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True That: Pizza Ovens Must Be Bell-Shaped

Once again, Cornichon is otherwise engaged. Once again, Jacqueline Pruner, amateur blogger (and professional attorney) steps in. Her report below.

The scene: Via Tribunali in Georgetown. The judges: a delegation of four pizzaioli from Naples, representing the Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana. Seven applicants: Tutta Bella's new Issaquah location (incidentally, the first Seattle establishment to become VPN certified); Ristorante Picolinos, Pizzeria Pulcinella, and Via Tribunali’s Belltown, Fremont, Georgetown, and Queen Anne locations. The evidence, presented over several days: authentic pizzas from authentic pizza ovens.

AVPN's purpose is to ensure that pizzas are made the traditional way. Based in Naples – the birthplace of pizza – it allows the use of its collective certification trademark (i.e., brand name and logo) only after a rigorous set of regulations are met, including specific standards for ingredients, cooking and production methods, and the characteristics of the finished pizza. Take Article 3, entitled “Required equipment”, subsection 3.3, entitled “Wood” describes the wood permitted to heat the bell-shaped ovens (which, yes, according to subsection 3.3.1 and entitled “The pizza oven” must be bell-shaped, as it has been for centuries): “Wood that does not hold any moisture, smoke or produce odours that alter the aroma of the pizza in any way is required to cook Verace Pizza Napoletana. (The Association recommends oak, ash, beech and maple.) More legalese here.

Seattle is now the U.S. city with the highest density of certified Neapolitan pizzerias. (Take that, Noo Yawk! ) The attorney in me is drawn to the stringent regulations required for certification, but the proof is in the eating. My inner foodie loves the fact it’s simply an excellent thin-crust pizza reminiscent of the pies I enjoyed with such gusto in Naples.

Summary judgment: they came, they saw, they certified. Mission accomplished, case closed.

Braving the Elementals

In the overlapping sets of Seattle restaurant owners and people who are dicks there stands Phred Westfall, and it's not because he spells his name funny. Call him eccentric, call him quirky, call him sui generis if you must, but he's got a most unusual way of running his candy store, Elemental @ Gasworks.

Elemental's kitchen, by Laurie Riedmeman, does very well indeed. Last meal here was exceptional, in fact. After a refreshing aperitif, a cascade of delights: gnocchetti, beef tartar topped with a quail egg, asparagus-spinach salad with shaved parmesan, quail over green beans, a pulled pork tamale with corn, a generous cheese board. Wines to match each course (selected and poured by Phred, on his best behavior), and the tab (which includes tax & tip) was about $80.

Stories about Phred's capricious manner (alternately annoying and standoff-ish, occasionally solicitous) have been circulating for years (see UrbanSpoon, Yelp, CitySearch, etc.), but Bethany Jean Clement's review, earlier this month, of the adjacent space known as E.lemental N.ext D.oor (END) suggested things were getting better. She reported that "END's menu, on a pulled-down roll of butcher paper, bears the inked message SAME FOOD, LESS ATTITUDE."

And yet, just when we thought it might be safe to get back into the water: Not. We hear that Westfall lost his composure again this weekend after a guest took issue with the restaurant's cavalier response to a question about available seating ("I'm not psychic!"). Impolite words were spoken by both parties, whereupon Westfall physically assaulted the hapless guest. Now, we know that people get into the restaurant business for all sorts of passive-aggressive reasons ("I just want to feed people" is the most common), but sadism shouldn't be one of them. That's just dickish.

