Hungrygrrl

Archive for the ‘ belltown ’ Category

Purple Cafe and Wine Bar (Downtown)

Monday, July 28th, 2008

“It’s very gothic,” Cobe said as we sat down, trying vainly to pull the heavy iron chair in closer to the table. Even the napkin holders were thick metal. I watched the waiter’s apron sag as he tucked two of them in his front pocket.

Above us towered the wine spiral, huge iron candelabras lit the ceiling, and all the waiters wore black. I felt like we should be listening to Bauhaus. Instead they were playing covers of 80s one-hit wonders.

We started glancing through the menu. The first page listed starters (3-5$), the second had cheese, then there were small plates, large plates, sandwiches, and pizzas. Not to mention dessert. And all dishes suggested a wine. Then there was the wine menu, with 5 different wine flights. Oh and there were specials.

It was a bit much. We had so many questions.

Perhaps the waiter could answer our questions? Sadly our waiter had a shaved head, a spiky tattoo on his wrist, and looked like he just stepped off a skateboard.

“Wine flights are the way to go, man. You get the most booze.”

I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask for his advice.

We decided to go small: 2 wine flights, some cheese, some small plates.

Our first stumble came with the wine. The pinot noir flight was nearly undrinkable. I liked the Angeline (from Santa Cruz). The rest were forgettable, almost watery. Where was the long lingering finish? The touch of cherries and violets? I love pinot. I could talk about them for days. I was heartbroken.

The “dirty birds” flight was the complete opposite, funky and charming. Very drastic counterpoints to eachother, but all wonderful, all great with the cheese. I was a big fan of the Carmenere, with its musky edge. And the Monte dos Cabacos from portugal was intriguing, an entirely original varietal.

We picked a selection of spanish cheeses which just made these wines sing. Particularly the spanish cheese with paprika (idizabel?) and the bella sorella. The fig jam and sliced apple went well, a little sweetness.

Our small plates were sadly disappointing. The prosciutto with figs and orange zest felt overcooked, the prosciutto limp and lifeless. And the orange zest masked that sumptious figginess.

Peppadews with salmon mousse were fine, but not an inspired pairing. The peppadews were sharp and sweet, the mousse creamy and light. Each overwhelmed the other.

The carpaccio was incredibly disappointing, particularly as it is one of my favorite dishes. The meat tasted almost bad and it was sprinkled with such a small amount of flavorless arugula, you’d think it was imported from Italy rather than something that grows in our own backyard. We couldn’t finish it.

Our one savior was the ceviche–fresh, light and mixed with yellow and green peppers.

I have been to Purple once before, but it was a bachelorete party, a drunken haze. We were wearing cowboy hats. We rode a bull. I do remember the flatbreads being quite tasty though.

Purple fits a certain niche. It is big. A big menu, big wine list, big napkin holders. And I am always happy for a new wine bar.

But next time? I’ll stick with somewhere the waitstaff is picked for their wine knowledge rather than their ability to wear black. Or I’ll just sit at the bar.