Snackshots Seattle, Part 1: A Fresh Food Fantasy at Pike Place Market

For someone who makes her bread and butter (or rather, is able to buy her bread and butter) from the entertainment industry, I’ve spent surprisingly little time on the West Coast. I’ve only been to California a handful of times, and never visited any of the other states west of Iowa. That is, until this past weekend, when I had the chance to visit my brother in his new digs in Seattle. As with many of my interests, my older brother Dan was a major influence on my passion for food. Up until June he lived on the UES near me (in fact, in the same apartment building, because we’re too cute like that), and one of my favorite parts of getting to know the neighborhood was exploring new restaurants and bars with him. So when I hopped on a plane on Friday to visit the Northwest for the first time, I believed my expectations of delicious overindulgence were reasonable. Little did I realize I was seriously underestimating our genetic predisposition for pie-hole stuffing. Suffice it to say that I have way more to talk about than can reasonably fit in one post. So, much like my last travel experience in Israel, I’m going to break up my trip into more manageable bites. First up, a look at Seattle’s iconic Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market. This place is just enormous.

 

Beyond the amazing food I encountered at Pike Place, what struck me most was the easy comingling of obvious tourists (like myself) and the local crowd. Sure, there are kitschy shops peddling t-shirts and trinkets, but much of Pike Place Market is made up of serious local vendors selling fresh produce and homemade items. I kept describing it to Dan as a strange mix of NY’s Chelsea Market and Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market, somewhere between the higher-brow artisanal wares of Chelsea’s Ronnybrook Dairy and Eleni’s Cookies and the Amish shoo-fly pies and cheesesteaks down Liberty Bell way. And did I mention it’s huge? A sprawling, multi-floor, multi-block, and multi-street, partially open air market, with arms that snake out leading you down paths of flower and jerky vendors, or spice stalls and coffee sellers. Dan and I must have spent a good 3 hours there and never really explored anything beyond the ground level.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Soon after we entered we came upon the famous Pike Place Fish Market. The Fish Market is known for its tradition of throwing whole fish that customers have purchased from the back storage area to the fishmongers working the counter. An order will be yelled out — “Alaskan Salmon!” — and lightning quick a freaking whole carcass is tossed carefree up from the floor to the raised platform, where the fish are then butchered and wrapped. Tourists crowded around the stall to watch the performance, but after the first throw I turned my attention to the table across the way, which was laden down with all different types of dried fruit and vegetables. Dan got some fabulously sticky and sweet dried pineapple, but I was feeling more adventurous, and asked the woman behind the counter for something “good, but weird.”

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

She passed me a piece of dried okra, a vegetable I’m usually pretty ambivalent about. It was crunchy and salty, with a underlying freshness and a texture that reminded me of the dried greenbeans I’ve had from Fairway. I immediately bought a bag, completely enamored with this strange vegetable creation that was unlike anything I’d ever tried before. Why can’t you buy dried okra everywhere?

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier Cherries.

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier cherries.

 

I had a similar eye-opening experience when I tried Rainier cherries for the first time. I’ve always shied away from cherries, finding their tartness too aggressive. I also tend to dislike cooked fruit in desserts, so cherry pie or even the classic Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia aren’t really in my wheelhouse. But as we made our way through the market, an eager fruit vendor handing out slices of peach cut fresh from the fruit caught my eye, and I made my way over to him (hey, I’m never one to turn down a free sample). I can say without any doubt in my mind that that was the best peach I’ve ever tasted. It was luscious, velvety in texture, juicy and tender and exploding with natural sweetness. When I told this to the vendor, he insisted I try the Rainier cherries, proclamining them to be just as fresh as the peaches. And dagnabit, this guy was on the money. I found myself comparing the Rainier cherries to fresh grapes, with a soft and creamy flesh and a mild sweetness that was simply addictive. Dan bought a bag and we finished that day (even in the face of all of the other food we managed to fit in our stomachs).

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

 

After strolling through most of the top floor of the market, we made our way across the street to Post Alley, where most of the Market’s restaurants and shops can be found. Our attempt to go to Pike Place Chowder was thwarted by the outrageous line, so I guess I’ll just have to leave that for my next visit. We did manage to try a Plain Jane Cinnamon Roll at Cinnamon Works, a bakery that specializes in the cinnamon pastry diaspora (aka pull-apart bread, sticky buns, honey buns, etc). The Plain Jane had excellent flavors, but it was disappointingly room temperature, and you never want to eat an under-warmed cinnamon roll — it highlights the chewy, unforgiving nature of the batter. Next time I’m going to specifiy a fresh roll, or a reheated one.