Elemental @ Gasworks, 3900 Wallingford Avenue N., 206-547-2317

Lunch at ART: In Excellent Taste

It's been almost a year since Kerry Sear closed Cascadia and returned to the hand-laundered and crisply-folded fold of the upscale Four Seasons hotel chain, taking along his patented miniburgers and a majority of the staff (notably chef de cuisine James Dimeling). The burgers are on the bar menu at ART, the hotel's restaurant, 3 for $5 between 5 and 7, #3 apiece from 2 to midnight, but the delightful miniburgers.com website is no more. (Four Seasons has its own problems,

No more, either, ART's fanciful, underappreciated "paintbrush" concept at dinner. Instead, it's back to basics, Seattle-style: salmon, halibut, branzino, duck confit and lamb steaks. It's at lunch that the kitchen struts its stuff, with several "TV Tray" (for très vite) options: a soup, a salad, a sandwich and a dessert served all at once, based on what's fresh at the Pike Place market, a block away. The tomato salad includes lots of sweet little tomatoes, all peeled (yes!), dressed with basil microgeens and accompanied by burrata mozzarella. The braised beef cheek (red wine, root vegetables, cooled, shredded, served with a classic beef stock reduction) is sublime. There are 22 folks in the kitchen (Cascadia had 7), doing breakfast, lunch, dinner, banquets, and an employee café for the hotel's 220-member staff.

At Cascadia, over 10 years, Sear hired 600 employees. Now there's an HR department. The Four Seasons chain--co-owned by Bill Gates, in case you'd forgotten--is not immune from economic pressures, but for Kerry Sear, the best part of not being your own boss anymore: "I don't miss pouring money into the restaurant."

The Four Seasons is across the street from the Seattle Art Museum, which has its own restaurant (called Taste, which makes all this rather confusing.) But the view from ART is westward, across Elliott Bay to the Olympics. In the foreground, on Western Avenue, is the very industrial Seattle Steam plant (so far so good, it has an intrinsic beauty, like Gasworks Park), and a very ugly Public Storage warehouse. Why not put a (tasteful) mural on that blank grey wall? Now, that would be public ART.

A PS for wine lovers: you can "sample" any bottle on the list (150-plus labels). They'll open it if you buy just two glasses and pay for half a bottle. The restaurant keeps the wine fresh with the Verre de Vin preservation system, so the next guy can enjoy some of "your" bottle, later on.

ART Restaurant, 99 Union St. (in the Four Seasons Hotel) 206-749-7070 or www.artrestaurantseattle.com

BoKA Warms Up for Summer

Best of Kitchen Artistry, BoKA for short, invited Cornichon to a "Summer Solstice Cocktail Celebration" Cornichon couldn't make it, but sent volunteer guest blogger Jacqueline Pruner instead. Her report:

In honor of the summer solstice (and what we can only hope is the arrival of summer), BoKA is extending its lineup of signature drinks and adding three "urban bites." Joining the tasty white peach cosmo are a coconut mojito (sparkling soda and creamy coconut), and a ginger limonata (refreshing, though not very gingery). Best is the pineapple rush, an unlikely combination of Tres Generaciones silver tequila and Red Bull; it starts off strong on the tequila, then mellows and sweetens as the pineapple sorbet liquefies...definitely grows on you.

Standout among the new apps is a yummy rhubarb bruschetta: light with a lovely layered flavor of brown butter, blue cheese, golden raisins and, of course, rhubarb.

There's also a crispy chicken drumette and a chili-garlic shrimp, complete with torn basil and spicy chili aioli (too spicy for my taste; I’d prefer a creamier, cooler aioli to balance out the uber-hot of the shrimp).

And if the sun don't shine? “When it rains, BoKA pours” is the promo. Free valet parking (very helpful on First) and a $6 Tropical Rain cocktail made with mango and pineapple rum, fresh fruit juices and (of course) an umbrella.

BoKA in the Hotel 1000, 1000 First Ave., Seattle 206 957-1000

Earthquake Relief; Certified Pizzas

Over 50 Seattle restaurants, including almost every Italian joint in town, will donate a substantial portion of their proceeds Wednesday ("Big Night for Abruzzo") to a rebuilding effort in the region of central Italy devastated by a major earthquake in April. Some 300 people died, over 60,000 were left homeless; countless medieval buildings were destroyed or severely damaged.

