Seattle’s Best New Restaurants

The PNW traditionally shies away from messing with our oh-so-perfect seafood, but LA transplants Bohden Tarantine and Lizbeth Dones bravely dial up the heat on dishes like scallop aguachile and seafood cocktail at this Mexican-style seafood counter inside Fair Isle Brewing. The duo started out with an al pastor business (Tacos Extranjeros); when that struggled, they regrouped and came back with stronger flavors and a far more exciting menu, matching the brewery’s eccentric tap list of farmhouse ales and saisons. The shared space and beer-drinking pace creates a casual-cool feel that echoes the vibes of the hottest mariscos restaurants south of the border. Tarantine’s experience in sushi shows through in the pristine slicing of silky tuna and lush hamachi, which come across the counter draped over crisp tostadas. The bold supporting cast of chile morita aioli, macha XO sauce, and smoked albacore salad speaks spice fluently. It all works together phenomenally; La Marea’s food is as refreshing and invigorating as a winter plunge in Puget Sound—and far more pleasant.

Sacro Bosco

Central District

Crisp-edged, long, and rectangular, the pizza crust at Temple Pastries’ evening sibling and occupant resembles a thin focaccia, turning the pie into something of an open-faced sandwich. Fittingly, the best toppings would be equally at home at a deli: mortadella with pistachio pesto, prosciutto with ribbons of zucchini. There are no slices, and you’ll need a huge group to sample multiple of the seasonal pies. Thus, Sacro Bosco may not be a great pizza spot, but it is a great restaurant, embodying the elegant looks and easygoing sophistication for which Americans envy Italy. Though the menu is small, it is colorful and fun; chef Christina Wood’s particular brand of edible perfectionism is fully on display in the ricotta appetizer: Thick ribbons of soft, salty housemade cheese squiggle down the plate, bordered by wavy crisps of grissini on one side and peppery green olive oil on the other. Grand baubles of apricot chamomile gelée, emerald leaves of basil, and a confetti of crushed almonds transform the creamy canvas into a dish deserving of a spot in the Uffizi.

De La Soil

Kenmore

Kenmore’s Copperworks Distilling is more like the typical PNW brewery taproom than a distillery—a sprawling building and casual outdoor space with games and welcoming to kids and dogs. But instead of food trucks or paltry bowls of pretzels, chefs Cody and Andrea Westerfield serve blooming Walla Walla onions, charred cabbage in miso buttermilk, and lemon ricotta pasta with chicken-skin breadcrumbs. The seasonal menu relies heavily on produce from nearby Tuk Muk Farm, which the chefs deftly weave into remarkably original dishes that wink at comforting classics. The kids’ menu is nearly as long as the main menu, and the latter’s buffalo deviled eggs and warm farm blossom focaccia with pickle dip appeal to all ages. The Westerfields are veterans of the Seattle food scene, having cooked at Lecosho, Serafina, and Baker’s, and their experience shows in the nearly flawless execution. It can feel disjointed to order such artful and intriguing dishes as baby carrots cooked in beef fat and served with black garlic yogurt and barbecued pistachio at a counter, but the hybrid system works, and the food is brought to the table quickly. Any qualms fade away by the time you return to order the Biscoff crumble apple pie with pumpkin ice cream.

As the namesake outsider, Turkish American tech worker turned pitmaster Onur Gulbay opened a Texas barbecue joint in Seattle. Running it properly—and Gulbay does nothing less—requires dogged commitments like driving an hour a day to pick up the exact right bread for the chopped beef sandwiches and making sweet pickles in-house solely to use as an ingredient in the potato salad. Most important, he and his team babysit the restaurant’s two smokers around the clock to produce an intensely tender brisket. The prime beef, seasoned only with salt and pepper and smoked for 12 to 14 hours, comes out glossy with fat, its charcoal-hued edge hemming in the smoke ring that matches the pink shade of the pickled onions served on the side. Everything might be bigger in Texas, but now, at least, it’s just as good in Seattle.

Andrew Rubinstein’s prioritization of bagel quality over the tangential elements of his University Village shop paid off: He bakes the best bagels in Seattle, golden tanned and blistering with personality. People can (and very much do) quibble with the stylistic choices the shop makes—no slicing, no toasting, no schmearing here—but judging solely on the flavor and technical merit of a freshly baked bagel, Hey Bagel tops the charts. For those who appreciate such things, Hey Bagel also makes it far easier to get such a fresh bagel. Rather than mete out labor to post-bagel tasks like crafting elaborate sandwiches, Rubinstein focuses on rolling and baking bagels throughout the day, proffering an unceasing parade of still-warm bagels, with crackly exteriors and a fragrant, just-chewy interior. Those who want cream cheese can rip and dip, tearing off pieces of the bagel to drag through it, as popularized by newer bagel shops in New York. Those who want sandwiches can head down to one of the three other bagel shops nearby; this one’s for the bagel purist, though the bialys are darn good, too.

While this pandemic pop-up turned restaurant’s tagline “pretty good pizza,” describes the ultra-thick, crisp-crusted Detroit-style pies accurately, it deserves an addendum: “and really excellent vibes.” Despite (or perhaps because of) self-taught pizzaiolo Derek Reiff’s inexperience in the industry, when he settled into a permanent location he opened one of the most delightfully chill establishments in the city. Formerly MKT., the hallway of a space flows like the dreamy real estate concept of indoor-outdoor living, with a parklet patio across the sidewalk that cements it as an integral part of the street life. The sleeper win, however, is the drinks menu. Nearly entirely under $10, it includes thoughtful and intriguing wines with fabulous notes (“kissing a guy with a mustache”) and the fun Lil Spritz. And the pizzas? They’re pretty good, with a softer, cheesier take on Detroit crust and occasional upgrades to the surprisingly standard toppings, such as using Castelvetrano olives and adding leeks to the white pie. 

