Pssst. I’m cheating.

See, I’ve got something I want to write about for the newest edition of Dine and Dish from The Delicious Life, but I need to break the rules.

It’s not that I intend to write about something other than a restaurant that serves small plates — oh, I’m all about multitudes of small plates (just ask the nurse who weighed me in at the doctor’s office today) — it’s that time frame thing that’s got me in a pickle.

More specifically, this, Sarah’s rule #2:

Go eat any time betwixt now and Monday, February 27, 2006.

(“Now” being February 3rd when Sarah posted her announcement.)

First, can I tell you where we’ve eaten betwixt February 3rd and February 27th? Aside from around our dining room table or in front of the telly laughing at melodramatic ice dancers, that is?

   The pub.
   The Thai place for lunch.
   The pub again.
   The crappy Chinese place when the pub was unexpectedly closed.
   Oh, yeah, and the pub again.

Note the alarming trend. The trend that screams: It’s Off-Season! It’s the pub or (almost) nothing, baby, cuz until the spring tourists arrive, this place is all about wonky restaurant hours and tiny paychecks.

Yup, winter on the island; so not conducive to culinary exploration.

Not that we’ve got much of that to begin with, mind you. Take this month’s Dine and Dish theme, for example. Amazing Graze? Small plates? I can think of one — yup, one — restaurant that falls under that category on this island, and go figure, we already covered it back in Dine and Dish #3: The Freshman.

Now the Thai place could count as a small plate venue — if we were to write about their spring rolls — but we got that one back in Dine and Dish #4: Rachael Ray for a Day.

And the pub? Hah. Been there, done that in Dine and Dish #1: Barfly. Not that their plates are even remotely small, mind you.

So, nothing left to write about. Or, I cheat.

Which (after this absurdly long preamble), brings me to the place I want to tell you about. The place that’s 251 miles (plus ferry ride) away and we haven’t been to since Christmas. Chopper’s and my favorite dim sum joint, Fong Chong, in Portland’s Chinatown.

Now Fong Chong isn’t much to look at — in fact it’s got detractors who bitch about the lack of atmosphere (as if that’s more important than a damn fine steamed hum bow) — but we’re not here for pretty décor. I can find plenty of places that scream heavenly temple and serve up deep fried MSG-laden crap any day of the week. Well, any day I’m in an actual city, mind you.

No, Fong Chong is not about elegance. It’s a cavern of a space with scuffed floors and smudgy windows, but it holds a special place in our hearts and come hell or high water, when we take a trip to Portland, we make a stop at Fong Chong.

My first time dining out with Chopper’s parents was at Fong Chong. It was one of those early, get-to-know-the-folks meals, and we couldn’t have picked a better place. At any other restaurant we’d of run the risk of gulfs of silence; each of us engrossed in our own private plate, only occasionally exchanging pleasantries.

How’s the salmon? Oh, good. How’s the steak. Fine. Vegetables are over-cooked though.

Not at dim sum. Here, we shared the excitement of approaching carts together. Is that ginger chicken? Yes! Oh, and yu chee gow. Score! We sampled our favorites together and together we came just inches away from the big dim sum Do-We-Dare Challenge: Chicken feet.

In the months that followed, Fong Chong became our spot, and Chopper and I were such regulars we even had a favorite server who recognized us on sight and popped by our table soon after we were seated. “Two Tsingtao?” she’d ask after every greeting, to which we’d invariably say “of course,” because we could never resist a crisp Asian beer to follow up a good chomp of dim sum.

We had our favorite dishes – mine was the har gau, Chopper’s the siu mai, but every so often we’d venture out of our safety zone and try something we’d never tried before. Sometimes it was a one-shot deal, but more often than not we’d finish the meal exclaiming “I can’t believe we waited this long to try that one! We are idiots! Gah!”

(Yes, that last line should be read in a Napoleon Dynamite voice.)

Even so, we never quite got up the courage to face the chicken feet. That is, until a day we arrived and found Fong Chong so busy they were seating multiple groups of diners at their large, Lazy-Susan centered tables. Not that this hadn’t happened before; we’d shared tables many times — it was just that this time was different. We landed at a table with an absolutely charming and loquacious Chinese couple who’d just come into town from Astoria out on the coast. Fong Chong, they told us, was a necessary stop to their every Portland trip, and then they proceeded to recommend their favorite dishes, including — oh look, there they are on the next cart! — chicken feet.

