Until recently, I regarded the Capitol Club mainly as a venue for suspect first datesâa place to go with guys who showed some promise, but not enough for, say, a jaunt to Le Pichet. The restaurant (downstairs) and lounge (upstairs) are constantly teeming with Belltown transplants in flashy jewelry and low-cut jeans. Although the Capitol Club served its last lamb kebab sometime in the '90s, both levels are still decked out in Middle Eastern kitsch: Tapestries and scratchy Turkish pillows cover every surface, and blue light seeps from hammered-tin wall sconces that have seen better days. After several discouraging visits to the Capitol Club, at which even their signature Kobe beef burger, much praised in these pages, was both greasy and overdone, I was wary of going back.
On a recent visit with two coworkers, the luscious eggplant sandwich ($11), lightly breaded eggplant dressed in a spicy tomato-basil sauce with toothsome chunks of fresh mozzarella, had been a delight, and the open-faced chorizo sandwich ($8) with a generous dollop of garlicky chimichurri even better. Even the Tabasco-fiery tomato gazpacho ($6), served in a chilled glass with a long cold teaspoon, was worth its price tag.
However, like so many promising first dates, a second visit left me wishing I had stayed home and made tuna casserole. The first gaffe: Our (already long-overdue) appetizers were delivered to an adjacent table, whose occupants betrayed some surprise when what they thought were vegetarian empanadas turned out to be filled with ground beef. (The couple happily scarfed them down anyway.) The replacement empanadas (one ground beef and onion, one gorgonzola and leek; $7 for two) were flaky, delicate, upscale comfort foodâlike Hot Pockets with fancy fillings. A trio of scallops ($11) were moist but not undercooked, covered with a thin crust of semolina flour and garnished with pistachios, balsamic glaze, and the slightly surprising note of capersâa few too many flavors to process at once, but not unpleasant taken one at a time. Grilled prawns ($10), likewise, were expertly cooked, but the advertised goat-cheese-and-mint sauce tasted exactly like a lemony yogurt-based tzatzikiâan unexpected combination that didn't really jell.
Then things ground to a halt. A half hour passed with no sign of our waiterâplates were piled up in protest; sauces cooled and congealed. True, it was Saturday night, but the room was never completely full. A pack of drunken girls at a bachelorette party in the "Blue Room" screamed maniacally. We finished our first bottle of wine before the main courses arrived.
Finally they came: One grilled skirt steak ($18), one chicken breast with risotto ($19), and one plate of salmon fettuccine with vodka ($18). Despite its name, the salmon fettuccine contained only minimal evidence of salmon (a chunk or two peeked out from the glutinous sauce here and there) and even less of vodka; what it tasted like, more than anything, was sweetened tomato productâlike, say, Campbell's condensed tomato soupâenriched with buckets of cream. The presence of so much pasta, with so little salmon or peas to counteract its starchy texture, got tiresome after just a few bites. The chicken, similarly, evoked comfort food made with prepared ingredients; the chanterelles were a little too heavily salted, the cognac-cream sauce (again with the cream!) a little too rich, and the chicken a boring boneless, skinless breast.
The food at the Capitol Club strained to be decadent (the other entrĂ©e offered was sage gnocchi withâsurpriseâcream) but just couldn't get there. The steak, served with the same chimichurri as the chorizo sandwich, was the lone standoutâperfectly seasoned, topped with a crumbling layer of fried scallions, and mercifully bereft of cream. It was, however, garnished with perhaps the most forgettable roasted potatoes that have ever graced an $18 entrĂ©e.
Dessert had to wait for another visitâthree hours in, my dining companion and I were too fatigued to continue. When we came back, the service (upstairs this time) was quicker, but the desserts we tried ranged from forgettable (a listless, dry, overwhelmingly coffee-flavored tiramisu, $6) to downright inedible (a raspberry panna cotta, $6, so sweet I could only manage a single bite). I left feeling overcaffeinated, sugar high, and confusedâwhatever the Capitol Club is trying for under its new, reportedly Argentine chef (pan-European? Nuevo Latino? Comfort Italian?), the note it hits is midway between ho-hum Italian and upscale comfort food.
