Just because it's a modest storefront doesn't mean it's a hole in the wall. Au contraire, mes amis. Two new spots in Belltown-both French-forgo pomp in favor of hospitality.

At Entre Nous, it's the sprigs of thyme in a pitcher on the counter and Brigitte Bardot on the sound system. At Le Petit Cafe, it's a slice of lemon in the water glass, seedless grapes on the plate.

Little things that enliven lunch.

Behind the counter at Entre Nous is Stephane Obayon, born on the French Riviera, a veteran of Seattle's fine-dining scene. "You take what the earth gives you," he says. "Not fancy, not fussy, not snobby." House white (a chardonnay labeled Le Petit Bistro, of all things, bottled by Burgundy negociant Laboure-Roi) is poured into a stemless tasting glass. Salade Niçoise fills a large, undecorated bowl with albacore, vegetables and hard-boiled egg. At every table there's a helpful text, "Decoding French Dining," that Stephane wrote because "There is nothing worse...than trying to squirm your way through a fancy smancy French dinner." How to dress in France (no jogging outfits), salad after your main course (because lettuce is considered "digestive"), and so on. Then, having set up a code for Paris, he lets you off the hook in Seattle: "Here at Entre Nous, we welcome you as you are-wear what you want, eat how you want, pour yourself another glass of wine and be merry!" He offers happy hour from 4:30 to 6, and an evening menu of affordable tapas and fondue. It has what should be a great location (216 Stewart St., 905-1633); he's midway between Qube (recently closed for lunch) and Così (closed period), replacing a dismal Mexican takeout called Mamacita.

'Neath the monorail on Belltown's eastern fringe, meanwhile, it's Abdul Smoum (last seen at Il Forno pizza on Capitol Hill) who brings the menu and the organic eats, prepared by his wife, Fatima. A tiny kitchen and three or four tables, Le Petit Cafe (2229 5h Ave., 441-3845) is adjacent to the Seattle Glassblowing Studio and formerly housed Cafe Amore (which Sean Langan has since moved into the space occupied by Spice, half a block north). The Crêpe Florentine is filled with organic scrambled eggs, organic baby spinach, mushrooms and gruyère: everything's organic, from sweet or savory crêpes to salads and panini. But no alcohol.

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Just when you think you've made up your mind about a place, about Tavolata specifically, along comes a dish of gnocchi akin to a religious experience. Regular readers know that Belltown Messenger has been Seattle's lone holdout in the standing ovation for Tavolata. Ethan Stowell-who pays ferocious attention to his reviews-has not been happy with us, going so far as to purge a critical thread from one of the Chowhound discussion boards. Yet we keep going back, sitting at the bar (which most of the barkeeps keep overly bright with fluorescent, under-the-counter lighting; which rumbles annoyingly whenever they run the dishwasher), drinking what should be a foolproof Negroni. Barkeep got it wrong twice last week, though. The strottaprezzi in lamb ragù was chewy, the veal carpaccio surprisingly bland. On the other hand, we've had angelic agnolotti filled with veal brains and yummy zepole (donut holes). Ironically, Seattle Metropolitan's reviewer liked everything except the agnolotti and zepole, but dems da breaks, Ethan.

And then come the breathtaking ricotta gnocchi with beef tongue sugo. The gnocchi are cloud-like, the tongue flavorful and meltingly tender. The dish has an evocative power, taking you back into a childhood of steaming kitchens, grandmothers, great-aunts and noisy family dinners (not that we grew up with any of that, but you get the picture).

Sadly, the by-the-glass side of the wine list doesn't match the kitchen's efforts. There's a lot of ups & downs in the vineyard hills of Italy, a tale best left for another day. And the kitchen isn't perfect; a pork chop the size of an army boot was magnificent one night, dry the next. But those gnocchi are like shining stars, illuminating the way for the crew at the back of the restaurant.

So the laurels aren't unqualified, but Ethan's not waiting. His next venture, already under construction, is a wine bar atop Queen Anne, in the tiny space vacated by Lounge O. Tentative name: How To Cook A Wolf. "It's different, not just another single word like Union or Tavolata," says one of the owners. Indeed. M.F.K. Fisher's classic, published 65 years ago, gave advice not just on cooking under wartime privation but on living life to the fullest.

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One of the pleasures of living downtown is the relatively easy access to finer restaurants at lunch. Alas, it's also pain in the butt for those restaurant kitchens to actually serve lunch. Fussy recipes and fancy presentation work better at dinner, where there's both the time and the money to do things right: the diner doesn't have to get back to a desk and the additional cost involved is less noticeable.

