Siiri Sampson 2011

Dumplings get me every time. I don't care what part of the world they come from--I'm an equal-opportunity eater!

​When the weather starts to warm up, the layers of clothes start to drop. It doesn't take nearly as much food to fill the void, and the need for refreshing flavors like citrus, fish, and fresh veggies overtake any previous desire for heavy chilis, potatoes, and steaming bowls of soup. Squeezing a little south-of-the-border flair into the meal to boot is just an added bonus. So making the short jaunt over to Z'Tejas in Bellevue (535 Bellevue Square) for some festive appetizers and post-work drinks is a great way to kick off the upcoming warmer weather.

Z'Tejas has been around for a number of years, in five different states, and does a couple of things very well. As soon as you sit down and waters arrive, each table gets their own little cast-iron skillet of heaven. Housemade cornbread in Barbie-sized iron skillets with honey butter come straight from the oven to the table. They're small enough so you can polish off the whole thing, but not so large that you'll ruin your appetite. There are nice bits of whole-kernel corn in the bread, and the density and crumb are just right.

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Siiri Sampson 2011

Holy Shnoo. Mixed berry and chocolate begin a new flavor romance.

​Just when we were ready to throw a flaming bag of poo at summer's door in protest of its belated arrival, a weekend of Seattle's finest weather comes through. It's not a moment too soon for sun-worshippers everywhere in the Northwest. Now all anyone can think about is frying their alabaster skin like a Maine lobster and choking back the tears of happiness with gallons of ice cream, gelato, and fro-yo. For Eastsiders, that means that a trip to Shnoo in Renton (830 N. 10th St., #M), to lick up the best low-cal, low-temp treat is now fully legit.

While gangly teens and athletic college coeds spoon their way through pint after pint of fatty Ben and Jerry's, the health-conscious crowd can flock to Shnoo for a guilty pleasure of their own, now minus the guilt.

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Siiri Sampson 2011

Underneath the mess of beans, cheese, and red sauce is, allegedly, a chile relleno. One bite reveals why it's hiding.

​When someone mentions Mexican food but you don't get to actually have any, a certain set of symptoms take over until the hole is filled. It's not as bad as, say, the bubonic plague, but it's definitely worse than a sinus infection. So maybe it's in the middle, right around chicken pox. The desperation to scratch each individual pox is very similar to the burrito, enchilada, or churro "itch" that needs to be scratched with just the right dish. The longer this need goes unfulfilled, the longer and more specific the list of items needed to squelch the hunger pangs gets.

What's worse than going a week without feeding the beast? Getting mediocre versions of classics like chile rellenos--and spotty service to boot--as I did last week at Tapatio's in Factoria (3720 Factoria Blvd. S.E.).

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Siiri Sampson 2011

Eggs, Beecher,s flagship cheese, prosciutto, and truffle oil: A better combination doesn't exist.

​Renton has had quite a few eateries pop up in The Landing over the past few years that are actually worth trying out. As contrived as the shopping center may be--an odd set of seemingly concentric circles that are tangentially adjoined to the existing infrastructure--having a handful of various cuisines all within eyeshot of each other is actually kind of nice. What most Eastsiders may not know, however, is that there's another complex on the rise, looking to give The Landing some competition. Just up the road, a stone's throw from a Boeing hangar and right on the waterfront by Coulon Park, sit the Southport buildings. And tucked away, like a little secret for locals' eyes only, is Peyrassol (1083 Lake Washington Blvd.).

Peyrassol has done a good job of turning what should be an office space (complete with a generic panel-drop ceiling) into a bright yet cozy space with a bit of character. While the front of the house functions like a coffeehouse where folks can grab a latte and a premade sandwich from their cold case, the majority of space is dedicated to a more relaxed sit-down cafe.

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Siiri Sampson 2011.

More cheese, more toppings, and bigger slices is where it's at.

​There are a couple of ground rules that New York pizza should adhere to to legitimately bear the name. One, the slices have to be big enough to fold in half, so you can shove it down your throat fast enough to prevent your inner Richard Simmons from slapping it out of your hand. And secondly, once the slice is folded, there must be a river of grease that freely flows from the crust crease into your lap. Bridle Trails New York Pizza in Kirkland (6501 132nd Ave. N.E.) boasts crust which is delightfully thin, but doesn't snap like a cheap cracker, dumping molten sauce and toppings down your chest.

Bridle Trails has a lot going for its slices, which is fortunate since its tucked-away location limits mass exposure and its dilapidated interiors are underwhelming. The pizza is built on handmade crust with an ample dose of homemade sauce that is notably piquant without causing a runny nose. There aren't any globs or chunks of unblended tomato paste; the weight of the sauce is akin to a vegetable smoothie, and doesn't soak into the dough and leave the cheese high and dry.

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Siiri Sampson 2011.

It looks like grated parm, but something's fishy about those translucent curls atop the roll. Good thing there wasn't a sign saying "shaved salmon skin"--that would've totally ruined it.

