We’re in a cushy booth at Del Rey, watching a woman outside the front window adjust her breasts with the aid of her reflection. Then she turns around to check out her ass. Her expression is blank. In the distance behind her, a ferry goes by.
It’s 7:15 p.m. on a Friday, and the only brunette females in the room are at our table. The First Avenue Belltown scene is at an early-evening apex: The gentlemen, wearing diagonal-striped dress shirts untucked with jeans, bray, as the ladies, wearing cleavage, squeal. It is louder than hell inside Del Rey. The slick, retro room features a backlit dome in the middle of the ceiling—pretty, but possibly contributing to the insane acoustics.
We’re here to eat. We seem to be alone in this, even though the small plates–style menu is longer, more appealing, and far better than it has to be. Fried calamari ($7) gets the crisp/tender thing right, has capers clinging to it here and there, and sits in a fairly wonderful salty lemon/garlic/butter/white-wine pool, such that even the soggy pieces are very pleasing. Mini pulled pork sandwiches ($8), with almost candied-sweet falling-apart meat on squishy little white buns, are hard to argue with. Cauliflower gratin ($5) is miraculously not overcooked, with a béchamel that doesn’t cling all that well but spoons up like smooth cheese soup.
We decamp to the relative calm of the beeping pinball machines of Shorty’s, where we regroup with a pitcher of beer. Clearly the thing to do, we decide, is return to Del Rey at the most obscure hour possible and eat the entirety of the happy-hour menu (available every day from 4:00–7:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m.–1:00 a.m.).
Tuesday night at 11:15 p.m., Del Rey is less crowded, and the people look less machine-extruded. It is now possible to hear yourself think. The room glows red from the wall sconces, making everyone appear more attractive than they actually are. And for $28, the table is covered with way too much fancy snackage for three people. The favorites: warm artichoke dip ($4), less creamy and much fresher than most, with big crunchy ovals of toasted bread encircling it; lightly breaded fried oysters ($5), still cool and slimy on the inside, with excellent coleslaw; and big elbow macaroni ($4) in a super-rich, runny cheddar cream sauce. Beer-battered halibut ($6) benefits from flakey, sweet-fleshed fish but comes with run-of-the-mill mid-gauge fries. The Caesar ($4) provokes controversy, with some finding it too wet with sour lemon-garlic vinaigrette and deriding its broken bits of crouton as a travesty, while others eat it all up. Rubbery steamed clams ($5) in a dull pesto-and-beer broth get shoved aside.
To avoid weird dreams due to full stomachs, we agree to hit Del Rey’s happy hour on Tuesday at 4:00 p.m. in the future—or just not eat so much.
Del Rey (2332 First Ave, 770-3228) also has a fabulous ladies’ room.