All lined up.
All lined up. Ashley Bullock

When I went to “Rough Draft”—a 12-course pop-up dinner put on by chefs Aaron Wilcenski (formerly of Zig Zag Cafe) and Erik Jackson (Capitol Cider), along with booze dude Nick Jarvis (Tom Douglas Restaurants)—I expected it to be a little eccentric. I did not, however, expect it to be the best argument for prix-fixe pop-ups I’ve encountered. The ambitious dinner, which included pairings (tickets cost $130 per person), was held in a queer arts/party space that does not have a commercial kitchen. The organizers joked that they called it “Rough Draft” so that “if we fucked up, we could just be like, ‘It’s a rough draft!’” Though they were obviously anticipating some missteps, they didn’t really make any. They did, however, make a great party.

Stepping through the chain-link fencing next to the now-defunct High Voltage music store was like slipping into a wonderful pocket dimension. The event space is something of a refuge from the woo girls and backward hats—a place on Capitol Hill where weird, fun, queer people can enjoy their own brand of chaos. Not that the dinner was chaotic, however, although it was definitely fun and weird. In fact, it was almost uncannily well organized, considering the environment. But the organizers seemed to thrive on it. “This is the best venue I’ve ever been in,” Jarvis said in his introduction to the meal.

How did they pull it together, with only a four-burner electric stove? With a little clever logistical improvisation. Jackson is the executive chef of Capitol Cider, which happens to be directly across the street from the event space. All the dishes requiring big heat and big pans were finished there, carried through the wilds of the Friday night Pike/Pine Corridor, and plated so elegantly that we diners happily forgot that a thin layer of aluminum foil was very recently the only thing protecting our rib eye from Seattle’s biggest meat market.

The dinner started, as all good winter dinner parties in Seattle should start, with a glass of something sparkling and a convenient place to hang wet coats. It moved rapidly into the eating, which commenced with a rockfish crudo sprinkled with delightfully briny olive salt, shaved fennel, fennel pollen, and fig quarters. It was one of those rare dishes that tries to do a lot of different things and actually does them all. The apertivo paired with it was just as well coordinated: a mix of Copperworks gin, currant, orange, rhubarb, and fennel (a nice nod to the fish), served in one of those insufferably cute mini bottles.

While everything tasted amazing, right down to the fennel and lemon sparkling water, I was most impressed by the level of discipline involved. Many prix-fixe dinners stick to a theme—cider and pork, tacos and tequila, or some such. Rough Draft didn’t really have one, beyond “the seasonal local vitality of the Pacific Northwest.” But out of the vast sea of swirling possibilities that is the Pacific Northwest food scene, they picked the exact pieces they wanted, and created a cohesive menu of the exact dishes and pairings they’d envisioned.

Chef Aaron Wilcenski sprinkling olive salt on the fish.
Chef Aaron Wilcenski sprinkling olive salt on the fish. Ashley Bullock

I was especially impressed with the variety of booze. When your parameters allow you to choose from about a bajillion different Northwest beers, wines, and ciders, how do you pick only a few that will really shine? You probably drink a lot, and you probably also do a lot of research. Jarvis obviously has done both. A cider aged in rum-soaked-bourbon-barrels from Sea Cider was everything I thought cider could never be: dark, rich, and insanely complex. It was a perfect counterbalance to the light, silky chicory, Gruyùre, and quince gratin that came alongside with it. A glass of Westland’s American single malt whiskey served with the rib eye made me feel like a very fancy miner. Holy Mountain’s oaked saison went surprisingly well with fish, despite its rich, funky, brett flavor. And the after-dinner coffee even came with a trio of amaros to match the three desserts—a surprisingly fun, choose-your-own-adventure take on pairing.

The painstaking attention to detail, along with Wilcenski’s revelation that they took a loss on the evening, confirmed my suspicion that this was more a labor of love than a fancy side gig. They hope to have more attendees in the future, and at least make a little something for their efforts, but they’re not exactly looking to get rich here. It didn’t feel, as some pop-ups do, like a plea for their own restaurant. It felt more like a plea for parties—long, boozy dinner parties followed by dancing and drinking and smoking and talking.

Seattle is hurtling rapidly toward elegance, but in our race to the top, we’re forgetting that dining out is supposed to be not just fancy but also fun. It’s not about how craft your cocktail is, or how pretty your dessert looks on Instagram, or how impressed your friends will be that you’ve tried that new place, it’s about having a good time. “That’s our goal,” Wilcenski told me. “We love every aspect of hospitality, from start to finish: letting others forget about everything else in the world, if only for a few hours.” Mission accomplished.