Insult and degrade me, but do it elegantly.
My experience at UNION, Seattle, Washington.
The reservation is key. Many people base their evening on that set list of names. Line cooks mentally prepare how their night will be, managers juggle seating arrangements, waiters expect how much they can drink for the weekends (or not), and people like me can walk in the door with confidence that they WILL be eating.
It feels good brushing past all the chilly cocktails and loose optimism of those who didn't call ahead of time. Getting greeted and seated right away will get you stern looks from the waiting public, but they know the only anger to be had is at their own self. A phone call is all it takes and boy does it feel great thinking ahead. But it almost feels silly when you make the reservation, on a Monday, when there are many of open tables, and its just you dining. A touch excessive, but necessary in order to assure me a pleasant evening. So I thought anyway.
I'm confirmed as a one top, smiled at, and walked to my seat. Just because you can strut through the door with that 'rese' confirmed doesn't mean you get to pick. They saw my situation and placed me accordingly. The lonely table that becomes more of a hassle from the minor complaints it recevies. The seculted seat with the wobbly leg, stuck in the corner like a bad kid in class. They even made me face away from the rest of the house and peer out though the large window into the chilly night of a Monday. I took my seat (forgetting my 'dunce' hat) and had high hopes a touch of sympathy would be taken on my solo seating arrangement.
Things started with the removal of the wine list. My fault completely (not 21). I was ready for that, and ok with it. It was my first meal in the lush growing environment of the Pacific Northwest, I wanted to know what was local. Not much actually. Roughly 40% of the major protein dishes were from the area. Not to say the other ingredients are any less worthy of consumption at an establishment such as this. I just wanted LOCAL items that reflected the paticular area of Washington.
The menu looked very nice. Split into three sections that signified how large of portions to be expected. The appitizers had many raw/lightly cooked fish preparations. The second courses were a bit more innovative with combinations and ingredients, and the entrees came off very unpretentious and simple. A well rounded series of choices.
As I composed my meal, I would turn away from the locals on their way home and peer at all the other guests in the 3/4 filled house ( at 7:15p.m.), while thinking: " Did I reserve a spot in a different part of the restaurant?" The lighting at my table was not the same as the other tables. Orange shades of mellow concentration made my unaffectionate street lamp environment seem bland and neutral. They looked like a series of food under heat lamps, I looked like I was to be eating in an ally.
My choices were made and the wine glass was removed. Completely appropriate for the waiter to make that choice, it would only loom empty for the rest of the evening and slowly detracting from what I COULD have, food. The bread came warm (very nice) on a cold plate with cold butter (not so nice, but knowing that it eases the prep of the waiters for service, it was alright). Chewing away at a decent crust, the first course was served. I was allowed to view and indulge at something that was finally mine.
Dungeness crab salad with avocado, basil oil and mico arugula. I liked this presentation, It looked concentrated on a plate so grand. First bite nearly made me wince from the amount of citrus. The crab was sweet and very rich with the addition of the avocado. Lemon juice was essential to this combination, I felt just too much was added. The dish wasn't ruined, for the basil oil actually tasted like the herb described. This wasn't a 'Bobby-Flay-squeeze-bottle-addition' this was a component that cut the citrus, while bringing the sweet basil perfume to my palate. It was also nice seeing different tones of the same color. All green and pretty, only not enough to kiss (although I did pucker up a great deal through this dish).
Clean plates removed and the waiting game resumed, I was fortunate enough to over hear the conversation of a four top behind me. Older in age, mature like children and palate driven (much hype for the pork belly). They were having a fun evening. Discussions of clothing and being too big for outfits (and yet belly for dinner), complaining of a trucks sudden head lights into their field of vision (and yet I was the one facing into the street), and how their cholesterol was getting way too high (and yet a plate of sweet-breads). I found it humorous until they were suggesting with the house manager the possibility of a second pork belly: to-go. I cringed more at that then from watching the druggies on the street. The manager wanted to validate the request while still respecting the vision of the chef. He told them it would not be the same. The dish would get cold, re-heating could over cook it and they would ultimately be disappointed. I was happy he stood up for the fine work of the kitchen crew, I was also happy to be given a bowl of pasta.
My second choice was guinea hen filled angolotti in a meat broth with roasted cippolini onions and tomatoes. It looked composed of garden delights, smelled like fruity olive oil, rustic but elegant and ultimately satisfying. Pasta dough was everything one would want an egg yolk structured package to taste like. The filling was sweet and distinct. Onions were carmalized and intense with their aromatic sweetness. The broth was VERY rich from the gelatinous joy of baby cow bones. The tomatoes tasted like they were steps away from paste and the parsley garnish actually stood out. If this was just 3 angolotti and half the broth I would have loved it, but being the size it was, my passion faded. A slice of prosciutto is delicious, a big bite from the thigh is disgusting. They gave too much.
