Poppy Blooms

Despite the saying, Poppy charmed me the fourth time. My friends and I had long-awaited Poppy's opening, from the first false rumors that it would take over Jade Pagoda's spot on Broadway. A good friend works at Kerf, the Ballard store that designed and installed Poppy's controversial cabinetry, tables and chairs. My furniture designing friend came into work on a Saturday to make herself a chair. Jerry Traunfeld, who came in for a consultation that Tuesday, saw and fell in love with her chair, commissioning 100 on the spot. The weeks preceding Poppy's opening were busy times for Kerf. A few months later, I remember giddily texted her news that her chair played a starring role on the cover of Metropolitan Magazine. 

I first walked through Poppy's tall door and sat in those delightful chairs shortly after the September opening. Bugs, his parents and I snacked on the eggplant fries and each ordered the nightly thali. The fries were tasty and coated with sweet honey, but they lacked the crunch and rigidity the name "fry" implies. Biting into them was a soggy experience the first time around, but don't fret; Poppy solved this problem a few months in. Kitchen staff now coat the cut eggplant in a chickpea concoction before cooking. One used to order a thali by selecting two of four main tasting items. Two were vegetarian and two meaty, with one of the meaty options almost invariably seafood. The remaining 8 tastes were the chef's choice, but all vegetarian. Other than a few a la carte items, the only other choice was a "smalli," consisting of one main tasting portion of your choice, and five or six smaller ones.

On a large circular tray, we were each presented with tastes of 10 items in 10 differently sized and shaped earthenware pots. Some were hot, some cold, some hits, some misses. I remember particularly loving a vegetarian fritter of sorts and a melon-mint gaspacho that acted as a palate cleanser. The restaurant was fun in its novelty, but the full thali was overkill. Stuffed to the seams, I told myself I'd get a smalli next time. 

In December of 2008, Lacy and Betty, a vegetarian friend visiting from New York, and I made reservations for a Saturday night with the intent to fill ourselves on Jerry Traunfeld's Indian-inspired food and then hit up a few bars in Ballard. We each ordered a cocktail and dove right into the thalis. Everything on the menu looked so good, but of course it was too much food. Again. I spooned up a delicious pea soup, biting into moist chunks of ham. The same ham floated in Betty's vegetarian thali. Gasp! I stopped our server and asked him if all the side dishes were vegetarian. "Yes, of course," he said brusquely and hurried off before we could point out the obvious presence of meat in the soup. A young man came by to fill up our water, and we pointed out the pork to him as well. He was gracious enough to explain that there was a meaty version and a vegetarian version, apologize for the mix-up, and replace Betty's soup. The water boy saved the day, but Poppy dropped the ball on both vegetarian-friendly cuisine and plain old friendly service.

Though unimpressed with dinner, Lacy desperately wanted to return for a sampling of Dana Cree's desserts. After a girls night at Anchovies and Olives (mediocre with the exception of amazing oysters and geoduck ceviche), we hit up Poppy, snuggling into two seats at the bar. We had both fallen head over heels for St. Germain elderflower liqueur over the holidays and ordered The Elite, a tartly fruity and floral concoction perfect for warming up two thirsty girls on a cold March night. Chowing down on the eggplant fries, we rejoiced in their vastly improved texture. I eagerly ordered the gulab jamun, a staple Indian dessert similar to a round doughnut, something I frequently indulged in during my study-abroad trip to India. Poppy's version sadly disappointed me with its overly dense, cloyingly sweet dough. Sigh. I tasted Lacy's hot dake cake, a vastly better dessert, but nothing I craved in the cold nights to follow. So Leah and I stumbled back to my apartment after a few rounds of overpriced cocktails to snuggle into my couch, put on a movie, and revive our long tradition of sleep-overs, and Poppy and I fell out of touch.

"I need a break," I thought, not sure I'd ever return. I didn't even look her way when Bugs and I walked to his parents' place. I had been there, done that, eaten it and enjoyed it for what it was. I couldn't change her or make her something she wasn't.

