`Shut Up And Eat' -- Dinner At Crowded Swingside Is Worth Waiting For
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# # 1/2 Swingside Cafe 4212 Fremont Ave. N., Seattle ($$) Reservations (for parties of six or more only): 206-633-4057 Dinner only: Tuesday-Sunday 5:30 p.m.-10 p.m. (appetizers: $5.50-$12; entrees $11-$18) Beer and wine Credit cards: MC, V Wheelchair access No smoking Parking: small lot in back; on street -------------------------------
Welcome to the Swingside, where patience is both a virtue and a necessity.
Arrive after 6:30 p.m., and expect to wait outside in the cold and dark under a shallow awning. Step inside, and you'll fight for elbow room in a minuscule entranceway - where you may be forced to look longingly upon empty tables reserved only for parties of six or more.
On a date? Chances are you'll eventually be seated next to the front door, next to the restrooms or at a makeshift patio table removed on Wednesday nights to allow space for live jazz or blues. And once you are seated, expect to endure the hungry stares of those urging you with their eyes to eat it and beat it.
Do I sound annoyed? Don't be ridiculous! I love this place. As do all the other masochists standing in the rain waiting to sit in a cramped, rec-room-funky restaurant to pay homage to chef-owner Brad Inserra.
The Swingside is the Fremont version of the place Inserra learned his craft: his Sicilian grandfather's restaurant in a small-town Italian club in Monongahela, Pa. "Seattle's Best Little Italian Restaurant" is a boast that's not far from the truth. But this labor of love (with a small menu reflecting the size of the kitchen) is no spaghetti house, nor is it strictly Italian, as anyone who has ever tucked into his aromatherapeutic tamarind- and coconut-scented Moroccan stew will testify.
Look around the two dining rooms - recently re-opened after a roof collapse caused a six-month closure - and you'll find half the neighborhood ignoring the none-too-cheap wine list and drinking $4 tumblers of jug-pour Montepulciano. Though those inclined shouldn't ignore such treats as Molly's Cuvee, a $33 Sangiovese wearing Kirkland's own Cavatappi label.
This kitchen is essentially a one-man operation. Brad spends most of his time in pasta hell, and the rest of it putting the magic touch on such specials as venison and beef stew over potato gnocchi in a luscious truffle-accented gravy. Appetizers are an afterthought. There's caponata or tapanade, or both - if you go for the antipasto Provencal.
Pay the big bucks ($12) and the antipasto buys the smoky eggplant and kalamata olive spreads, goat cheese, marinated carrots and smoked salmon. That's assuming that they haven't run out of the lox (a predicament our waiter failed to alert us about until we asked why ours was missing). Which brings home an important point: To truly appreciate the Swingside, it's best to take to heart the concept of "shut up and eat."
Fresh greens in a light vinaigrette are complimentary with some entrees but not others, and if everyone gets a salad and no one's charged for the "extras," shut up and eat. Sure there are supposed to be sea scallops in the prawns and scallops puttanesca, but if the chef's low on scallops and decides to bolster his potent, gorgeous, not-too-tomatoey puttanesca with halibut cheeks instead, shut up and eat.
Order aglio e olio - ordinarily a simple pasta with garlic and spicy olive oil - and you get an elaborate, oh-so-rich plateful of linguini lavished with capers, sun-dried tomatoes, anchovies, Marsala, ground hazelnuts and - oh yeah - aglio and olio. Shut up and eat it.
Only then will you learn why they call this "The dish that made Swingside famous!"
Always check the blackboard for specials and pray for gumbo, a gutsy potion whose makeup depends on the chef's whim. Ours featured halibut cheeks, crab meat and rock shrimp, relied on okra for thickener, and ignited a slow, satisfying burn. This is a righteous stew you'll remember every time you taste an impostor somewhere else.
The coffee (from Fremont's own Lighthouse Roasters) is good and strong, and though the desserts are made elsewhere, they're worth lingering over. Just remember: If one of those hungry souls standing by the door gives you the hairy eyeball while you're lingering, just put on your nicest smile and say, "Shut up! I'm eating."
Nancy Leson's phone number is 206-464-8838. Her e-mail is nleson@seattletimes.com.