You see, I’ve acquired a new obsession with making the perfect raviolo, and I don’t think any amount of hand-rolling and finger-crimping is going to cut it this time.

My life was much simpler in Torino when I first discovered Agnolotti dal Plin, lovely little mini-ravioli that I could easily make by pinching the pasta around the stuffing- tutto al mano, all by hand.  A giant, gleaming perfect raviolo is much less forgiving.  So much of the dish is presentation, and when you can’t hide the wonky bits by tucking them under the pretty ones à la a big dish of agnolotti, you’ve got to make sure the entire raviolo is a topnotch beauty.  Add to that the difficulty of getting a duck egg inside the raviolo without wounding the yoke and experiencing seepage and you’ve got yourself a grade A quandary, folks.  Add to that some house-cured duck prosciutto, garlic chips and (elusive!) green sauce, and you’ve got Spring Hill’s duck egg yolk raviolo dish off the bread/pasta/egg quadrant of the menu.  You’ve also got an utterly indescribable piatto del paradiso for a mere $10.  Taste one bite- it’s worth battling rush hour traffic across a single-file bridge full of minivan moms in no particular hurry- IT’S THAT GOOD!

So good I must try to duplicate.  I fear I’m losing all my moral fiber, but I’ve broken down and ordered the pasta attachment for the trusty Kitchenaid, hence the nearly 200 smackers I’ll be shelling out due to Mark Fuller’s genius.  It’s no wonder this bright young chef used to sell cars (something we have in common, but that’s another story) before getting his Seattle start with Tom Douglas- he’s a whiz at getting folks to take out their pocketbooks!  I’m now in the process of researching the perfect raviolo mold for my undertaking- guess I should have asked him if I could take a peek. 

I have gone on at length about one particular dish so much you are probably wondering if that’s all I ate- of course not!  Everything was beyond-words brilliant, especially the Wagyu sirloin from Snake River Farms.  Served with a cheddar/thyme popover, herbs with garlic and olive oil, and wild arugula and priced very reasonably at $30, this dish is also not-to-be-missed.  I think it is wonderful to see more and more restaurants sourcing from artisanal farms and ranches, and I love that Spring Hill has chosen Snake River Farms as their beef purveyor since SRF has such thoughtfully produced meats and an interesting back story.  I also love-loved the way Mark filleted the sirloin into several medallions before plating the dish- that way the meat stops cooking beyond a perfect medium rare and the final diner who can be a bit knife-clumsy after a couple glasses of wine has a bit less work to do. 

I guess with that said, you’ll want to hear about the wine? Good, because it was excellent (though could have been served 5 degrees cooler, my only complaint of the night).  In fact I’m placing a call to Esquin today to see if they can source a case of it for a good price.  I’ve recently been very intrigued by the burgeoning AVA known as the Horse Heaven Hills in Central Washington.  I was pretty excited to see a wine from there, Robert Karl Cellars’ ’06 Claret (a great Cab-based blend), on the list at Spring Hill so I (wo)manned-up and got a bottle.  Mellow oak, an even hand with the blend, and smooth drinkability made this wine disappear in time to need a glass of port once dessert rolled around.  And what a steal that glass was- Kopke 20 year tawny for $10- thank you sir, may I have another?  The standout of my dessert course was the unlikely savorability of popcorn ice cream; paired with the tawny I was virtually rendered speechless, and that is no small task. 

I cannot leave you without paying small lip service to the atmosphere.  I’ve never been a huge fan of mixing steel with natural wood, but Spring Hill succeeds like Taylor Swift at the VMA’s in this department.  The calm, orderly, and well-executed open kitchen is all gleaming steel and boggle-eyed lighting out of a Ray Bradbury novel; then there is a seamed transition out to the adjacent dining room that is all about Danish modern paneling which has the added benefit of being sound-dampening.  It’s a good thing, too, since every table at this ample-sized restaurant is destined to be filled for a long time to come.

