Gone, but not forgotten.

[chuck]

The Bungalow Wine Bar in Wallingford was really cool after I got used to it. Also, Cafe Paradiso on Pine was a good way to kill a couple of hours a day, but it just isn't the same now that it's a different coffee shop.

[wesza]

Does anyone remember the "Breadline" that was located on the corner of 2nd and Jackson in the Cadillac Hotel Building that later became the Hollywood Underground and the Fenix.

It was a real funky place that served good food at very reasonable prices for Seattle.

Irwin

[elswinger]

I have to go back, way back in time, to remember when Tony's Frozen Pizza's were good (1972). They also made really good salami, bologni, and cheese Poor Boy sandwiches. My Dad used to buy them at the Littlerock (WA) Tavern and bring them home.

[JasonTrue]

(snipped self-referential quote about fusion foods and not great Japanese chain fare)

Is this the Japanese place that's there now?

The fusion thing is interesting, and it's part of what caused me to ask the initial question (and the reflections on Seattle food history are interesting too!). My theory is that the places that endure are those places that either don't buy into trends and just serve good, classically prepared food or the places that are really good at keeping a finger on the pulse of trend and rolling with the punches. And I bet more of the former endure than the latter.

←

Yes, the very same, unless it's changed again recently; Koji Osakaya, which has several locations throughout Portland and Seattle areas, must appeal to some folks, but not to me, or to many of my Japanese friends. (And yes, I like food in Osaka. This wasn't it).

I think there's a third path for fusion. Nearly every country engages in some sort of fusion; Korean, Indian and Thai foods would not be the same without chilies originating in the Americas. Pho wouldn't exist without the French colonial influence on Vietnam. Italian food and tomatoes: we know that story. Potatoes in Irish, French and German cuisine? Fusion, fueled perhaps a bit by desperation. Okonomiyaki and sukiyaki were fueled by the (re-)introduction of meats and novel Western ingredients into the Japanese diet by way of a merchant economy. Tempura in its original form was most likely introduced by the Portuguese to elite Japanese who could actually afford to consume oil. Most every "classic" American dish was a fusion of European custom with locally available ingredients; any more recent "classic" is perhaps the victory of product design.

Most countries' "traditional" foods that really aren't all that ancient. Sushi as now known is really only about a hundred years old, a simulation of earlier Edo-area fermented rice balls made by fisherman to preserve their catches.

"Classics" are enduring, but simplicity, classic or not, is what makes for classics. By simple, I don't necessarily mean quick or easy. And I don't mean to imply that flavors can't be complex. I am just referring to starting from a consciousness of the fundamental properties of ingredients, as opposed to starting from a consciousness of drama and novelty.

A burrito, a quesadilla, a piadina, a pita, a steamed Chinese bun, a sandwich: nearly anything you can do with one, you can do with the other. Starch, fat, protein, handy encapsulation. Simple.

Some flavor combinations are simple, elegant, and mutable: I like insalata caprese, served alongside a little bread and drizzled with olive oil. I like tomatoes, mozzarella and basil fried in spring roll pastries. Slightly different choices of contrasts, different temperature, same fundamental simplicity.

A tower of puff pastry with grilled vegetables, seared ahi, wasabi cream sauce, drizzled reduction of balsamic vinegar, caramelized shallots, topped with rotary sliced shoestring fried potatoes? Not simple. Fun, perhaps, once, but more about drama than about a pure enjoyment of food.

Most great flavor combinations, classic or novel, start simple. Lemon and honey. Butter and soy sauce. Basil and tomatoes. Rosemary and potatoes. Shiso and ume. The memorable exceptions, like complex flavor bases of Indian and Thai cooking, start complex and then it's about completing the dishes with simple techniques: one to three vegetables, a bit of protein, the seasoning, and maybe some fat and liquids, braised for a short time.

Hijiki, polenta, miso bechamel sauce? It's not any more complex than polenta with some herbs and tomato sauce. Maybe simpler.

Haruki Murakami created a character who ran a bar and hired a cook who was incredibly good at preparing incredibly simple dishes, attracting a reliable audience of good customers. He said this was deceptively simple, and I'd agree; it's easier to find someone who can mask mediocre cooking by obscuring the essential flavors of the dish with complexity.

What went wrong with fusion cooking was one thing: It was more about the drama than the food.

Drama is ephemeral and forgettable. I can't remember exactly how the last Law & Order I saw ended. Food is ephemeral, but memorable. I remember exactly how good the last in-season locally-grown tomato I had last October was.

But clever business folks realize that food is not why people go to restaurants. They go to get a bit of royal treatment, to be entertained, and to be comforted. For all but the most obsessed, the food is secondary. The path of least resistance is drama. Good food is hard to make consistently, with sufficient control; even the best will make a mistake. Drama can be built upon a formula. If you want to fill the seats, you find three or four people who can nail incredibly good simple food day in and day out, and you let them run the kitchen for a few months and hope they can build an audience. Or you invest a lot in decor, design, atmosphere, publicity, and buzz, and you can pack people in before the reviews come in, pay a "good enough" cooking staff, and the money is the same color.

Someone else will always be building a new dramatic restaurant concept, and trendy people move with trendy people, and novelty draws trendy people. The kinds of places that serve decent food every day to the folks in their neighborhood should last longer, because people come home every day and usually need to eat, and don't really care who sees them at the restaurant on Tuesday night.

It doesn't have to be "classic" to have staying power, but the combination of food quality, service quality, value, and the corresponding guest loyalty will make the biggest impact on the durability of a restaurant.