Sometimes, Chef Nordo Lefesczki wants you to enjoy your food.
Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he and his Seattle collaborators, Terry
Podgorski and Erin Brindley (writer and director, respectively; both of
the late, great Circus Contraption), want you to understand what
they’re talking about; sometimes they don’t. When he forces you to
drink your soup like a college-bar shot, tasting next to nothing in the
instant it takes to pass from lips to gullet, he’s forcing you to eat
too fast. He’s daring you to enjoy it. When he presents what appears to
be two lobes of glistening liver on a plate splattered violently with
blood, he is daring you to eat them (Theo Chocolate panna
cotta with berry puree, as it turns out) while thinking of
anything other than gory viscera.
But when the salad arrives, you sense a chef who somehow intuitively
understands what you want and is lovingly, slowly creating it just for
you. This course’s name is “In a coop of pine and wire our bird lies in
a soft, ochre nest. Beside her, a speckled brown shell leans into a ray
of early morning sunlight. Henrietta stretches for the first time.”
It’s a perfectly poached egg in a crisp, savory Parmesan nest, served
on a bed of greens with a goat-cheese béchamel. The
béchamel is presented inside an empty eggshell, its top opened
like a soft-boiled egg.
This is all part of Cafe Nordo’s The Modern American
Chicken, a six-week residency by Lefesczki, who the evening’s
producers insist is a traveling underground-restaurant culinary genius,
with an attitude to match.
Before inquiring after a vegetarian option, please consider two
things: Our chicken is a vegetable, if she is what she eats, and Chef
Nordo carries a large knife. Dietary restrictions? Certainly you have a
shrink who will care. Nordo Lefesczki is a man of vision, not
compromise.
Slog, The Stranger‘s blog, pointed out last week that the
previous reviews found at www
.cafenordo.com all come from
newspapers that mysteriously lack websites (including the oxymoronic
Salt Lake Intelligencer) and that biographical information on
the chef is oddly impossible to locate. “NORDO,” it happens, is
aviation slang for “flying without a radio.”
Does Lefesczki exist? Either way, he and/or his emissaries are
examining the life and death of a chicken by way of an $85 per person
prix fixe evening. A temporary dining room has been installed in the
warehouse of Fremont’s Theo Chocolate (the same site that housed Circus
Contraption), and its Oriental carpets and backlit scrims make a
setting that’s warm,
elegant, and close to magical. Maître
d’ Dominic (Maximillian Davis) escorts you through your meal, and he
overflows with a flamboyantly frivolous charm, quoting Victorian
satirist Samuel Butler (“A hen is an egg’s way of making another egg”)
and drunkenly expounding on the virtues of red wine. Sous chef Cochin
(Opal Peachey) makes dramatic appearances, with varying results. When
she candles, cracks, and separates eggs, her explanation of the
symbolism (the yolk, the mountains; the white, the sea; the veins, the
rivers) while beating the whites doesn’t entirely connect with either
the audience or the food.
We are warned by our server, Silkie Bantam (the charming Becky
Poole; all of the servers are named for chickens and periodically peck
and prance around), not to eat anything until expressly directed by
her. There are specific instructions that will be obeyed. There is
communal seating (with wine to erode any awkwardness—four glasses
per person, including a decent sparkling Limoux and a rather nice
barbera). There are musical numbers. There is a hand-washing ritual.
There is tableside banter as servers play out their interpersonal
politics in front of us. This may all seem like familiar dinner-theater
ground, but coproducer Brindley maintains that Cafe Nordo is “a
restaurant until proven otherwise.”
It’s an intriguing place to start, either as theater or a
restaurant. But Cafe Nordo, while playing with all the right ideas,
never quite follows those ideas through. The chef’s fabled strictness
is often referenced but barely demonstrated. The “carnal food movement”
to which Nordo subscribes is, again, referenced but never developed.
The atmospheric banter provided by the servers and staff doesn’t
emulsify; it feels more like a reference to ZinZanni-style
tableside trickery than an attempt to actually do anything.
The various courses’ success in living up to their lyrical titles,
in evoking the various stages of Henrietta’s life, is uneven. The shot
of soup is a lovely amuse-bouche, a puree of fresh herbs and chicken
broth, topped with crème fraîche. Even drunk too
quickly—so that you completely miss a tiny “yolk” of lemon
curd—it resonated with its verbiage (“In a field of bright green
grass scattered with dandelions”) and lit up the mouth. But the main
course, a roasted chicken (raised organically and “with dignity” on a
small Olympia farm) stuffed with peppers, onions, and sausage, was
serviceable but uninteresting, ultimately outshone by the brightness of
the habanero-spiced cherries scattered on the plate.
