tl;dr: ORDER THE GODDAMN ROLLS. I don’t care what else you order. Everything is good.

When people talk about Ma’Ono, they always talk about the fried chicken. Well, I’m a natural born hater, through and through, and I’ve gotta say the fried chicken was one of the worst things on our table.

THAT BEING SAID, we ordered SEVENTEEN things, and all of them were spectacular. Do you get what I’m saying here? Fried chicken was the worst of the best. Everything else was better, and fried chicken certainly wasn’t bad.

The best of the best was easily a tie between the rolls and the saimin. The rolls were the best combination of food adjectives; light, dense, huge, not filling. How were they both light and dense? I DON’T KNOW. I truly can’t wrap my brain around the idea that these rolls are real. That’s how good they are. They are simultaneously light and dense in a world that doesn’t allow that to happen. How are they both huge and not filling? I DON’T KNOW. These rolls are fantastically huge. Absolutely gigantic, and yet, I could eat piles and piles of them. They must have paid off the same people Lay’s did, because they are like potato chips in that you can eat them forever without feeling the slightest bit full.

After that how could I possibly recommend the saimin? Well really, nothing can top those rolls. I think I’m actually doing myself a disservice here by having this be the third article, because honestly, after those rolls, nothing matches up. Grass just isn’t as green anymore, the sky isn’t as blue, and babies aren’t as cute. They’re so good, they’re depressing.

If you must follow up the rolls with something other than another plate of rolls though, the saimin is your best bet. The broth in that bowl is as close to gravy as broth gets. Fatty, rich, opaque, it’s a beautiful masterpiece of liquid, but the real star of the show is the soft-cooked egg. It’s marinated in soy and sesame, which doesn’t sound especially spectacular, but when you bite into it, it just feels right. It feels like all eggs should be marinated in soy and sesame. These eggs are living their true egg destiny.

If you really want to fat (and you should), go for the banana cream pie. I geek out over dessert menus and Ma’ono was no exception. Even though I was absolutely pushing the limit by ordering a seventeenth plate of food for the table, I had no choice. Banana cream pie is a fantastic indicator of how good a restaurant is, and Ma’ono hit it out of the park. Not only is there no fake banana flavor to be found, but there were cacao nibs in the graham cracker crust which were addictively crunchy, and the whipped cream that topped the entire slice was freshly piped on, which was just about enough to send me into convulsions right there in the booth.

The only regret I have about Ma’ono was that I didn’t get to try more than seventeen things. Ma’ono is the kind of restaurant that is like your favorite album. You can play it all the way through without skipping a song, but there are definitely some songs you play more than once.

Putting Out the Fat Call

To me, there are few things in life more satisfying than sharing a great meal with loved ones. In the same vein, there are few things I find more dissatisfying than plunking down cash on a bad meal. Because of this, I spend a lot of time poring over restaurant reviews, openings and closures, and eating a whole lot of food in restaurants all over Seattle and the North end.

I love eating good food, and I know a lot of you do too. But I also know that most people don’t put in the kind of research I do, which is where Calling All Fats comes in.

To be a fat means to deeply care about food, in a variety of ways. To understand food and why something is good in a way that is almost impossible to explain to a non-fat. To enjoy meals to their fullest, appreciating a plate of beautifully cooked food in a way that feels almost obscene. To read a menu like a vulture, scrutinizing each syllable until a choice has been made, feeling a pang of regret that the whole menu couldn’t be ordered. To talk about food in sounds, rather than words, using gratuitous hand gestures to try to evoke the feeling of a fantastic meal to a person unfortunate enough to not enjoy it with you.

Being a fat means that I want to talk about food with all of you, explaining exactly what I love about the restaurants I visit in Seattle in (sometimes excruciating) detail. It also means that I really want to try everything the city has to offer. Please hit me up with suggestions for future Calling All Fats posts, I’d love to hear what I should try next or what I haven’t thought to talk about yet.

Calling All Fats is something I should have done long ago, and I’m excited to share it with you.