big bowl of love

As luck would have it, I recently stumbled upon a warm and welcoming community of like-minded food-lovers, all equally bent on bolstering Seattle’s burgeoning food scene.  Rallying these food troops is an effortlessly chic, passionate and generous woman by the name of Myra Kohn.  No one brings food and its ardent admirers together with more verve, more joie de vivre than the remarkable Myra.  An accomplished food photographer and respected local food authority, Ms. Kohn relishes in connecting chefs and published cookbook authors with local food writers, photographers, bloggers and passionate eaters.

This food-focused crowd was as eager as I to relinquish their Friday evening in the company of one exceedingly lovely and talented model turned cookbook author, Cristina Ferrare.  Among her many credits, Ms. Ferrare has graced the covers of countless fashion magazines, appeared in several television shows and now hosts her own cooking show on the Oprah Network.  Ferrare’s new cookbook, ‘Big Bowl of Love’, is brimming with recipes reflecting her Italian heritage and knack for entertaining. 

Myra, our hostess extraordinaire, graciously introduced Ms. Ferrare, employing equal parts exhilaration and admiration.  With a familial tone and easy manner, Ferrare jumped right in, describing her transition from model to cookbook author, the influence of her food-centric upbringing, the cookbook’s emphasis on foods her Italian grandmother once prepared and the sense of homecoming she’s found in doing something she loves.  “I’m not a chef, said Ferrare, I’m a cook,” a sentiment shared by many in attendance. 

An array of tantalizing recipes from the cookbook were on hand to sample, made more alluring against the backdrop of a sun-dappled kitchen; its countertops adorned with lush spring flowers and twinkling votives. 

After answering questions, Ferrare assembled a big, beautiful Caesar salad tossed with traditional dressing and studded with homemade garlic croutons.  “It’s not a Caesar without anchovies,” she sagely opined.  The salad, touted as ‘light’, was fresh, balanced and full of bright, sunny flavors.  It is more than likely the first recipe I will try at home.

Other items from the cookbook included Mediterranean-inspired lamb meatballs with a refreshing tzatziki sauce, creamy lemon-infused white bean puree and sinful deviled eggs garnished with red radish slivers.

Sharing the same counter space was a swoon-worthy rhubarb pie, nestled primly in its charming basket.  The luscious pie was a gift to Ms. Ferrare, compliments of pie maven Kate McDermott of Art of the Pie. 

Following the demonstration, Ferrare personally served guests her Caesar salad, mingled easily and signed cookbooks, all the while exuding genuine warmth and a sincere interest in each person she encountered.

In line with title of her book, Cristina Ferrare is full of love and it shows.  Her new cookbook is filled with mouthwatering, unfussy comfort food, big on flavor and best shared with the ones we love.  

delancey

''It's very fancy on old Delancey Street, you know'' – Lorenz Hart  

Welcome to the real thing.  You know you’ve found it when you’ll drive halfway across town at half past four to satisfy a hankering for really great pizza.

Situated on a quaint residential street in Seattle’s North Ballard neighborhood, Delancey is a place like that.  In addition to mighty fine pizza, they’ve got the unassuming location, the diverse and bustling crowd, an uber-amiable wait staff and food that falls somewhere between comforting and inspired.  Consider it the destination you’d gladly burn fuel for; which is good, because unless you live in the neighborhood or accidentally stumble upon their doorstep, it’s not exactly next door.  Then again, don’t most sought after places require a measure of seeking out?

 

Should you miss the 5pm seating, be prepared to join clusters of patient dinner folk parked just inside the front door.  A decidedly hip, albeit unpretentious hostess predicts wait times and takes drink orders with unsurpassed warmth and poise.  And with a glass of wine in hand, the wait is entirely bearable.

The entry is home also to the tiny pizza kitchen, upstaged by a narrow counter and a handful of French barstools.  These coveted perches offer diners an ideal vantage point from which to witness owner and chef Brandon Pettit while he works intently beside the glowing woodfire pizza oven he built himself.  Pettit’s mop of brown curls, encircled by a rolled up bandana, sway to-and-fro as he shapes each pie with tremendous passion and intensity. 

In fairness, Delancey is more than just one man’s dream.  Pettit’s wife and cohort in business, local author Molly Wizenberg, has been by his side from the get-go.  Their restaurant came to fruition in 2009, shortly after Ms. Wizenberg wrapped up her first book, ‘A Homemade Life’.  Not surprisingly, Wizenberg threw herself into the role of restaurateur with the same fervor and gusto she summoned when writing her bestselling memoir.