So it's a shame to note the passing of lunch at nine-month-old Qube, where we've enjoyed Lisa Nakamura's innovative dinners (even if a bit fussy and fancy) and more straightforward lunches, such as the shortrib ravioli that anchored a three-course lunch. (We've also complained, to no avail, about the price of their cocktails.) Qube's owners, Fu-Shen Chang and Kerry Huang, pulled the plug, saying upscale eating at midday doesn't work and that they don't want to fall into the trap of dumbing it down. "We might consider it again once the 1 Hotel opens across the street," Chang says. Still, don't hold your breath. Not unexpectedly, Nakamura's reaction was swift: buh-bye. Her understudy, Joseph Conrad, takes over.

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Back in Emeril's pre-Katrina heyday, chefs and serious foodies used to dismiss it as the Bam! network. Now it's disdained as All-Rachel, All-The-Time. You know, the Food Network, not about cooking so much as lifestyle (travel, glitz), weaponry (knife-wielding, cake-frosting) and tours of candy factories. Deliberate programming choices, made to draw viewers too sedate for Desperate Housewives and too chicken for Survivor.

But step-by-step instructions on how to boil water can only fill so many half-hours, and gonzo chef Tony Bourdain's already under contract to the Travel Channel, so the search is on, yet again, for The Next Big Cook.

So here are the Messenger's candidates, buddies who could be brothers, both executive chefs in the Consolidated Restaurants organization. Jeremy Anderson heads up Elliott's Oyster House, Eric Hellner is his counterpart at Union Square Grill. We've written about their prowess more than once, since Jeremy's a whiz with local salmon and Eric certainly knows his meat. They auditioned separately but really ought to be onscreen together, a Mutt & Jeff tag-team of frat-boy lookalikes who really do know what they're doing.

The competition will be fierce, though: Celebrities like Dan Thiessen (0/8 Seafood Grill) and Gabriel Claycamp (Culinary Communion) are also turning up in the lobby of the Hotel Andra, figurative toques on head, literal nine-page applications in hand.

(Equal Opportunity Employment note: The application begins with "Describe your family and living situation... boyfriend/girlfriend" among many, many forbidden questions, not to mention the mandatory Release and Waiver, whether selected or not, waiving privacy rights. It's a jungle out there, folks, ya gotta be ruthless.)

Actually, Seattle is one of five locations for open auditions, fodder for Food Network's fourth season of slice-em-up, grind-em-down boot camp. From Stars of Tomorrow to Simon-Randy-Paula, the talent contest is even more American than apple pie. Mmm... pie.

How'd Anderson and Hellner do? This report from PR rep Katie Wilkinson: "Jeremy did his thing and all went well. Then Eric went and all was equally fab! It appears Jenny wants them to take the next step together, which is a three-minute demo tape and plans to pitch them to the executive producers! Jeremy made tenderloin-stuffed king crab tails with fall vegetable succotash and grilled asparagus. Jenny ate half of Jeremy's dish, even though she was full and it was cold and at the end of a long day of seeing chefs and their food. And most of all-She loved it!

Eric did oysters and highlighted our wonderful Northwest specialties!" November's tapings in New York are just around the corner, but here in the provinces, the wait goes on.

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Not everyone in Seattle went to Bumbershoot. Nina Mikhailenko, the Russian artist whose oils adorn the walls of El Gaucho, the tony Belltown steak house, painted a mixed case from the wine cellar.

How much? Nina's asking $2,500. Seems reasonable, given that the bottles alone would run well into five figures.

Nina's style has its roots in a late-19th century Russian art movement called Peredvishniki, a loose group of itinerants who rebelled against the formal restrictions of the tsarist academy. Instead they painted populist themes: Peasants, religious celebrations, landscapes. Her most successful works are commissions: Murals of life on Pampas, bullfights, chefs, cigar smokers, jazz musicians, well-fed urbanites...and rare bottles.

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Belltown Buffet:
El Gaucho is expanding again. Mackay Restaurants is opening a fourth "Gauch" in Bellevue.

Le Pichet has opened Cafe Presse on the flanks of Capitol Hill in what's fast becoming a viable destination, the area around 12th and Madison. Jonathan Sundstrom's two stores, Lark and Licorous, are right across the street; Osteria La Spiga and Cafe Stellina are two streets north, and Crave a block beyond that. The whole cluster is a short ride on Metro's No. 2 bus from Belltown.

And, as noted earlier, Jason Wilson of Crush (further out Madison, at 23rd) has already infiltrated Belltown, since he's the food guy behind The Local Vine.

And the First and Bell twins, Queen City Grill and Frontier Room, have spawned another little one, Frontier Cafe, at Third and Cherry two miles south. Meantime, at Cafe Amore, Fifth and Bell, free cabaret performances occur at 10 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays.

