Good luck finding Little Pat’s Place — the restaurant doesn’t have a sign. It was taken down a few years ago, when the early-era strip-mall was re-roofed, but the sign was never re-mounted.
If you’re on foot, and very observant, you might barely notice a silhouette of silverware stenciled onto the glass doors, but if you’re driving or busing past, you’d never know there’s a restaurant hidden there.
Those doors are mysterious, by the way. There are two separate entrances, ten feet apart from the sidewalk, and both lead into the restaurant, but for reasons I haven’t figured out, they rotate the “please use other door” signs on these two doors. The door you walked in through a few days ago, you’re only supposed to walk out today, and next time it’ll be the other way around.
That’s momentarily confusing for regulars, and yeah, I’m a regular. I’m there 2-4 times monthly, because it hits the trifecta — it’s cheap, it’s good, and it’s easy to get to on the bus from my house.
When you find the right door to walk in, you will not be immediately impressed. Little Pat’s was built in the 1940s or ’50s, and has never been remodeled nor, I suspect, deep-cleaned. It’s not dirty, but the false ceiling is faded plastic with stains, the floor is a bit geographic, and everything is aged, as you’d imagine of a place that’s been serving breakfast and lunch seven days a week for 75 years or so.
There’s a small section at the front where there could be 2-3 more tables, but instead it’s a few gumball machines, a rack of old magazines, and storage for cases of napkins and to-go boxes and what-not.
Don’t wait to be seated. Just pick a booth, table, or counter spot. Most of the booth seats have rips, some have duct tape repairs, and some of the upholstered benches are not as well-anchored as they were fifty years ago, and tend to slide back when you sit.
Someone will be with you momentarily, and it will be only a moment. At Little Pat’s, you’ll never wonder where the waitress went. Service is prompt, friendly, and they have the finest coffee-refill system you’ve ever seen in a restaurant — there’s usually a staffer whose sole duty seems to be circling the floor and offering coffee refills. I’ve had as many as ten refills, though the pours do slow a bit when the place is super-busy.
The staff is all family, so common dialogue overheard between workers is, “Did Uncle work yesterday?” or “When does Jenny get back from vacation?”
I once asked who Little Pat was, and was told he was the founder, long since passed away, and father of the current owner. Guess he was short, though I didn’t ask that. Being second-generation probably means the mortgage is paid off, which would explain the pleasantly low prices.
For today’s breakfast, I ordered the chicken-fried steak ($8.25), not because I like it, but because I didn’t know what it was. Would it be steak fried like chicken, or chicken fried like steak? I didn’t ask the waitress, because I wanted to be surprised. Avert your eyes to avoid spoilers, but…
It’s beef steak, breaded and pan-fried like chicken, and it’s frickin’ fabulous. It comes with eggs, hash browns, and toast (with Smuckers), and the steak is drenched in a luscious gravy that unavoidably and deliciously works its way into the hash browns and eggs. There’s a steak knife, since it’s steak, but the meat is so dang tender, my fork was enough for cutting it up.
I also ordered a butterhorn on the side, which came first and nicely heated, with a generous dab of whipped butter. That’s a rarity at the class of restaurants I frequent, but ordinary at Little Pat’s, if you order a pastry or hotcakes or french toast. Being whipped, the butter is invariably soft and easy to spread, instead of one of those annoying butters you have to unwrap.
Not today, but on random visits and without my asking for it, instead of an ordinary dab of butter, they’ve given me a quadruple-huge dab of butter, a wildly unhealthy amount. Of course, I’ll spread it all over everything to luxuriate in the probably-fatal excess.
The décor is of little interest to me in most restaurants, but Little Pat’s gets points for trying. As every holiday approaches, holiday-themed tablecloths are laid out and special kitsch is hung on the walls. As I write this in mid-November, it’s turkeys. A few weeks ago it was jack-o’-lanterns and pumpkins, and in a few weeks it’ll be Santas and elves.
This being a review makes me nominally a critic, so I’m supposed to grouse about something, but sheesh. Closest I can come to a complaint is that the pepper shakers yield big pepper flakes, up to an eighth of an inch, when I’d prefer smaller flakes like at home.
Since Little Pat’s is so well-hidden, let’s close with clues for how to find it. It’s in Burien, a suburb a few miles south of Seattle, on the west side of the map.
If you’re coming on transit, take the RapidRide #H or Sound Transit’s #560 bus, and ding the bell at 136th Street. If you’re driving, it’s at the southwest corner of Ambaum and 136th, in a run-down strip mall called Burien Gardens.
Look for the sign that isn’t there, between the laundromat and the Spanish-language tax prep place.
Little Pat’s Place
13611 Ambaum Blvd SW, Burien WA
Food & drink: excellent
Price: cheap
Service: great
Transit: #560, RapidRide #H
Verdict: BIG YES.
11/23/2024
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