The menu at the original Beecher's Handmade Cheese.

The menu at the original Beecher’s Handmade Cheese.

 

More importantly, I also paid a visit to the original location of Beecher’s Handmade Cheese, so I could finally make a proper comparison to my lovely meal at Beecher’s NYC. The original Beecher’s location is significantly smaller than it’s NY outpost — most of the space is devoted to the actual production of cheese, which I suppose is getting your priorities straight. The retail area is dominated by the cheese counter and cafe menu prep stations — no restaurant/lounge here, just sandwiches, soups, and cheesy breadsticks. You can still peer down into the cheesemaking arena at the Original Beecher’s, but this time from milk-can stools at the cafe’s narrow ledge, the only area to eat their wares. After sampling Beecher’s signature crackers and cheeses, Dan and I decided to split the Flagship Sandwich, a caprese-style grilled cheese featuring Beecher’s Flagship cheddar, their Just Jack, the “Beecher’s spread” and tomato and basil.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher's.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher’s.

Our Flagship Sandwich -- look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

Our Flagship Sandwich — look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

 

I usually like my grilled cheese unadulterated, but the density and richness of the two cheddars was mitigated by the sharp savory basil taste and the moist tomato. The “Beecher’s spread,” mysterious and left unexplained, seemed to add a subtle bite of mustard. Thick white bread helped to hold the sandwich together, and was toasted to perfect golden-brown. Overall, the quality of cheese and food in general at the original Beecher’s was still stellar, but the creativity and diversity of choices on the menu at the NY outpost make me happy I live nearer to the East Coast option. Dammit, now I want that mushroom tart again.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

 

Another shop of note is the Crumpet Shop, a small cafe hidden away upstairs in one of the buildings on Post Alley. Their menu is limited to three categories: the titular crumpets, scones, and looseleaf teas. However, there are seemingly endless variations within those sections, including both savory and sweet options. In all of my UK adventures, I’d actually never tried a crumpet before, due to my enduring love of a proper scone and my general ambivalence towards the crumpet’s North American cousin, the English Muffin. For those who have yet to encounter a crumpet, they’re traditional English griddle cakes, slightly crumbly and usually served warm with butter, jam or some other type of spread. Although I was tempted by The Crumpet Shop’s scones, I felt I should give the cafe’s namesake its due. Also, Dan was intent on having a crumpet, and at that point I had tried so many other treats that I couldn’t imagine having another pastry all to myself (well, that’s a bit of a lie … more on that in a bit).

On line for some serious crumpet action.

On line for some serious crumpet action.

The shop itself is charming, and I would recommend a stop in, especially if you don’t feel like dealing with all of the crowds of Pike Place Market proper. The entrance features the counter/kitchen where you place your order, plus bar seating along the wall. A small collection of tables are located just past the counter and down a few steps, where you can cool your heels for a bit and take a gander at the whimsical artwork and Alice in Wonderland murals that line the walls.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Dan and I split a crumpet with fresh raspberry preserves, very lightly toasted so that it was not quite browned, but still warm enough to gently melt the preserves into a luscious goo. Ultimately, I think I’m more of a clotted cream and scone gal — the texture of the crumpet and its straightforward yeasty flavor were fine, but far from revelatory. The most memorable part of the dish was the raspberry preserves, which were unbelievably fresh and pure in their flavor. I’m sure I’ll be repeating myself endlessly about this, but I was completely blown away by the quality of the basic ingredients of my Seattle meals. From fruits to vegetables to seafood, everything seemed like it had been hand-picked just for me.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

 

I started out this post by talking about my exuberance over dried okra, so it seems only fitting to bookend the discussion by jumping to the other end of the spectrum — doughnuts. Dan was insistent that we pay a visit to the Daily Dozen Doughnut Co., a small counter not too far from the Pike Place Fish Market stall. We had actually passed by it when we first entered the market, but the line was absurdly long, so DDDC ended up being our last stop of the day. DDDC does one thing, and one thing only — make piping hot mini doughnuts to destroy your arteries and blow your mind. (They also sell espresso and coffee, because what else are you going to have with your doughnuts? Milk? What are you, a weirdo?) DDDC is a ridiculously small operation, considering the sheer quantity of mini-dos they churn out each day. With a small area in the back for prepping the batter and decorating the finished donuts, DDDC’s main attraction is the “Donut Robot, Mark II” a miracle of modern technology that squirts out two perfectly formed mini doughnut rings into a roiling river of oil. The rings of batter then travel along a conveyor belt, frying for the precisely the right amount of time before being slid out of the machine and onto the continuously growing pile of puffed perfection.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