As you may have ascertained, I am not native to West Seattle and I feel that getting there can be quite the journey to another world not unlike Narnia.  Spring Hill finally gives me a reason to make the trek and suspend my disbelief for a few moments in time.  You probably wouldn’t consider me a true West Seattle convert just yet; no lazy afternoons spent on the yoga mat on Alki beach decked out in Lululemon with two Golden Retrievers for me!  When the sun starts to wane in the sky, though, I will definitely find occasion to cross the bridge into the world of serenity that is Spring Hill.

I had the opportunity to dine at Artisanal Brasserie in the newly-minted Bravern in downtown Bellevue last night.  During this first two weeks, which they’re considering a “soft-opening,” there are obviously some kinks to work out.  Because it is early days still, I don’t think it’s entirely fair to judge based on infinitesimal details, but rather, to evaluate whether the concept and its execution will become a ray of hope in Bellevue’s embarrassingly franchised dining scene.  While the Bravern itself is a source of hot contention among naysayers who feel this economic climate was not the appropriate time to introduce such opulence to Bellevue, projecting that negativity to Artisanal by association is thoroughly misguided.   Besides, West Bellevue is a freakish anomaly of the economic crisis in terms of its relative resilience to strife, so I would urge the Negative Nancy’s of the 425 (and the 206 as it were) to give the place a chance before stooping to blog-bashing and Yelp-yapping that just brings us all down in the long run. 

Two Michelin-starred Chef Terrance Brennan has brought two dining choices to the Bravern- the Brasserie and The Artisanal Table, which is a pizzeria and enoteca.  We opted for the Brasserie for our inaugural visit, however the A. Table is a new conception for Brennan, and by the looks of the menu and space, it will succeed.  I peeked into the A. Table for a moment to have a look, and the atmosphere is sexier and probably in the long run hipper than the Brasserie, with the focus on pizza, wine, and a few pastas.  The lighting is edgier and befits a younger crowd.  While there is no real pretension to either place, the A. Table really had their greeting style down, offering me a savory peach and cheese antipasto (that was fabulous, by the way) just for poking my head in and despite the fact that I had already eaten next door.  Bonus points for friendliness and a teaser to return pronto= A+ in my book for the Artisanal Table.

On to the Brasserie.  At the risk of dating my review, I have to announce, and I feel our server should have announced right away: THE CHAIRS ARE TEMPORARY! We did not find this out until halfway through the meal, and yes, people will undoubtedly lambast a place for having uncomfortable plastic chairs straight out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.  The actual chairs are on their way, currently stuck in a container somewhere in the ocean, so don’t worry, crisis averted. In the meantime just order an extra glass of wine and you’ll forget all about your sore bum. 

That brings me to the wine list: count ‘em, 98 glass pours are available which is unprecedented around here. France is obviously very well represented, as is Italy (probably influenced by the A. Table next door).  The obligatory Californian appeasements to mass culture rear their oaky heads, but what I was most happy to see given how new the Brasserie is to the area were the well-tailored local choices which they tell me are burgeoning daily.  We ultimately chose local- a smooth non-vintaged red by Va Piano called Bruno’s blend. 

I brought up the burning question I’m sure most oenophile minds are thinking when they see a glass list that big- how do they intend to keep them fresh? I posed this quandary to our server and two sommeliers.  Kairos des Rosiers, one of the sommeliers and the Wine Director for both establishments, had the best answer, which is twofold.  First off, the wine is preserved with Argon, which is quite common these days.  They will not sell a glass if the bottle has been opened for more than two days, which is great for the kitchen staff, as many of the sauces and stocks are rich and wine-intensive- hence, a place to go with all that overage.  The second major point des Rosiers brought up is that people need to use the sommeliers.  The waitstaff simply cannot keep up when there are that many glass pours available.  By contrast, the sommeliers know what is fresh, plus have a vested interest in you enjoying your wine.  If you seek counsel, you will certainly end up with a recently  opened, robust pour.  They are in the process of generating a master list that will have all the glasses available by bottle as well as a reserve menu for those uber-occasions that call for such a thing.  The brief philosophy behind the vast glass list, by the way, is to make some of the more aged and elegant wines available to us common folk who might not have a reason or the pocketbook to spend upwards of $150 on a bottle of wine, but who might like to try a taste with our Steak Frittes anyway. 

