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Gee, it sure is hard to write about fancy food when the nation is swiftly descending into fascism, we’re all broke, and restaurants become more of a luxury every day! Sorry to be grim, but… a food writer questions whether their efforts might be better spent on, say, grant writing or political manifestos lately. Why am I still doing this again??
Well. Because food is art, and our artsy city is packed with food geniuses who’re still out there doing innovative and delicious things in the face of our crumbling democracy. Even if we don’t go out and eat all the art personally, we can still be dazzled by the concepts.
As well, Seattle’s restaurant industry is a close-knit community of lionhearted saints who have been dedicated to hosting fundraisers and donating meals and selflessly serving another much larger community (that’s you) as the world burns, so let’s give them their roses. Restaurants are community spaces, and that includes pop-ups and food carts to a degree. Even with all the appalling bullshit going on in the world, our chefs are continuing to make fantastic food, constantly coming up with new concepts, and connecting people to one another.
Since we all gotta eat a couple times a day, below are some good local places to do that, owned by good people who make great food and give a shit about our community. An effort was made to include restaurants with veggie and vegan options, as well as places with flexible formats, where you can stop by for a full meal, a snack, or even just a beverage. As ever, these best-of rosters are really just a list of suggestions based on what the writer happened to eat this year.
Here’s hoping there’s something on this list for everybody, and that here in Seattle, in these fucked-up times, we all can try to help each other stay fed.
Cafe Suliman
CAPITOL HILL
Ahmed Suliman is kind of a Seattle hospitality industry legend. Pick a local restaurant at random, ask a staff member if they’ve worked with Suli, and they’ll probably start regaling you with stories about what a great dude he is. His name comes up organically a lot, too—this has happened to me a couple times this month alone, and I don’t even know the guy. After all this suspense and foreshadowing, you might wander into Cafe Suliman and expect some kind of golden… bejeweled… palace… of a restaurant, because he’s clearly regarded as industry royalty.
Instead, it’s in the wide-open commons of Melrose Market. There are only three walls. One might be a little unsure of how to approach the setup at first—It feels like a mall food court, but with table service… and wine? But the answer is to just sit down. The menu’s based around dishes from the Arabian Peninsula—Suli himself is a Sudanese national who grew up in Abu Dhabi, and the restaurant is in part a tribute to his late mom, Afaf. Longtime local wine guy Marc Papineau (Lecōsho, Bar Ferdinand) also runs his Cantina Sauvage project out of the same space, providing natural, un-fucked-with wines to complement the seasonal menu.
Although the dishes change all the time, there are truly no misses. If there’s chicken and you eat chicken, order the chicken; right now, it’s served with freekeh and a fermented green garlic sauce. If you don’t, you’re in luck, because Suli is SO good at veggies. Some recent hits are the carrots with whipped feta, the charred cabbage with green chili butter, the bright fattoush, and the luscious grilled halloumi with dukkah, quince, fennel, and leeks. Meaty people, aim for the fragrant lamb on hummus. For dessert, there’s latterly the summery olive oil cake with rhubarb cream and tangerine oil. Even the luxurious little toasts—like the turmeric cauliflower one with labneh, pickled sultanas, and green olive relish, served on award-winning Ben’s Bread from up in Phinney Ridge—are a full sensory meal, down to the vibrant visuals.
To me, this is the perfect Seattle restaurant. A balanced dovetailing of casual and snazzy with some flavors from faraway lands, pretty vintage plates, a killer wine list, and a chill, chatty vibe. It’s for shooting the shit with a friend or three. The menu is modular: order a little food, order a lot, or just order drinks. In an era where even Canlis can’t enforce a dress code, Cafe Suliman provides what today’s overworked, borderline-broke Seattleite wants: an affordable and customizable menu, a little style and intrigue, and an opportunity to be comfy while eating opulent, gorgeous food in your hoodie.
My Friend Derek’s
TANGLETOWN
When the COVID-19 pandemic began, so did a nationwide trend of Pizza That You Cannot Have. That’s where someone starts selling a regional style of pizza, usually as a pop-up, and then they’re immediately booked out for four months, ostensibly because transplants lose their minds over finally being able to get an authentic Milwaukee tavern pie or some processed Provel cheese on a cracker crust per St. Louis or that Altoona-style opioid-inspired pizza felony with the American cheese (don’t google this). Folks love a limited-time offer. Doesn’t seem to matter what style pizza it is, as long as it’s hard to get.