 

These bad boys, roughly the size of Entenmann’s mini powdered donuts, are only sold in multiples of 6, with any collection of toppings you desire. Aside from plain and powdered, you can also get chocolate frosted (with sprinkles), along with whatever special toppings they have for the day. We chose two plain, two cinnamon-dusted, and two coated in a maple glaze. I hate to veer into hyperbole, but these were actually the best donuts I’ve ever had, simply because they were the freshest, and the batter had such a pure sweet taste to it. Like the best version of funnel cake, with the right amount of crispness to the outside, while steamy, light and airy inside. The bag was still warm as I grabbed it, yet not a spot of grease transferred from the bottom to my hands. My favorite was the cinnamon sugar donut, the uniform coating achieved by the seller drops the donuts in a bag, tosses in some cinnamon sugar, and shakes. No fancy schmancy toppings or fillings, just old-fashioned, well-made, fresh from the fryer donuts. To be honest, you really can’t compare Daily Dozen Doughnut Co. to the Doughnut Plant — it’s like trying to compare a homemade brownie to a chocolate ganache cake from a high-end bakery. These establishments have two different goals. But if I grew in Seattle, I would have begged my parents to take me here on the weekends, and thoroughly thumbed my nose at the barely heatlamp-warmed measly offerings at Dunkin Donuts.

 

Pike Place Market is the closest to Jerusalem’s Mahane Yehuda Market that I’ve found in the US. The mix of high-and-low-end vendors, the obvious plays towards tourist wallets combined with neighborhood shopping, and the unabashed delight in all that the local producers have to offer struck me as hewing closer to the Israeli model than Big Box Americana. Of course, it would be silly to ignore the fact that there is a Target just around the corner from Pike Place, and that the very first Starbucks (now a bonafide  international behemoth) is just down the row from Beecher’s. But my visit to Pike Place Market seemed to underscore the overall impression of Seattle. I felt like this is a city with a lot of pride, both in the larger sense of the Seattle itself, and the microcosms of each neighborhood. Fortunately, that pride is combined with a distinctly laidback, unself-conscious attitude. For me, that meant meeting a lot of people who wanted to share what they thought makes Seattle special, or what they themselves added to the culture, from hand crafted piggy banks to badass spice blends. So next time you’re in Seattle, pay a visit to Pike Place Market. Don’t worry that you’re buying into the tourist to-do list — there are so many layers to this locally-sourced onion, you can easily make your trip truly unique. I know I’ll be back — if only to finally get my hands on a bowl of that famous Pike Place Chowder!

The loosest definition of trail mix I've ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

The loosest definition of trail mix I’ve ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

Pike Place Market

1916 Pike Pl,

Seattle, WA 98101

pikeplacemarket.org

 

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Anglophilic Appreciation: Lunch at Jones Wood Foundry

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming!

So let’s dive back into New York food by talking about the United Kingdom and more of my travels. I’ve always had a passion for British culture, probably stemming back to my family’s love of movies starring Sean Connery (say what you will about his accent, that man is KILLER in The Hunt for Red October). I’ve traveled to the UK more than any other country, and when I was in college I spent a semester studying film at the University of Glasgow. Now Scotland gets a lot of crap about its native cuisine. Understandably so, given that the national dish is a stuffed sheep’s stomach. But to be honest, I actually ate pretty well when I was in Scotland. The Indian food I had while abroad was actually way better than any I’ve eaten in the US, and I managed to find some pretty stellar desserts (sticky toffee pudding, anyone?). Yes, the average chip shop offers a greasy fry-up and some soggy chips (read: french fries), but I’ve found you can get bad regional food anywhere you go. I ate some underwhelming pasta in Rome, some bad pastry in France, even some bad falafel in Israel. My point is, no matter what the cuisine, it’s silly to write off a whole culture because of bad dining experiences. You can’t control what the food is, but you can control the quality of restaurant you choose to eat at — does anyone actually order the steak at a greasy spoon in NY?