How could we resist?

And y’know? Those crunchy collagen-filled feet, they aren’t half bad.

(I could go on, but remember, I’m terrible at waxing eloquent about flavors. See, I even admitted it. Ooh, the chicken toes, so crunchy yet tender in my mouth! They make me happy! They are happy feet! [giggle])

Actually, I’m lying. The chicken feet were just a little too fatty collagenesque strange for my liking. Chopper, on the other hand dug them so much I feared this would lead to a new culinary extremity trend. Pig’s feet, frog’s legs, lizard toes…

When Chopper started culinary school full time, we had to cut back on our visits to Fong Chong, sometimes going without dim sum for two to three months at a time. (Agony!) Meanwhile, we were working hard, saving what we could for our absurdly DIY wedding, which we’d foolishly planned for month number eight of Chopper’s schooling.

The day after the wedding (which I may write about sometime after our second anniversary, when I’ve fully recovered), we were so utterly dim sum deprived, we had to make the Fong Chong trip. Nothing else mattered. Presents? They could wait. Cleaning up the mess from our 11th hour wardrobe construction? Feh. What’s a living-room full of fabric scraps, anyway? A sign of creativity, that’s what!

So, off we went with visions of sesame balls and onion buns dancing in our heads.

As luck would have it, the new (and newly married) manager was working that morning, and she was so tickled to learn we’d made Fong Chong our choice for First Meal Out as a Married Couple, she knocked the price of the food right off our ticket. All we owed for was beer and tip — and a good thing too because oh did we pig out that day!

Now, you might think that my ode to Fong Chong will end on a melancholy note. That things have changed or that we’ve moved on to a new favorite spot. Not a chance. Even after our longest dry spell — a gap of nearly half a year without a Fong Chong visit — our return was just like old times. Last December, halfway down I-5, driving late at night after catching the 10:15 ferry (Chopper having hightailed it from pastry station to ferry line), the urge kicked in.

“You realize what we need to do tomorrow,” I said.

Chopper glanced at me from the driver’s seat to check my expression. He saw my smile and returned it.

“I mean, we’re getting into town at what, 2 a.m. at the earliest,” I said. “We can get ourselves out of bed by 10:30, and…”

“Fong Chong,” Chopper said.

“Fong Chong,” I echoed. I was grinning from ear to ear now in the dark car; the anticipation of har gau, hot chili oil, lotus leaf rice… it was almost too much to bear.

We were there within 45 minutes of waking the next morning. And there, first at our table, was our favorite server.

“Two Tsingtao?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, oh YES!” we answered.

Fong Chong
301 NW 4TH Ave
Portland, OR 97209-3882
(503) 228-6868

Fri-Sat 10:30am-10pm
Sun-Thu 10:30am-9pm

Best time to go: Fong Chong opens for business at 10:30, but they don’t really get rolling till a little after 11. Show up between 11 and 11:30, before the line kicks in, and you’ll be there when the carts first hit the floor with goodies fresh from the steamers.

On the table: The hot chili oil (that fire orange liquid in a jar) is a must. Pour it on your plate. Lots of it. Don’t be shy.

Thirst quenching: We love our Tsingtao and think you should too, but if you’re not in a beer mood, don’t worry, the house tea that comes with every meal is a light jasmine blend that tastes great even if you’ve been sitting at the table for an hour letting the tea pot go cold.

What is on those carts, anyway? You might not be able to understand everything the servers say, but here’s a tip: Just try it anyway. You can hardly ever go wrong, and at just two to three bucks a serving, the experimentation’s worth it. P.S. Chicken feet. Chopper insists on it.

(Since we, the notoriously last minute, broke our record for tardiness during Dine & Dish #3 and posted a full two weeks late, for Dine & Dish #4 we offer up this Three Act Drama as an apology, and plead forgiveness for any past transgressions. As for our current transgressions, let us just say that we kid because we love. Honest, we do… Sorry, Rachael. We couldn’t help ourselves.)

$40 A DAY
the San Juan Island edition:
A drama in three acts

ACT ONE

EXT. FARMER’S MARKET – DAY

MRS D. strolls down the main aisle. She has the look of someone on a serious java jive. CHOPPER DAVE follows, visibly perplexed.