Here in Seattle, when everyone was clamoring about Detroit-style pizza in particular, former Michigander and web developer Derek Reiff did this, too—and was helped immensely by the fact that his pizza is very, very good. So good that, after selling special pizza out of his house for a while, he was able to set up his own shop this year, in a slender slice of a space next to Tangletown Pub.
Derek’s Fav is the main protag here; it comes with pepperoni, green Castelvetrano olives, and Grana Padano, although the rich red pools of pepperoni oil are their own standalone condiment. It’s more casserole than pizza: a two-person slab cut into six squares, with hella frizzled frico at the edges and a tall, dark crust that’s so caramelized in places, it’s almost black—but definitely not burnt.
Pizzas change with seasons, but currently, there’s a fancy one with ’nduja and Gorgonzola and a veggie one with basil and heirlooms, or you can build your own with options like mushrooms, Mama Lil’s peppers, garlicky ranch, and “cheap sausage.” And you can do a vegan cheese switcheroo. I’m also a fan of the very fishy kale Caesar, with cheesy Goldfish crackers smiling up at you from beneath a heavy mantle of shaved parm, and a pair of fat anchovy fillets crisscrossed on top like a bow on a birthday present. They have a cool spread of ciders, too, like the super dry Cidre Bouché from Les Vergers du Pays d’Othe in Normandy and the earthy, funky Basque-style line from Son of Man in Northern Oregon.
It makes sense now. Tavern pies are nice and everything, but if you grew up with pizza like THIS, well, shit. If you couldn’t have it and had the knowledge of how to make it, you would have no choice but to do so. If you, like me, roll your eyes at all the mid-sounding hyper-regional pizza pop-ups that are immediately sold out forever after five minutes, eat this pizza, which is now actually available to us ongoingly, and it’ll all come into focus.
Ramie
CAPITOL HILL
It took a long journey in order for Seattle to have Ramie. Hailing from a family of Vietnamese immigrants, brother-and-sister team Thai and Trinh Nguyen got their culinary start 25 years ago at their parents’ Pho T & N in Poulsbo. By her teens, Trinh was already running the FOH there, and in 2019, she and Thai opened their own spot in Bainbridge Island: pretty little Ba Sa, serving contemporary Vietnamese recipes with PNW seafood and farm-to-table twists.
Ramie, which opened last year on the Hill in the old Omega Ouzeri space, is yet another level up for the Nguyen sibs. Trinh and Thai are cutting loose from tradition in their newest project, restyling and freestyling old dishes and creating completely singular new culinary concepts in the process.
Right off the bat, the radicchio pudding starter is astounding—it’s a vegan take on tiết canh, a duck blood pudding from Northern Vietnam. Usually, the dish is made with pork meat and duck gizzards, but Ramie’s version combines cucumbers, honey-roasted walnuts, roasted peanuts, rice crackers, a peppery pesto made from rau ram (Vietnamese coriander), and radicchio, from which the pudding gets its brilliant blood-red hue. Organ meats are not my own personal bag, but this version of the dish offers a way better UX, and it lands like a crunchy-soft savory dessert. Just genius.
Another example of their innovation includes Ramie’s cover of mắm kho quẹt, traditionally a dip made from caramelized fish sauce, which they’ve punched up with taro root and shrimp powder. It’s plated alongside a simply gorgeous rainbow veggie crudo, just totally tantalizing to behold. In comparison, the coffee-rubbed pork ribs with butternut squash seemed sorta normcore, at least per the written description, but they might be the king of the whole menu. Whew. I wasn’t ready.
As well, Trinh is a French-trained ptissière, so whatever exquisite dessert she has on offer is always worth investigating.
The siblings’ creativity is on full display at Ramie, at last, and their menus are a great opportunity to get yourself introduced to some unusual-in-the-US ingredients you may not have tried. E.g., the Nghiên cocktail uses ngò ôm, also called rice paddy herb. Even the restaurant’s name (long A, rhymes with Amy) is borrowed from a plant that’s rarely seen in this part of the world, usually woven into textiles. We’re learning so much here—and what a delicious way to do it.