The dining room’s spartan interior seamlessly unites a minimalist aesthetic with retro funk furnishings and a few welcome pops of color from framed photographs suspended on whitewashed walls.  Hanging lamps in red orange enamel cast a warm glow on the buzzing scene below.  A kitschy communal table, circa 1965, offers a nostalgic nod to grandpa’s rec room, sans shag carpet and avocado-hued walls.  Smaller, poured concrete tables paired with vintage chairs, offer yet another thoughtful juxtaposition of old and new. 

 

Much like its surroundings, the menu is concise and unfettered.  Seasonal salads and pizza toppings abound and local, organic produce prevails.  Standing pizza offerings are punctuated by specials such as the ever-popular clam pie or one with stinging nettle pesto.  The Jersey is an old-school tossed salad with classic Italian vinaigrette, ribbons of purple cabbage and carrot, crunchy golden croutons and a snowfall of grated parmesan.  In summer months, try the sweet corn, feta and Billy’s tomato salad, all sunshine and tang laced with the sultry sweetness of just shucked corn.  Cooler months bring the likes of grilled treviso scattered with buttery breadcrumbs and topped with tendrils of preserved lemon and paper thin parmesan shavings.

Pizzas are thin crusted and slightly larger than a dinner plate.  With salad and dessert, one is easily enough for two light eaters or one ravenous diner.  The toppings are balanced, fresh and alive with flavor.  An array of choices include a few cheese variations, pepperoni, sausage or hot salami, a white pie and my favorite, the crimini with fresh mozzarella and thyme on an olive oil base, to which I religiously add prosciutto.  The salty, savory combination of mushrooms and prosciutto accented by a subtle hint of fresh earthy thyme is nothing short of miraculous.  Add to this the pristine canvas of a well-crafted crust and its a done deal.

Pettit’s crust is a divine culmination of his visits to beloved pizza kitchens throughout the states as well as those in Italy.  He has honed a product reminiscent of some of the best; while distinctly his own.  You will crave this crust long after sinking your teeth into its burnished exterior, resplendent with thin, crackly bubbles, giving way to a chewy, satiny center that is airy yet substantial.  The flavor is layered, robust and almost nutty with a depth that is lacking in most thin crust pies.

Wines at Delancey are often local and always well-priced.   Pettit and Wizenberg are staunchly committed to offering luscious, affordable options; each selection carefully considered to compliment their menu offerings. 

The welcome addition of pastry chef, Brandi Henderson, formerly of Tartine Bakery in San Francisco, is the icing on the proverbial cake.  In the heat of summer, Henderson’s dreamy cloud-like pavlova topped with delicately sweetened, whipped Greek yogurt and fresh local raspberries is cool and creamy, tart-sweet perfection.  Come autumn, her spicy ginger cake with roasted pears and luscious butterscotch is pure poetry.  For a simpler finish, Delancey’s trademark bittersweet chocolate chip cookie with a touch of grey sea salt is always on the menu.

Delancey is open Wednesday through Saturday, 5 pm – 10 pm and Sundays, from 5 pm – 9 pm.  Phone- 206.838.1960

Be on the lookout for The Pantry at Delancey, where Pettit will partner with Brandi Henderson and Olaiya Land to create a community kitchen offering hands-on cooking classes, family-style dinners, private events and locally sourced catering. 

pie. pie. pie.

Ever heard of a pie slam?  You are not alone.  Until last month when I signed on as a willing participant, I was as clueless as the rest.  This, after I swore I would never enter another cooking or baking competition.  Having previously subjected my culinary endeavors to the scrutiny of judges in both a whoopie pie bake-off and a holy tomato contest, I can attest to this:  I do not care for losing.  Not one bit.

So, what exactly is a pie slam?

The pie slam, as we know it, came into being when two gals with a penchant for baked goods and the written word joined forces to host a pie baking contest with a twist.  In addition to baking a pie, contestants of a pie slam must write a short story about said pie and then read their story aloud before an audience and panel of five judges who determine the best combined story and pie.

When my husband gently reminded me of my sacred vow to never again compete in the food arena, I was quick to dispel his qualms by pointing out how vastly different this was.  The pie slam wasn’t going to be just another baking competition, it was a chance to merge baking and writing, two of my favorite things.  How could I resist?

Jessie Oleson, of Cakespy, and Wendy Sykes, of Four and 20 blackbirds, hosted the event in Cakespy’s Capitol Hill headquarters on March 14, also known amongst math nerds as ‘Pi Day’ (i.e. 3/14).  The five judges included Nancy Guppy of ArtZone, Dani Cone of High Five Pie, Kate Lebo of Good Egg, and pie slam co-conspirators, Oleson and Sykes. 

