Earth & Ocean
The W Hotel, 1112 Fourth Ave, 264-6060 Hours vary, call for details.

If you had told me that someday I'd leave the W Hotel covered in vomit, I would have guessed it would be after an ill-conceived night of too many albino cosmopolitans in the W's slightly sleazy but somehow appealing lobby lounge. But it was my nine-month-old son that nailed me one night, puking up a jarful of organic prunes and oatmeal just after our appetizers had arrived at the W's restaurant, Earth & Ocean.

The husband and I had failed to get a babysitter on the night in question, but we decided to go out anyway, hoping the baby could sit still for an hour or so if we plied him with enough baguette. Just after that little bit of dinner theater in which the maitre d' poured creamy soup ($8) into a bowl containing a cheese tuile on a pedestal of cubed cheddar, the boy booted for the first time in his short career. I guess it is one way to stay low key while reviewing a restaurant—no critic in her right mind would bring a pint-sized Linda Blair along, right?

None of the staff looked even vaguely grossed out by our predicament: They gamely handed us damp napkins and offered to box up our entrées. As we waited for our check, the husband and I were a little worried about the boy, a little mortified, and generally very busy sucking down that creamy, creamy soup and the best crab salad ($14) I've tasted in years.

I'm a little late to be checking out Earth & Ocean again, after all, Food and Wine has already declared chef Maria Hines one of the best young chefs in the country, a title that helped launch her predecessor, Johnathan Sundstrom, to his current success at Lark. I dragged my feet a bit because as much as I've liked Earth & Ocean's food in the past, the room, with its clunky pillars and too-loud electronic beats, kind of gets me down. It's an emotional nowhere-land—not intimate enough for dates, not elegant enough for elders, not hip enough for hanging out.

I still don't dig the room, but on a follow-up visit, without the baby, my friend reminds me how convenient it is to take a date to a meal in a hotel. "You can go anywhere afterwards... out to the lounge, or if it goes well..." she trails off, pointing in the direction of the rooms upstairs. As if on cue, a balding man heads toward the lobby, holding hands with his girlfriend (or was it his daughter?).

The staff remains affable—yes, handsome bartender, I do like my Riesling, thanks—and the food is spot-on. Like Sundstrom, Hines maintains close relationships with nearby farmers and fishermen. Next to the other young chefs in that Food and Wine issue, the ones who are pushing the tech-y boundaries of food with Cryovac cooking and food flash-frozen in liquid nitrogen, Hines's cuisine looks a little analog, but the truth is we need more good food like this: classic food made scrupulously. We ate smooth, house-made mozzarella ($9) served in a shallow lake of basil puree; pretty octopus tentacles twirled on a bed of chickpeas ($11), and my favorite sweetbreads ($12) ever. Normally restaurants hedge their bets and serve the gland all chopped into tiny bits, afraid that clients will get skeeved out by its texture, but at E&O it is served in an unabashedly big portion, dense, but tender with a crackling crust and a small posse of ripe cherries rubbing up against the slightly sweet meat. Details make the entrées delicious: homemade ricotta atop the ravioli ($21); polenta (served with Skagit Valley chicken, $25) so full of creamy goodness that you would never eat it if you witnessed it being made; crisp skin left on wild salmon ($27) that is bathing in a warm, foamy bath of corn soup.

Desserts are still made by Sue McCown, (full disclosure: a friendly acquaintance who goes to my gym), and they are as goofily high-concept as ever. The puns might be bad—www.chocolate.com ($9.50) or 14k gold, a carrot cake affair served with gilded blueberries ($12)—but even stripped of their many garnishes, the sweets still taste good.

In the end, I still don't like the décor, but since no one said anything mean to me about my pukey baby, I'm happy to turn a blind eye and eat.