Downtown’s Asian-fusion institution, Wild Ginger (1401 Third Ave, 623-4450), has provoked wildly varying reactions among
Stranger reader reviewers, ranging from the relatively
effusive (“good for pretty much anyone and anything, anytime…
everyone’ll be happy”) to the gravely disappointed/physically ill
(“Kept hearing great things about this place, not sure why… waiters
acted like they were doing us a favor… food poisoning… absolutely
abysmal”). In the middle (or perhaps entirely free) of this range: the
reader reviewer whose sole reaction was “Wild Ginger has PURPLE-headed
matches. Pick up a box if you can, they’re so cute!” On the evening of
the Reader Review Revue investigation, Wild Ginger was out of matches,
setting the tone for an experience that, while short of absolutely
abysmal, was far, far from bright.
A reservation made under a nom du dining yielded a balcony
perch featuring proximity to scabby spots of paint on the ceiling and a
fluorescent tube illuminating the art above the host stand (hidden from
below, rather glaring from a few feet away). On the plus side: an
entertaining aerial view of the businessmen with expense accounts,
misguided tourists, and risk-averse yuppies who fill (and refill) the
place’s 450 seats nightly. Many people are, in fact, perfectly happy
here; Wild Ginger doubtless makes mad money. However, the waitress,
while pleasant in a preprogrammed manner, proved incapable of sensibly
answering the most basic questions about the food. The food proved to
be just-passable training-wheels pan-Asian. The sole bright spot: lamb
satay skewers ($6.25 each). Outstandingly lackluster: grainy peanut
sauce, lemongrass-dependent mussels ($8.95/$13.95), briny duck
($10.50/$17.75).
Wild Ginger was once capable of transcendence, its cuisine
revolutionary. Some would argue that it’s been in decline since moving
to a larger location at the turn of the century, that its work is
easily bested elsewhere. Reader reviewer Chowbert speaks the truth: “No
surprises or soul.” Yet Chowbert also gave Wild Ginger four out of five
stars—a review and a restaurant proving the tandem power of
reputation and mediocrity.
•••
What the hell is going on at 1200 Bistro (1200 E
Pike St, 320-1200)? Long beloved by the citizens of Capitol Hill
(particularly the gay ones), this neighborhood restaurant and bar has
been celebrated by critics for its noteworthy Northwest/New American
cuisine for years. Over the last two months, some Stranger reader reviewers have celebrated it, too: “Thoughtful, flavorful
dishes”; “The food was wonderful.” Everyone agrees the service is
excellent. But more than half of our reader reviewers were
disenchanted: “This place has gone downhill…. just mediocre and
overpriced”; “…took a turn for the seriously bad not long ago….” Is
1200 Bistro bipolar? Are Stranger reader reviewers excessively
subjective (or deranged)? Unlikely. A new chef took over a few months
ago (Bo Maisano, a native of New Orleans). 1200 Bistro has also just
been sold; the staff reportedly will remain the same. What we have here
is an establishment in flux—a chef establishing himself,
regulars’ expectations getting ruffled, and now a bit more uncertainty
added to the mix.
An investigatory dinner, in context, was shockingly good. Crab cakes
($14) surpassed their genre with spicy heat and lumps of meat, served
on summer-fresh corn (some kernels still conjoined) with andouille
sausage. (Ordering anything vaguely Cajun here seems like a great bet.)
Sweet heirloom tomatoes ($12) were prettily stacked with basil leaves
and house-made mozzarella, the requisite balsamic used with restraint.
A small boulder of coriander-dusted beef tenderloin ($39): cooked
medium, perfectly pink, warm all the way through, the cause of
overeating. A pasta dish ($17) combined the novelty of sea beans,
lemony broth, and big shrimp (ever-so-slightly overcooked) into an
unusually light, interesting whole. Cayenne-chocolate torte ($8) made
simply sweet desserts seem moronic. Service: knowledgeable, caring,
unannoying—indeed, excellent. Surroundings: comfortable,
spacious, unloud (if possessed of, as a reader notes, a “bad late-’80s
look”).
Now it’s all about getting consistent (and, ideally, getting new
light fixtures and art). Can 1200 Bistro do it? Stranger investigators will be back.
•••
Four out of five Stranger reader reviewers love
Brad’s Swingside Cafe (4212 Fremont Ave N, 633-4057),
a Fremont favorite for Italian food for approximately the past 1,000
years. The Swingside is the antithesis of fancy, a tiny cabin/roadhouse
with some of the letters above the door missing (“WIN SIDE”). Inside, a
hodgepodge: crooked paintings, kids’ drawings, a poster of Thelonius
Monk, a wooden statue of an actual monk, strings of lights, lace
curtains, sports memorabilia. (The sole hater of the reader reviewers
remarked, “The décor was bad,” which, in a sense, it is. It’s
also genuine, possessed of a certain kind of charm, and not nearly as
obtrusive as it sounds.) Chef/owner Brad Inserra keeps it real,
emerging from the kitchen with a well-used apron and the aspect of a
narrow, benevolent bird to sit down with a table of friends for a
spell. (That he’s wearing tube socks and brown shoes lends endearing
context to the place’s overall aesthetic.) Servers are obliging,
supportive, familial (unless you dislike your family, in which case you
may want to move in here).
Brad’s food is still rock solid, and the love that goes into the
preparation is still apparent. He’s probably made the signature
linguine with aglio e olio ($19.50 with crab) more than one
million times, but it’s still surprising, handled with care, and pretty
wonderful; he goes above and beyond the nominal garlic and oil to
create a multi-flavor pesto with capers, anchovies, herbs, Marsala,
hazelnuts, and Mama Lil’s peppers. Specials can be terrific, like a
ceviche ($14) with giant pieces of fresh Alaskan halibut, chunks of
tomato, and more Mama Lil’s peppers. Brad likes Mama Lil’s peppers;
they’re from the Yakima Valley and also known as Hungarian hot wax or
goathorn peppers, the server reports back from the kitchen. Brad’s also
prone to sneaking ginger into dishes with almost undetectable but happy
effects. Portions are inhumanly large, but then you’ve got, say,
bowties with wild boar ($18) for lunch the next day. If desserts, made
off-site, aren’t particularly special, everything else about the
Swingside is.