Then in the summer, rumors of an expanded menu piqued my interest. It's like I lifted up my eyes to look around me, and there she was, arms open, ready to take me back. Just last week, I dragged Bugs back to Poppy for the most fun Wednesday night I've had in a while. Really, all I had to do was resist my own temptations to order the full thali and secretly compare Traunfeld's dishes to Indian ones. I'd heard from a couple sources that Poppy had expanded their smalli menu, but the website didn't reveal anything of the sort. I finally decided to see for myself, and made a same-day reservation for two. 

The menu now consists of two full thali options: one meaty and one vegetarian. No more of that confusing "pick one of these and pick one of those." Even better, I had the choice of five smallies. I chose one featuring goat cheese stuffed squash blossoms. Bugs commented that their wine list had improved, and I ordered the nightly wine flight to check it out. 

The service was friendly and attentive, but it took us 30 minutes to receive food from the time we sat down, a little long in my book. In the meantime, I slowly sipped on my Paul Ginglinger Wahlenbourg Gewurztraminer, a 2005 Alsatian number, careful to save at least half my glass to pair with food. Since it was actually served at the right temperature (!), the fragrant floral nose bloomed in my glass. I loved the thick syrupy mouth feel and the oxidative nuttiness made me think of a good sherry. Next in the flight, Les Pallieres, a 2008 pinot noir rosé from the Rhone Valey, was served perfectly chilled, had a tart gooseberry nose, a watermelon Jolly Rancher palate, and a deliciously juicy finish. The 2006 Domaines Barons de Rothschild Aussieres Rouge finished out the flight. 

Our smallies arrived just as my stomach started to grumble, and my whole body feasted on the sight of the seven beautiful bites before me. The squash blossoms were amply stuffed, and paired deliciously with the gewurz, but I wished the squash flavor could have shone through a little more. I slurped up a seductively textured carrot lemon-thyme soup, occasionally dipping my potato coriander naan, and devoured a great green rice and ricotta fritter. Poppy definitely knows what to do with fritters. Span peas seasoned with peppermint and sesame were bight and crisp, acting as a palate cleanser between dishes. Though a fancier restaurant would have provided this dish at a specific point between two courses, Poppy lets you choose your pace, nibbling and comparing as you please. It's like breaking an ice pick into the formality of multi-course meals. Though Bugs ate them up early, I saved the pickled cherries with sage and lavender for last, pairing them with the rosé and loving the combined fruit acidity. I sat satisfied and happy in those proud chairs, admiring the airy yellow curtains, exposed brick walls, the way the door cast a shadow of the Poppy logo on the wood entrance. 

And for the meat-lovers out there, Bugs' grilled Wagyu denver steak, the feature of his smalli, was perfect. With all the new options, I'm convinced Poppy has something for everyone. 

Drinking Independence

A line of people wrapped around the fence and past the bumper cars, talking jovially to pass the time, eagerly pressing forward toward the beer garden entrance. Even the volunteers and workers issuing wristbands chatted happily, as most will when they're working for beer. Once inside, I always feel like a kid in a carnival. Money is (almost) worthless. Friends meet and laugh, holding long strands of perforated tickets, each one exchangeable for 4 ounce servings of merriment. Nothing means 4th of July like the Seattle International Beer Festival. 

To get the party started, I visited New Belgium Brewery's table for a taste of The Trip #1. Settling down on my beach towel in the shade, I admired the golden, honeyed color of the opaque beer and the gentle smell of apricots and hops. The medium-weight beer washed over my tongue with a nutty sweetness and left behind a taste of lemon and orange. The smooth feel and mild hops perfectly complimented the weather and the festive feeling I often associate with drinking outdoors. It's not complex, but definitely enjoyable, with 8% alcohol and an IBU (bitterness rating) of 40. Overall The Trip was a great deal, my favorite 1-ticket economy beer for the day. 

