Seems like when I ask a chef their favorite Seattle restaurant, half the time, they say Cafe Munir. Which isn’t to say it’s not a fave of local un-chefs too, but I get it. This place ticks all the foodie boxes: It’s in a little residential alcove within a larger neighborhood, it’s teeny-tiny, it has a tasting menu. Everything’s immaculately fresh. And the UX is loaded with delicious surprises.
One of these is the beverage menu, which includes both a lovingly curated whiskey list and a Lebanese/Palestinian wine program. Owner Rajah Gargour, who opened Munir in 2012, says, “We’ve always served whatever bottles we could get from Arabic countries, plus Washington wines.” However, he’s recently dropped the domestic stuff. Availability can be spotty, he adds, especially Palestinian wines, “but it’s all Arabic wine now.”
I could write a book of sonnets on Munir’s extensive Scotch collection, and the wine list is impressive too—particularly the citrusy white Hamdani Jandali by Cremisan Winery in the West Bank. There’s also half a dozen varieties of Lebanese and Jordanian arak.
As for cocktails, Gargour tends to improvise them whimsically, and the one he’s got right now is exactly what I like. The Lion’s Blood comprises a big juicy red wine from Lebanon, licorice-tinged arak, rose water and orange blossom water, and a drop of pomegranate molasses. It’s served in a cute four-ounce sherry glass and looks like an aperitif for a doll or a cat.
When he spies it on my table, Gargour deadpans: “If you can get past the first couple sips, it’s a lot more interesting than… some other cocktails out there.”
He’s not kidding—that first sip’s a doozy. At 53% ABV, the triple-distilled Ksarak here is designed to be louched with water, and Gargour has done so; it’s just been infused with flowers, then doused with sweet-sour pomegranate syrup. The base is a cherry-strawberry-ey Lebnani Ahmar by Mersel Wines. Alongside the dark fruit, I taste clove and black pepper, even through the wall of arak.
The combined effect is sharp and juicy at once, with a little floral mist on the surface. Like taking a walk down a garden path in the cold rain, while picking berries and shoving them in your mouth. Perfect for this wacky yes/no transitionary weather: arak to warm you up in the winter, wine and fruit and flowers to lead you into springtime.
Before I go, I get another miniature doll’s beverage, the house cordial #1, made from figs and arak. “There’s a Lebanese guy who lives in Lake City,” Gargour explains. “His whole backyard is terraced, all different fig trees. He calls himself the Fig King, and he always advertises on Craigslist or something when the figs are ripe. I get green figs from him and then I soak them in arak for a year.”
Naturally, the fig cordial’s spectacular, unique, and made with careful, thoughtful intention. Like everything they serve here. Of course it is.
