![]() ![]() The pile of pulled pork was spot on, sweet but not cloying, and possessed of just enough heat to complement the sugar, not combat it. The sausage was also greatly improved over the first time I'd had it, having just the right yield and releasing pleasant rivulets of ever-so-slightly tart, meaty juices. Suffice it to say, I enjoyed the hell out of it. The sauce-well, I could easily make jokes about how I would take a bath in it, bring it with me to a desert island, or club baby seals for the recipe, but all of that would fall short. The ribs were an absolute masterpiece, with that soft, flake-off-the-bone textural perfection that makes ribs ribs. ![]() It's got a liberal scoop of pulled pork, a smoked andouille sausage, and four ample ribs, all of it artfully arranged over and around a towering piece of cornbread, a mess of collards, and a generous portion of their hard-boiled-egg-laced mac salad. The sampler is a steal, allowing two hungry humans to conveniently traverse the galaxy of Gravy's meat specialties and get quite full doing so. It plays especially well with the roasted beet chunks, a welcome innovation on the traditional wedge formula.įor the main course, we ordered the BBQ sampler platter ($35). The star of the wedge is the creamy tarragon dressing, which seeps down into the halved hearts of Romaine, lending everything a lightly herby, anise-y note. Neeley's comes perfectly dressed and is liberally dusted with microplaned lemon zest, working with the citrus vinaigrette to give it an improbable but entirely excellent amount of tang. House salads are, like vegetarian pasta options, usually forlorn footnotes. ![]() We started, daintily enough, with salads, ordering the house greens ($6) and the wedge ($8). Everything looked incredible, so I was mightily disappointed that my first taste of Gravy wasn't.īut then my mother and I returned for Sunday BBQ. Some magic Instagram algorithm deduced our indirect connection-we have some mutual acquaintances-and in the months around Gravy's opening, my timeline was suddenly inundated with mountains of lusciously glazed ribs, decadent piles of dressed wings, perfectly composed salads, candid shots from the farmers market, crispy grilled fish, and other enticements. ![]() I'd previously met Neeley in passing at Cafe Presse in Seattle, where he served as chef de cuisine. My interest was also piqued by the consistent stream of really intriguing Southern food porn on the Instagram feed of chef and co-owner Dre Neeley. It's got a ludicrously affordable and approachable French-heavy wine list (everything is available by the glass), a menu stacked with Southern favorites but by no means limited to them, and that unquantifiable homey feel that is so crucial to a neighborhood bistro's welcoming appeal. Gravy, which opened in April, looked to be exactly that. It has Bramble House, which covers haute cuisine, and the Hardware Store, which serves as something of a community center (albeit one with a mad decent bowl of clams), but nothing that fits that "fancy but not too fancy for a Wednesday night" slot that does so well in Seattle's single-family enclaves. The first thing I noticed about Vashon, after a few Sunday house-hunting trips with mom, was that it really needs a good neighborhood bistro. My dear old mum recently decided she'll be retiring on Vashon Island, assuring me a future of ferrying over to change lightbulbs and clean gutters when her belabored knees finally give. ![]()
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