Richard Dwyer wants you to walk into Western Vine Caribbean Cafe and feel like you’ve been spirited to a tropical island. “The artwork is all from the Caribbean. My mom and myself [are from the Caribbean]. Thursdays to Saturdays we play Caribbean music downstairs, and our regulars drop by and dance.”
Western Vine Caribbean Cafe
81 Vine, 728-1959 dinner Mon-Sat; lunch Mon-Fri major credit cards; checks
The first time I visited this Belltown spot on a Saturday night, there was lots of good juju all around. Despite heavy construction work outside, the little two-floor cafe was filled with beautiful, bejeweled women who could have been from the West Indies. The air was sultry; windows and doors stood open to catch the bay breeze. Downstairs, the bartender was dancing hip to hip with one of the waitresses behind the bar. Richard’s mother, Enid, held court at a corner table, chatting up lady friends in her rich, lilting voice. Richard, a graduate of Western Culinary Institute in Portland who has cooked on various islands, walked in and out of the kitchen.
It was a good place to sit while sipping the froth off a cold mug of Red Stripe. We started with half a dozen coconut shrimp, perfectly grilled on skewers, but with no discernible taste. That disappointment was eradicated by the purple cabbage slaw, which was refreshing, crisp, and delicious.
And then there were the entrées, each one a colorful medley of intense spices and deep flavors. The jerked half-chicken ($14.95) was tenderly saturated with the smokiness of allspice, chile, ginger, cinnamon, and cloves; the bright orange yam purée offered note-perfect sweet contrast. It’s the house signature dish—and one of the most popular with customers—for good reason.
Lomo de puerco ($16.95) offered two slices of moist roasted pork loin that had been rubbed with chile and topped with tomato-ancho coulis (purée). The sauce was excessively spicy, but the fresh tomato taste shone through, clear and unmistakable; the pork was so tasty it didn’t need any adornment.
Already a really good dish, it was raised up into a class of its own by the mashed potatoes. There are no two ways about mashed potatoes: When they’re good—with or without gravy, garlic, butter, lumps—you don’t need anything else. When they’re bad, they’re glue. The mashed potatoes at Western Vine are made with black beans, chorizo, sautéed onions, bell peppers, and garlic. Inspired and unstoppable.
If a restaurant review could be written on the basis of first impressions alone, this piece would end right now. But, alas, I returned.
It was a Monday night, and the magical spark of that first visit was decidedly absent. The place was almost empty at peak hour. We ordered the pan-roasted chicken breast ($13.50), coconut curry fish stew ($15.95), and beef tenderloin ($18.95). The waiter came back to say there was no beef tenderloin. OK, then, mutton stew. Sorry—here was a big catered event over the weekend that wiped out everything. So we ordered the pork enchilada.
The pan-roasted chicken breast, stuffed with goat cheese and shrimp, would have been fine had the chicken not been charred. The salvaged bits of meat were moist and tasty; the Mexican mole broth, however, was toothachingly sweet. The curry fish stew—a mix of rice, shrimp, and fish—was overwhelmingly intense. It was both too salty and too sweet—a shame, for if the flavors had been taken down by three orders of magnitude, the dish would have been positively addictive. By the end of dinner, my tongue felt raw; I downed three glasses of water.
The pork enchilada never arrived. What came in its place was the lomo de puerco. The pork was tender and tasty, as before, but barely warm. The coulis tasted metallic—as if canned rather than fresh tomato purée had been used this time. The mashed potatoes… well, the dinner wasn’t that tragic. The mashed potatoes still kicked ass.
The service was appropriately remorseful, however, and that made everyone feel better. Enid came upstairs to apologize personally and took $10 off our bill. (Full disclosure: She didn’t have to, but she did, and that made a huge positive impression.) Maybe the food was uneven, but, dammit, we liked the people.
The final visit was a mixed bag—in a good way. We enjoyed two fine salads, mixed greens tossed with coconut-lime dressing, and spinach with Gorgonzola dressing and jerked bacon (both $6.95). We sampled Enid’s famous Jamaican patties—a flaky turnover traditionally served at Easter. It reminded me of a samosa or an empanada; these were stuffed with salty ground beef. (Note to Richard: Fill these babies with the mashed potatoes, and you’ll have an instant classic on your hands.)
Mutton stew ($12.25) revealed chunks of Enumclaw mutton that were meltingly tender, proof that it had been slowly cooked for six hours with onions, peppers, garlic, thyme, rosemary, and bay leaf. Flavors were intense: Too much of a good thing made me yearn for rice that was not coated with gravy. The paella ($13.95)—rice made savory with coconut, saffron, and seafood—was grainy with West Indian curry powder. Good taste; unnerving texture.
Western Vine has only been around since last November. Like its owner, it’s still pretty young. And, like its owner, it has an intensely likable quality that makes you hope it will stay around for a while. But next time I go, it’ll be on the weekend.
