Wallingford is dead as a doornail on late Sunday
afternoon—where Northeast 45th Street is usually so clogged
with cars, you could practically take a nap in the middle of the
street. Inside Joule, there’s music and snow cones and $4 glasses of
wine (which are pour-your-own, as heavy-handed as your scruples allow).
A woman sitting solo at the open kitchen’s counter smiles
conspiratorially to herself; a couple seated on the banquette at their
table, side by side, eat with intent. It’s the inauguration of Joule’s
Sunday Urban BBQ, and those in the know trickle in—regulars,
people from the Ballard farmers market and Taylor Shellfish Farms, the
one-year anniversary party of neighboring restaurant Art of the
Table.
It’s an indoors-only party for now—the owners of the bank
parking lot next door have so far proven unwilling to get into the
spirit—and the first time out, the decorations are somewhat
peremptory: a couple strings of lights, a miniature picnic table on a
small circle of green Astroturf for the kids, a striped tablecloth.
Chef/owners Rachel Yang and Seif Chirchi are still getting the
temporary transformation of their contemporary bistro into a picnic
sorted out, and no one cares—the food is good.
Yang and Chirchi moved from New York, where they met working at
Alain Ducasse (and Yang also cooked at Per Se); here, they first were
the opening chefs at Coupage in Madrona, then opened Joule, their own
place, this past winter. The Urban BBQ is part labor of love, part good
old American ingenuity: They missed outdoor-style cooking while living
in New York City, and they wanted to banish the Wallingford Sunday
tumbleweeds without doing brunch. Joule’s usual menu—with its
eclectic categories like
“Simmered” and “Sparked,” with its exotic
dishes like artichoke barigoule with lemongrass/galangar/breadcrumbs
and octopus with Chinese celery pistou and seaweed salad—will be
getting a day of rest. Each Sunday through the summer will have a
different theme, with just a handful of BBQ-ish dishes given expert
consideration and execution; prices will top out around $10 (with wine
always $4). There will be live music. Children or timid adults may eat
hot dogs.
Chirchi’s excited about June 15: the Hot Korean Grill edition, with
spicy pork, short ribs, mountains of kimchi, a lettuce wrap bar, and
soju cocktails. (Korean food’s his favorite, and Yang was born and
raised there.) Marrow fans should mark July 20 on their calendar: Among
other meat treats (smoked brisket, beef salad), Where’s the Beef? will
feature “popcorn” made of battered, deep-fried bone marrow. (This
preparation comes from a superindulgent chef’s salad they came up with
at Coupage.) Other Sundays bring spicy fried chicken (with deviled
eggs, for your which-came-first contemplation), an all-pork
extravaganza, and old-fashioned low-country BBQ. June 22: Hail to the
Vegetables is your day, vegetarians—otherwise, Joule’s website
(which has the whole summer’s schedule: joulerestaurant.com) offers this
anemic pledge: “We will always have a few items that could be served
without meat or seafood.” (Even Veg. Day won’t be meat- and
fish-free.)
If the sauces at Urban BBQ #1 are any indication, attendance at July
27’s Food on a Stick (satay, kebabs, yakitori, and so forth) is
mandatory, and you’ll want to get a spoon and pull your chair up to the
condiment bar. BBQ #1—Operation Clambake, unaffiliated with the
Scientology-debunking organization of the same name—had a
searingly tart, commendably interesting, but pretty much inedible
roasted lemon sauce. The other two sauces, though, prompted the dipping
and eating of all available foodstuffs and some furniture—a very
slightly sweet smoked chili oil with just enough heat to keep it
interesting, and a parsley/cilantro salsa verde, simple, clean- and
green-tasting. The Clambake’s come and gone, so it seems cruel to
belabor its virtues, but it was a highly favorable harbinger. A
generous personal-sized seafood boil for $10 had its own little netting
bag full of Taylor Shellfish clams, mussels, and shrimp—they all
looked a little dry, having emerged into the air out of a giant silver
pot you could see on the stove, but were perfect in the mouth (even
before the sauces of wonder came into play). With the seafood: creamy
little potatoes, surprisingly good corn on the cob, a bit of sausage.
The rest of the menu: a half-dozen small, striped-shelled raw Shelton
oysters: $4. Razor clam chowder, not too much dairy, possibly made with
bacon broth: also $4. Spinach salad, overdressed exactly the right
amount with house-made, faith-restoring ranch dressing (not buttermilk,
but mayo, sour cream, garlic, vinegar, lemon, lots of Worcestershire):
yes, $4.
A couple special (nonalcoholic, Korean-
influenced) drinks at
the Clambake also bode well: a nutty, syrupy roasted-corn sweet tea and
a blood orange shrub made with an extremely bracing dose of vinegar,
like lemonade that finally stopped trying to be nice ($2 each). In the
dessert department, a slice of key lime pie ($3) disappeared rapidly,
and the snow cones ($3) will be ongoing (in flavors like
rhubarb-grapefruit, mojito, and Vietnamese coffee). (For additional
options in delicious sweetness/unusual flavors, the new Molly Moon’s
ice cream parlor would be an excellent nearby post-BBQ stop.) There are
also packets of flattened organic cotton candy, which resemble toupees
in a disturbing way. The one I got at BBQ #1 is still on the kitchen
counter; I keep expecting it to crawl away.
On the phone after the Clambake, Chirchi said they’d be getting more
elaborate with the BBQ decor, which is hardly even necessary. He also
said, “We couldn’t be happier—we’re having a lot of fun, and you
can taste it in the food.” Well put, sir, and that’s what matters.