(Obvious tip #1: Buying your meal at a farmer’s market or outdoor stand saves you even more money because farm vendors hardly ever bother to calculate meal tax!)

ACT TWO

EXT. DOWNTOWN FRIDAY HARBOR – DAY

Mrs. D strolls past galleries, even perkier than before. Chopper follows, lurking in doorways, always at least ten feet away.

CUT TO:

INT. ART GALLERY — DAY

A totally staged conversation

CUT TO:

EXT. GOLDEN TRIANGLE – DAY

Mrs. D pulls up a seat at an outdoor table. Chopper sighs heavily, sets two mugs of beer on the table and joins her.

Chopper buries his head in his hands.

(Obvious Tip #2: Don’t eat at expensive places if you’re on a budget!)

ACT THREE

EXT. MADRONA BAR AND GRILL – ROCHE HARBOR – DAY

Chopper is at the bar. He’s on his fourth pint.

Mrs. D flags a server.

Chopper chokes on a mouthful of beer.

The server points to an item on the menu.

Mrs. D jumps up from the table and takes a step toward the kitchen.

Chopper sits Mrs D back down at the table.

Mrs. D bursts into tears.

Chopper lowers his shades for a moment and raises an eyebrow. He flags the waiter.

San Juan Farmer’s Market
10 a.m. to 1 p.m.
Saturdays at the County Courthouse parking lot on Second Street in Friday Harbor.
Open May to mid-October weather permitting.

Golden Triangle
Spring St & 1st St

Madrona Bar & Grill,
Roche Harbor
2005 Hours:
May 1 thru May 19 open 4 p.m. to 10 p.m.
May 20 thru Sept 5 open 11 a.m. to 12 midnight.

Chalk it up to “Island Time;” our habit of posting on the wire, or in this case, a full two weeks late. We had every intention of completing our entry for Dine & Dish #3: The Freshman by Monday, July 11th, but a long weekend of hard labor (packing belongings and moving furniture) followed by two double-shift work days and a heap-load of general domestic catching-up got the better of us. After that, well, I suppose the dog’s explanation is as good as any.

But, since we found such an appropriate candidate (first-time restaurant owner, brand new location, new, untested niche on this island), and since we snagged an inside look at the process for this Freshman venture, we couldn’t resist posting anyway. Tardy? You betcha. We’ll see you all after detention.

Steps, just two months old on July 13th, is tucked into an alley half a block from the ferry line in downtown Friday Harbor. You wouldn’t know what to expect from the street; this isn’t one of those places that announces itself to the world with massive signage or gaudy architecture. A simple banner hangs above the door, and the alley-side footprint is as narrow as an office cubicle. All in all, this is a most unlikely place for a high-end restaurant.

Inside, the first thing I always notice is the kitchen, exhibition style, brightly lit, and just a short walk from the door. The kitchen’s the focal point; your first glimpse of staff is as likely to be executive chef and owner Madden Surbaugh as it is a server or hostess.

To the left, a flight of stairs leads to a cozy second level with five tables, a row of balcony-rail bar stools, a server/barista station, and, along the west wall, wine, wine and more wine. I’m not surprised; Steps boasts one of the most extensive wine lists in the San Juans.

The décor is modern (some might call it chic), the music an eclectic range of techno to Tom Waits, and the lighting — including a mirror ball and digital wall art that mixes movie footage with live shots piped in from the various tiny video cameras secreted around the joint — is decidedly urban, not at all like the typical Friday Harbor meal-on-a-deck or meal-with-a-view.

One thing’s for certain: two feet in the door and I am not in a small island town anymore.

A restaurant should transport you somewhere, Madden told me when we stopped by for an interview early in July. Italian villa, British pub, seaside chowder house; it’s all about taking the patron on a journey.

For Steps (and this is me, the patron talking), it’s all about leaving the small town and heading for the city. This isn’t Friday Harbor’s version of fine dining; this is Seattle, Portland, San Francisco. This is high-end chic and it’s not something we’ve seen here before. “I was looking to rock the boat a little,” Madden said, “to get out of the safety zone and see how things pay off.”

