The Lock Spot Cafe is so named because it’s next door neighbors to Ballard’s Chittenden Locks, which connect Lake Washington to the salty Puget Sound (a/k/a Pacific Ocean). The locks have been there since 1917, and the restaurant since 1930.
The building is old and sorta blue like me, but in much better physical shape. I limped up a few stairs to the front door, held it open for some people leaving, and then entered.
It’s woody, with wood walls and wood tables, and almost instantly a nice blue-haired lady with arms full of cool tattoos appeared from some blue-haired heaven. “Good morning, sir.,” she said. “Would you like to sit inside, outside, or at the bar?”
It’s nice having options, ain’t it? It was a little brisk out that morning, so I didn’t want to eat outside, and I had breakfast at a bar once, which was kind of depressing, so, “Inside,” said I, and she showed me to a seat at a table. Middle of the room, with nobody at the adjacent tables. Perfect.
She asked what I’d like to drink, and I went with coffee. She left a menu, and left, soon reappearing with a mug, and cream and sugar I hadn’t asked for but needed.
From my table, I could see into the bar, and noticed a sign hanging high above a wall full of scotch: “No sniveling.” I’d love that message on a t-shirt.
A young-looking but bald man came to my table, and said, “Howdy, do you know what you’d like?” He asked real nice, but yikes, it had only been thirty seconds since I’d sat down. Hadn’t even glanced at the menu.
Two thoughts collided in my head: First, I love anyone who says ‘Howdy’, but the second thought had been with me all the way on my bus ride over: Do I want breakfast, or lunch? See, I’d heard that the Lock Spot’s breakfasts are to live for, but the place is famous for their fish’n’chips, so I decided to let this bald waiter decide for me.
“Do I want breakfast,” I asked him, “or do I want lunch?”
“Well, we have an excellent eggs benedict only on the weekends” — this was Saturday — “and we make our own hollandaise sauce.”
“Eggs benedict it is.”
“So it shall be,” he said and smiled, and took the menu and he was gone.
I swiveled my head to see a little more of the Lock Spot. I’d been hoping for a view of the locks, but in my part of the place’s large interior, the only window looked landward.
The place has a nautical theme, but not to a cheesy extent, and I noticed a few more kinda comical signs. My favorite announced: “Be nice or leave.”
There’s also a big poster from Deadliest Catch, covered with autographs. Never seen the show, but I’d read online that they’d filmed part of an episode here.
A middle-aged woman walked in, alone, and the blue-haired lady asked her, “Inside, outside, or at the bar?”
Probably the lady answered, but all I overheard was her hollering at a man who was drinking at the bar. “Michael, what are you doing here?”
He laughed and shouted, “Silly question! I came to see you, Peggy, and for a Silver City.” (That’s a local beer.)
Peggy joined Michael at the bar, all laughs, and I decided I like the place.
Then the bald guy brought me the eggs benedict, and there are two things to be said about that:
First, wow that was quick. I don’t think it had been five minutes since walking in, and here’s my food. If they hadn’t even taken my order yet, I wouldn’t have felt impatient or ignored.
And second, them’s fine eggs benedict, sweet and savory at the same time, with marvelous sauce and thick but easily forkable Canadian bacon.
Co-starring on the plate was some terrific diced potatoes fried with onion and unidentified but yum spices.
Blissed out, I ate about half my breakfast before realizing I’d forgotten something. Reading the menu online before coming, I hadn’t noticed that eggs benedict is only served on the weekend, but I had noticed that the Lock Spot makes their own cinnamon rolls, on Saturdays and Sundays only. That’s why I’d come on a Saturday — but I’m a big dummy, and I’d forgotten to order a cinnamon roll.
Perhaps the blue-haired lady is psychic, or perhaps the look on my face gave it away, but at that very moment she appeared at my table. She asked if everything was OK, but her tone seemed slightly worried that possibly something wasn’t OK.
I told her I’d forgotten to order a cinnamon roll, and she said she’d take care of it, and darted toward the bar. That’s when I noticed that the bald guy who’d taken my order was the bartender — he was pouring drinks for Michael and Peggy.
Before my plate of eggs and potatoes was empty, the bald bartender came over with a cinnamon roll the size of my head, hot and smothered in icing but not too much.”
How are the eggs benedict?” he asked.
“Best ever,” I answered truthfully.
“Is this your first time here?”
“Yessir, but it won’t be my last.”
And then we had a short conversation, and he mentioned that the restaurant is 90-some years old, but the building is older. It’s been added onto and remodeled over the years, he said, but originally it was a house, built in the 1880s. Which means the place is older than my grandparents, and all four of them are dead.
The tab was a bit more than I’m accustomed to paying, but worth it. The eggs, potatoes, cinnamon roll, coffee, and service were all stellar. My only complaint is, the Lock Spot is a long bus ride from home, so it’ll be a rare, special treat instead of a weekly brunch.
The Lock Spot Cafe
3005 NW Locks Place, Seattle
(Ballard neighborhood)
Food & drink: extraordinary
Price: ordinary
Service: extraordinary
Transit: Routes #17 or #44
10/14/2024
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