Joe Ritchie, the genial gent behind the stoves at Mkt in Tangletown, has been unshackled and is headed to the starched and folded folds of the Four Seasons. He must be smiling like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary, I mean G-Golddfinch. G-gosh, I know it's the state bird and all that (Disclosure: I did not know), but the windswept perch at the west end of Union demands a more swooping avian name, no? But instead of an eagle, Stowell and his team have gone for something more eagle-itarian, calling it a tavern, even. (Dunno about that. Downtown taverns don't have all that great a reputation. But at least he's not calling it a sports bar.)
I'd never considered avian names at all, sticking to pescatorial (but Chinook was taken and Sablefish isn't all that local). Ostrea Lurida, the button oyster from Olympia, doesn't have much of a ring to it, and geoduck presents a variety of its own issues.
What I wonder is whether Stowell and Ritchie will also embrace the French tradition of actually EATING the little buggers. Ortolan is a longstanding gastronomic prize after all. The Brits will be horrified by the prospect of eating songbirds, but different is a roasted skewer of Ortolan than the bécasse--woodcock--we consume at happy hours across Seattle? Those are chicken wings, you say? Never mind.
Besides, now I get the joke. Four Seasons by Vivaldi. Goldfinch concerto, also by Vivaldi. Please don't tell me this was just a coincidence.
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