Roti Canai with Sauce

Malay Satay Hut

212 12th Ave S, 324-4091

The heavy, floppy, slightly crispy bread itself is one of those
foods whose price ($3.25) could never climb high enough to make you
feel you’re paying what it’s worth. There’s something golden about
Malay Satay Hut’s soft Indian flatbread. But bread desire is easy to
inspire. Sauce affection, not so much. It is Malay Satay’s roti canai
sauce that’s capable of inspiring attachment that rises to the
level of love. The sauce is sweet and salty red curry with soaked
potatoes hiding below the surface. To my past and future unknowing
dinner companions: Forgive me for not telling you about the potatoes so
that I could have them myself. Love makes thieves of us all. JEN
GRAVES

High Nutrition Barleygreen Noodles

Shanghai Garden

524 Sixth Ave S, 625-1689

I assume that barleygreen is the stalk of the barley plant, which
would mean that these noodles are made from grass, hence the “high
nutrition.” No matter: They are the most delicious thing I have ever
eaten, and they don’t taste healthy at all. Freshly made in the back of
Shanghai Garden, they can be obtained in a variety of forms: shaved to
order in chow mein with bits of egg, pork, shrimp, veggies, or other
ingredients of your choosing; as a wrapper around amazingly soft and
juicy and porky Cantonese-style (thick-skinned) pot stickers; in soup
with a tasty, savory broth. The noodles are tender and almost kelly
green, and they have a chewiness that is delightful. At $10.95 for a
plate of the chow mein, they are probably the most expensive noodles
you can buy in the International District, but money is an earthly
concern when compared to the heaven that is barleygreen. You will be
tempted to shove them in your mouth like a pig at the trough—go
ahead and do it, while they are still steaming from the wok. ARI
SPOOL

Gelato Delivery

Pagliacci

726-1717 or 425-453-1717

This gelato is exactly as wonderful as the gelato you buy at the
Gelatiamo store downtown, only way better, because you can get it
delivered to your house. (Well, unless you live out of range of the
Pagliacci delivery drivers. Pity.) The pumpkin gelato is truly
spectacular—pillowy whipped cream infused with some sort of
magical eau de pumpkin—but like most good food, it’s only
available in season. If you order the seasonal gelato from Pagliacci
right now, you’ll get one made of ground-up filberts. They had to go
and call it “hazelnut,” which is pretentious (didn’t we already agree
to say “gelato” instead of “ice cream”?), but don’t worry, it still
goes well with whiskey. A pint of gelato goes for $6.50, so eat slowly.

ANNIE WAGNER

Oxtail Congee

Monsoon

615 19th Ave E, 325-2111

The pretty lady said we should eat brunch at Monsoon, the Vietnamese
restaurant. I didn’t know they had brunch in Vietnam. All I
know about food in Vietnam is pho, and pho isn’t what I think about
when I think about brunch. It seemed like cheating to order from the
“colonial” menu—some other time, coconut crepe—so I picked
congee ($6.50), something I knew nothing about. What arrived was a bowl
of warm rice porridge with green onion, caramelized shallots, and bits
of oxtail. The porridge was sweet and the oxtail was musky. It recalled
sausage and grits, but lighter and more refined, with the green onion
for refreshment. They do have brunch in Vietnam, and it’s heavenly.

BRENDAN KILEY

Broccoli Blasted

Black Bottle

2600 First Ave, 441-1500

The menu calls it, simply, “broccoli blasted.” It’s an $8 hill of
broccoli that appears to have survived a fiery, salty apocalypse. The
tips are ashy, crunchy, almost dust. The rest of it is deep green.
(Must be all the vitamins, the nutrients, the anticancer stuff.) I have
walked from the far reaches of the city in the hard rain, cars
splashing water at me, all the way to Black Bottle to wait for a seat
at the bar, just to eat a plate of broccoli while staring into a
candle, alone. CHRISTOPHER FRIZZELLE

Spaghetti Carbonara

Ristorante Machiavelli

1215 Pine St, 621-7941

Gee, a lot of great new restaurants have opened in Seattle. I’ll get
to ’em all eventually, I guess. But as often as not I find myself
returning to places I already know, places I already trust, for dishes
that don’t surprise me. There’s something supremely comforting about a
great old place—particularly a great old place that has the good
sense to resist change for change’s sake—you know, a place that
doesn’t change hands, decor, or recipes over the years. If the place is
good out of the gate, and works hard to stay good over the years, you
find yourself going back time and time again, for the same dishes time
and time again.

That’s how I feel about the small, unassuming Italian bistro
Machiavelli, and love is what I feel every time I order—every
time I allow myself to order—a plate of their spaghetti carbonara
($9.75). I’m not sure there’s enough room to list everything
Machiavelli gets right with its spaghetti carbonara: the rich, creamy
sauce; the large, chewy chunks of smoky bacon; the bottomless dish of
parmesan cheese. But I have to draw attention to one thing in
particular: the portion size.

Restaurants are often tempted to go overboard when it comes to
portion size with pasta dishes—pasta is cheap, and piling a plate
high looks impressive. But this is, for a health-conscious diner, a
disincentive. Once a plate of great spaghetti carbonara is set down in
front of you, you’re going to eat the whole damn thing—your
self-control is out the window. So you’re—and by “you’re,” of
course, I mean “I’m”—more likely to order this dish, one of my
absolute favorites, in a place that isn’t going to set 10 pounds of the
stuff down in front of you. God bless you, Machiavelli. DAN SAVAGE

Fresh Spring Rolls

Green Leaf

418 Eighth Ave S, 340-1388

That the fresh spring rolls ($3.95) at Green Leaf are superior to
any other fresh rolls in the city is simply fact—and no small
accomplishment, Seattle being overrun with Asian restaurants offering
their own variations on “fresh rolls.” (Which, in general, are superior
to traditional spring rolls in that they are not fried, allowing one to
taste the food, not the grease.) While many fresh rolls have become
just an excuse for rolling a bunch of vermicelli noodles inside some
rice paper and figuring the peanut sauce will take care of the rest,
the Green Leaf fresh rolls have serious heart. Inside are tiny sprigs
of mint; a giant hunk of lettuce with the crunchy stalk left on (and a
fat leaf shooting out of the top of the roll); a few vermicelli
noodles; and, if you’re into meat, some shrimp and/or pork (or, if
you’re not, tofu and/or no tofu). There is also—and this is the
genius part—a long stick of crunchiness inserted for extra
texture. It’s the size of a cinnamon stick, and crunchy like lightly
fried dough, and it seals the superiority of Green Leaf’s fresh rolls
for eternity. ELI SANDERS

Chicken-Fried Bacon

Twilight Exit

2051 E Madison St, 324-7462

The recipe is simple—strips of bacon are coated with
breading, then deep-fried until nicely golden—but the results are
thrilling. When they emerge from the fryer’s depths, the Twilight
Exit’s chicken-fried bacon strips (five for $5) are swollen and bubbly
and generally not very pretty. This charmingly deformed treat is served
alongside a bowl of dipping gravy on a plain white plate, inviting
those overcome by food lust to generously soak each bite, while the
more inhibited may skim their bacon over the pooled gravy, dotting each
piece with delicate, creamy pearls. Unlike deep-fried onion rings, the
bacon fuses perfectly to its shell, rendering each bite crisp and
fulfilling. Deep-fried bacon is fantasy fare: As with all seedy
pleasures, it should be devoured without guilt. MARTI JONJAK