Bottega Gabriele
PIONEER SQUARE
At the western foot of Yesler Way, Bottega Gabriele is a scene out of a Roberto Benigni movie: the glass display case stuffed with huge cheese loaves, salami links hanging from the scale. This photogenic little deli is owned by two dudes who share one name—Gabriele Brownstein from Sardinia and Gabriele Russo from Naples—and they’re both total hams, pun intended. A sort of Cheech and Chong of Italian sandwiches. Right away, the mood here is light and sunny. You’re about to have a good time.
They only do sandwiches and salads here, and on an all-star menu, the ‘nduja sandwich with capicollo, salami, and olive-tomato tapenade is the screen diva. It’s a monster—and at $19.50, it better be—that’s piled with ’nduja (aka spreadable pepperoni), capocollo, salami, artichokes, real Provolone, and an olive-tomato tapenade on excellent, olive-oily focaccia. Three bites in, and you feel like you’ve eaten an entire pizza, in the best way possible. I’m a big guy, and I barely got through the first half of this sandwich.
The rest of the menu is no slouch either. Best supporting actor is the mortadella sando with lemon zest, ricotta, arugula, and hot honey that’s been enhanced with Calabrian chile, and the tuna piccante fucks hard, too. (Although the veggie sandwich is a bit of an empty gesture. This is not really a place for vegetarians.)
No matter your order, what’s immediately clear is that the ingredients they use at Bottega Gabriele are all extremely legit and have been imported directly from Italy to your hungry little mouth. We used to have to go to San Francisco for this level of Italianosity, but no longer. Maybe life is beautiful after all.
Single Shot
CAPITOL HILL
It’s weird how Capitol Hill contains like six different neighborhoods. The main Broadway area, the Pike/Pine corridor, the antique Cornish mansion neighborhood to the north, the Victrola/Kaiser Permanente area up on 15th—those are all well trodden. But it’s easy to forget about that leafy little micro-district on Summit Avenue East, between Mercer and Roy, and its one-block-long center of commerce.
Single Shot isn’t new. For a restaurant, it’s kinda old. Opened in 2014, it’s shuffled through a few different owners, chefs, and concepts since, and the kitchen is currently helmed by chef Antonio Palma (Ascend Prime, Cuadra No. 32). Palma’s doing an unstructured style of global cuisine, with influences from Italy, North Africa, Spain, France, Japan, and his native Mexico, among other geography. There’s a simple sort of dignity about the dishes, and an honest respect for the ingredients. No real overarching concept is present here, though—it’s just a sweet little dinner spot with great cocktails, hidden beneath the trees.
It’s a seasonal menu that’s subject to Chef’s whims, but it seems that the magnificent pork chop with green goddess dressing is there to stay. In the summer, it’s accompanied lightly by charred rapini and Granny Smiths; last winter, it was served with a savory roasted celeriac purée that made you wonder where the hell celeriac had been all your life. They’re all stars, though. The STUNNING hamachi crudo, all polka-dotted with pickled fresnos, yuzu, tamari, blood orange, and crisped-out garlic bits, is like a David Hockney painting. The indulgent roasted cauliflower on tahini AND hummus AND romesco. The fatty, biscuit-like housemade bread with its little side of very powerful black garlic butter.
This is really hedonistic food, and for many budgets—including mine—it’d be reserved for special occasions. A dinner at Single Shot is a bit of an event. But it deserves a spotlight because, in our rapidly changing cityscape, it seems like the kind of beloved stalwart for the ages that later finds itself at risk, and then we’re all surprised. It’s not yet, and I don’t want it to be. Its semi-secret location has both pros and cons, of course, and maybe I shouldn’t worry about some shit I made up that hasn’t happened yet. This place is just so fucking good, and it’s run by humble, creative, community-minded folks. I want everyone to know.
Rojo’s Mexican Food
DOWNTOWN
We have leveled up as a society when it comes to fake meat, everyone. It’s time to realize.
I was once like you: a white, middle-aged, self-appointed taco classicist who traveled to Mexico City twice and then went Rick Baylessing around town about what makes an authentic taco. Shut the fuck up, of course, but at the time, who could blame us? Seattle didn’t used to have the good shit, and when the CDMX-style taco—and its signature trompo—landed in the city a few years ago (see: Tacos La Cuadra), it’s kinda all the local carnivores ever hoped for in a taco. So, why would we want to try a vegan taqueria NOW?