​Everyone loves surprises--well, good surprises that is. Getting to the creamy center of an orange creamsicle, or making it to the heart of an artichoke for the first time after getting those sticky hair-like petals stuck all over your hands is worth the work. Occasionally you stumble upon an imposter dish like a cake disguised as a hamburger or a bowl of spaghetti--weird, but still good. And then there are the "so glad I had no idea" surprises, like you can find at IzaKaya Sushi in Renton (829 N. 10th St.).

Anyone willing to publicly proclaim "I love sushi" has had enough nigiri, hand roll, or sashimi to figure out the pieces they toss back like candy versus those ingredients they avoid like, say, raw squid, large fish roe, or cream cheese. But sometimes curiosity gets the best of you, and next thing you know, a raw quail egg or monkfish liver shows up to the table. It's not really a surprise since you know it's coming, but the flavor, texture, and likability are still undetermined.

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Siiri Sampson 2011.

Trying to hide your cheap, crappy ingredients inside a big, fluffy loaf of bread only distracts me for so long.

​The beauty of a sub sandwich is there's really no right or wrong way to make it, or so it would seem. Add some cheese, sauces, deli meats, chopped veggies -- it's basically a big salad wrapped in bread, thereby allowing you to forgo the fork and knife and be the heathen you really are. Toasted? Sure! Dijon mustard and mayo and spicy Southwest sauce and oil and vinegar? Of course! The more, the merrier. Sounds simple, right? Enter Sarducci's Specialty Subs in Kirkland (955 6th St S), where they've managed to make a complete mess of the easiest food item ever.

Sarducci's occupies a small suite in a Kirkland strip mall. So small that upon arrival it's completely full of middle-aged men and the lunch-rush line has reached the door. Waiting outside for a few minutes until the line moves up isn't that bad. After all, it must be a good sign, since places that suck are usually deserted, with a swarm of flies out front as a warning sign.

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Siiri Sampson 2011.

Is their wood fire oven is big enough for a blanket-sized version of this, that you could roll up in and eat your way out of?

​So many things make pizza amazing. For one, it's obviously the best food item ever created. You can put everything on it, or just have it plain and it's still edible gold. There are endless combinations of ingredients--and it's still good even when you put fruit on it (talking to you, stoned Hawaiian lovers). Cold or hot; breakfast, lunch, or dinner; in any size and shape you want; thin crust, stuffed crust, or deep dish--you can even make it on a bagel or (the childhood favorite and savior of all working parents) English muffin. White sauce, red sauce, or no sauce, it doesn't really matter--you're having pizza. There could be tire shavings on it and you'd ask for a second slice.

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© Siiri Sampson 2011.

Note to self: You can always add MORE spice; you can't pick off every pepper flake after the fact.

​Pad Thai is an oddity of Americanized food culture (along with pho, burritos, and cappuccinos). Every Thai restaurant, highbrow or hole-in-the-wall, seems to offer it, so it must be easy and universally similar, no? The only real way to answer that would be to train in an authentic Thai kitchen, or be lucky enough to grow up with a Thai best friend whose mom you could watch constantly churn out everyday Thai delights. and steal her recipes. Short of being a 12-year-old kitchen spy or cashing in your 18-year career at Microsoft to work under some marginalized line cook prepping tofu cubes for minimum wage, the secret of good Pad Thai will remain a mystery to non-Thai natives.

Pad Thai's sordid history reads like a soap star's bio. Allegedly, Vietnamese traders brought it into ancient Thailand. Then a Thai prime minister used it as a life preserver to alleviate export demand issues before World War II. And of course that totally pissed Erica Kane and Chandler off, so they stole the recipe. After Erica divorced Chandler and gave the recipe to every Thai joint in Pine Valley (and we hear that's not all she gave them), numerous bastardized versions started popping up.

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Siiri Sampson 2011

It might look unnaturally yellow, but its oh-so-delicious curriness will convince you otherwise.

​Never underestimate the power of a solid, tried-and-true recipe that's been handed down through the generations. While one might agree that over the lifespan of Great Aunt Marge's lemon pound cake, it's probably seen mild changes, like, say, changing out the shortening (or God forbid, lard) for something more reasonable like applesauce, you wouldn't go so far as to turn it into lemon poppy-seed muffins, right? At some point, enough is enough; if it's not broken, don't fix it!

These days, it's more common to find restaurants and chefs that, in trying to make a name for themselves or pave the way for some new fusion of two completely opposing cuisines, will morph a recipe into obscurity, rendering it useless and even confusing for everyone. Finding an eatery that sticks to its roots, keeps it uncomplicated, and pays tribute to the pioneers who engineered the original versions of timeless dishes is rewarding but rare. It's only fitting, then, that in old-town Bellevue, sits Gilbert's Main Street Bagel Deli (10024 Main St.).

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