Mike McConnell of Caffè Vita and Via Tribunali led a Seattle group to the scene a couple of weeks ago and returned to organize the fund-raising effort. Michael Hebb produced this video to illustrate what the money's going for: a children's playground. Because kids everywhere deserve a place to practice soccer, no?

Meantime, the Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana has sent an official delegation to Seattle to inspect and authenticate several Neapolitan-style pizza ovens installed by Italian craftsmen at local pizza parlors. The four-man team will be welcomed to town with a rare view from the Space Needle, ascending three ladders to the roof-top hatch. Back on the ground, they're expected to "certify" seven pizza ovens: four recent Via Tribunali stores plus Picolinos, Pulcinella and Tutta Bella in Issaquah. For his part, Hizzoner Nickels will proclaim this "Verace Pizza Napolitana" Week.

To Market, To Market

A revamped, community-sponsored Queen Anne Farmers Market opened Thursday afternoon at the corner of Queen Anne and Crockett, replacing an earlier enterprise that had become mired in politics and recrimination. Julie Whitehorn, its chair, and Patty Spahr, its director, assembled a cast of local farmers and food vendors (Skillet, Sorrentino's, Secret Stash) despite hefty obstacles (street use, parking, health inspections, etc.). The grand opening included a ribbon-cutting by Mayor Nickels (who pointed out that he had reduced the fee for street use by farmers markets by executive order) and an appearance by food writer Matthew Amster-Burton (aka Mamster), author of Hungry Monkey (about the culinary education of his five-year-old daughter, Iris).

Very much the in-thing, these farmers markets. Dogs of all sizes, on leashes and mostly muzzled, competing for right of passage with baby strollers and their pushers, resulting in amiable, well-fed gridlock. Smores (from Skillet) and strawberries (from Hayton Farms) to all!

Er, except that Hayton was selling strawberries at $4, while Metropolitan Market, across the street, was selling them at $3. We mentally chalked it up to the surcharge of political correctness, of "Eating the Right Thing," until we tasted the fruit, warm from the sun; they were, in fact, the sweetest, lushest strawberries we've ever eaten.

Blethen's Blunders

Though we're upset at the demise of the Pee Eye and the loss of all those google hits for "pee porn," there's a deeper and more troubling story in local journalism: Frank Blethen's pissing away about $750 million worth of the Seattle Times. That's what the paper was worth a few years ago, when Blethen refused to sell his family's share to Knight Ridder, which then allowed itself to be bought out by McClatchy, which wrote down the value of its Times stock to zero. Complicated? That's only part of the sordid tale, told in detail over at Seattle Business Monthly. Can't help thinking: whadda jerk.

But this is more than an insider story about Seattle journalism. It's a story with overtones of Greek tragedy (hubris) and Nixonian self-delusion. In a page right out of The Sopranos, Blethen told the whole story to a shrink. Yes, the Blethen family volunteered to be the subject of a case study for the Harvard School of Business, and a clinical psychologist named Cathy Quinn conducted endless interviews with family members. The Harvard report was supplemented, for the Seattle Business Monthly article, with serious research by Bill Richards, the reporter who'd been covering the Times-PI joint operating agreement. The vaunted Times, once worth a billion simoleons or so, is now in a 100-million-dollar hole. You have to wonder: how could anyone entrusted with so valuable a community resource be so arrogant, so stupid? Seattle's a one-newspaper town because of this clown?

Romantic, Yes, but Serafina Gives "Rustic" a Bad Name

Late on a warm Seattle night, nothing's as welcome as sitting in a flowered garden, discreet lighting in the shrubbery, the sounds of live music coming from within, the buzz of lively conversations rising around you. Waitresses in black tops and floorlength beige aprons glide by, effortlessly picking up and dropping off plates to contented diners. It's as pretty a scene as you could find in Italy, and it's in Eastlake, at Serafina.