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You know the type, the ultra-picky customer whose complaints ruin dinner for everyone in the restaurant. The self-appointed lightning rods for tough steak, spilled wine, fallen souffles, incorrect checks. Waiter, there's a fly in my drink! Miss, there's no gremolata on the osso buco! You want to find her car in the parking lot and let the air out of her tires, or send a mash note to her table: "STFUA!"

Leslie Kelly, Seattle's sorriest excuse for a restaurant writer, finally jumps the shark with the most self-absorbed, petulant, infantile item in this morning's Pee-Eye: finding a fly-nay, not even a house fly but a moustique, a fruit-fly, a gnat-next to her drink at Qube. From this single transgression, this one perceived slight to her fragile ego, she extrapolates the need for a Diners Bill of Rights and the complete downfall of Western Civilization. Just look at the threat presented by this monster, posted on Kelly's blog, aptly named Whining & Dining. From her account the fly wasn't even in her drink, but had expired harmlessly. Would that barfly Kelly would do the same. Quietly. And soon.

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So there's been this Russian-Turkish style "urban spa" called Banya5 on Ninth for three years now. It's kind of a giant community sauna, with a central oven providing both wet and dry heat, surrounded by a bunch of fresh- and salt-water pools. The gent who built it, Seattle-born real estate developer John Goodfellow, isn't even Russian; he got hooked on the concept in New Yawk City. You have to know where it is, because it's hard to see along the northbound arterial through the no-man's land connecting Lake Union with downtown. Now we grant you, there's a fair amount of new-age righteousness to the banya experience, extolling everything from its health benefits to its chess tournament. But even skeptics can enjoy the latest banya-related venture, a brand new lounge, just two doors down, called Venik (227 Ninth Ave. N., 223-3734). (The botanical venik, a bough of birch and oak leaves used to massage bathers, is a central element in the banya.)

Venik's menu is a tad over-the-top preachy, too, especially about infusions (vodka, not tea). Still, how can you not love a garlic-and-pepper "health" vodka that promises to replenish lost vigor, whether from the intense heat of the sauna or just everyday hotness in our oh-so-stressful lives? (Especially since it's served with the cutest little pickle from Bubbies.) The melon infusion is served Italian-style, with a slice of prosciutto on the side. And so on. The mixed drinks (Seattle SLU is a margarita, Borscht Manhattan is Wild Turkey with, yup, borscht) try a bit harder than necessary to justify their $10 tab and their health-giving properties.

The eats are no less healthy: Eggplant pizza, a Niçoise sandwich with seared rare tuna, even a spinach bratwurst from Uli's.
We're fans of the European tradition, though, so the black bread, cheese and fish eggs are just what the doctor ordered.

Until the architectural firm that currently leases the space between Banya5 and Venik moves out, you won't be able to wander from hot tub to bar in your bathrobe. But that's the least of Venik's problems. As we see it, the real drawback here is its teensy footprint: Only 700 square feet. That means no more than 10 at the bar, another dozen in the lounge, and a line out the door. Time to Google "velvet ropes seattle."

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At The Ruins, the liquor rep from Remy Cointreau introduces a new liqueur from Macallan called Amber. Sit down to flight of seven drinks featuring Amber, from variations on martini to riffs on coffee nudge. Most taste like maple syrup or pecan, but the Rob Roy from El Gaucho actually tastes like whiskey. Bravo!

Now come five dishes flavored with Amber. Four desserts that taste like maple syrup. One savory item, from Veil: A seared scallop with Amber-flavored foam. (Amber-flavored majesty, right?) Delicious! Then three food-and-Amber pairings. Me, I'm down with El Gaucho's take on French toast with Amber-flavored coffee, but the other judges (six women; I was the token male) pick Mona's maple bar stuffed with foie gras dunked in, well, you know, Amber-flavored coffee. (Don't try this at home. Please!) Still upright, I take a bottle of Amber to Mondello in Magnolia and pass around samples. Every woman at the bar loves it, confirming the brilliance of Amber's marketing.

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Starbucks, give 'em credit, is able to do more than one thing at a time. Mark of maturity, that. The papers are full of its plans to expand into every corner of the globe; this week it's Russia. On the domestic front, meantime, they're promoting a slogan to follow up on last year's "Geography is a Flavor." The new catchphrase: "Coffee is Culinary." Much of this country, and indeed most of the world, would be followers of ubuntu, the Bantu way of saying "We're all in this together."
photos by Ronald

Restaurant reviewer Ronald Holden was described as "Belltown's Boulevardier" in a Seattle Magazine survey of the best local food blogs; he welcomes news and comments from foodies and feeders (write to ronald - at - inyourglass.com). His blog, www.cornichon.org, was named one of the Internet's "Top Ten Food Blogs" last year by About.com.