It's sizzling. It's savory. It's across from a Fred Meyer?
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I'm dining alone in a small Chinese restaurant filled with Asian patrons. Seated beside me, two women employ the sharp end of crab legs to delicately pluck meat from a Dungeness crab that, minutes ago, crawled in a nearby tank. I pour a cup of tea, doing my best to keep from begging for a morsel, trying not to reach for the bright-green stalks of garlicky gai lan that, ignored by my neighbors, perfume my world.
Things get worse as servers stride from the kitchen carrying broad bowls of soup floating with crab meat and bean curd, fish maw and shark's fin or hoisting glass pie pans heaped with wide, chewy rice noodles. Sizzling platters of beef and oysters, vivid green beans tossed with bits of pork, and Sterno-fueled hotpots bubbling with meats and vegetables are, unfortunately, all destined for other diners.
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No longer able to contain myself, I grab chopsticks and spoon, make my way around the room and stop at large round tables where fragrant goodies fight for space on cramped lazy Susans. Showing no shame, I sit down with absolute strangers and help myself.
In my dreams.
In reality, I order a seafood-tofu hotpot ($8.80) and sit quietly until it arrives, mildly sauced and brimful with tender shellfish and custardy fried bean curd. Sighing with contentment, I retrieve crunchy greens and slippery black mushrooms from the depths of the pot, counting the hours until I can return to T&T Seafood, hungry entourage in tow.
Named for co-owners Tony Mann and Theresa Lam, T&T is the answer to the dreams of Chinese-food fanatics living in the far North End. Used to be, local folks would have to schlep to the International District to find Chinese seafood restaurants like this one — places with food that's delicious, inexpensive and available for take-out, with a menu that doesn't cater to the mainstream American palate.
Mann spent the past decade cooking in Seattle's Chinatown at Fortune City and Honey Court. Six months ago, he and Lam opened this small, low-slung cafe across from Shoreline's Fred Meyer — the very Freddy's where (be still my beating heart!) I regularly shop for Rubbermaid products and Matchbox cars.
Since my first solo visit, I've sampled a score of memorable dishes here, chief among them sizzling black cod with black bean sauce ($9.80). Fished live from a tank, it met its maker (so to speak) in the kitchen and arrived filleted, trailing the scent of fermented black beans, onions and bell peppers in its wake. Keeping an eye out for small bones, I savored the supremely moist flesh and skin that clings, caramelized, to the sizzling cast-iron platter.
A two-pound tilapia ($9.80/pound) all but jumps from the tank to land swimming in a simple, soy-based broth. Steamed whole, it's presented scattered with scallions, bearing head, tail, fins and a delicate white flesh whose slightly "muddy" taste may be an acquired one.
Expertly cracked Dungeness crab ($7.80/pound) is a messy, slow-go eat. Heed my advice and dispense with inhibition while sucking sticky ginger, garlic and scallion sauce from the sweet-meat-filled crannies of this steamed beast.
Fastidious seafood eaters may be better off with crispy prawns with honey walnuts or those served Szechuan style ($10.80). The former wears a vaguely sweet, light-but-creamy dressing, the latter sits amid broccoli crowns in a sweet/hot garlic-infused glaze. Portions of each are more than generous, and the same may be said of nearly 40 items listed, separately, under "Economic Dishes." At $6.28, they're giving this stuff away, doing a brisk business in cold chicken feet with jellyfish along with such Sino-American favorites as kung pao chicken, Mongolian beef and sweet-and-sour pork.
Service, under Lam's direction, is commendable. I appreciated the waiter whose honesty regarding "deep fried bung unbplit" was welcome. "What is it?" I asked. He smiled and shook his head, silently intoning, "You don't want it," while pointing in the vicinity of his intestines, later stopping by to show me the dish before whisking it away to another table.
We ordered fried pigeon instead ($7.80). Split, bone-in, with dark livery meat, the bird had crisp skin bronzed to a deep golden brown not unlike that of the excellent Peking duck, $22.80, which is also served head intact. "It's a bird!" shouted my young son, reaching for the lazy Susan. "I want the head!" He took it. And ate it. Next time we're sharing the bung unbplit.
Nancy Leson can be reached at 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com.