Pricey food that's worth it: Opal's a precious gem

They looked like a million-dollar photo shoot for the Seattle lifestyle. Clutching dog leashes and yoga mats. Carrying colorful shopping totes and half-caf-no-foams. Pedaling bicycles and pushing strollers as they stopped to stare at the menu posted outside Opal.

Meanwhile, I sat inside this new bistro and bar on this busy corner of Queen Anne Hill, watching as the parade of passers-by perused the menu, their mouths forming the same astonished "O." They're right. Opal, the latest enterprise for enterprising restaurateur Orrapin Chancharu, is OMG expensive — for a casual, comfortable bistro that clearly shouts, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

But here's the kicker: I longed to invite those neighbors in, sit them down beside me, point to my prettily presented plate and say, "Taste this! Worth it!"

Hey, I was surprised by the menu, too. I wasn't expecting so few choices: about a half-dozen each among the "Smaller Bites" and "Bigger Bites." Or such lofty prices: $9 for silky house-cured salmon upholstering a pair of precious croutons, $32 for beef tenderloin whose petite onion rings are sliced from a sweet cipollini. Adding insult, the brief wine list offers nary a bottle under $40.

Admittedly, much of the psychological disconnect comes from the fact that this jewel on the Hill is the sibling of next-door-neighboring Orrapin Thai Cuisine, whose bargain prices have been luring locals for nearly a dozen years. What's more, last I'd heard, this place — a glamour redo of the former Banjara space — was slated to offer "world cuisine," inspired by the owner's culinary travels throughout Europe, Morocco and Southeast Asia.

Instead, we get creative interpretations of contemporary American fare, courtesy of two knocked-out-talented chefs, Andy Leonard and Tyler Hefford-Anderson. They're the architects of delicious dishes built with Hudson Valley foie gras, black chickpea and soybean "succotash," honey-tapioca "salad" and licorice-root foam. You know! Fussy food.

Their creations include Kurobuta pork belly slow-roasted to satin-centered, skin-cracklin' crisp, set off by refreshing bits of fennel and apple. Dare say, it's as good as (perhaps better than) a similar dish you might find at Crush, Tilth or Veil — much-heralded restaurants whose big-gun chefs have far more familiar names.

I took Southern comfort in the freshwater Louisiana prawns with "clam olive composure," a sassy sauté of plump little clams, briny olives and teensy croutons. And I nearly lost my composure over a four-star fillet of Alaskan king salmon. Bolstered with buttered breadcrumbs and twinkling with neon-hued salmon roe, its final flourish was fresh Oregon wasabi root grated tableside, adding a flurry of flavor along with visual fireworks.

There were simpler pleasures, too, like spring greens splashed with yuzu vinaigrette. And a perfectly pan-seared chicken breast flouting 'tis-the-season greenery: fiddlehead ferns, fava beans and asparagus.

One kicky comer — blue cornmeal-crusted striped bass ($28) — was a showstopper-and-a-half. But its gonzo garnish of smoked-paprika popcorn (yes, popcorn, like at the movies) was a special attraction in need of subtraction. The striper's cornmeal-crunchy firm white flesh, its crisped and edible skin, the shellfish-shock of lobster scented "essence" soaking into sweet corn grits, plus grassy fresh corn shoots waving from on-high were enough of an exhilarating tongue-teaser.

Fine-food fanciers who thought they were over "tall food" may think again once they get a gander at (and a taste of) the chefs' quaking tower of quackery: a fatty patty of duck confit layered with a thick slice of pink-centered duck breast crowned with a glorious lobe of duck liver ($32).

And the vegetarian vision envisioned as a "shortstack"? Picture a miniskyscraper built of shimeji mushrooms and sturdy rectangles of potato layered with a julienne of slow-cooked leeks, topped with a penthouse of potent tomato jam and bolstered by truffled celery-root puree — the mortar supporting dried shiitake "bacon." Well, blow me over.

Unwilling to pony up the bucks for such fabulous finery? Then stop in for drinks or dessert. I loved the Opal Essence ($9), a signature cocktail whose bitters-stoked blush pays complement to the warm interior tones of this dual-level dining room.

And the wow-factor factors large when a deconstructed rhubarb crumble's magical modifications involve lightly candied rhubarb, caramelized Rice Krispies, soothing green-tea ice cream and a shot of delicate licorice foam. Ditto for a composée of "PB&J" — whose kicky components include peanut butter mousse with the consistency of caramel, a fluffy homemade marshmallow and a concentrated kiss of berry jam.

Younger servers may be less assured than their more seasoned counterparts, yet they strive to get it right. Their exuberance makes up for the occasional slip-up (a bread basket served with an empty butter dish, unfamiliarity with the provenance of the assorted-cheese plate).

Food aside, what's great about this place is its do-drop-by feel. That casual comfort comes, in part, from a lack of white linen, a low-key greeting and a practiced bartender whose kindly demeanor reminds you of your favorite brother-in-law. I liked the elegant flatware, post-modern tableware and varietal-specific glassware (with, thankfully, some reasonably priced by-the-glass wine options to go in them).

So allow me to suggest that you park the bike, tie up the dog, put down that yoga mat and come meet Opal. She's quite the lady.

Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com.