Next I stepped it up with Rogue's Captain Sig's Deadliest Ale. Pooled in the center of my glass, the color appeared chestnut in the center while the sun glinted off the golden edge. A nutty nose followed through on the palate, complimented by a high note of lemon. Though it felt surprisingly light for being so dark, it had more bitterness than flavor. With 6.2% alcohol content and an IBU of 75, I don't feel the need to drink this 1-ticket beer again.

After the Rogue, and with the weather growing warmer and the garden more crowded, I craved light beer. So I went for white. Blanche de Bruxelle from Belukus looked milky in my glass, the pale lemon-juice color more cloudy than clear. I inhaled banana and floral scents and thoroughly enjoyed the crisp refreshing mouth feel. It seemed to fizz then dissipate in my mouth, like champagne. At only 4.5% alcohol and 20 IBU, it was my favorite overall beer of the day, one I intend to seek out at other locations. Blanche de Bruxelle proved the perfect accompaniment to a festive summer day, well worth the 2 ticket price. 

I also enjoyed Trade Route Brewery's Mango Weizen, though I'm not on the hunt to buy it. The fruit beer is perfect in small doses, but I think the concentration of mango could easily overwhelm in too tall a glass. The cloudy yellow beer tasted juicy and tart, but I found myself wishing for a cleaner, dryer palate. At 5% alcohol and 15 IBU, it's almost more juice than beer. In the end though, the fun fizzy tongue and long finish left me enjoying this 1-ticket weizen even after my glass was empty. 

Alagash Curieux, a boubon-barrel aged Belgium triple, is more than just a tongue twister, it's a damn fine brew. The barrels, previously used for Jim Bean, lend the beer notes of vanilla and caramel. This 2-ticket beer clocks in at 10% alcohol and 30 IBU. It's a pretty beer up and down, from the golden opaque color to the sweet, toasty flavor.

California Cider Company's Ace Joker Strong Cider was a great palate cleanser. It tasted surprisingly light for having 8% alcohol, but perhaps my acuteness of taste was fading. The translucent cider resembled a white wine more than beer. I loved the crisp, refreshing feel of fruit acidity and the delicate apple and floral flavors. This would be a fabulous sipping cider out on the porch, and at only 1 ticket, I sipped steadily from my beach towel perch. 

As my afternoon wound down, the garden filled up. The grassy grounds surged with happy and boisterous people, everyone enjoying themselves, even as the lines grew longer. Too soon it was time for a journey back home to curl up for a pre-fireworks nap.

If you're at all interested, go in 2010! I recommend showing up to the Seattle Center at noon so you can get in line for the happy hour deal of 5 bonus tickets. The garden really starts filling up around 2, so it's good to have a spot staked out by then. Bring friends, basque in sunshine and fill your stomach with snacks-on-sticks and bubbly brew. I'll be next to you on the grass, staring up at the sparkling space needle, and together we can toast our country's greatest summer celebration. 

Rosé Colored Glasses

Drinking rosé can unlock a little chest of possibilities. It brings us together then calls us outdoors to bask in the summer days, drinking up the sunset. 

Four others and I decided to taste 6 different Northwest rosés. Each bottle was brown bagged and labeled with a number, so we could taste them blind and without bias. Well, most of us. Bugs bagged them and organized them generally from lightest to darkest. When we revealed the bottles at the very end, I was more than a little surprised! I'll let you know each wine upfront in the tasting notes that follow.

The 2008 Elk Cove rosé, made from pinot noir, greeted our glasses with a salmon color, almost a pale, peachy orange. The faintly fruity nose opened up with notes of strawberry and honeysuckle, but turned medicinal, like cough syrup, by the end of the night. Don't let this one sit open for more than a couple hours, and drink it today if you have a bottle in your fridge or wine rack. When at its best, though, it tasted of Rainier cherries and unripe stone fruit, and sang with acidity. It almost felt like orange juice on the back of my throat as the delicate tartness on the mid-palate developed into a zingy finish. The Elk Cove is an enjoyable sipping wine, but does not have enough substance to pair with food. Though I gave it a 7 in our 10 point rating system, it received an average score of 5.625. Those wine industry boys are pretty harsh with their scores.