Now on to the menu.  While at first glance it seems like straightforward brasserie fare, there are some hidden gems like the fabulous fondue selection, Northwest-influenced Ahi Carpaccio, and olive-oil ice cream to name a few.  Even if you go with standards, you will find that they are prepared with the highest quality ingredients from artisanal sources, organic when possible.  Chef Brennan’s premise “It’s all about the ingredients,” is immediately apparent to anyone who takes note of the food on their plate.  It is no small task to attempt to recreate a successful restaurant model on an entirely new coast, given that the suppliers and farmers tend to be locally-focused, but it seems that Brennan has wholly succeeded, even if he still needs to suss out a few new artisans. 

In the interest of maximizing my tasting opportunity, I ordered the Prixe Fixe menu which comes with a starter, main and dessert for the very reasonable $32.50.  I began with the Tarte Flambée, which was a foccacia-like tart served with ricotta, onions and bacon.  It was a perfect size to whet my appetite since I had not opted to commence with an amuse bouche, and I would certainly order it again.  I selected Chicken Cooked Under a Brick with pommes purées & sweet garlic jus as my main course, mainly to see how Chef Brennan’s version compared with the one I like to recreate in my barbecue at home.  Everything about the dish was perfect, reminiscent of Thanksgiving without all the drama, kind of like the Beatles of entrée’s- how could anyone not like it? I notice that Brennan has a firm hand with salt which is exactly how I like it- borderline heavy, but not so much that anyone would be put off by it.  Dessert became a bit of a wild affair due to indecision.  In the end, every dessert on hand that night made its way to our table.  The standouts were the trio of sorbet which changes regularly, the nationally-renowned cheesecake, and the crème brulee. 

In just one visit, the Artisanal Brasserie has jumped onto my shortlist of go-to dining choices on the Eastside- I’m sure with a few more visits I won’t even realize I’m crossing the water.  I have left out an integral part of the Brasserie as I did not have a chance to experience it- the fromagerie.  Brennan is installing cases in which he will place the finest artisanal cheese selection around- if his reputation as a conduit to fine cheese is any indication.  I’m not certain the ETA for the cheeses, but I plan to be around! 

When I think of Thai food I think of comfortable, no-frills cuisine in less-than-spectacular dining environments often tucked into strip malls in the South-end.  I do not think of contemporary furniture and techno, but maybe that’s just me.  I understand the desire to transcend the traditional Thai hole-in-the-wall that Seattle is actually pretty good at; unfortunately Naam Thai Cuisine spent too much time making aesthetic decisions and not enough concentrating on quality.  I had such high hopes given the ferosh decor complete with modern daybeds but sadly, I was crushed like Icarus falling from the Sun. 

The menu is absolute standard Thai fare, which I think is great. Just because you call Pad See Ew Tiny Angel Grasses Growing Between God’s Toes, doesn’t make it anything more than plain old Pad See Ew.   I always evaluate a new Thai place based on the quality of their Pad Thai and their curry- in this case Panang.  That way you can tell which category they fall into and therefore know what to order in the future. You see, in information gleaned from speaking with countless Thai aficionados, I have come to discover that 99% of Thai places worth returning to fall into either the good-at-noodles category or the cooks-a-mean-curry category.  You can test this rule in the future by making sure someone in your party orders a curry and someone else orders Pad Thai- the standard by which all Thai noodles must be judged. 

Between three diners we ordered Larb Gai and Tom Kai Ga soup to start, then Pad Thai, Panang Curry and Tofu and Spinach with Peanut Sauce (Don’t recall what they call their Swimming Rama, but this is basically it).  The first really alarming red flag to go off occurred when they brought our food- every single item- to the table all at once.  The tables are average sized, but between all that plus rice plates, soup bowls and drinks, there simply was not enough room for all the dishes without some serious stacking and cramming.  I have experienced the deluge of appetizers and mains all arriving at the same time in Thai joints before- no big deal when you’re at a Thai dive in the Rainier Valley.  When you attempt to posh-ify your environment and land yourself smack-dab in the middle of Madrona, however, your increased prices should lead to increased awareness about proper timing of courses. 