On the day of the pie slam, nine contestants placed their entries on two long tables draped with cotton candy pink linens.  Dainty blue cards showcased the names of the contestants and their pies.  The room filled with nervous anticipation as starting time drew near.

the pies

12
345
67
89

Each pie was distinctly different, from traditional fruit varieties to the fantastical lunchbox pie topped with chocolate-dipped potato chips, yet only one would take home the blue ribbon.

At half past six, Wendy Sykes introduced the judges and called the first contestant to read her piece.  It was me.  My heart raced as I stated my name, pie and the title of my story (see below).  Being first is no picnic.  My voice wavered at first but steadied as I delved in to my piece and hoped for the best.  One by one, the entrants came forward and shared their stories.

the contestants

123
456
789

The judges sampled each pie in conjunction with its story. 

1. Max Snyder shared his highly entertaining account of baking an apple ‘pie’ in his dormitory.  2.  Sarah Spiller reminisced about her grandmother’s pies and revealed her love affair with pumpkin pie.  3.  Stephanie Crocker, of Sugar Bakery, considered which pie she loves best and settled on apple with a domed top.  4.  Brook McDonald read a playful poem about her Lunchbox Pie, a peanut butter banana filled creation topped with chocolate covered potato chips.  5.  Wendy Johnson shared tender memories of the pies her mother baked for her father and recalled which one he loved best: blueberry.  6.  Alexander Jhin merged cake and pie in his story and in his ‘Pake’, a chocolate cake baked atop a cherry pie.  7.   Aharona Ament told a story of a boy named Fig, who was born on Pi Day and loved to bake.  She baked a fig, apple and walnut pie.  8.  Kate McDermott, of Art of the Pie, used a pie server as a prop as she engaged in a dialogue with pie and considered why she loves it so.  She baked a shaker lemon pie.  8.  Sarah Dapcevich (that’s me) told the story of a couple who shared a piece of pie at their favorite restaurant.  The pie she baked and wrote about was chocolate cream pie with macadamia brittle and malted whipped cream.


Pie slam collaborators, Wendy Sykes and Jessie Oleson, tally the results

While the judges deliberated and tallied the scores, pie slam attendees mingled, noshed on pie, perused Jessie’s cute-as-a-button shop and admired her delectable artwork. 

 

In the twinkling of an eye, the results were in:  First place went to Kate McDermott, of Art of the Pie, for her shaker lemon pie and pie dialogue.  She took home a handmade blue ribbon and a framed watercolor by Jessie Oleson.  Runner up was Alexander Jhin with his inventive ‘pake’ and witty story involving a cupcake who aspired to be more than just a cake.  He received a retro oven mitt, handmade by Wendy Sykes.  Congratulations to the winners and to all the contestants in the first annual Cakespy Pie Slam.  See you next year!

  Jessie’s husband, Danny, and pugs, Porkchop and Olive, came out to support the pie slam

Below is the story I entered in the pie slam.  It’s a fictional tale drawn from several meals eaten at Bar Tartine, my favorite restaurant in San Francisco.  I have a theory that a restaurant is only as great as its dessert menu.  Considering the fact that dessert is typically the last impression, it is surprising how often a stellar meal is punctuated by a mediocre confection.  The pie in this story was an actual dessert served at Bar Tartine and it did not fail to impress.  I tried my best to recreate the pie and have included a recipe should you care to make it yourself.

  
  Win or lose, the pie that won my heart

 
The Most Beloved One

Vera caught her breath as she doggedly mounted the final step of the endless staircase leading up from the subway platform. A sudden gust of wind tousled her loose waves and she shivered a little, bracing herself for the chilly five-block stroll from metro station to restaurant. Never mind the broken escalator; Vera avoided those mechanized steel beasts even when she was wearing sensible shoes, which of course tonight she wasn’t. It was a small price to pay for looking this good, she rationalized. A shock of electric blue dress peeked out beneath her gray wool coat and she smiled the satisfied smile of a woman who knows she will turn heads.

Clyde caught hold of Vera’s arm and linked it with his own as she gladly leaned in to the warmth of his body. His easy manner and boyish good looks complimented Vera’s own youthful countenance and confident stride. The two turned a corner and joined the Thursday night crowd already hungrily pacing the sidewalks in search of dinner and respite from the biting cold. This short stretch of pavement was home to some of the best dining the city had to offer; a veritable tablecloth spread before the discerning diner.

