Journeyed out of town this weekend to stay at the luxuriously plush Inn at Langley. The accommodation’s were gorgeous (complete with fireplaces, hot tubs and large decks), the views stunning (there’s nothing quite like sitting in steamy hot bath while looking out at the beach- its just fucking bliss) and the food (prepared by the ingenious Chef Matt Costello) refreshingly unique.

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Its been ages since Ive had a good trout. Too long. I love the fish but rarely see it on menus and of course, when it is featured, the preparation is seldom to my liking…so I skip it. Lose lose. But wait, theres a win…theres finally at long last a win- Thursday night, Spring Hill brought me back to my beloved. Pan-fried rainbow trout served with cracked bulgur, celeries andcaramelizedfennel- the meal was flawless.

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“Booze for breakfast eh?” Karissa is squinting at me in the tender morning light, her coffee cup tucked between her knees as we begin our drive. “Its lookin’ like it.” I’m sure my tone conveys that the idea is not exactly appealing at this hour. We’re headed out to Dry Fly Distillery where without a doubt there will be sampling. I’m trying not to think about it, instead focusing on the road and doing my best to keep my own hot cup from spilling onto my lap.

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The city is dozing and I am deeply almost angrily envious. Here I stand rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, hair wild, my jacket pulled tightly around me. It is damn early, the streets abandoned…light has not even begun to touch the Seattle skyline. It could be two in the morning, the middle of the night…all I know is that it is dark, cool and post-apocalyptic quiet. Pike Place Market at this hour is forget-to-exhale stunning. It looks like a movie set or a postcard, a still life painting of the city. The stalls are empty- there’s no evidence of the heavy traffic, the shouting vendors, the truckloads of fresh cut flowers and fruit they will be jammed with in a matter of hours.

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The space, the food…Delancey is best described as pure, clean and deliciously simple. Yet, despite the austere inelaborate decor, it feels cozy here. It must be the proud presence of the warm brick oven that sets the tone…or the quirky photos on the walls, the basic furniture…maybe its the snug unpretentious neighborhood location. The softness of this pizzeria inconjunctionwith the cordial hospitality that owners Molly and Brandon effortlessly exude makes Delancey feel less like a rising star in the restaurant scene (which it certainly is) and more a local nook where its seems nearly intuitive to unwrap your scarf and stay awhile.

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The ambiance is part Catholic church, a tad Christmas day & a pinch of what I imagine Buckingham Palace may be akin to. Christmas, not in the commercial tinsel/ tree sense but in that its comfortable, elegant and details have been put in place for the sake of a distinctive occasion. I love that feeling…its the embodiment of stepping out of dress shoes and padding around in stocking feet while dressed to the nines, the striking pronouncement of formality and underlying warmth. A consummate reverence echoes- this may very well be where folks come to pay homage…is this a house of culinary worship? Cuisine royalty? The Herbfarm widens my eyes, quiets me immediately. Walking in the door the urge to genuflect is almost compulsory.

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Ray’s Boathouse is a true manifestation of the Northwest. With its unparalleled view of Shilshole Bay, its rich enduring history and an exceptional menu showcasing local food (with an emphasis on stellar NW seafood)- it represents well. Elegant and upscale, it feels special occasion oriented- an ideal spot for celebration, romance and of course…impressive expense account dinners. While there, I noticed the prevalence of fat cats in the dining room (surely regulars)- they without a doubt take for granted the craft and style of this place. I, however, do not and hopefully never will. Rays should be fully appreciated and acknowledged for its efforts…it is visually and culinarily stunning.

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It’s one in the afternoon and we’re drinking bourbon. I came here to Cantinetta to have a chat with Chef Brian Cartenuto…5 minutes into the interview, he’s pouring Basil Hayden with a heavy hand. I am, of course, charmed. This is how interviews should start. Hell, this is how everything should start- grocery runs, walks with the dog, yard work…no matter- pour the bourbon. Based on this action alone, I know that Brian and I are going to get along just fine.

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This appetizer they make- it kills me. Since sampling it, I have actually considered stopping by Enotria and getting a batch for take-out or coming in for a purely Sottocenere based meal. Words like “rich” or “delicious” fail to do it justice. The dish is named after the truffled cows milk cheese it contains- Sottocenere. To create the appetizer, the cheese is wrapped in chard, cooked in butter and then finished with a splash of truffle oil. I shit you not when I tell you that I hesitate to swallow when I have one of those little morsels in my mouth- they are truly truly that good.

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I used to live out in Preston, which is frankly one and the same with Fall City (they share a main road in fact- Preston/Fall City Road). I loved this area…I loved how rural and mountainous it felt. I loved that the land opened up and farm plots quickly replaced business complexes, pick-up trucks outnumbered BMW’s, tobacco was more common than chewing gum. Five or six years back I rented a small house here and in my driveway, I would lay out on the hood of my car at night and cherish how close the sky felt, how dark it was. It felt so remote and backwoods even with Issaquah a short 10 minutes away.

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