Monsoon
615 19th Ave E (Capitol Hill), 325-2111. Lunch Tues-Fri 11:30 am-2:30 pm; dinner Tues-Sun 5:30 pm-10 pm; closed Mondays.
Photographer/waiter Christian French was a great dinner guest: He's recently returned after months of traveling (and eating) throughout Japan and Thailand, with plenty of anecdotes and Polaroids. We enjoyed a huge meal and cold white wine, and looked through his photos over the best coconut sorbet I have ever tasted. --Min Liao
To describe Monsoon as Vietnamese is a bit of a misnomer. Misleading because while it is true, this description can make you think you know what to expect. I've heard plenty of praise for Monsoon over the years: very fresh ingredients; subtle, clear flavors; a good wine list. I get the impression that everyone involved with this family business on Capitol Hill is committed, professional, sincere. The guiding aesthetic--a spare, controlled approach--permeates everything, from the decorations to the dishes themselves. And yet... and yet there is a fine line between aesthetic and ascetic.
If upon hearing Monsoon described as merely "Vietnamese" you expected a tiny hole in the wall--little plates shaggy with mint and basil, or spicy dishes of grilled, smoky meats cut through with heat and lime--forget it. If upon hearing it described it as "elegant and upscale" you expected snootiness or pretentiousness, forget it. This is a place where things are presented simply, so you get the basic properties of the food. Sometimes this minimalism can become too much for me; for example, I've found the sound of all the restaurant's ambient noise bouncing around the small, unadorned space distracting. Space can lead to echo, and minimalism can leave me cold. The food, however, arrived at a good pace, and the conversation it sparked was delightful in itself.
My dining companions and I started with the grilled baby squid ($8) stuffed with duck and shiitake mushrooms, as well as the day's special, Manila clams steamed in Vietnamese beer and black beans (market price). Squid needs to be cooked just barely--otherwise it gets too tough. No problem for this kitchen: Cooking everything exactly right seems a strength, especially fish. The squid's stuffing, though, crunchy from water chestnuts, made me long for just a touch of sauce, some bit of moisture. Not my call to make, of course. Still, it seems to me that the restraint that runs throughout this place is both a virtue and a vice. The clams weren't lacking in moisture, swimming as they were in a good broth. I was the one lacking this time, of a spoon, and had to resist the urge to drink from the bowl. (There is such a rigorous minimalism here that in the end, I just wanted to make a mess. I wanted to dump everything into a bowl, mixing things up in one big saucy dish, picking at food with my fingers.)
The entrées we had were a survey of the menu: catfish, chicken, hunks of filet mignon. Everything was prepared with precision, but the flavors tended to be so constrained that they struck me as mute--bound and stifled instead of bouncing savagely around my plate and into my mouth. The excellent catfish ($14.50) was a distinct exception: Served in a clay pot with a caramelized bath of coconut, lime, and chilies, it had a richness and piquancy that has the potential to haunt me. I would love to go back and explore what other seafood the menu has to offer.
The filet ($16) was perfectly cooked, and if its accompanying oxtail sauce wasn't as thick or rich as I wanted it to be, it was because I didn't bother asking our waiter to embellish on the menu's decidedly Spartan description before I ordered (again, virtue as vice). Drunken chicken gailan ($12.50), described by our waiter as the best "kung pao chicken you've ever had," was exactly that--moist, neither too sweet nor sour, crispy but not cloying. I can see why it's so popular (it's the most frequently ordered dish), but it didn't rock my world. I won't be haunted by this chicken, won't have to seek it out to sate some compulsive craving.
In the end, Monsoon does what it does so well, it's hard to complain. I guess I was looking for something like a passionate, messy love affair--something wild and untamed; what I found was a solid, reliable friendship. Sometimes we are better off not getting what we want, even if we are hungry for it.
