libertango | Pasta Freska

As I've mentioned before, when I was a child we lived in Boston. This means I have a primal ur-memory of what an Italian restaurant is like. I remember a place in Cambridge, Villa Capri, that was just off of Inman Square. This was the late 1960s, and it was squeezed into a brick building, just next to the fire station, and the food... was what I was raised on. What I call "East Coast Italian" these days, because on the West Coast... yes, it's all more "fresh", and it's all more authentic, but the sauces just don't seem right, and... I dunno. I like West Coast Italian just fine, but my heart really belongs to what my head retains of those childhood days.

There's a place that's wedged into a similar old brick building here in Seattle. It's on Westlake Ave, in the stretch between the Mercer Mess and Fremont, so just up against Lake Union. I'd been by it one time when house hunting back in 2002, and I dimly remembered a review in the Seattle Times (which I now know may be found here).

I have a fairly good restaurant radar -- one of our early experiences as a couple, when I was visiting

akirlu on Christmas for the first time, was when I pulled out a place in the middle of the Santa Cruz Mountains that had venison and duck on Christmas Day, because we'd just driven by when Ulrika said she was hungry -- and that radar kept saying, "Check this place out sometime."

We went for the first time last night. It's called Pasta Freska.

As the Times' review says, owner/chef Mike Horri greeted us when we came in. He then sat us down, and asked us what we didn't like. He asked whether we wanted some wine, and while we're not usually wine drinkers, we said yes. You very much get the sense Mike uses his front desk to keep track of all his customers as they come by. Pasta Freska very much feels like a neighborhood hangout, and it was clear as he bantered with folks at other tables that Mike knows his regulars well. He thought he'd seen me in before, but I had to tell him, no, although I'd been mulling stopping by for quite some time.

What we were served was what I commented to Ulrika as, "Italian omakase." It's a Japanese word that translates roughly as, "trusting," and it's how we tend to order when we're at Mashiko for sushi. You put yourself into the hands of the chef. Everything came out of the kitchen as a surprise to us. Mike asked us at the very beginning whether we objected to seafood -- I said, on the contrary, we liked seafood. He asked if we minded spicy, we both said no. I said the things I didn't like were capers and liver (and I know, depending on the region of Italy, some dishes might have chicken liver, say).

First up was what he smilingly referred to as, "Surprise number one." At first I thought it was fresh ravioli, but there was something leafy as the base. It might have been grape leaves, it might have been eggplant, and it was in a very savory sauce. (I note from the Times that Mike's heritage is "Greek/Sicilian/Persian," so any of this is plausible.)

The wine was a 2003 chianti from Travignoli. Dry, but warm to the taste, just right for the rainy, windy night.

Our next course was salad, typical oil/vinegar/grated cheese. This came with a garlic bread that, as Ulrika put it, "had enough garlic." (a longrunning trope of ours, that nothing can have too much garlic.) -- "And fresh!"

First entree was chicken with pasta. Ulrika's came with a dark wine reduction sauce that looked like marsala, but wasn't. Mine was a lighter sauce, that seemed to depend more on herbs, but also had one or two pieces of pineapple in it, of all things. Idiosyncratic, but it tasted great. The pasta on both was perhaps a bit mushy to current tastes (it sure wasn't al dente), but one had the sense it had been baking for quite some time, and talking to the ingredients in the casserole in a good way.

For a second course, we both got a large prawn and pieces of what seemed to be halibut. This in a traditional tomato-based sauce, not diaboli, but not sitting around, either.

Dessert was a sampler plate -- flan, a slice of double-chocolate cake, and some spumoni. Quoth Ulrika, "Oh. They served us the dessert tray."

Now if you read all that, you'll see this was all very old-fashioned, basic ingredients. East Coast of the 1960s, damn near, like I said. But the execution was so good (and it hit so many nostalgic buttons for me), that I really can't praise this place enough.

Pre-tip, the bill came to $91. That broke out to $8 for the dessert tray, $21.50 for each of our dinners, and -- here's the killer -- $32 for the bottle of chianti. But, without the wine, you're looking at a price point right around Outback, or Ivar's Salmon House, or Buca di Beppo just down the street, for a much more cheery and cozy meal.

As a piece of lagniappe, we also received two drinks, black russian-ish, at the very end.

As we said goodnight to Mike, I told him, "You said you'd make us a delicious meal, and you delivered."

I'm pretty sure we'll be seeing Mike again.