Gabriel’s Fire
Garrett Mukai
Beautiful bún bowls at Green Leaf.
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Although he's concocted seven varieties of sauce, ranging from Kansas City to Thai, Gabriel Slimp serves his barbecued meats as naked as God and man intended. Unlike some pitmasters in town, Slimp doesn't ladle a pint of candy-sweet tomato sauce over his glorious beef brisket, whose ebony exterior is crisp and peppery and whose pink smoke-ring bespeaks hours of slow cooking. The beef is cut cross-grain into thin strips, leaving the center as lacy as a tatted slipcover, since all the collagen and fat between fibers has melted away. This meat, you quickly realize, has nothing to be ashamed of. His pork ribs have just enough bite left to them to let you know he didn't boil the crap out of them before sticking them in the smoker, and his grilled flank steak and chicken pick up enough smoke to merit a place beside the slow-cooked pork shoulder. The cooks appear to work on geological time, but when you taste the mac-and-cheese that you've just seen them stir together on the stove, you won't begrudge them a single one of their meditation breaks. JONATHAN KAUFFMAN
Serves: lunch, dinner. 2408 N.W. 80th St., 783-4223. BALLARDgabrielsfire.com
Green Leaf Vietnamese Restaurant
There's a reason people are willing to pack in like sardines to eat at this modest family-run place: generous portions that are easy on the wallet. And the chipper servers are more than happy to direct you to their favorite dishes on the menu. (The general consensus: Order the vermicelli.) I heeded their advice and ended up facing a massive bowl of bún dac biet, a vermicelli dish loaded with grilled chicken, pork chop, skewered shrimp, and even a fried egg roll chopped up and thrown into the mix for good measure. Prior to that, I'd already munched on some fresh shrimp spring rolls and savory grilled lemongrass mushrooms. It was too much, and my server, sensing I was overwhelmed, wordlessly packed up my food. ERIKA HOBART
Serves: lunch, dinner. 418 Eighth Ave. S., 340-1388. INTERNATIONAL DISTRICTgreenleaftaste.com
Mike’s Noodle House
Ordering Hong Kong–style noodle soup at Mike's is like shopping for shelves at IKEA: a minute number of base models with dozens of variations. Do you want your you mien with wontons? Squid balls? Wontons and squid balls? How about a few strips of beef brisket, as well as a few spoonfuls of the sweet sauce the meat was braised in? What distinguishes Mike's from its neighboring competitors are the mouthfeel of its skinny, stretchy noodles, imported from Vancouver; the depth of the clear, sapid chicken broth they float in; and the potent chile-garlic sauce you can brush your wontons through or stir into your broth once you tire of its quiet meatiness. There's another set of variations on congee (rice porridge), and if a little crunch is in order, a cold plate of pale, frilly tripe. JONATHAN KAUFFMAN
Serves: lunch, dinner. 418 Maynard Ave. S., 389-7099. INTERNATIONAL DISTRICT
Paseo
There's no denying the freakish devotion Seattle lunch hounds have for the city's hottest mess of a sandwich. Close your eyes as you stand in line on a Thursday at 1 p.m., and the various lip smacking, oohing, and aahing can be mistaken for a porno soundtrack. Do yourself a favor, though, and don't watch strangers eating these sandwiches. It will kill your appetite. Whereas on a second date, checking out your companion's navigation of the constant ingredient shedding and meat-juice trickle could pique your interest. The Cuban Roast in all its pulled-pork, garlic-mayo, and pickled-jalapeno glory may be the star of the shop, but make sure to break out, even if just once. Try the midnight Cuban press, those same shreds of perfectly marinated pork getting it on with cheese and smoked ham after a panini-grill treatment. Paseo's entrée selections also rate for affordability and home-cookedness. MAGGIE SAVARINO DUTTON
Serves: lunch, dinner. 4225 Fremont Ave. N., 545-7440. FREMONT; 6226 Seaview Ave. N.W., 789-3100. BALLARD
Pike Street Fish Fry
"You ruuuuun, with the devil," Fleet Foxes harmonizes through the speakers. A 20-something at the fryer sings along. I hum the tune while waiting to place an order. At my feet a toddler bobs and weaves in time. "What can I get you?" asks the very pleasant, stocking-capped hipster at the register. This moment in pop-music unity was brought to you by the Pike Street Fish Fry. The conscientiously hip hole-in-the-wall beside Neumos is at once obvious and subtle. The batter is light, not quite tempura, but nothing too overwhelming, so the green beans and peppers keep their flavor. You can get much of the menu grilled instead, but I recommend the fryer. Pike Street offers the perfect comfort food—there when you need it, at a price you can afford. It's a place where everybody knows, if not your name, all the words to your favorite songs. LAURA ONSTOT
Serves: lunch, dinner, late-night. 925 E. Pike St. CAPITOL HILLpikestreetfishfry.blogspot.com
Pho Bac
Don't go to Pho Bac for frills. There are no cream puffs, no vegetarian options, and no real plants. Go because you're happy to freeze in Pho Bac's little corner shack on a crappy chair for the roughly three minutes it takes the kitchen to prepare your order. You'll be rewarded with hot Vietnamese noodle soup that's more deeply beefy than other pho in town. Your choices are all cow: there's tendon and tripe, meatballs and round steak. I choose brisket, knowing I'll scoop in generous servings of the fattiest version right down to the bottom of the bowl. It always melts easily on my tongue. JESS THOMSON