Because I pretty much had to taste everything at once, it all blends together in my head as a saccharine mélange of over-sweet, under-spiced average food.  The larb gai was decent, the Tom Ka Gai was the best of everything, but then how hard is it to screw up coconut milk and lemongrass?  The curry, Pad Thai and Tofu Peanut Sauce were all embarrassingly average or below-average, breaking with Thai tradition in falling into either the noodle or the curry categories.  The tofu was not fried as requested, and it tasted like they threw half a Thai Iced-Tea in the peanut sauce because they ran out of coconut milk or something. 

During the entire meal I was eyeballing the cushy daybeds with jealousy.  Our one-year-old and his penchant for food-smashing kept us away, but they sure looked comfy.  Halfway through scarfing down too much tepid food I wondered if my experience might have been better had I chosen to dine in bed, and I think perhaps the answer is yes.  In fact, as a watering hole Naam wouldn’t be half bad- the drinks arrived promptly, were poured with a generous hand, and priced reasonably.  I just may give it another chance sans bebe over cocktails with a group of already-fed friends.  Who knows- after a few cocktails we may screw up enough liquid courage to try dessert?!

Having a baby significantly diminishes most parents’ capacity for dining out, at least in the types of establishments they likely used to frequent.  When Bentley Danger was born a year ago, Jonas and I were excited to take him to all our favorite haunts.  One day when he was about two weeks old, we were strolling about downtown trying to get the hang of not ramming people with the Orbit  and we decided to pop in for a quick early evening chat with our favorite bartender and friend Murray  at the Zig Zag Café.  Imagine our surprise when, in pushing through the door we had so often breezed past in years past, we noticed for the first time the “No Minors” sign and briefly wondered “Does that apply to babies too?” 

Murray sadly let us know that babies are indeed considered minors despite the fact that they can’t even hold their heads up, much less try to sneak cocktails when mummy and daddy aren’t looking, so we chatted with him outside for a bit, walked away with our tail between our legs, and have been back exactly twice in the last year.  We tried to keep doing the restaurant thing for a short while, but it’s a little disconcerting to the waitstaff when you show up for your 8pm reservation at 8am because you have days and nights mixed up due to the somnambulism that occurs during life with a newborn, so we decided to take a brief pause on the dining out stage. 

We’re over a year in now and we don’t exactly have to twist Grandma’s arm to get her to spend the evening with her perfect grandson, so we’re officially back on the dining circuit.  In an attempt to fill the gaping, year-wide hole in our must-try cache, we decided to start at the top of the list: Cascina Spinasse  est. 2008- Capitol Hill’s answer to the call of Seattle’s Piemonte-philes. 

Knowing that reservations are difficult to come by at Spinasse, we figured we’d give it a last-minute long shot, and if not go and wait for stools that are seated first-come, first-served around the open-plan kitchen.  Lo and behold, a beseeching phone call led to us snagging the last open reservation of the night at the hottest four-top in the house- right by the picture window with a great view of the entire space.  Spinasse typically seats communally, with several larger tables that vary in size due to the night’s expected reservations, so while it was great to have the four top for our party of four, next time we’ll plan to make new friends at one of the communal tables. 

I settled right into the the carta dei vini and was very pleasantly surprised, given my proclivity, to note that there are a mere seven bottles of white wine compared with close to 60 reds- fabulous, and as it should be! Of course this is also indicative to the fact that Piedmont is globally famous for their reds, and not a single wine from the list strays outside the region.  There is more than ample selection of Barbera’s, Nebbiolo’s, Barbaresco’s and Barolo’s- oh, and a few Dolcetto’s thrown in as well for diners feeling like something a bit lighter.  On the whole, the wine list was pared down perfectly and very manageable- A+.  I did feel there was a bit of a disconnect in the waiter’s training, however, when I asked which of the Barbera’s had the “Superiore” designation (which specifies minimum oak aging requirements, among other things) and our waiter was uncertain what that meant.  Nevertheless, we had a wonderful ‘07 Nebbiolo from the Langhe by Produttori del Barbaresco that was just the right amount of corposo to match the richness of the pasta and the slight drizzle coming down outside. 

