Poppy Birthday to me!! (a thali good time was had by all.)

Quarter after nine on a rainy Seattle night, I jumped into a sidewalk puddle with abandon in my brand new fuchsia Hunter boots and bounded into Poppy on Capitol Hill for my much anticipated Birthday dinner. Since it was a dark and stormy night, Brett dropped me off curbside while he began what would turn out to be a thirty minute treasure hunt for the ever elusive weekend parking spot.

I entered a brightly lit Poppy and looked curiously around for someone to seat me. Feeling spectacularly on display, I was relieved to see a lovely woman approach me with a welcoming smile on her face. She complimented my boots and we made small talk about the holidays as she guided me to a window seat for two and set about explaining the idea behind Poppy’s “Thali” menu. Moments later, our bubbly server descended upon me with water. I quickly chose a glass of champagne so that I had something to which I might pay my attentions whilst waiting for Brett to arrive. As I sat there, I soaked in the environs: the space seemed to schism off in two separate directions—I was nestled behind the entrance that jutted out between my side of the restaurant and the other side that hosted the bar and a random smattering of booths and tables. A high ceiling featured exposed cedar beams and offered a deconstructionist sensibility amidst the modern accoutrements.

In true “grass is greener” form I began to feel as though I wasn’t seated in the “cool” area of the restaurant. Throngs of merry-makers were clustered near the rear of the restaurant—laughing and clinking glasses as I sat quietly next to the emergency exit door and reflected upon the beginning of my 29th year. As if sensing my disconsolate thoughts, Alisha approached and asked if there was anything I needed. Deciding it might be a nice treat for Brett to arrive out of the cold, wet night and be greeted by a dry martini, I ordered his usual and picked a couple of starters off the menu: spice crispies and salt cod fritters with smoked paprika aioli.

After what seemed like hours of twiddling my thumbs and daintily sipping my libation, Brett arrived in concert with his drink and our starters. A server opened the emergency door for Brett to slink right into his seat. Making no haste, I began nibbling on the spice crispies and uncouthly forgot to toast my birthday. After I noticed Brett sternly observing me licking my fingers as I began to raise the glass to my lips, I stopped in mid-air and we clinked our glasses jovially.

The spice crispies were a festive mixture of puffed rice, golden raisins, almonds and other such doodads mixed in Moroccan spices. They almost seemed like a bowl of ethnic Chex Mix. Our salt cod fritters were perfectly fluffy little pillows resting on one another and ending in a bath of the smoked paprika aioli which, while delicious, completely overwhelmed the flavor of the fritters.

Poppy’s signature is “Thali,” a showcase of multitudinous flavors that all match harmoniously and are of Northwest tradition (at the restaurant anyway). Traditionally, thali are of Indian origin, and it was when the head chef, Jerry Traunfield, was in India that he became inspired with this idea for his newest gastronomic endeavor. Having previously been at the helm of Woodinville’s Herb Farm, the opportunity arose for Jerry and his partner to open Poppy—a much more fiscally conservative yet still extraordinarily unique and delicious culinary experience. Accommodating to vegetarian tastes, both vegetarian thali and regular thali are offered. Aside from side dishes and the two thali, “smallies” are also available, which are basically a selection of five offerings from the thali menu- one being the highlight and having a larger portion than the others.

The menu is mixed up as frequently as twice a week depending upon what is fresh and inspirational. Brett and I happened to partake in a particularly delicious evening—the breakdown listed below. Having a proclivity for the selections on the non-vegetarian thali, I asked if it would be possible to make a substitution for the cumin-braised short ribs which Alisha accommodated without a second thought. I momentarily considered trying the delicata squash blintzes but couldn’t get over my aversion. So, at the behest of my lovely server, the blintzes were substituted with Qualicum scallops. Moments after settling upon our dinner choices, the meals were brought out to us in short order.

I know I sometimes speak in a manner that would indicate that I just fell off the back end of a turnip truck, but what was presented before me was absolutely gorgeous. I was immediately reminded of the innumerable Bento Box meals I consumed whilst in Japan; such was the meticulous care with which our platters were put together. Each bite had its own unique vessel: The herbed buffalo-ricotta dumplings were nestled among leeks and porcini mushrooms—snug in a covered Le Creuset soup terrine, the celery root soup with chestnut was presented in a small sake-style cup, and the scallops were in an elongated clear green glass boat.

Not only was the presentation a striking palate of robust autumnal colour but the flavors were flawlessly compatible as well, which I had not necessarily expected. Though each portion was relatively small, the richness and complexity was completely satisfying and before too long I began to feel incredibly full. Brett carefully considered his plan of attack on the thali and decided to enjoy one offering at a time while I chose to make my way around the platter like a merry-go-round. The creamy earthiness of the celery root soup was divine; the scallops were only marginally sweet and overwhelmingly plump and juicy. I loved the cauliflower and pine nut salad—at once healthy and indulgent. The naan was studded with sesame seeds, cumin and other heady spices and was perhaps the tastiest naan I have ever had. None of the dishes were overwhelmingly salty—instead they all displayed unique, nuanced flavors.

We were in for a marathon, not a race. As we slowly sipped on our bottle of Nebbiolo, I noticed that the restaurant had gone from being a thriving epicenter of hip to a quiet restaurant wrapping up its evening. Never were we rushed, and never did Alisha subtly suggest that we leave. Instead she would occasionally check in, fill our glasses and evaluate our progress. Around 11, when it was apparent that we were unable to pack in any more food we were shown the dessert menu. While we considered the bevy of options (ranging from hot date cake with banana and butterscotch to herbed apple deep dish with bay leaf ice cream), she took our plates back to the kitchen where our leftovers were meticulously wrapped.

Not wanting to miss out on one of the sweets, even though the Satsuma with mustard seed pickle served as a nice palate cleanser, I chose the obvious Birthday option: dark chocolate terrine with ginger, pistachio and sesame to take home and enjoy a bit later. While Alisha put in the order, I admired the seamless waltz of the employees winding down: One group huddled quietly at the bar to enjoy a nightcap; another sat chatting whilst folding napkins. Moments later, she presented us with my boxed cake, replete with a candle, before we began the long trek through the icy night.