"Brasa: It'll knock your socks off"
Nancy Leson - Seattle Times restaurant reviewer

The first time I left Brasa I was still wearing my socks. The next visit they'd rolled up and down a few times, for sure, but I was still wearing them. Meal number three? Knocked off completely. Lest you think, "By the third time they Were probably on to her," allow me to confess: They were on to me from the start. I've known the owners, chef Tamara Murphy and general manager Bryan Hill, from their lengthy tenures at Campagne. I've often celebrated personal occasions in Campagne's dining room, ever-impressed with Murphy's creativity in the kitchen and Hill's warm, professional demeanor as GM. So when I heard of their plans to break out on their own and plumb the depths of pan-Mediterranean cuisine at Brasa, my expectations were, perhaps, unreasonably high. Indeed, Brasa is already capable of producing that elusive four-star meal - as my last dinner there made clear - but this newcomer is still a newcomer, smoothing out service issues and finding out what works on a menu that changes daily. The 170-seat restaurant has been slammed since Day One, the kitchen slapped silly, the owners giddy with (and scared half-to-death by) quick success. Don't expect to call tonight for 7 p.m. reservations tomorrow.

Decor is understated

This Belltown bombshell is physically exciting, artfully understated and unabashedly beautiful. You enter through an exquisite iron gate. A terrazzo path divides bar from restaurant, leading to an open kitchen with wood-fired grill and oven. (Brasa, translated from Portuguese, means "live coals.") From the bar menu I sampled pissaladiere - the "pizza" of Southern France. Thin, chewy crust played canvas to caramelized onions, goat cheese and kalamatas. Toasted pine nuts add texture; fresh thyme, scent; slivers of anchovy fillet, salt. Oh, my. Cataplana mussels (the cataplana is the copper vessel in which the mussels gently steam), hinted of licorice: fresh tarragon perfumed the garlicky nectar. Attention culinary adventurers: Brasa's dinner menu is an enthralling read, extolling each item's major ingredients, yet sparing excruciating detail. "Squid ink risotto with sauteed calamari" is a white-on-black offering of naked rings and tentacles, poised atop arborio rice in a moat of clarified butter. Until you incorporate that butter into the jet-black rice, staining your teeth with ink that tastes deeply and darkly of the sea, you'll Never know what it's like to be slowly seduced by a plate of rice. Less heaven-sent was the suckling pig served in "natural juices." I was anticipating the wonderfully bad-for-you square of crisp pig skin served alongside: I was surprised by Thanksgiving dinner. Eyes closed, the shards of rich pork tasted just like turkey thigh meat, the natural juices like Mom's best gravy.

A scallop lover's delight

But, oh, what that girl can do with scallops! A gargantuan mollusk arrived in a shell, both scallop and shell anchored in shrimp-studded yam puree. A slick of clarified butter shot-through with squid ink turned this first course into edible art of the highest order. And nothing was as clever as the scallops I had for dinner. Just a day from their ocean bed, five seared "day boat" scallops encircled a creamy chive potato cake - browned just-so and wearing a fried quail's egg. Between them, sauteed ramps (wild leeks) lolled in a butter sauce with fat slices of house-cured bacon. Sweet and salty, creamy and buttery - this seafoody take on bacon and eggs had it all. Far simpler, yet no less enticing, was Catalan fish soup - shellfish, monkfish, squid-ink pasta and fresh green peas and beans - exploding with saffron. What to drink with all these flavors, textures, spices? Why the Domaine de la Mordoree Tavel rose ($30), or any of the other fine round-the-world labels listed under the heading, "The Cliff Notes: a list of great quaffers that should delight everyone and complement many dishes." I found desserts - various tarts, tortes, and ice creams - less compelling than descriptions promised. But who needs dessert when there's grilled Yakima asparagus - fat stalks sprinkled with hazelnuts, begging to be dredged in a sweet, tart, pinot noir reduction? Socks? Definitely off.

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