I say all of this because of a fantastic lunch I had a few weekends ago at Jones Wood Foundry on the UES. Jones Wood Foundry is a “food-driven pub” according to their website, located on 76th St, between 1st and East End. JWF has been open for a couple of years now, but I’d never managed to make it all the way east to get my British fix. I’m lucky enough to live near Caledonia, a Scottish pub on 2nd Ave, where I could indulge in beers and ciders from the UK that for the most part met my nostalgic needs. But last weekend my parents were looking for a new brunch location on the UES, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to check JWF off my to-do list.


First Impressions:

The front window is bedecked with British paraphernalia.

The front window is bedecked with British paraphernalia.


JWF is in a narrow building right around the corner from 1st Ave. The building it’s housed in is an old brownstone, and the owners have decked out the front window with British memorabilia, just skirting the line of kitschy. Upon entering the restaurant, you’re greeted with the long, darkly rich wood bar, and a sense of classic British reserve. The area is dimly lit, the narrow hall more than halfway filled with the bar and stools, and at the end of the room you can see some steps down into the dining area. Jones Wood Foundry offers a number of beers on tap, which are listed on the chalkboard menus on the wall that also highlight the current cask ales on tap, and the pie of the day.

The massive bar is the first thing that you see.

The massive bar is the first thing that you see.

Cask ales and the pie of the day.

Draft beer, cask ales and the pie of the day.

Moving past the bar you walk down into the first of three dining spaces — a small room with one wall of french doors that lead out to the second space, the garden patio, and fianlly, the larger dining room, farthest back from the bar. The decor was familiar — dark wood paneling, plain chairs and tables, the walls adorned with British posters and pictures — but with touches of a more upscale tone, such granite tabletops and leather banquettes. JWF is straightforward in its aesthetic and attitude — the comfort of your favorite corner bar, but with a little more thought and attention paid. This carries through to both the service and the menu, and I found the general unpretentious air to be one of the best things about the place.

The first, smaller dining room, adjacent to the patio.

The first, smaller dining room, adjacent to the patio.

The largest dining area -- note more UK-centric posters and photos on the wall.

The largest dining area — note more UK-centric posters and photos on the wall.

This laid-back but thoughtful attitude extended to the staff as well. Our waiter was happy to answer any questions about unfamiliar British food nomenclature (what are “rissoles,” exactly?), offer his own opinions on the best dishes (which we ended up picking), and even went the extra mile of switching out my mug for a fresh one when I switched from regular to decaf coffee at dessert. Yes, I had dessert at lunch with my parents — I come by this sweet tooth honestly! This thoughtfulness even extended to the end of the meal, where we received a post card featuring photos of the restaurant’s earliest employees with our bill. Ours featured a construction worker who had loved the JWF guys so much he asked if he could stay on once the restaurant opened. They found him a spot in the kitchen, and he still works there to this day.


The Food:

A lamb pie all of my own.

A lamb pie all of my own.


On our waiter’s recommendation I ordered the pie of the day, which was a lamb and rosemary pie with a side of mashed potatoes. The pie was about the size of frozen dinner pot pie, slightly larger than the handpies I’ve seen at the Tuck Shop or Pie Face, but far from the hefty ladlefulls of Shepherd’s Pie I encountered at the cafeteria at U of Glasgow. In what would become a recurring theme, the highlight of the dish was the crust — flaky and buttery without being greasy, offering just a little resistance as I plunged my fork into it. It gave way to a thick, stew-like gravy full of well-seasoned, tender chunks of lamb. I appreciated that the meat was not ground, and I thought that the rosemary was very delicately used. I happen to love rosemary, but I recognize that it’s a herb that can overtake a dish. Jones Wood Foundry’s judicious use left the rosemary as an undercurrent to cut through some of the richness of the lamb.

The mashed potatoes were actually more whipped in texture. I’m not a big mashed potato person, but they were part of a grand bargain to allow me access to the “chips” part of my father’s fish and chips. My parents seemed to enjoy the mash, and I certainly appreciated the delicate presentation of the potatoes next to my pie.

