As far as I'm concerned, this city cannot have too many wine bars. I like to get my drink on in places where I know I can hear myself talk, and where the wine list isn't going to read something like: Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Merlot, or Cabernet. So last night a friend and I hoofed it over to Amelie in Polk Gulch. Frenchie owner/bartender/cuteness personified Germain, who hails from Provence, told us he meant to open in October, but with construction delays just managed to last month. He poured me a lovely, almost melony Viognier (or two) followed by a ruby red Gigondas (or four...) that made my big fruit loving palate happy but would have pleased Mr. Food Musings' much more restrained tastes equally well. I was impressed with the quality of both wines and prices were fair, hovering in the $10 range.
The spot is not as cutesy-tootsy as the name implies, thankfully. It rides the same groovy vibe as Nectar, but with a bit less polish and a touch more edge. Walls are painted crimson in front, where modern chairs are clustered like sofas; the bar is long; and linen-draped tables huddle in the back, ready for couples in search of privacy or French mafia dons doing business over the smoke of their Gauloises. Lighting is important in a place like this because it sets the tone of the room, and at Amelie all the lighting is unique. Along one wall are red glowing wine bottles, while above the bar hangs a chandelier-cum-art project from Germany: What look like European versions of Tibetan prayer flags are hung in concentric circles around the light.
There is food, too, and though what we ate was good (more on that in a sec...) it isn't a terribly well-conceived menu. At a wine bar you want nibbles, finger food, things that are good to linger over and share. This menu was heavy on cheese and charcuterie, which meet those criteria, but there were also several salads (hard to share) and a dish that Germain made us order, ravioles du Royans (more often called ravioles du Dauphiné). Apparently it's a traditional Provencal pasta that is essentially baked like a gratin, with oodles of cream and cheese. Was it good? Absolutely. Was it a million calories a bite? That too. Was it a strange thing to see on a wine bar menu? I'd have to go with yes on that one, Alex. (The menu explanation of the ravioles du Royans is so terribly translated from the French that it's endearing. Pasta is misspelled twice as "paste," butter becomes "fat content" and the filling is somehow mysteriously translated as "joke.")
How sweet is this: when we stumbled out of the bar at who knows what hour, Germain handed us each a to-go box filled with a slice of chocolate pear tart. One of us (and I'm not saying who, folks) ate hers in the cab on the way home, and the other one snarfed her slice the second she got in the front door.
A bientot, Amelie!
ahh, ahh AHHH - they serve ravioles du Royans!!! I first had them here:
http://becksposhnosh.blogspot.com/2004/07/tse-paris-france.html
and I had even better ones last time I was in Paris which are still in my note book and have never been written about.
I keep meaning to try and make some but now I don't need to!
they were really really tiny, right? Likke the tiniest little pillows you ever saw?
Posted by: sam | January 10, 2007 at 12:37 PM
Yes, teeny tiny little ravioli dope up on fresh cheese, and baked in a pool of cream and more cheese. Decadent little suckers!
Posted by: catherine | January 10, 2007 at 12:46 PM
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,yum!
Posted by: sam | January 10, 2007 at 05:32 PM
Hi! Doubt you'll ever see this, but I stumbled across it and thought I'd clarify. The reason that "filling" came out as "joke" is because the word for filling, "farce"... well, that becomes self-explanatory, doesn't it? :)
Posted by: Shecky | February 05, 2008 at 07:50 AM