Well, I did, and it is wrong to think this way. Good-tasting things are good, plant-based or otherwise, and Rojo’s makes them. Since 2002, chef/owner Daniel Rojo has made his fake chicken from soy curls, while the saucy fake carnitas is jackfruit-based, and the asada and al pastor (with pineapple!) are seitan-ic. They’re all crispy, rich, flavorful, filling, and frankly pretty spot-on in regard to texture. I traditionally do not fuck with jackfruit or seitan at all, but I always destroy my entire Rojo’s order without a trace. The guacamole and the velvety beans are stellar, too, as are the salsas. Also, the occasional vegan quesabirria special is not to be skipped, and I challenge meat-eaters to tell the diff. These veggies are skilled cosplayers.
Last weekend, I spotted Rojo’s outside of a venue: A long line of tattooed people in hardcore and thrash metal shirts trailed from a blue tent, while a crowd stood at the other end, just shoveling long-awaited prizes into their faces. All were united by a wild, white-knuckled joy, both to eat the stuff and from the suspense beforehand, and also just to have it around, right there on the street. These people needed this beautiful, accessible vegan food, and even if I didn’t personally love it myself, I needed it for them. When I got to the front and saw it was Rojo’s, I was like, oh yeah, duh, of course it is.
If you have a philosophical problem with fake meat, think about novelty foods that are shaped like other foods and how delightful and alluring they are to you. In Sweden, there is the smörgåstårta, a bologna sandwich shaped like a cake. Japanese cuisine has taiyaki, which are fish-shaped waffles. Consider the humble spaghetti squash. The gummi cheeseburger. The candy cigarette. If you must mindfuck yourself into trying some of the best Mexican food in the city, figure that this menu is just a bunch of spicy lavish salads shaped like tacos and burritos. And they just happen to be lights-out delicious.
Outsider BBQ
FREMONT
Oh man, I love this story. Did you know that Seattle has a burgeoning Turkish district? After popping up around town for years, chef Onur Gulbay moved his Outsider BBQ operation into the old Ballard Pizza Company space on Leary this year—next door to his friends at Hamdi, a Michelinesque fine diner serving Turkish classics and cocktails.
Originally from Istanbul, Gulbay and his wife moved to Texas in the mid-2010s to work in tech, but Gulbay never developed a taste for the industry. After a few years, he quit, deciding he’d rather serve Texas-style barbecue instead. Inspired by Franklin BBQ in Austin, he bought a smoker and a truck, studied the craft, and became a pitmaster. When his wife got a tech job in Seattle in 2022, they hauled all the gear up here, and he began popping up at breweries. And boy, was Seattle ready for him.
In a city not exactly known for its barbecue, it may not mean much to say there’s nothing like Outsider BBQ anywhere else around here, but the distinction transcends the barbecue category, honestly. You wouldn’t normally describe brisket as delicate, but this stuff is thinly sliced and melts at the slightest touch, like the beef bacon it is. Gulbay is out here making his own smoked sausage out of the trimmings from the brisket and pork ribs, resulting in a bouncy texture similar to a Danish pølser, before loading it up with molten cheddar and jalapeños. The moist pulled pork needs no sauce, although Outsider’s two sauces, a sweet Texas and a mustardy Carolina, are spectacular. Gulbay’s menu lists some standard sides—mac and cheese, slaw, corn casserole—but it doesn’t mention that they’ve all been subtly Turkified, with surprise flavors like sumac, poppyseed, black pepper, cinnamon, and lemon zest. And it works.
Now in his own space and with access to a giant kitchen, Gulbay is, well, on fire, and his menu has hugely expanded as such. A frequent special, the massive beef ribs, is the stuff of my carnivorous dreams: served à la Flintstones with the bone in. Same goes for the beef cheeks, which have the same high melty quotient as the brisket, but are somehow even beefier.
The banana pudding deserves a callout here, too. It’s as thick as a frozen custard—Gulbay adds heavy whipping cream to Jell-O pudding mix and real bananas, then embeds Nilla wafers in the morass, which soften and resemble chunks of pound cake. Absurdly rich and deluxe. It’s like something they would’ve poured in an elaborate copper mold and served to Queen Victoria.
Let’s talk Turkey here: Since I first went to Outsider BBQ months ago, I’ve thought about this menu almost every day, no lie, and I’ve sent as many friends there as possible. Gulbay’s changing the barbecue game in Seattle before it’s even fully started.
