Most welcome trend: Cross-neighborhood fertilization. Last year, I complained about all the pizza joints. This year, there's more to celebrate. The expansion of Belltown into the nabes (Le Pichet to Cafe Presse on Capitol Hill-where they do a real croque monsieur, by the way, Tavolata to Wolf on Queen Anne), while we've also got new blood coming in (Txori from Madison Park's Harvest Vine).

Scourge of the Year: The Post-Intelligencer's substitute restaurant reviewer Leslie Kelly, whose ill-informed rantings (Local Vine's wine glasses are too small?) and incoherent ratings (a lousy one and a half stars for Sorrentino?) embarrassed the hell out of the paper's managing editor. (She even wrote a story about her daughter, a teen model.) His hands are tied, however, since the guy he hired away from Memphis to do his layouts is, um, Leslie's husband. Package deal, it seems. Never works.

The Wasps: They buzz, they flit, they fly. They dart, they zip. Ethan Stowell putt-putts from Union (downtown) to Tavolata (Belltown) to Wolf (Queen Anne). Corino Bonjrada used to bounce from La Vita è Bella (Belltown) to Mondello (Magnolia). Jim Drohman shuttles between Le Pichet (Belltown/Market) to Cafe Presse (First Hill/Madison). Scott Staples hops from Zoë (Belltown) to Quinn's (Capitol Hill). Joseba Jimenez doesn't ride himself but sends his cooks on a scooter-a Honda, not a Vespa-from Harvest Vine (Madison Valley) to Txori (Belltown). Hey, parking's tough in Belltown, but there's always room for a scooter. They are Seattle's wasps, those Vespas. Truly: Vespa means wasp in Italian.

HOW TO COOK A WOLF: The Stowells celebrate opening night. Photo by Ronald

Other passings, locally: Mojito, the bar on Western you could never find ... Jai Thai on First, the joint that used to be called Gamberone, promoted itself on buses as "healthy" but was always more lounge than eatery ...

Wow, Aunt Minnie from Moline can spend a summer afternoon watching a real Seattle chef! Gray Line of Seattle figures plenty of visitors will want to tag along on a trip through the market and demo in the kitchen. Jason Wilson of Crush is the only "name" to sign up, but the Space Needle, El Gaucho and Palisade are also on the list for the 3-1/2 hour programs.

Don't take this wrong. Local celebrity chefs like Kerry Sear have been doing market tours for years (a bargain at $75, including lunch with wine at Cascadia). Gray Line's just making it possible for outsiders to pretend they're insiders, if only for an afternoon, buy springing for "Product 1326." Says Gray Line's Judy Sprute, "People are looking for personal, interactive experiences during their vacations." She expects the 20 tour dates to sell out quickly because "it's a unique way to experience Seattle."

The $100 tab doesn't include an actual lunch, however. Gray Line says it hopes customers "take the opportunity to return to your tour location for a full meal during your stay."

Cooking Light magazine, which runs "supper clubs" around the country in addition to printing a monthly collection of recipes, picks Seattle as the nation's number one city for healthy eating, just ahead of Portland. Strange, 'cuz their suppers are sponsored by Benefiber, Tum's and Viva paper towels. Their most recent local event was held at that temple of elegance and haute cuisine, The Edgewater.

Aw, c'mon, don't be such a frigging cynic! The magazine's editorial heart is in the right place (see below the jump), even if the marketing department sometimes seems to be on a different wavelength. Happy to learn that our legions of restaurant cooks are making a living wage. De veras, muchachos? Realmente?

For a quarter century, Kent Stowell and Francia Russell, artistic directors of the Pacific Northwest Ballet, stood at the summit of Seattle's cultural elite. Russell founded the company's ballet school and still travels widely as a consultant. Among his many achievements, Stowell choreographed Seattle's holiday favorite Nutcracker before stepping down three years ago. So what's he going to do for an encore? Hold that thought.

Meanwhile, the Stowells' son Ethan had became a self-taught chef, opening Union four years ago and Tavolata back in January with his business partner, Patric Gabre-Kidan. Then a tiny space atop Queen Anne beckoned, too small to be a restaurant, just right for an intimate wine bar. The designers of Tavolata worked their magic (stone, light woods, cork counters) and created a 10-seat bar with tables for 20 along the wall.

The name, How to Cook a Wolf (website to come), is the title of a book by food writer M.F.K. Fisher. Not exactly tripping off the tongue, but easily shortened to Wolf. Ethan himself plans to spend a couple of nights a week in the kitchen; his wife Angela will run the wine list; the sous-chef from Tavolata moves up the hill as chef de cuisine. That leaves dad, who's still looking for something to do. Inspiration Dad can be the Maitre d'.

With fond memories of Tavolata's agnolotti with calf brains we tried Wolf's version, stuffed with caramelized cauliflower. Delicious, if expensive ($14 for six or seven bites). A plate of Vitello Tonnato ($13) substituted marinated chunks of tuna for tuna mayonnaise and lacked capers, no doubt an oversight.

A surprise drop-in at the informal opening last night was Enza Sorrentino, who has her own Italian trattoria a block away. The vitello tonnato? Not really, she says. The veal should be cooked, not raw; this was carpaccio. Still. "Welcome to the neighborhood," she says to Ethan and Angela. It's Queen Anne's new restaurant row, what with Vuong Loc's Portage right across the street and Orrapin Chancharu's Opal on the corner. As Wolf's doorman, Kent Stowell will have little more to consider than choreographing entrances and exits.

-Tasting 1997-

1997: In January, Bill Clinton was sworn in for a second term; in August, Princess Diana was killed in a car crash; and a film about a shipwreck, Titanic, was the top-grossing movie. In the vineyards of the Old World, springtime came early, summer was hot, and the harvest was wet. The wine gurus and the voodoo sages swirled and tasted, ruminated and spat. Bah, they said, don't bother. Bah, said Parker. Bah, said Tanzer. Bah, said the Spectator. Don't bother.

Funny thing, though. The wine doesn't care about the gurus; it doesn't read the Spectator, doesn't subscribe to Parker. Turns out, ten years on, the 1997s are pretty damn good.

Arnie Millan, a wine consultant with a fine cellar, pulled out a few bottles the other day for a 10-year retrospective tasting at Sorrentino Trattoria on Queen Anne. Two American cabs, a grand cru Burgundy, an Amarone, and half a dozen classified growths from Bordeaux. Wines this old, you don't just pop the cork; you decant carefully, then pour back into the original (cleaned & rinsed) bottle.

Were there disappointments? Sure. La Fleur Petrus seemed a bit weak, especially compared to Château de Sales, another Pomerol wine with lesser credentials but (in this case, at least) far more impressive staying power. And most of the wines were magnificent. Château Lynch-Bages was at its peak. And the Allegrini Amarone was both subtle and complex, full of young fruit with a port-like finish that made it a terrific match for Sorrentino's tiramisu. Icebergs be damned. All things come to those who wait, right?