What's in a name?
 |
|
||||||||||
What's in a restaurant name? That depends on the restaurant. Some names speak volumes, others say nothing. Tried-and-true or trendy? Topical? Name-droppable? Surely the sign above the door should tell you something - anything - about the meal or the mood you're about to embrace.
Some aim for the obvious: You won't have to ask what they're pushing at World Class Chili, I Love Sushi, The Italian Spaghetti House or, for that matter, Hooters. Others take the geographic route. Guess where you'll find Ten Mercer, Anthony's Pier 66 and the fancy newcomer set to anchor the Elliott Hotel? (Hint: It's called 727 Pine. )
Geography holds sway in a more original fashion at Adriatica (one of the city's first upscale Mediterranean restaurants), Atlas (the menu's all over the map) and Pontevecchio (Italian for "old bridge," in this case, Fremont's). But why be original, geographically speaking, if you can get right to the point? Witness: Taste of India, Taste of Russia, Taste of Saigon, Taste of Thai and Taste of Tokyo.
A sense of humor is an imperative in the restaurant business, and some owners believe humor should extend to the sign above the door. That said, the next time my straight-laced mother-in-law has a hankering for a burrito, I don't think I'll be taking her to Bimbo's Bitchin' Burrito Kitchen or Two Dagos from Texas. And I won't even attempt to explain how a Chinese buffet restaurant got the name Foody Goody: at least not to my sensitive and heavily accented Chinese pal, Ti Chong.
Some names are downright catchy, rattling around in your brain whether you want them to or not. "So, where'd you have lunch yesterday?" "Oh, the Copacabana." Then there are those - remember Clinkerdagger, Bickerstaff & Petts -- that leave you scratching your head and wondering, "What were they thinking?" I'm not sure what the Schwartz Brothers were up to when they chose the name "Spazzo" for their view-restaurant atop Bellevue's Key Bank Building. But I know exactly how everyone mispronounces it.
Kaspar Donier, Ludger Szmania, Shiro Kashiba and Salvatore Anania are among the many chefs who took the easy route in coming up with their restaurant's names: Kaspar's, Szmania's, Shiro's and Salvatore. Which is all the more reason to send long-overdue bouquets to Renee LeFevre of Philadelphia Fevre Steak & Hoagie Shop (Yo, Renee! I luh-uh-uh-ove you) and Sandy Shea of romantic Chez Shea and adjoining Shea's Lounge. Their eponymous restaurants took the name game to higher heights. But enough about being self-centered. How about naming a restaurant after your wife (Nell's), your dad (Tulio), your pet (Maximilien) or, as James Hondros did when he recently renamed Brie & Bordeaux, your grandmother (Eva).
Choosing the perfect moniker isn't easy. Ever try to name a baby? Once you've bought the book, gone through 30,000 potential names and zoned in on the right one, why not use it again? That's how we got Restaurant Zoe, Sasi's Cafe (a combination of the names (Sa)mantha and (Si)mone) and Etta's Seafood. Etta's, nicknamed for Tom Douglas and Jackie Cross' daughter Loretta, was not their first choice for the Dahlia Lounge's younger sibling. That name, Fishbones, conflicted with another local seafood joint called The Magic Fishbone, already open (and closed shortly thereafter) in Madison Valley.
Name confusion is a serious problem when trying to forge and maintain a restaurant's identity. Just ask Pioneer Square restaurateur Luigi DeNunzio. Potential customers too often mixed up kitschy Buca di Beppo with DeNunzio's La Buca, a problem that had Luigi tearing out his prominent mustache. It has grown back big as ever since he changed his restaurant's name to Luigi's Grotto. P.S.: When Buca di Beppo, part of a Minneapolis-based chain, opened its first Seattle-area location near Lake Union, it was called, albeit briefly, Beppo Little Italy. But don't get me started.
Confusion reigns on many other restaurant fronts. It's easy to see why Salumi -- Armandino Batali's Italian meat mecca and sandwich shop in Pioneer Square - is often confused with Salumeria on Hudson, the Italian café and specialty food store in Columbia City. And am I the only one who has to think twice when someone starts talking about Palisade or Palomino? (The former is the extravaganza-with-a-view in Magnolia, the latter resides upstairs, downtown, at City Centre.)
Looking for the best pasta in town? You'll find it in Montlake at Cafe Lago -- not at Caffe Ladro, which sells coffee.
Ever wonder why Panda's became Pandasia? Potential lawsuit. It pays to trademark, as the folks at Panda Express (at a food court near you) obviously knew. Ditto for the owners of Blowfish -- a Japanese restaurant in San Francisco. They didn't much like the fact that the pan-Asian restaurant in Seattle's Paramount Hotel shared its name. They liked it even less after learning that Blowfish Asian Cafe had plans to clone itself in Portland. And that's why Blowfish restaurants in the Paramount Hotels are now called Dragonfish, not to be confused with Kingfish, which serves sassy soul food on Capitol Hill.
John Law got into the act when the owners of Greenwood's Stumbling Goat Bistro attempted to name their restaurant The Drunken Boat (after Rimbaud's poem) and had to come up with something else, quick. Turns out the state Liquor Control Board's got a thing against names that promote overindulging on the hard stuff. They obviously never drank a bourbon-laced Sazerac.