Alki Homestead: Hipster Kryptonite

Less than a block from the most SoCal strip of seashore in Seattle sits the city's most Midwestern restaurant, the Alki Homestead. Housed in a gargantuan log cabin, the Homestead's clientele comprises mainly senior citizens and families with small children, its mood music skews toward Tin Pan Alley and old-time standards, and its interior consists of antique plate sets, polished armoires, and frilly white linen. In short, hipster kryptonite if it ever existed.

The Homestead specializes not in steak (although they serve a very respectable New York) nor seafood, but instead in fried chicken—lots and lots of fried chicken. Served by the platter until the customer says uncle (i.e., all you can eat), the chicken is very greasy, very moist, and very good. If you're on a diet, don't come here. If you're stoned or have the metabolism of a fruit gnat, however, this is paradise—amplified all the more by the Great-Northern-meets-The-Shining ambience. A helpful pre-ingestion tip: Order a glass of bourbon. It stimulates a sort of artificial tapeworm effect, and here you'll want to get your money's worth. (Speaking of which, the Homestead is pricey by Bottomfeeder's Dumpster-scavenging standards. But fuck it—'tis the season.)

Alongside the fried chicken come predictable, well-executed sides: mashed potatoes with a silver gravy boat here, soup of the day there, mixed veggies and salad everywhere, and a warm, refillable basket of biscuits at center table. Our polite, folksy waiter is dressed impeccably in vest, pressed shirt, apron, and tie, and expresses genuine surprise to see a couple under the age of 40 requesting a table for two near the window on a cold, rainy night.

Stormy nights, in fact, match the Homestead perfectly. They call it comfort food, but on an evening such as this, with the wind howling and the waves crashing ashore a short distance off, it'd be better classified as safety food. If the Homestead were to wash out to sea, its logs would make you feel as though you were on a large, sturdy life raft. And, best of all, there'd be an endless supply of fried chicken.

mseely@seattleweekly.com