Once we were settled with wine, the waiter brought over a delicate and wonderful amuse bouche of crostini with marinated cucumbers that was the absolute perfect palate-whetting decadence.  An ideal amount of time elapsed and our antipasti arrived: Fra’mani salame($11) and Fagiolini Verdi con uovo e pecorino stagionato ($10).  The salami selection that evening boasted two types that complemented one another very well, but the real star of that course was the green bean platter. Who new that shaving a bit of egg and aged sheep’s cheese over green beans could be so delicious- simple yet a very elegant way to commence our meal. 

The first course of Tajarin al ragu ($18) (tajarin is simply Piedmontese dialect for tagliolini pasta) was so inspiring it spawned a homemade version of tagliolini with ragu the next night!  It would probably have been more proprio Piemontese of us to have our tagliolini with burro e salvia which was also on offer since ragu is really of Bolognese origin, but given the slight chill of autumn in the air, the choice was a good one.  It is important to note here that all pasta at Spinasse is handmade in house, and I did get a taste of my friend’s maltagliati that was really wonderfully cut, cooked and prepared, however I will say that my tajarin could have been cut just a touch larger.   It was nearly as fine as angel hair, which I think led to it being cooked just past al dente as well as having a harder time standing up to as rich and hearty a sauce as ragu.  The ragu itself was so good I don’t think I said a word during the entire first course.  I’m of the opinion that the primi piatti are the real standouts at Spinasse, which is as it should be in a real Piedmontese restaurant.  In fact I would be tempted next time to damn tradition and order two courses of pasta instead of taking a secondo at all, which is not to say our next course wasn’t well-prepared in its own right. 

We were pleased that we had the foresight to share a main course, as there is no way post-antipasti, pasta and wine that we would have been able to take on our own individual entrée’s.  We selected the Piccione con barbabietole di Chioggia e lenticchie ($28).  Squab itself is something I saw on quite a few menu’s in Italy, however I was supremely curious how the Chioggia beets would turn out, as every beet I encountered in Italy was old and shriveled beyond the point of recognition.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that the beets were in the stilo Americano, which is to say still gorgeous in color, taste, and form.  The lentils were a great addition to the plate- one of those unexpectedly pleasant flavor combinations that works 100%.  The squab was such an epic success that I hate to have to let down my readers, but there was not a chance I would possibly have been able to squeeze in even a drop of dessert after such a great meal!

We took a peek at the dolci just to see what to save room for next time, and it was very regionally accurate as well, boasting the usual suspects bunet, panna cotta con mele di fiori di cardi, and a gianduja semifreddo that looked amazing among others, so I really will have to use some self-restraint next time and save some room.  The cheese course would have also been tempting as they had a creamy La Tur on offer, but alas I was defeated!  I can only imagine what the brave souls who order the menu degustazione ($75), which offers a tasting of every antipasto, primo, and secondo on the menu must be feeling- what an endeavor. 

We perused their selection of post-dinner beverages which were– you guessed it– regionally focused, including many grappa’s, amaro’s and even a spicy Barolo Chinato not for the faint of heart (for someone who wants half-perfume half-wine, if you ask me!).   The actual dessert wine was very limited due to the fact that Piedmont is not a big producer in that arena- in fact all they had was a Moscato d’ Asti.  I think a Brachetto d’ Aqui Terme would have fleshed out the selection, and if it were me I would have broken with tradition in that department and offered a Sicilian Passito or a monk-made Vin Santo despite their being from other regions.  The experience on the whole was well worth the visit, and I most certainly will return to discover what new seasonal delights deep fall will bring, considering it is the gastronomic season to most revere in Piedmont.  Perhaps some fresh, white Albese truffles will find their way to Spinasse, in which case I will find my way to Paradiso!