Syncline's 2008 Rhone blend rosé is composed of 44% cinsault, 30% granache, 17% mourvedre and 9% counoise. It's pink color would suit a ballerina. Aromatic and creamy, three of us agreed it smelled like orange-glazed cinnamon rolls. I enjoyed the consistent acidity and the flavors of white peach and lemon, but the abrupt finish lost it a point. Overall, I rated it a 7.5 and it received an average score of 6.125. Only Bugs preferred the Elk Cove to Syncline. 

Saviah's rosé, made from sangiovese, won my favor for the evening, but it was a hard decision. The nose was rich with strawberries and cherries, with a hard-to identify high note, perhaps lemon or key lime. In the mouth, it attacked with juiciness and and big refreshing acidity. Watermelon, strawberry, rhubarb and citrus dominated the palate at first, but a faint minerality gained presence as it opened up. We noticed a saline smell and flinty sharpness on the finish when we revisited it at the end of the evening. Tracking Saviah's evolution in the glass is a pure, pink joy. 

After that glass of tasty, Waters' rosé was a huge disappointment. The dark, almost garnet-colored wine smelled grotesquely funky, like spoiled food, but with a hint of burnt figs. The vodka-and-cranberry-juice palate might suit some, but our group panned it and we all rinsed our glasses before filling them anew. Did Waters finish last because it was the oldest at 2007, just past its prime and suffering from the oxidation that marks old age? It's hard to know if it was old or flawed, doomed from the beginning by too-late a harvest or spontaneous fermentation with accidental yeasts. Bugs and I actually tasted and bought this at the winery in March, at which point it tasted deliciously of watermelon Jolly Ranchers. Sadly, bottle to bottle variation is inevitable. We thought we purchased a bottle worthy of $20 and a gathering of friends, but we scored it at 3.625 and promptly dumped it down the drain.

Happily moving on, we tasted Chris Gorman's "42-39-56," a raspberry-hued Red Mountain cabernet sauvingon, just lighter in color than Waters. "It's booze!" one declared, while another said it smelled "like the exhaust of an '86 Datsun." The nose, I thought, had a sharp vegetal aspect, perhaps of asparagus, but my palate tingled with the tastiness of a cranberry tart dessert and the sumptuousness of cherry liqueur soaked currants. Though lush and lively in the mouth, it lacked any agreeable aromatics. I rated it 6, and the group gave it 5.25.

Lastly, Barnard Griffin's 100% sangiovese rosé showed surprisingly well, tying with Saviah for best Northwest rosé. For such a cherry-colored character, the Barnard Griffin was expressive and complex. High notes of ruby grapefruit and tropical fruit complemented the background taste of raspberry and watermelon. As it opened, the fruit-forward nose revealed some feet stink, though others said it was cat pee. But don't be dissuaded. Usually sold at under $10, this wine is a great deal. 

Surprisingly, the Saviah and Barnard Griffin, the two cheapest wines, proved the tastiest. Though they're both made from 100% sangiovese, the wine makers allowed them to develop in opposite directions. When compared side by side, Saviah's light color and subtle flavors quietly contrast Barnard Griffin's purple-hued cherry color and explosive fruit. 

How long does the juice play and swim with the skins in the making of rosé? It's sensitive, so touch and go. When the time comes, the juice is pressed and fermented on its own. Most Washington wine makers, however, practice saigneé, the bleeding of the vats. This lowers alcohol content and increases concentration of flavor on the mother red wine. During this process, if the pink child isn't bottled as rosé, it simply runs down the drain. And that's no fun. Sometimes, we all need to wear rosé colored glasses and greet the world with a sanguine complexion and disposition.