Feeling like I smootched someone beautiful for WAY too long, I drank my water and continued to listen to the increasing intensity of the fatty group getting their way. They were going to recieve a take-out bag of pork belly. With out the integrity or the finesse of a warm plated presentation, it felt like a great fight just got lost. Beauty shoved into a box and josseled on the way home, to the fridge it goes, waiting and loosing the dignity it once had. UNION drive-though. Order in.
A beautiful presentation of a single roasted 3-inch thick bone-in pork loin, sauteed fresh chanterelle mushrooms and roman style semolina gnocchi. Simple directions for simple preparations that would make a great finished dish. Too bad none of the cooks read the easy recipe for PROPERLY roasting meat or understanding how LITTLE butter is needed to make something taste rich. There were 2 gnocchi on the plate consisting of A LOT of butter and a touch of semolina. If you breaded a half a stick of butter in semolina and threw it into a deep fryer it would come out fairly close to what was served to me. Just the same if you took a nice thick and lovely piece of pig and tossed it into a roaring oven, then walked away, for a long time. This pork was overdone and most of it remained on the plate next to the uneaten semolina butter. The mushrooms were seasoned wonderfully. Soft and chewy but not woody. The only thing fully consumed.
I felt used. Taken advantage of and abused. My eyes swelled with tears thinking of what dessert was going to be like. I have noticed that the sweet part of a menu is almost ALWAYS a minor concern to a kitchen. If it isn't tasty it is usually uninteresting. I won't spend much time describing my dish for I didn't take much time in eating it.
Chocolate 'terrine'. Simple slice, boring.
Malt ice cream. No malt to be tasted.
Praline crumbs. Crumbs of praline.
-cough-
check please.
Union wasn't exactly the Seattle experience I had in mind. Hoping for a night alone with good food as company. More like a really bad date in a nice dress. Service was standard but uninteresting. A place to celebrate, and to get take out. An attempt at something, but not good food. And certainly not something worth reserving time for.
The reservation is key. Many people base their evening on that set list of names. Line cooks mentally prepare how their night will be, managers juggle seating arrangements, waiters expect how much they can drink for the weekends (or not), and people like me can walk in the door with confidence that they WILL be eating.
It feels good brushing past all the chilly cocktails and loose optimism of those who didn't call ahead of time. Getting greeted and seated right away will get you stern looks from the waiting public, but they know the only anger to be had is at their own self. A phone call is all it takes and boy does it feel great thinking ahead. But it almost feels silly when you make the reservation, on a Monday, when there are many of open tables, and its just you dining. A touch excessive, but necessary in order to assure me a pleasant evening. So I thought anyway.
I'm confirmed as a one top, smiled at, and walked to my seat. Just because you can strut through the door with that 'rese' confirmed doesn't mean you get to pick. They saw my situation and placed me accordingly. The lonely table that becomes more of a hassle from the minor complaints it recevies. The seculted seat with the wobbly leg, stuck in the corner like a bad kid in class. They even made me face away from the rest of the house and peer out though the large window into the chilly night of a Monday. I took my seat (forgetting my 'dunce' hat) and had high hopes a touch of sympathy would be taken on my solo seating arrangement.
Things started with the removal of the wine list. My fault completely (not 21). I was ready for that, and ok with it. It was my first meal in the lush growing environment of the Pacific Northwest, I wanted to know what was local. Not much actually. Roughly 40% of the major protein dishes were from the area. Not to say the other ingredients are any less worthy of consumption at an establishment such as this. I just wanted LOCAL items that reflected the paticular area of Washington.
The menu looked very nice. Split into three sections that signified how large of portions to be expected. The appitizers had many raw/lightly cooked fish preparations. The second courses were a bit more innovative with combinations and ingredients, and the entrees came off very unpretentious and simple. A well rounded series of choices.
As I composed my meal, I would turn away from the locals on their way home and peer at all the other guests in the 3/4 filled house ( at 7:15p.m.), while thinking: " Did I reserve a spot in a different part of the restaurant?" The lighting at my table was not the same as the other tables. Orange shades of mellow concentration made my unaffectionate street lamp environment seem bland and neutral. They looked like a series of food under heat lamps, I looked like I was to be eating in an ally.
