Do you guys know Serafina? On Eastlake? This place was hot shit in like 1994, when everything was made of focaccia and sundried tomatoes and every restaurant wanted to be Spago. Gorgeous space, and the foodâs gloriousâitâs just definitely Of an Era. Serafina is where John Keister would take The Worst Girlfriend in the World for a fine Italian pasta dinner and then sheâd, yâknow, throw it in his face and kick him in the nuts. Today, the space is virtually unchanged and retains a nineties version of sultry thatâs kinda back in fashion. Low light, dark marble counters, middle-aged men in tucked-in shirts and women in pearls and big hair and bodycon. Table-clothes, gigantolor dishware, artistic sauce drizzles, grill marks on the bread. Itâs a whole vibe.Â
At this point, and I say this about every restaurant in Seattle thatâs over about seven years old, Iâm just thrilled that Serafina is still with us, after all this time, in this rapidly gentrifying H. G. Wells novel we live inside of.
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Sweet, neighborhoody Serafina has been at Eastlake and East Boston since 1991.
About a decade ago, I lived in the U District and my bestie lived on the other side of the University Bridge, and on summer days, weâd take a ceremonial walk. Starting at my place near 43rd and Roosevelt, weâd cross the century-old bascule bridge, marvel at the sailboats and otters and Canada geese with their strings of goslings all conducting business in sparkly Portage Bay. Maybe weâd stop at Le Fournil for a flaky French thing, before dithering down Eastlake Avenue. The goal was to end up at either Serafina or its gardeny little sister, Cicchetti, across the courtyard, for cocktails and small plates of arancini and bucatini and meatballs with green olive-studded red sauce, where weâd get lit and joyfully complain about our lives.Â
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Just seeing these globe lights at the bar gives me an emotion.Â
She and Iâd both recently returned to Seattle after stints in New York Cityâweâd initially followed men, but then both came scurrying back home to the gentle weather, comparably low rents, and minimal eye contact of our hometown, with our type-A East Coast boyfriends in tow. Being New Yorkers, the dudes werenât impressed with Serafina or Cicchetti. That shitâs on every street corner in NYC, they said, ignoring the huge lush garden that obviously was not commonplace in the gray grid of Manhattan. But we thought it was pretty, so fuck âem, weâd go together. It was real therapy, a hidden delicious place in which to talk shit. Chick-etti: itâs where chicks hang out.Â
Secret, back-alley Cicchettiâs been closed since the top of the pandemic and is available only for private parties currently, but the same stuffâs at Serafina on the main drag, so I guess itâs fine. Since forever, thereâs been a drink on the mutual cocktail list called the Amalfi Breeze, and it couldnât be simpler: vodka, limoncello, Averna (a dark-brown amaro), and more lemon poured on top, served in a coupe with a big old lemon wheel floating in the middle like an inner tube. And you can get it at Serafina all the same.
Iâve always loved this thing. The Amalfi Breeze is tart and herbal, but also round from the relatively sweet amaro, with a touch of honey-caramel. Refreshing and light, like a Lemonhead candy rolled in myrtle and juniper and roasted over a campfire. Some bartenders at Serafina are heavier-handed with the Averna than others; I ask them to lay it on thick, so the drink turns a pinky-brown. I like to fuck with the glass a little, spin it around and watch the lemon oils swirl on the surface, like a rainbow in a parking lot puddle. The light needs to be right for this, and it canât be too warm in the room or the goniochromism trick wonât work. You need some luck.
Iâve never been to Amalfi, but if Rick Steves has taught me anything, itâs that they got lemons. Italyâs Amalfi coast is reportedly lousy with lemons the way Seattle is with Himalayan blackberriesâfruit spills down the hillsides and into the gutters, and what they like to make the lemons into is limoncello.Â
Well, okay, here at Serafina, they call it limoncello on the menu, but the Amalfi Breeze is technically made with limoncinoâLimoncino dellâIsola, made about 200 miles north of Amalfi. Limoncino and limoncello are fundamentally the same, and people traditionally make it at home anyhow, so itâs not an exact science. The main diff is that up north in Calabria, where they say limoncino, they use small Calabrian lemons instead of the massive joosy lemons you find in your limoncello on the Amalfi coast. As well, limoncino doesnât usually come in the yellow Hi-Liter hue that many other limoncellos do, but thatâs not a hard rule, just a tendency.Â
If Iâm ever in a room with a Calabrese lemon and an Amalfitano lemon, maybe I could compare and contrast their nuanced flavor profiles, but until then, I canât purport to be able to taste the difference between the two. Or the third, probably Californian lemon that was floating in my drink. Itâs a melting pot of lemons up in here and I welcome them all into my bloodstream.
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Little Calabrian lemons, used to make limoncino, fit in the palm of your hand.
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Monstrous Amalfitano lemons, used to make limoncello, do not fit in the palm of your hand. Well, depends on the hand.
Along with Il Bistro in the Market (article forthcoming, Iâm sure), Serafina is also where I first learned about amari and how theyâre all different, and Iâm still learning about them today because there are still a hundred thousand more amari out there to try. Sera-cchettiâs cocktail list has always leaned on Averna, and so it kinda became my preferred amaro. Averna comes from Sicily, and although amari are bitter by definition (the word amaro means âlittle bitterâ), this one is pretty chill about it, and theyâve added orange, licorice, and caramel to the mixâthree of my fave flaves. A âwomb glassâ of Averna on ice with a citrus peel and basil/or sage muddled inâtermed âThe Averna Ritualâ by their able marketing teamâis one of my best desserts lately. Especially since itâs a digestif and I have a greedy little habit of cleaning my entire plate whether I mean to or not, ahem.
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If you like Averna, hereâs another, lighter Averna-based cocktail at Serafina: with soda, lemon, and sage-infused simple syrup. A special for Restaurant Week! I donât think it has a name though.
Like every restaurant in the universe, the future of the lovely Italian-American sisters, Serafina and Cicchetti, is uncertain. Serafinaâs keeping pretty normal hours right now; the website says Cicchettiâs scheduled to reopen in fall of 2022, but thatâs right now, and word on the street is that it may not actually happen. Serafina also suffers from staffing issuesâagain, like everyoneâand Iâm not mentioning this to threaten yâall, just saying⊠in an ongoing global pandemic, you canât rely on your neighborhood spot being open for dinner whenever you want your imported Italian cocktail and your snacky bruschetta, even if itâs been there for 30 years. If you like a restaurant, you gotta go there. Itâs use it or lose it, more than ever before, and Iâd be crushed if we lost this gem.
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The so-called Averna Ritual: serve over ice with an orange peel and/or some seasonal herbs, but fuck âem up a little first.
I quizzed the bartender on some history behind the Amalfi Breeze, or at least who invented it, and he said he hadnât worked at Serafina very long and just knew that itâs been served here for ages. Thatâs all I really know too. But the fact is that thereâs not much to itâitâs not a concept drink and barely even a craft cocktail, and it doesnât have a point to make. Itâs just a nice, stiff, classic bev that tastes like listening to Scarlatti. Get one with your bestie on a cold day and complain about your life over a burrata plate at the bar together, under the sepia-toned globe lights, beautifully.