I’m fine with Cafe Nordo wanting to be a restaurant. I’m fine with
The Modern American Chicken not wanting to be dinner theater.
I’m more than fine with skewering haute cuisine’s ridiculous chefs
while, at the same time, embracing its delicious possibilities. It’s
just that this evening doesn’t fully accomplish any of these
things. 
This article has been updated: Cafe Nordo runs for six weeks, not three as originally stated.
I went.
It was really weird.
so weird that when something went wrong, like us not having seats or a person getting the shotglass of greenery spilled on them, we wondered if it was part of the whole act/’experience’. Fiance, not drinking, did NOT enjoy weirdness
loved the salad, will be ordering the barbera wine for our upcoming wedding…
weirdness was better after first two glasses of wine.
sort of made me appreciate where my food comes from, esp at end with the baby chick. I dont want to give away the end, but we didnt eat the chick, so calm down.
I went.
It was really cool.
I am definitely a member of the foodie elite here in our town. As such I felt the pomp and pressure of the experience that Cafe Nordo was seeking to create for the audience/dinner guest.
True, that in life and especially food nothing is perfect, there will always be something to gain or improve upon – that is why we have critics in the first place.
Still, I came to this show with only a ticket for one-person. And I sat at a table of six. This might make for the uncomfortable moment of the communal dinner that some chefs are hoisting upon their guests – however here it was brilliantly accomplished.
Our table was the last to get up and leave, we sat long after the wine was finished and just chatted about food and restaurants and our different but obviously connected lifestyles. I actually made five new friends – at a performance, of all places. Ususally people just go to these things, keep their thoughts to themselves, eat the food, and go home. Not at this installation work by Chef Lefesczki, people laughed, talked, and connected around the food and performance.
A great experience overall, my compliments to the chef.
Chef Lefesczki is a fraud. He is a blowhard fake. He sharpened his knives in the greasy spoons of Jermone, Arizona…making onion rings for lard ass motorcycle flunkies riding their tin horses out of Los Angeles. The very fact that he has fooled you ecohippy nutflakes of Seattle into paying him $85 for anything more than a blowjob, confirms my suspicions of the leftist coast…bunch of communist hacks.
It was a great evening. Really fun.
Charming chicken like actors serving simple but really tasty food and AMAZING wine. The set is cool. It sits right in the middle of a brick warehouse but I felt transported to a completely different world when I stepped inside, which was pretty impressive. A very zany, wacky and pleasant world.
I highly recommend it.
Foodie-tastebud: Foodie elite? Yech. The use of such a passé, arrogant term destroys any credibility you clearly felt it implied. But, please, feel superior. Throw another escoffier-themed party with your classy friends, you effete ass.
What The Lufe said. A flight of wine, indeed.
I went completely without expectation, with no idea what was too happen. The staff were most welcoming, but with an edge that preserved my uncertainty; to the end one suspects that these people were capable of … anything. Our server delicately but irresistably seduced us in to feel fully part of the scene. This is no place to simply sit and eat. As the evening developed it seemed that the actual “acts” were not as central to the performance as the diners’ parts. I would guess that each night’s scene becomes as different as the random collection of diners who show up.
But most important was that the chicken fully lived up to her central role. Having much experience with the organic, free-range chickens available at our local food palaces, “Henrietta” is a bird above. Food to be savored a small bite at a time, chicken so naturally tasty that I just didn’t want to let go of the sensation.
The only thing missing was the chicken feet … surely an oversight soon to be corrected.
“foodie elite” my ass.
How about actually putting up a real name and let people judge you by who you actually are, rather than who you claim to be a member of.
As a fellow member of the foodie elite, I can identify with you, foodie-tastebud! It is difficult to mingle with the great unwashed masses and their pedestrian palates. Often at these kinds of events, I must bite my tongue as I sit through course after course with Joe and Nancy Eastside as they sing the praises of their horseradish foam, Kobe beef, and everything else Bourdain tells them they should like. It is truly only the foodie elite, as you and I know foodie-tastebud, who can really appreciate the talents of a great chef. I too will stay till the last of the wine is dry as we longingly ponder the merits of sous vide cooking, left vs. right bank Bordeaux, and the true origin of molecular gastronomy. I wish I were at that 6 top with you so that we could better massage each others egos. I wish I had the opportunity to just sit in proximity to one of my equals–the sheer pleasure that would give me would be almost unbearable, considering the vast amount of unknowledgeable “foodies” there are in Seattle.