Amid the myriad of choices, Vera and Clyde remained devoted to but one. One beloved establishment captivated their hearts, minds and bellies in flawless succession. Vera felt her pulse quicken as they approached the entrance. Black lacquered window frames reflected a neon glow from the street lamp hovering overhead. A near invisible sign hung from two metal hooks, arrogant in its austerity as though taunting passersby to overlook the place.

The famished, windblown duo stepped inside where a rustic chandelier crafted entirely of antlers shed soft light on scattered tables, diners, and wait staff. Wide plank walnut floors were a throwback to earlier days. A few well-appointed vases overflowed with wild, brambly flowers, softening the edges just enough. Vera let out a contented sigh as the din of the bustling interior drew her in. Across the table, she locked gazes with Clyde, their faces aglow in eager anticipation.

They sipped tart sweet huckleberry aperitifs, inhaled still warm, thyme-scented gougeres, like bitty poufs of cheesy, eggy nirvana, and sunk their teeth into fragrant, unctuous dates filled with tangy, creamy local gorgonzola. They marveled over thick slices of bread with a dark crusty exterior and chewy, satiny center. When the main courses arrived, there was room still for delicate pillows of ravioli with ricotta and stinging nettles and goat prepared three ways, each a revelation of taste and texture.

As far as Vera was concerned, the question of dessert was no question at all, rather a resounding affirmative. True to form, Clyde insisted he could scarcely accommodate another crumb, let alone dessert; but you go ahead, he murmured. Overcome by a sated stupor, Clyde reclined in his chair while Vera intently perused the nightly selection. Despite his admonition to the contrary, Vera knew her man could never resist anything dark and chocolaty. She zeroed in on chocolate cream pie with malted whipped cream and macadamia nut brittle, willing it to be as ungodly good as it sounded.

When the pie arrived, Vera’s desire to share was momentarily dampened as she contemplated the less than generous slice set before her. She slid the first forkful in her mouth and audibly moaned as the silky chocolate filling and buttery graham cracker crust mingled with comforting malted whipped cream and the salty sweet crunch of macadamia brittle. With his fork poised, Clyde no longer waited for an invitation. Vera didn’t mind. Pie this good was meant to be shared.

 

my two biggest fans

A big shout out to my dear husband and sweet daughter, who gamely accompanied and cheered me on at the pie slam.  I may not have won first prize but I went home with my two most prized ones.  XOXO

 
  this one prefers lollies over pie.  kids.

 
   before and after: the downside of trying all nine pies

melrose market

  

How is it that The New York Times discovered Melrose Market months before the majority of Seattleites did?  Surprisingly, much of Seattle has yet to venture through the doorway of this triangular oasis bordering downtown Seattle and Capitol Hill.  From the street, the building’s khaki brick facade conceals its inspired interior.  Step inside and be transported to someplace entirely foreign yet oddly familiar.  The gentle hum of activity and ethereal diffused light create a buffer, as though the outside world can not penetrate the tranquility within.

It is difficult not to draw comparisons to San Francisco’s ferry building, likely muse for this luminous, exposed beam beauty.  This scaled down version makes up for limited stature with a host of period details such as exposed brick and leaded glass windows paired seamlessly with European-style tiling and stained cement floors.  The thread of connectivity is undeniable yet Melrose Market’s obscure location attracts a hipper, more locally driven population as opposed to the throngs of tourists swarming the ferry building on any given day. 

Melrose Market came to fruition as a result of careful collaboration between two local developers, Liz Dunn and Scott Shapiro.  Their vision: create a platform where exceptional food, drink, style and music converge under one roof.  Each space is occupied by one of a kind purveyors with a local, independent bent.  The beauty of the market lies squarely within its limitations.  There is little room for growth save for a few vacant spaces; yet high ceilings lend to an open air vibe and the floor plan belies its tight quarters.  The brilliant architects behind this beautifully renovated space ought to win an award for their ingenuity.

Rain Shadow Meats is resident butcher with arguably the best and most diverse meat selection in the city.  Across the way, Homegrown serves up inventive sandwiches and salads highlighting local, organic ingredients and a commitment to sustainability shared by adjacent cheese shop, The Calf & Kid, where an impressive cheese case is dominated by Northwest cheese makers.  Bar Ferd’nand is half bar, half wine shop and the ideal pit stop for those awaiting a table at Sitka & Spruce, Matt Dillon’s stunning reincarnation of his Eastlake restaurant, occupying an airy, intimate space at the far end of the building.  Sandwiched between the bar and restaurant is Marigold and Mint, where a menagerie of beautiful odds and ends encircle one long table whose weathered surface remains hidden beneath pails and vases brimming with happy flowers in brilliant hues, mason jars sprouting  fragrant herbs, and rustic baskets filled with newly harvested onions, carrots and potatoes, bits of soil still clinging to their skins.