My mother got a dish that seemed to be a British play on Smoked Salmon Benedict, featuring a crumpet instead of an English muffin (but what do the English call muffins?), and scrambled instead of poached eggs. I’ll admit I was too enraptured with my lamb pie and tasting the fish and chips to try more than the crumpet. I’ve had crumpets before, and found them too spongy for my taste. This one seemed perfectly fine to me, and I think my mother enjoyed her brunch. Dessert certainly helped seal the deal.

My mother went totally British with a tea and crumpets brunch.

My mother went totally British with a tea and crumpets brunch.

The other strong recommendation from our waiter was Jones Wood Foundry’s take on fish and chips, which my father ordered. While personally my lamb pie took the top spot in the entree competition, the fish and chips were a close second. In my visits to the UK I’ve had many a newspaper-wrapped piece of fried cod, and there is something incredibly comforting about a slick sheen of grease on the paper as evidence of the tremendously unhealthy food you’re ingesting. It’s like folding your slice of pizza only to have a sluice of oil run down the back off your hand. When you’re stumbling drunk and paying 5 bucks, the cholesterol is almost a bonus.

I love the knit cap for the lemon to prevent seeds falling onto your fish.

I love the knit cap for the lemon to prevent seeds falling onto your fish.

But JWF’s fish and chips is aimed at a slightly more conscious eater, and thankfully the dish was no gut bomb. Presented on a wooden board with a cup of medium-cut chips, the fillet of cod was very lightly fried. Like the crust on my pie, the batter used on the cod was flavorful without being overly buttery and rich. It was just salty enough to play off the mild fish meat, which flaked delicately. Alas, there was no malt vinegar to be found (usually a fish and chips standard), but it was served with a nice lemon aioli. As for the chips — being a bit of a french fry connoisseur (is this a job? Can I evaluate fries for a living?), I was slightly disappointed in the chips. They were too thinly cut to be authentic, and were a bit soggy considering how well cooked the fish was. On the other hand, the potato base was clearly of a higher quality than your average steak-cut chip shop fare.

So after our very light and healthful lunch (hah), we couldn’t help but peruse the dessert menu our waiter brought around. As I mentioned above, my favorite British dessert is sticky toffee pudding, but my parents were leaning more towards the Apple Grumble and the Banoffee Pie, so I was happy to compromise and try those out. I’ll just have to save the pudding for my next visit to JWF to compliment a cask ale.

Look at the chunks of crumble on the Apple Grumble.

Look at the chunks of crumble on the Apple Grumble!

The Apple Grumble was pretty much a regular fruit crisp, filled with pieces of pear and apple, topped with a brown sugar crumble, and served with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream. The ice cream was rich with great vanilla bean flavor. The fruit was all right, poached but not quite as melt in your mouth soft as I would have liked. The crisp topping (again with the pastry) was the real star, with sizable chunks instead of a mound of crumbs.

Look at how the gorgeous plate mirrors the almonds on the banoffee pie.

Look at how the gorgeous plate mirrors the almonds on the banoffee pie.

I ultimately preferred the Banoffee pie, again largely because of how the pie crust played off the filling. The pie had real slices of banana suspended in the toffee pudding, topped with whipped cream and toasted almonds. The base was a super rich graham cracker crust that somehow balanced the sweetness of the banana and toffee. The contrast of textures in the baked, yet crumbly crust, the soft pudding filling, and the crunchy toasted almonds kept every bite interesting, and I happily scarfed down 3/4 of it, trying to ignore the fact that it was my second pie dish in one meal. Looking back on it, I’m very happy that I shared the Banoffee Pie, because it probably would have been too large a portion for one person alone. But if I’m coming back to skip dinner and go straight for beer and dessert, then maybe it’s a perfectly reasonable size.


Final Thoughts:


Overall, my lunch at Jones Wood Foundry was an enjoyable experience from start to finish. The staff is friendly and attentive, the food is familiar but slightly more refined in execution, and atmosphere is relaxed and comfortable. I’m eager to return for dinner and see what other British staples have been toyed with on the menu. Eating at Jones Wood Foundry is like having comfort food for an Anglophile. Sure, you’re paying more than you would at your average Irish pub, but I’m happy to shell out for artful hand with pastry, and the lack of indigestion later.  Jones Wood Foundry won’t dazzle you with cutting-edge innovations in Anglo cuisine, but maybe, just maybe it’ll make you believe that a Brit armed with the right ingredients can turn out some quality dishes.

Jones Wood Foundry

401 E 76th St

www.joneswoodfoundry.com