It's been a couple of years since we visited (delicious roast lamb in the photo), and the previous chef, John Newmark, has become an independent wine consultant. Newmark's replacement, Dylan Giordan, is no less ambitious. Serafina puts out a seasonal menu of a dozen appetizers and salads, half a dozen "pasta rustica" and another half-dozen "Specialita della casa," along with a daily fresh sheet: cocktail, soups, cicchetti (Venetian-style snacks), pasta, fish, meat and desserts. There's a separate menu for late-night nibbles (fritters, panino, sausages) in the bar. The wine list goes on forever, with special attention to famous (and pricey) names from Piedmont. And there's a hint of the frantic about Serafina's roster of special events: cocktail tastings, wine tastings, jazz music.

Serafina's owner, Brooklyn-born Susan Kaufman, may admire the charm of the Italian countryside, but you can't learn authentic Italian cuisine from a cookbook. Or teach your staff to reproduce "rustic" flavors, for that matter. In fact, the kitchen seems to suffer from a severe case of "flavor removal." An order of roasted olives was simply microwaved (hot pits!). A dry plate of linguini with prawns and tuna bore no trace of "Sicilian caper sauce." An order of plin (hand-pinched pasta) filled with pork and cabbage arrived in tasteless cream. Oh, a question for Serafina's bartender: how did you remove the taste of Campari from our Negroni?

And yet, Serafina has prospered for a decade, thanks to an ambience that suggests Italian romance. Atmosphere trumps cooking, it would seem, and that's a bitter truth for true believers.

Serafina, 2043 Eastlake Ave. E., 206-323-0807

France Keeps Boeing Aloft, Amazon Afloat

A Frenchman runs Amazon's worldwide operations; a French-made engine powers Boeing's 737s. In all, some 600,000 Americans owe their jobs to French investment in the US, while American investment in France employs 600,000 Frenchies. Despite the economic crunch felt by both countries, there's still a billion dollars of bilateral trade between the US and France every day, says Pierre Vimont, the French ambassador to the US. Speaking in mellifluous English to a breakfast meeting of the French-American Chamber of Commerce in Seattle (tepid coffee, cold Danish), the Ambassador predicted that the US will rebound more quickly (unemployment in France is heading to double digits) even as both countries face similar challenges: bailouts for banks and automakers, uproar over outsize bonuses and stock options.

What's important, he said, is to look beyond the current crisis to the next one (China's explosive growth) and to seek new opportunities for cooperation (the next generation of space exploration, for example). France comes to the table with three decades of experience in nuclear technology and high-speed transportation, along with generations of experience in joie de vivre.

On the political front, Ambassador Vimont hinted that the Sarkozy government expects the new position of President of the European Union, to be created if and when the Treaty of Lisbon is ratified, would go to a Frenchman. Could do a lot worse.

Starbucks Spreads the Word on Burlap

In the beginning, the word was carved on tablets. Eventually, gospels were inscribed on parchment, then newsprint, then pixellated onto the screens of iPhones. Now the medium is the gunney sack and Starbucks is firing back.

Under withering attack from the likes of McDonald's new Mickey-Come-Lately McCafe, Uncle Howard has launched a print-and-internet counteroffensive. On a background of burlap, the print ads proclaim “Starbucks or Nothing. Because compromise leaves a really bad aftertaste.” (Take that, Mickey!) Says another, “If your coffee isn’t perfect, we’ll make it over. If it’s still not perfect, make sure you're in a Starbucks.” (Take that, Dunkin!)

With sales down 8 percent, we're not sure that appeals to fanatic idealism are going to be effective; this is the realpolitik world of Obama's artful compromises, after all. Will feel-good ads showcasing Starbucks's “coffee ethic” (shade-grown coffee purchased at premium prices from Third World growers; health-care and benefits for part-time baristas) be enough to convince 30-somethings to buy more lattes? Hard to predict. Meantime, Starbucks is recruiting fans on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube fans to spread the word. Registration required.

This high-minded, with-it campaign seems divorced from what's happening in the stores themselves, where it's all about value deals, iced coffee for two bucks, latte & lunch. All those global vice presidents seem to be spinning of into worlds of their own, proof that a roomfull of monkeys with typewriters will not, by themselves, compose Hamlet.