Seafood towers? In this economy? No, we’re deeply in our “skyscraper of bánh ướt” era around here. Just as showy and far more affordable, the inspired presentation of silky rice wraps, each on its own plate, stacked vertically on a metal rack, adds an interactive element to the shareable showpieces, making it easy for everyone to customize their herbs, vegetables, and meats. The lengthy menu of trendy drinks, fusion-y dishes, and Instagrammable twists on classics could be a recipe for style over substance, but this Vietnamese restaurant has all the banana cookie crumble matcha lattes you could want and a menu of deep cuts like stir-fried snails in coconut sauce and smoked beef salad. Sure, the bún bò Hue is good enough to guzzle on its own, but eating it as tacos is way more fun, much like the avocado toast in banh mi form. More traditional dishes come with just as much flair—the gasp-inducingly large bánh xèo arrives crisp on a woven basket, surrounded by a garden of herbs. And, if the name didn’t drop enough hints, Soufend loves its neighborhood, as shown by the stylized art of Metro route maps and a Wi-Fi password that name-checks a bygone icon of Rainier Avenue (and the best place to buy Converse shoes or a Christmas tree). 

The term “fusion” spent years building itself a bad reputation, connoting two separate cuisines manipulated together by outside forces, like a mediocre welding job or shoddy wiring. Grann, the Tacoma restaurant that calls itself Southern BBQ, Creole, and Indian fusion (Creole with a big C here, meaning the New Orleans culture), refutes that notion with excitement and creativity, making the drive south worth Seattleites’ time. The best dishes—pimento puri, snapper swimming in a chili mustard oil and “Holy Trinity” sauce—feel like a creole (little c), drawing on multiple sources for inspiration as it evolves into something totally new, delicately woven from its origins. The restaurant’s name alludes to grandmothers‚ both in general and those of Grann founders Reginald Jacob Howell, formerly of Tacoma’s En Rama and Kirkland’s Arleana’s—sibling of Columbia City’s Island Soul—and pitmaster Denzel Johnson. But while the pair learned to cook from the women they honor in the name, the food and setting feel modern, professional, and exciting, fitting for the dynamic duo of chefs-owners.

Restaurateur Yasuaki Saito churns out endless bangers, seemingly knowing what the city wants before we do. His latest foray, modern and minimalist on the ground floor of a Wallingford office building, incorporates little bits of each of his previous adventures, tied together with a personal touch. The all-day-café format he mastered at London Plane makes use of imaginative baked goods à la Saint Bread—the hojicha canelé flavored with roasted green tea and whiskey immediately cemented its signature-dish status. Saito’s Midwest roots met pizza at Tivoli, but at the Wayland Mill he combines them with his Japanese heritage, resulting in buffalo chicken karaage and biscuits with chashu pork and miso gravy. The best illustration of the Wayland Mill’s mellifluous multicultural mélange comes from its Saint Paul Sando, which turns a regional specialty of St. Louis Chinese restaurants into a work of culinary art showcasing Japanese aesthetics in Seattle. The messy chaos of egg foo young becomes a precise square of salty-sweet tamago omelet over a tangle of crisp cabbage slaw, with crinkle-cut pickles and a hot Chinese honey mustard “yum yum sauce” between two slices of toasted shokupan taking the place of white bread.

When the staff at this deli speak to each other—loudly, in Italian, with plenty of hand movement—they appear as if they could be arguing, discussing the weather, or, possibly, doing a bit. Everything about this collaboration between two men from Italy, both named Gabriele, feels like it could be an SNL sketch about the most lovable Italian stereotypes, but the meaty sandwiches are no joke. Thick slices of the city’s softest focaccia come piled high with imported prosciutto, mortadella, and smoked salami. Only the spicy spreadable ‘nduja sausage comes from closer—they make it next door. The same cool products sold on the shop shelves round out the selection: Sardinian cheeses, hot Calabrian honey, and bottarga. While the focus is on meat, they do have some off-menu options for vegetarians who know to ask. “This cheese?” a server responded to one such inquiry, with the enthusiasm of a rabid fan reliving a concert, “It was milk 40 days ago. The best melting cheese in the world!” 

The Dandy

Pioneer Square

Girl dinner went on steroids, got a Wes Anderson makeover, and reemerged as an adorably quirky small plates and champagne bar. In a neighborhood where baseball jerseys often qualify as decor, the sophomore effort from the folks behind Beacon Hill’s Coupe and Flute features multitiered chandeliers, elaborate molding, and large birds strutting among trees on the entrancing yellow wallpaper. It feels like the exact appropriate setting to sip your way through sparkling Tasmanian rosé or chenin pét-nat while picking at oversize airy Brazilian cheese bread. The champagne flights eliminate the difficult choice of what to drink, but you’re on your own when deciding between the meatballs vindaloo and the shrimp cocktail, which arrives as posed pairs of canoodling crustaceans with a yin-yang bowl of traditional cocktail sauce and herby, zesty preserved-lemon aioli.