Crush's delectable, upscale food is just the thing
for a trendy 'new' neighborhood

Seattle PI

Friday, August 26, 2005

By Rebeka Denn
Seattle Post-Intelligencer Reporter

The owners of Crush on Madison just wanted to create a new neighborhood restaurant -- yet here they are in an actual new neighborhood.

Yes, the bad boys are still loitering outside Deano's up the street, the cop cars still make their stops, the corner market has boarded up windows and a special on Budweiser, you can see the lights of the tattoo parlor gleam neon through Crush's windows at night.

But the old blight is a vanishing checkerboard on this stretch of East Madison Street in the Central Area, disappearing faster than you can say "four-story mixed-use building." Or, in the case of Crush itself, "completely remodeled, 102-year-old home."

Here's the new East Madison: Beet and cress salad laid out in rectangular artistry of discs and crescents and leaves; crab cake so packed with pure Dungeness it isn't clear how it all sticks together; a foie gras appetizer so hulking and rich and sweet, with its huckleberry-blackberry dressing and hint of liquor, that it could have been an entree (or dessert). It all comes together in a modern mix whose quality lightly vaults Crush onto the latest list of the city's best restaurants.

Chef and co-owner Jason Wilson makes his ingredients count with unusual specificity: That lemon thyme contributes to an orchestra of flavors in chanterelle ravioli; it's not there because lemon thyme sounded prettier than plain thyme on the menu. Foodie trends make an appearance -- and yet the "anise-hyssop foam" does serve a purpose, lightening up a cheesecake and adding contrast to the crunching bits of brandy snap crust. Textures are made to matter, with flavors maximized even more by the small dice of the cucumbers or the slurry of corn. There's also some push-and-pull between creativity, seasonality and Wilson's other desire to include some modified home cooking as menu standards, a la the tender, truffle-scented short ribs with carrots and (somewhat heavy) gnocchi.

Wilson's most recent restaurant work in Seattle was at the now-defunct Stars in Pacific Place (past postings included Singapore and France); he's run a still-active catering business with wife and business partner, Nicole, over the past few years.

          A woman and child stroll past Crush, a new dining enterprise in an owner-remodeled 102-year-old house in the Central Area.

It was Nicole, the restaurant's co-owner and manager, who drove past the house on East Madison with its "stylish old bones" and envisioned its transformation. The do-it-themselves job included rewiring, building new bathrooms, pouring concrete and digging a 4-foot-deep trench for new plumbing, not to mention endless sanding, stripping and varnishing.

The polished end product is artistic minimalism, with brightly eye-catching food standing out against the white plates, the hard white tables and mostly white walls. There's a seven-seat bar, two small dining rooms (total capacity: 41); swooping, body-molding white chairs that left the tallest member of our party sore, Reidel glassware for even our tap water, and acoustics that atrociously drown out what otherwise would be a romantic date. Most of the houselike touches are lovely, but the trash cans in the bathroom need to be restaurant-size rather than residential, they overflowed onto the floor on two of our three visits.

The Crush house is compressed by new developments on all sides that shout new money: A Trader Joe's and a big new Safeway, candy-colored condos and "urban townhomes," public notices posted on the vacant lots and hard hats already swarming over the recently vacant lots. Older signs still announce you're passing the Central Area Chamber of Commerce, while the shiny apartments just across the street hopefully proclaim another name: "The Summit at Madison Park." Even the owner of Deano's itself plans to tear down the dive next year and put apartments or condos in its place.

          The beet and cress salad is impressive with its presentation, laid out in rectangular artistry of discs and crescents and leaves set against a simple white plate.

"For Crush, it's been great to see the reception, and how people are not finding it hard to get parking or drive (to the neighborhood)," Wilson said. "I hate to use the word gentrify, but we are helping the neighborhood grow."

That difficult debate -- gentrifying or revitalizing? -- is an old one in the history-rich area, but it now looks moot. Median single-family home prices in Crush's ZIP code jumped to $697,000 in the past year, according to the Northwest Multiple Listing Service. That includes tonier areas nearby -- the once-rough blocks of East Madison had long been sandwiched between pricier spots -- but the rock-bottom place in the entire ZIP code sold for $204,500, hardly bargain-basement.

Wilson wanted to create a neighborhood restaurant, and he's priced it to match. It's not that it's cheap -- you will pay $19 for your consummately cooked halibut with intriguing chunks of shrimp and lobster mixed into the accompanying succotash -- but in context, it's a deal. Entrees would run 10 to 20 percent more at dozens of other restaurants in town, for food that isn't nearly as good.

For entrees, whole, late-season morel caps dotted the farro underneath our duck confit, with the fatty juices making the last bites of grain sinfully rich. A high, broad hunk of spice-coated ahi made us gasp just to slice through the pale crust into the almost purple, sashimi-like inside.

Our only near-miss was scallop risotto. Its sweet flavor was amped up by oranges, but the friend from Trieste sighed "overcooked" after just glancing at the grains on one visit, and we were surprised to find our teeth crunching on grit in the scallops themselves. Servings are substantial enough that you won't need sides, and, especially with the austere sauteed spinach ($4), they won't be missed.
         

Appetizers are even a cut above, such as the juicy grilled quail, or the beet and cress salad, which comes decorated with lines of gold and red puree, tastes tinged with preserved lemons and orange zest. A plate of mixed olives ($3) is bathed in flavors that will take several delightful minutes to tease out (mustard seed, coriander and fennel, for sure).

Desserts were every bit as fine, and we wished Crush's handmade filled chocolates, with distinct, not-too-sweet, grown-up flavors like Earl Grey tea, could be sold around town the way you find Macrina bread or other Seattle classics.

On our first visit, servers continually entered the room to flick their eyes over the tables, but never brought our bread and didn't fill our empty water glasses. Generally, though, they were professional, opinionated and adept, even whisking tables in and out as different-size groups claimed their seats and the puzzle pieces of the small room needed adjustments.

Meals have a relaxed, leisurely pace, even given the noise and -- the puns are inevitable -- the crush of people inside. It may take a week or two to get a reservation for one of those 41 seats, but once you're inside there's plenty of time to relax.