Lend a Hand to California's Avocado Growers

Seriously, we like avocados. They're smooth and delicious, not nearly as hard to enjoy as, say, artichoke hearts. Without avocados, there'd be no guacamole. But what, pray tell, is that thing advertised on KING FM, the "hand-grown" California avocado? Does a farmer really stand under the tree all day, holding the fruit? Do Americans really need to feel that coddled?

Look at this handsome website, which must have cost gazillions. Listen to these stories, especially the guy who climbed a mountain thanks to a lifetime of healthy avocado farming. But who, pray tell, held his hand-me-down avocados while he was out on the trail? Some hired handyman? Sure, we like to buy handmade stuff at street fairs and such, maybe a handwoven handkerchief. We like to think our foie gras comes from handfed geese. But fruit and vegetables?

California's avocado growers aren't living hand-to-mouth; they're in the agribiz biz. Unlike bankers, though, they're not asking for a hand-out.

Figaro Getting Married

Opposite marriage be praised, Miss California! Seattle Opera's current production of The Marriage of FIgaro celebrates matrimony both madcap and sentimental, and, along the way, introduces Seattle audiences to a stellar performer, a German mezzo soprano named Daniela Sidram in the "pants" role of Cherubino. Ms. Danzig's tall, gangly frame bring to mind the physical stature of Dame Joan Sutherland; her characterization recalls a bubbly Beverly Sills. That said, Miss California, it gets a bit tricky: Cherubino is a love-struck adolescent boy sung by an adult woman, who disguises himself as a girl in order to, well, as we said, it gets confusing.

An ensemble opera, this Figaro benefits from a strong performance by Marius Kwiecien, Seattle Opera's Artist of the Year in 2007, who sings the role of Count Almaviva with sympathetic authority ("Vengeance is the thinking man's pleasure"). Oren Gradus plays the title role as a bit of a Dan Aykroyd doofus, while Twyla Robinson and Christine Brandes share the magnificent "Letter Duet" that dazzled the prisoners of Shawshank Redemption.

The production is seamlessly directed by Peter Kazaras and conducted by Dean Williamson, longtime Young Artist Series collaborators and consummate professionals. (We're still unsure why lighting designer Connie Yun opted for the bizarre mood-shift at the end of the second act; it's the leaky drop of ketchup from this lovely evening of theater.)

Yet, if this be the course of heterosexual love, Mozart and his librettist Lorenzo da Ponte, got the recipe right. Opposites: a choice you're free to lap up! And an alternate cast (in the five principal roles) if you've been raised to think differently.

Photo: As a teenager with raging hormones, Cherubino (center, sung by Daniela Sindram) finds himself (herself?) at the center of attention. Seattle Opera photo by Rosarii Lynch.

Seattle Opera presents Marriage of Figaro at McCaw Hall through May 16. Tickets online or by calling 206-389-7676

Making Plans: Judging "Oyster Wines"

They call it an Oyster Wine competition; after an elimination round followed by finals in three cities,10 of the original 130 entries are left standing. It's really more of an oyster promotion, created some years back by seafood marketing guru Jon Rowley for Taylor Shellfish. No matter. The winning wines (5 from Washington, 3 from California, 2 from Oregon) will see an immediate increase in sales at oyster bars around the country.

Cornichon was among the judges at the last round, held upstairs at Anthony's HomePort on Shilshole. Next to us, Maggie Savarino Dutton of The Wine Offensive twittered. At other tables, chef Kevin Davis of Steelhead Diner (whose wine list just received a special mention from the Washington Wine Association) and Nancy Leson (Seattle's only full-time, fully paid food blogger).

A very fit, shirtless man emerged onto the balcony of the neighboring apartment complex and stretched like a cat in the afternoon sun. Rowley himself sat by himself at a table overlooking the bay and the Olympics, pondering the lineup of 20 glasses, thinking of the dozens of icy Kumomotos to come. Like Hemingway in Paris, he would smell the oyster, he would chew the oyster, he would sip the wine.