Playing it safe would have been purchasing one of the several local restaurants for sale (we always seem to have at least two on the block), or starting another chowder house or moderately generic Mexican joint like the three we’ve got already. Not playing it safe? That’s starting from the ground up: new niche in an empty shell. More than empty, really. Last September, when the process began, this place lacked plumbing and floor drains, and the crew had to cut through sheet rock and steel beams to install the wiring.

When I asked Madden about that part of the process, knowing that there had to be at least one festering bit of construction hell to endure, he immediately nodded at the floor. “We were supposed to open on April Fool’s Day,” he told us. Instead, difficulties with the flooring delayed the opening a month and a half.

My guess is that the delay would not have been as long if this were a mainland venture, but when you’re dealing with Island Time and limited island resources, everything takes longer. The floor’s installation had to wait for a crew who could do it, and meanwhile, equipment, delivered to the island via ferry, had to sit at Friday Harbor Freight for a month. Not exactly a situation that keeps start-up costs down. It’s no wonder that most new restaurant ventures around here take over older restaurant spaces.

But enough about that. (Insert chorus of impatient food bloggers screaming: what about the food??)

While the ambiance transports patrons far from Friday Harbor, the menu is all about strong connections to the local farming community. San Juan Island is rich with family farms and Madden takes full advantage, buying 70 to 80% of his product locally, from fruits and vegetables to beef and lamb, pork and eggs. I asked about local seafood as well, but it turns out he has his flown in daily from Seattle, preferring the quality and selection he can get from his contacts there.

One thing that stands out: the constantly changing menu. The actual menu — and here I can’t help but poke at the design a little; the text is laid out like a poem and for the life of me I can’t read it without putting in dramatic pauses — spells out Steps’ philosophy:

A bonus of small scale daily deliveries and the ever changing menu? Hardly any waste. I missed the exact details (while I was furiously taking notes), but Madden pointed to one small trashcan under his station at the kitchen and indicated they only had to empty it once at the end of each night.

As for the dishes themselves:

Of course everyone’s going to have a different definition of “breaking the bank” so what’s priced accordingly to some might be a tad steep to others. Me, I’m a bit in the latter camp, but then I’m not what you’d call a high-end kind of gal. If I’m going to spend close to fifty bucks on a meal, I want something to take home and call “lunch” the next day.

The menu’s divided into five sections: snacks (price range — on the day’s menu I snagged — $5-9), sides (priced $6-7), small plates and bowls (priced $11-13), large plates and bowls (priced $17-18), and sweets (priced $6-12)

On the nights we’ve visited, we’ve enjoyed black bean falafel cakes, grilled scallops, and goat cheese stuffed pattipans, picking always from the snacks and sides categories (as our bank takes a little less effort to break than the average high-end diner’s).

What’s stood out to me on our visits was the relative simplicity of each plate. Nothing we’ve eaten has had so many ingredients that we can’t pick out almost every individual component. This is not a place to go if you like complex, sauce-smothered dishes. This is more about tasting the squash, the scallop, the heirloom tomato. (And that’s the point, right? Why go nuts with buying local and organic, if the ingredients are lost in the chaos?)

Our last visit included one snack, one side, a dessert (an extremely delicious flourless chocolate cake), one glass of wine (it didn’t take long for me to pick from the huge list: Writer’s Block Syrah. How can I resist that? It was quite good, too.), One beer (Boddington’s, one of Chopper’s faves), and we got out of there with a $47 bill (including tax & tip). It was a light meal, better suited to the later evening hours, when what you really want is to just sample and sip.

As we concluded the interview (conducted during an afternoon prep as Madden and his sous chef stuffed squash blossoms), I asked the question everyone who’s ever considered starting a restaurant wants to know: What advice would you have for anyone crazy enough to do this? Madden easily listed off four points.

First, “make sure you have a solid crew,” he said, “to take the stress off and allow you to focus on what’s needed.”

Second, “find mentors.” No one should go into a venture like this without the support and advice of mentors who’ve done it all before. I’ve no doubt that Madden’s lengthy background (New England Culinary Institute plus years of work in the industry) provided him with excellent mentors to call upon.