Independent music store Sonic Boom Records occupies one of two exterior spaces with knowledgeable staff and an impressive selection of new and used music.  Next door is Velouria, where conscience meets style with a spotlight on hip, wearable clothing and accessories for men and women by independent designers.  Located on the lower level is Still Liquor, night owl of the marketplace and purported servers of strong, inventive libations.

Head to Melrose Market for tonight’s brisket and you may find yourself lugging home a canvas tote brimming with garden fresh vegetables, cheery flowers, a crusty loaf of bread, an unctuous wedge of fromage, a luscious bottle of red, a laid back dinner soundtrack and a smart new ensemble to spruce up your wardrobe. 

Note to self : Next time, be sure to bring along an extra tote.

sitka & spruce

Sitka & Spruce has been around the block in their four years on the Seattle restaurant scene; and not just figuratively speaking.  Late last year, the Eastlake restaurant closed their doors only to put down new roots inside Capitol Hill’s Johnnie-come-lately, Melrose Market.  In its previous location, devotees looked past the run-down storefront and paid attention to the food.  Chef and owner, Matt Dillon spins local ingredients into inspired dishes the way Rumpelstiltskin spins straw into gold.  And he does so with conviction, highlighting seasonal local foods and routinely incorporating the exceptional meats, cheeses and produce found just outside their doorstep.

When I first walked through the doors of Melrose Market, I found myself inexplicably drawn to the rear of the building where Sitka and Spruce inhabits a freestanding structure within the market.  The reincarnated space does not sparkle with shiny newness.  It feels like an old friend, weathered and familiar.  Soft light streams through rows of leaded windowpanes and exposed brick is whitewashed, adding cheery brightness.  An open kitchen provides warmth and invites denizens to inactively participate in an orchestrated dance of activity, best observed from the adjacent communal table.  Servers and kitchen staff streak past leaving behind flashes of color while diners meet one another’s gazes sharing the secret knowledge that this is where it’s at. 

Over the course of three visits, I have twice been for lunch and once for a sleepy weekend brunch.  At the noon hour, I sampled delicate wedges of golden watermelon layered with briny sheep’s milk feta and paper thin slices of prosciutto scattered with crunchy red chili flakes.  I sunk my teeth into pert, creamy local camembert perched atop a pool of fragrant wildflower honey and savored tender roasted broccoli and escarole bathed in silky anchovy butter.  Smooth tangy chickpea puree felt exotic with the addition of spicy harissa beneath a nest of cool sweet carrot salad.  Whole smoked sardines adorned with creme fraiche zig zags were balanced atop round yellow potatoes like dual silver skateboards poised to race across the table at a moment’s notice. 

Weekend brunch brought soothing house made yogurt with juicy ripe peaches and ambrosial honey.  Tender buttermilk biscuits were slathered with sultry late-summer blackberry jam and the clean flavor of creme fraiche.  On the savoury side, ful mesdames were fava beans simmered with spices and topped with a delicately poached egg, toasted pistachios and fragrant fresh dill.

For Sitka and Spruce, ‘reinvention was the mother of necessity’.  In their new space, seasoned customers and newfound admirers convene under one roof with easy familiarity.  Diners are muses in a Degas painting where each meal is captured in fluid brushstrokes of color and light; only Dillon wields a spatula, not a paintbrush, and his masterpieces are decidedly edible.

marigold and mint

Marigold and Mint owner, Katherine Anderson, understands loveliness in every nuance of the word.  An enticing smattering of sweet nothings such as handmade soaps, baubles, trinkets, richly colored ribbons and French chocolates, are visible proof.  Her artful selection of handmade treasures serve as the backdrop for a weathered farmhouse table laden with bowls, baskets, pails, vases and jars, all spilling forth with vibrant flowers and organic fresh produce.



Back in the 50’s Katherine’s grandfather bought 30 acres on the Snoqualmie River, land her dad now owns and operates as Oxbow Farm.  Katherine utilizes a portion of the acreage for growing the flowers which briefly make their way into her shop before being plucked up by devoted customers.  Trained as a landscape architect, Katherine welcomed the opportunity to showcase her creativity in a more urban setting.  The shop acts as her canvas, an evolving still life where the edible and fanciful converge in a daily dance of color and texture.