In this age of Patriot Acts (read for irony: reduced freedoms), I want to declare my love of the French.
My housemate, the lovely Hollywood, recently started serving at Cafe Presse here on Capitol Hill in Seattle. This afternoon she suggested I visit. Facing the hazards of rain and society I journeyed the 15 blocks or so over to 1117 12th Ave. Whoa was it worth it. Cafe Presse = the kind of place that keeps me living on the Hill, and inspires me to leave my basement on reasonable occasion.
As I sat down George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord” was playing in the background. I was against the back wall in the front room, facing the inescapable early evening crowd. As my friend Henri observed to me last week, Presse is a place to dine if you like commotion. I do. I enjoyed the chatter with a cup of skillfully brewed coffee (Cafe Vita).
Then Holly supplied me with a cheap ($5.50) glass of decent vin blanc. I sipped this as I devoured the Soupe à l’oignon gratinée ($10), billed as “caramelized onion soup made with chicken stock, with crouton and melted Comte cheese”. No one knows onion soup like the French. The edges of my bowl looked like they rim of a nuclear crater, caked with the delicious detritus of caramelization. The onions were soft and just sweet enough. The cheese, though prone to stringing, complimented them well. A generous few helpings of baguette and I could sop up the precious liquid. My spoon did the rest.
The service was quality, of course. The atmosphere was very downtown, urbane. It’s no hole in the wall, but it’s affordable enough that the starving shadow puppeteer can get a hearty meal and still feel sophisticated.
Next time I plan to try the Pommes-frites.
Look at their hours/menu here.