Third, “trust your instincts.” An interesting note about that: Madden told us he was advised to make cuts in his budget; compromises he didn’t really want to make. Turns out in the end, with additional expenses (the flooring delay, for one), the final budget ended up exactly as he’d first projected, pre-compromise. This confirmed to him that his initial instincts were right on target.

And on that note, the fourth bit of advice: “stay true to your original vision.” “It’s easy,” he said, “to slip into the trying to please everyone state.” Patrons at new joints can gripe about the most insignificant details — the wall art is weird, the music too incongruous, and so on. At first Madden said he was tempted to listen. Now though, he’s more likely to remind himself of his original goals and brush off the commentary.

Steps is doing well right now, and Madden seems pleased with where he’s at. It’s tricky here, however, and though we wish him well and are impressed with his drive, focus, and infectious enthusiasm, the true test on this island is off-season; the winter months where tourists are scarce and locals tend to stick to their long-time favorites. Question is, will enough locals go a little stir-crazy and want to be transported to the big city in the dead of winter, or will they think I’m on an island, time for a beer and a bowl of chowder?

We’ll be checking in with Steps down the road a little to see how things continue to play out. Will this Victoria Falls sized bungee-jump of a Freshman leap pay off? Check back in a few months and we’ll let you know.

Steps is located on First Street in Friday Harbor, just across from the Pelindaba Lavender shop. Open 5:30pm, every day but Tuesday.
www.stepswinebarandcafe.com

Barfly, you say? Cake. Our default setting is at the Bar.

Front Street Ale House, our main default, sits just a block away from the ferry dock, overlooking the port of Friday Harbor. On the off season, it’s a great place to sit at the bar and jaw with the bartender (and the assistant brewer who’s there more often than not), and collect our all-the-time happy hour discount by wearing our “bar wear” — two quite stylish Front Street baseball caps. (The bar wear, I should note, extends to boxer shorts, though I couldn’t tell you if patrons are required to drop trou to get their discount.)

During the summer, Front Street (along the rest of the town) turns into a hopping, tourist-laden joint, and often times it’s hard to get a seat. It’s still April, but we’re starting to notice this already — packed tables and service that does the best it can to stay caught up.

Though we do default to the bar itself, at our most recent visit we found the bar seats full up and picked a window instead. This allowed me to grab a few quick shots: the beer (which you can order in full liter mugs as well as pints) and the ferry dock, just across the street.

Had I been hungry (I’d just eaten at home) I would have ordered my usual favorite, the “Ass-kicking chili,” but I opted to sit this one out and instead spend the time admiring Chopper Dave’s choice of the day, Shepherd’s Pie.

Yes, the food is pub grub. Very good pub grub, with a touch of the English to it, but still, pub grub. On a line cook’s salary, what more can we ask for? It’s not like the guys slinging the Veal Osso Bucco can go out and eat Veal Osso Bucco on those pay checks.

So, we default to pub grub. In part, also, because it’s comfort food and it’s a good excuse to drink the most(ly) excellent beer.

Our pick for this trip: Moggy Mild — a traditional English mild with a deep, malty flavor and made with equal portions of Fuggle and Kent Golding hops. It’s not a hoppy beer by any stretch, but the hops are still present in the background, and it was refreshing enough to add to our regular repertoire.

In fact most of the beers here aren’t all that hoppy. This could be a disappointment to me — my idea of the perfect beer is one that tastes like I’m sucking it through a vat of fresh-off-the-vine hop cones — but fortunately almost all of the beers brewed by San Juan Brewing have other assets that make them quite enjoyable.

Like the Ale Diablo. It’s made with four kinds of peppers — Anaheim, Jalapeño, Serrano, and Habanero, and believe me, it makes you sweat. There’s nothing better around here on a hot summer day when you’ve just stepped in from a long day at the beach or on the boat.

(Sheesh. Do I sound like a tourism brochure, or what?)

The Ale House, which is right next door to the San Juan Brewing Company facility, typically carries at least six or seven originals on tap, and they rotate in new ones on a regular basis. Next up, for Cinco de Mayo: a Smoked Pepper Ale, and a Mexican Chocolate Ale. Mix the two together, so they say on the promo flyer, and you’ve got Molé Ale. That, I can’t wait to try!

Front Street Ale House & San Juan Brewing Co.
1 Front St
Friday Harbor, Washington, 98250

Typical passer-by at Front Street Ale House: