Cantinetta, Wallingford, Seattle

That there, food lovers and boozers alike, that is what I like to refer to as 

CULINARY PERFECTION

otherwise known as Cantinetta's Grapefruit and Avocado Salad.

As I gushed to all of my peoples about this surprising combination, their reactions educated me to realize the common use of citrus/avocado in Mediterranean/French cuisine.  There's nothing quite like, "yeah, I've heard of that" to take the wind out of your culinary sails. Thanks a lot for your cultured selves, friends.

All novelty aside, this dish is really rather unique in flavor.  The Kalamata olives atop add the best saltiness to that sweet avocado and citrus.  

My husband and I went back twice, both unwilling to admit that it was almost  entirely to order this salad again.  In fact, we became a bit obsessed and tried to recreate it at home. It was not nearly as good, and this is certainly a testament to Cantinetta.  The ingredients were PERFECTLY ripe and fresh (and local - well, sans the avocado - but that's just Seattle for you.  While I am 100% behind buying local, an avocado-less existence is just too much for this California-born to handle).

As to the entirety of the restaurant, I shall now gush further.

Cantinetta is a wonderfully quaint and small Italian restaurant just off Wallingford Ave.  I love that it's tucked into a neighborhood - and if you weren't looking, you would completely miss it.  

Why do I love this? 

 I love this because I am a snob and snobs love restaurants that are impossible to find.

The first time we went, we arrived at opening hour - 5:00pm and I tell you, it's the best time to go.  No one is there, the place is quiet, and the service impeccable.  It starts to liven up around 6:00pm, just about the time we finished.  

The first test was upon us.  My husband asked the waiter for a Negroni.  The server promptly told us they didn't have any Rye (which, although looks like a downside was actually a plus.  It meant she KNEW what was IN a Negroni...rare to come by in Wallingford).  He ordered some other whiskey drink and it came back perfectly made.  

The server then gave us her recommendations from the menu and we ordered the salad mentioned above, the homemade gnocchi, and a mushroom pasta dish topped with oxtail.  Oh dear lords of cuisine.  Everything was suspiciously, seductively good.  Looking back, I'm dubious of stupendous-ness.

I think I must needs return to confirm because I am just that kind of altruistic reviewer.
You're welcome.

S.S.

Bleu Bistro, Capitol Hill, Seattle

It was the first fall rain of the season, and I decided to treat myself to a lunch date at Bleu Bistro. I wanted to sip wine and reply to a letter from my sister in an inspiring ambiance, so I walked up the hill.

The last time I had been in Bleu, I had the most fabulous bartender attending to me and the mister. She listened to my typical drink palate and then finally concocted me a Hendricks martini with an orange twist. I loved it so much that I've been ordering my martinis with an orange twist ever since. The experience, service, and food was great.

Upon entering by myself, I find a cozy little booth for two that will be perfect for hiding away with my thoughts. The bartender promptly greeted me with more than the usual "I have to do this because it's my job but I would rather be sitting on my couch playing Halo." Bleu has a smokin' happy hour, by the way, and he introduced me to all the ins and outs of that while I decided.

Malbec and Macaroni for me, thank you very much. That's just the kind of snob I am.

So what's interesting about this situation is not how awesome Bleu Bistro is, because I assume that you already know that I would never go back to a place that was sub-par. But about 1/3 of the way into my wine and 1/2 of the way into my letter, an aspiring old rapper decides I need to be the bearer of the lyrics he's working out in his head. He literally appeared at my right shoulder and went off. He spouts of these HORRIBLE lyrics, but instead of my usual disinterested response, I try and talk myself into being kind because after all, he may actually be an aspiring artist and not just trying to pick up on me.

NOPE.
(Note to self: Trust gut)

He actually starts stumbling over his rhymes and tells me it's because "I am too beautiful," and he wasn't expecting me to be "so beautiful." Oh, and "am I alone?" Mmmhhmmm. So eventually he leaves because of my paralyzing beauty, and the bartender comes to check on me.

Now this is bartending at its finest. This guy was TOTALLY busy, running his ass off bartending and waiting tables, and he takes the time to stop by and make sure I was not being molested by this wanna-be, 39 yr-old Eminem. I assured him I was fine, and thanked him profusely for his kindness.

But then Eminem came back.

He sat his sorry ass right down across from me and said, "I'm joining you." I mentioned that I was on my way out and was busy writing, but he assured me he just wanted to sit silently. Apparently my beauty was so vast that he needed to absorb it for himself.

So I'm totally uncomfortable, working up the nicest way possible to tell this guy he was seriously a loser, but instead SUPERBARTENDER tears off his shirt and tie only to reveal his power-jumpsuit-lycra thingy they all wear and heads over my way!

-Dude. I think she wants to be alone.
-Oh really? I just asked her...
-Yeah, I think she's trying to be nice.

EYES ON MY PAPER.

-Oh, that's interesting you would think so, but she assured me...I mean I'm just...
-Dude. I'm not trying to be a dick. But leave.
-WHOA! Okay man, sheesh.

EYES ON MY PAPER.

I left a fatty tip.

It's not that I can't defend myself, it's just that I didn't want to make a scene. But my wonderful bartender-in-shining-martini glass showed up and made me feel like the most important patron in the room. And that, my fellow snobs, is the trickery only really great restaurants can pull off.

Bottom Line

Bleu Bistro is the haven for single-diners everywhere.

Except middle-aged-white-wanna be rappers.

Also, the food and drinks are good.