(Not so) humbly yours,
Summer’s Eve
It was fun, out of the box evening with server/actors having a good time and sharing their enthusiasm. The individual food flavors were presented in all their natural nakedness unsaddled with heavy, tongue-dulling sauces. As the evening progressed, the individual tables ‘gathered’ around the central kitchen table – as often happens when breaking bread together as a community. Thank you and treat us to more creative ventures!
@5,7&8: Pretty easy to rip on someone online. Sure foodie-elite is an obnoxious term, but at least the dude/lady went and is trying to offer up some objective criticism, and at the same time share his ACTUAL experience with others. The only douchebags i see here are you clowns ripping on someone, when you probably haven’t even attended. Foodie-tastebud, obnoxious or not, is right. It was a hella fun evening. And I’d do it again if I could afford another eighty-five bucks.
It’s a bit funny that this review of a chef who may or may not exist was written by a reviewer who, by this name, most certainly does not exist. How’s about if writers stand behind their words, and review as themselves? Otherwise, what’s the point, exactly? Attend events in cognito, perhaps, but please– review in person.
So much excitement. So many thoughts bubbling to the surface. Who would have known that Seattle had so many pent up opinions?
I have travelled the country and cooked for thousands. And there is one reason to do it- people love to eat. They need to eat. And they are so pleased with themselves when they eat well. And that’s what I do- on every level, in every way. The food is the story. Not me. And these wonderful comments prove it is working.
So come to the cafe. There are no other experiences in town to even compare. Who else is doing anything like this in Seattle? No one.
And, thank you SM for pointing out that Thaddeus does not exist. I could not find anything on Mr Landingham III. Shady?
And I never cooked onion rings in Arizona. Not that I remember.
I went to the Cafe Nordo on their opening night not really knowing what to expect. I think Thaddeus or whoever made a good point that the show is not really a show, but more of a total experience. Wait maybe that’s the point I’m making.
In any case, the atmosphere was beautiful and inviting, the food was delicious, the wine was abundant, and the performers, oddly delightful. Whether it was food or show, it was a highly creative and enjoyable evening. Where else can you go for another such underground dining extravaganza?
I, for one, hope this is the first of many times that “Nordo” comes through Seattle.
“The only douchebags i see here are you clowns ripping on someone, when you probably haven’t even attended”
Ah, but, I wasn’t criticizing his opinion, I was criticizing his claiming to be a member of the ‘foodie elite’ while hiding his true identity.
If I were saying that the place was a waste of time without having gone, then yes, your barb would have been well placed, but instead, you decide to completely avoid what I actually said and what my attack was actually about and instead try to paint me in the light of a liar.
I won’t review a restaurant I’ve never been to.
I won’t review a movie I’ve never seen.
I won’t review a book I’ve never read.
And I won’t claim to be a member of a class without saying who I really am so that you can judge whether I truly am a member of that class.
So, mr. ‘someone who actually attended’, to you I say the same thing.
It take really tiny tin balls to anonymously attack someone on the Internet.
Get some big brass ones and levy a real attack on me with your real name.
Douche.
And I put my real name on that attack.
This was a truly delightful experience.
At first it seemed a bit bizarre and disorganized. But soon I realized this was all just part of the overall design. The sometimes “over the top” (nobody is that swishy) wait staff/actors did a great job of involving the audience. And all were very entertaining.
With the exception of the opening shot glass of green extractions from the Jack Lalanne Juicer the food and wine was excellent. My personal favorite being the salad consisting of a perfectly poached egg in a nest of baked shredded parmesan cheese resting on a bed of greens with a sort of hollandaise sauce served “on the side” in a half eggshell. The chicken stuffed with onions and red peppers served on a plate garnished with delightfully tangy habinero infused cherries was exquisite. The dessert was suitably macabre considering the season of horror and Saw VI.
The conversation at the table my companion and I had with two other couples, neither of which we had met before hand, was interesting and free flowing.
I have only one negative thing in that, at the end, we were presented with a “bill” which was really a list of credits naming the staff/actors and other contributors. “The bill” of course had already been paid in advance by purchasing tickets for $85 apiece and at the top of this bill was a statement indicating that “gratuities not included”. My feeling is that this should have either been communicated upfront at the time tickets were purchase or more appropriately been folded into the initial ticket price. This was after all “Dinner Theater” and I don’t expect to “tip” after the fact for this type of entertainment.
It was a delightful evening I shall not forget anytime soon.
Fan-fucking-taste-ic. Amazing dinner, extremely charismatic servers, TO DIE FOR WINE. Goodness. Great music. Nothing could have been better, except for the people at the table next to us (who seemed to be having a lot less fun). Don’t answer your cell phone!