Hungrygrrl

Several weeks ago I tried to take my boyfriend to Sitka and Spruce, but discovered they aren’t open tuesday nights. Wednesday to saturday only. And no reservations.

But they do serve lunch.

The next day I got there at 11:30 and was the first person at the communal table. I ordered the tartines, a trio of bruschetta type sandwiches–humboldt fog with cucumber, tuna with capers, pate. I dug into my food and looked up 10 minutes later to find the place packed, half the customers giving Matt a hug on their way in (the chef, formerly of the Stumbling Goat).

The food was carefully done, each dish a blend of several flavors making me slow down to taste and taste again. Was that Cumin? Lemon? I had to go back for dinner.

We went back last night, braving the crowds that fill this small place even on a weekday. It’s so unassuming for a place so popular. I mean come on….this is Eastlake, it’s next to Subway.

We waited an hour and a half, first down the street at Serafina and then at the bar, bumping elbows with the other hungry diners-to-be. But everyone was in good spirits. We chatted with our neighbor, a new transplant from Baltimore working at Microsoft, as he dug into a blackberry tart with cardamom ice cream. The woman on the other side of me told me about her miserable experience at Monsoon, “the food was so terrible!” she said sadly “there was dirt in the lettuce!”

After two glasses of wine, we finally ordered a small salad that we ate standing up. I took one bite and looked up, surprised. The small plate of romaine was bursting with flavor, tarrragon and mint with an undercurrent of parmesan, shallot and anchovy. Yet all carried with the lightness of the crisp leaves. It was one of the best salads I’ve ever had, and I love salad.

A few minutes later the host beckoned us to a table, “you don’t mind sharing?” he asked. We sat down at a four top with two women, one of whom was there because she knew Matt well, both of whom had lived in Eastlake forever. We chatted about house boats, sailing, eastlake and then drifted back to the menu, planning our meal.

We started with the salmon crudo and melon soup. It was sweet, but with that creaminess of raw salmon, light like a summer dress. The corona beans followed, tougher than they should be but with such beautiful flavors, balsamic and parsley and..what was that? Oh of course–roasted white peppers. The color fooled us, hiding its true identity.

The albacore was cooked rare, set amidst tender romano beans and a sauce of raisins and olives. It was so contrary to what usually is paired with rare tuna, and yet it worked. It had this faintly salty-sweet caramelness that deepened the taste of the fish.

The Wagyu beef was difficult to chew, but thick with flavor and crusted with fleur de sel. And the haricot verts that accompanied were bright and impressive, each bite bringing new flavors of shallot and fresh herbs mixed with creme fraiche.

Then came the dessert–flourless chocolate cake with homemade mint ice cream. “It’s good with salt,” the waitress said, pointing to an elegant bowl with a dainty silver spoon. My boyfriend put a small spoonful on. “She’s right!” he said, astounded. I had to fight him for the last bite. With the dessert they brought two glasses of madeira to thank us for being so patient.

One reviewer described Sitka and Spruce as “like eating at Matt’s house.” As we walked out I had that warm feeling that comes when someone has cooked for you. It was a fabulous meal. I only wish I could replicate it.

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Sitka and Spruce

http://www.sitkaandspruce.com