And as we did this, all of us, twenty times over, following the taste of the sea with the crisp taste of the wine, we would lose the empty feeling and begin to make plans.

Belltown Welcomes Via Tribunali

Seattle's emperor of pizza (and sultan of coffee), Mike McConnell, unveiled the fifth Via Tribunali outpost last night in the space at the back of the refurbished Crocodile.

If you're not going to the Croc for a show, you enter through the alley between 2nd and 3rd. In the far corner, Tribunali's signature oven, this one a deep red, built by a team of masons from Naples who used bricks made from Vesuvian ash. The pizzas are Neapolitan-style thin crust, quick-cooked in a blazing hot, wood-fired oven with a limited set of toppings and a relatively light hand on the cheese. A pizza, Italians will tell you--even as they argue over stylistic details--is not an all-you-can-eat buffet.

It's been a busy couple of years for McConnell, who started with a single Caffè Vita store on Capitol Hill. He's expanded the coffee business to five stores and wholesale distribution; partnered with local entrepreneurs (Theo Chocolate, OnePot, Neumo's, among many), and branched out into the restaurant biz (the Via Tribunali chain, Pike Street Fish Fry, Cremant), almost always restoring underused urban spaces for his projects.

The reclaimed Belltown space features lofty chandeliers, high-back booths and a dark mahogany bar; there's even an antique Italian foosball table, an authentic bigliardino , on loan from Corino Bonjrada, owner of Mondello in Magnolia. (Corino's Sicilian mamma, Enza Sorrentino of Sorrentino Trattoria & Pizzeria on Queen Anne, supplies Tribunali with her ethereal lasagna.) McConnell isn't afraid to share the credit; he's got admirers all over town.

Via Tribunali Belltown at The Crocodile, 2200 2nd Avenue, 206-441-4618

Alaska Fish Wars: Pollock v Salmon

The huge, relatively shallow Yukon River Delta empties into the vast Bering Sea, home to the largest single-species fishery in the world: Alaskan pollock. Giant trawlers scoop up millions of pounds of pollock every year, more than $2 billion worth, to be processed and sold as frozen fish sticks and "krab." It's a healthy, sustainable industry (its proponents say) that provides low-cost protein for millions of people around the world. And, through a government program called Community Development Quotas, the impoverished native villages of Western Alaska actually own a share of the fishery.

But there's a catch to the catch.

It's called by-catch, species other than pollock that get caught in the nets of the offshore fishery. Were they just junk fish, it would be no problem. But the pollock by-catch consists of chinook (king) and chum salmon returning to their Yukon River spawning grounds, plump with fat and omega 3 acids, some of the healthiest and best-eating fish on the planet.

Even more important, though, than feeding discriminating diners in Seattle, the Yukon king salmon provide subsistence for villagers on the river's banks. Entire families go out in shallow boats to snag them as they make their way into the river. This is a part of Alaska, it bears repeating, where gas costs $10 a gallon, where the pollock fishery has decimated the salmon runs, where even Gov. Sarah Palin recognizes (albeit reulctantly) the humanitarian crisis of starving villages.

A noisy hearing in Alaska this week pitted the pollock people against the salmon supporters, both sides also making use of the Internet to tell their stories.

The temporary solution, an unsatisfactory compromise, to "limit" the by-catch, makes little sense, since the salmon (worth $5 a pound to the natives) are considered worthless by pollock trawlers; the lifeless carcasses are simply dumped back in the sea. In theory, limiting the by-catch would require trawlers to stop fishing when they reach a maximum number of salmon; in practice, they'll probably continue.

"The pollock fishery got what they wanted," says Jon Rowley, the Seattle food guru who weighed in on behalf of the salmon.

It's a saga straight out of Spotted Owl territory, a historic conflict of interest between farmers and cowmen (who ended up, in Oklahoma!, at least, being friends), with no guarantee of a Judge Boldt decision in favor of either fish. But it's not just about the fish, it's about the people who live by the fish, and there's no easy answer.