My choices were made and the wine glass was removed. Completely appropriate for the waiter to make that choice, it would only loom empty for the rest of the evening and slowly detracting from what I COULD have, food. The bread came warm (very nice) on a cold plate with cold butter (not so nice, but knowing that it eases the prep of the waiters for service, it was alright). Chewing away at a decent crust, the first course was served. I was allowed to view and indulge at something that was finally mine.
Dungeness crab salad with avocado, basil oil and mico arugula. I liked this presentation, It looked concentrated on a plate so grand. First bite nearly made me wince from the amount of citrus. The crab was sweet and very rich with the addition of the avocado. Lemon juice was essential to this combination, I felt just too much was added. The dish wasn't ruined, for the basil oil actually tasted like the herb described. This wasn't a 'Bobby-Flay-squeeze-bottle-addition' this was a component that cut the citrus, while bringing the sweet basil perfume to my palate. It was also nice seeing different tones of the same color. All green and pretty, only not enough to kiss (although I did pucker up a great deal through this dish).
Clean plates removed and the waiting game resumed, I was fortunate enough to over hear the conversation of a four top behind me. Older in age, mature like children and palate driven (much hype for the pork belly). They were having a fun evening. Discussions of clothing and being too big for outfits (and yet belly for dinner), complaining of a trucks sudden head lights into their field of vision (and yet I was the one facing into the street), and how their cholesterol was getting way too high (and yet a plate of sweet-breads). I found it humorous until they were suggesting with the house manager the possibility of a second pork belly: to-go. I cringed more at that then from watching the druggies on the street. The manager wanted to validate the request while still respecting the vision of the chef. He told them it would not be the same. The dish would get cold, re-heating could over cook it and they would ultimately be disappointed. I was happy he stood up for the fine work of the kitchen crew, I was also happy to be given a bowl of pasta.
My second choice was guinea hen filled angolotti in a meat broth with roasted cippolini onions and tomatoes. It looked composed of garden delights, smelled like fruity olive oil, rustic but elegant and ultimately satisfying. Pasta dough was everything one would want an egg yolk structured package to taste like. The filling was sweet and distinct. Onions were carmalized and intense with their aromatic sweetness. The broth was VERY rich from the gelatinous joy of baby cow bones. The tomatoes tasted like they were steps away from paste and the parsley garnish actually stood out. If this was just 3 angolotti and half the broth I would have loved it, but being the size it was, my passion faded. A slice of prosciutto is delicious, a big bite from the thigh is disgusting. They gave too much.
Feeling like I smootched someone beautiful for WAY too long, I drank my water and continued to listen to the increasing intensity of the fatty group getting their way. They were going to recieve a take-out bag of pork belly. With out the integrity or the finesse of a warm plated presentation, it felt like a great fight just got lost. Beauty shoved into a box and josseled on the way home, to the fridge it goes, waiting and loosing the dignity it once had. UNION drive-though. Order in.
A beautiful presentation of a single roasted 3-inch thick bone-in pork loin, sauteed fresh chanterelle mushrooms and roman style semolina gnocchi. Simple directions for simple preparations that would make a great finished dish. Too bad none of the cooks read the easy recipe for PROPERLY roasting meat or understanding how LITTLE butter is needed to make something taste rich. There were 2 gnocchi on the plate consisting of A LOT of butter and a touch of semolina. If you breaded a half a stick of butter in semolina and threw it into a deep fryer it would come out fairly close to what was served to me. Just the same if you took a nice thick and lovely piece of pig and tossed it into a roaring oven, then walked away, for a long time. This pork was overdone and most of it remained on the plate next to the uneaten semolina butter. The mushrooms were seasoned wonderfully. Soft and chewy but not woody. The only thing fully consumed.
I felt used. Taken advantage of and abused. My eyes swelled with tears thinking of what dessert was going to be like. I have noticed that the sweet part of a menu is almost ALWAYS a minor concern to a kitchen. If it isn't tasty it is usually uninteresting. I won't spend much time describing my dish for I didn't take much time in eating it.
Chocolate 'terrine'. Simple slice, boring.
Malt ice cream. No malt to be tasted.
Praline crumbs. Crumbs of praline.
-cough-
check please.
Union wasn't exactly the Seattle experience I had in mind. Hoping for a night alone with good food as company. More like a really bad date in a nice dress. Service was standard but uninteresting. A place to celebrate, and to get take out. An attempt at something, but not good food. And certainly not something worth reserving time for.
posted by Bard at 9:19 PM
1 Comments:
1. Damn! That's one huge "gnocchi!!" It looks great, though. I guess the Romans did everything EXTRA-LARGE!
2. That agnoletti dish reminds me of a veal ravioli dish I had in Argentina. There's a picture of it on my flickr account under the "Bar Uriarte" set.
Glad to have found you!
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