There’s a precision to this Eastlake pit stop, from the counter server methodically ripping butcher paper into perfect squares of sandwich wrap to the 30-some beer taps lined up along the wall like a squadron of soldiers in full salute. Indeed, Mammoth so telegraphs fastidiousness—the refrigerator case with its exacting presentation of international brews and sodas, the black wood tables set at right angles to the seats, the crisp white subway tile—your sandwich may come as a bit of a shock.
These are the same folks who brought us the untidy pleasures of Bitterroot BBQ in Ballard; this perhaps should’ve stood as warning. But consider the Predator, a French roll slicked with caper aioli, then overstuffed with warm fried chicken leg, hunks of pork belly, swiss cheese, roasted red peppers, and a fistful of arugula. That’s not a sandwich, that’s a dare. All 16 sandwiches are similarly juicy and overloaded (with bread that stands up!) and variously well conceived; aim into the warm ones like the smoky-pork-with-charry-onion Saber-Tooth.
Each comes with homemade chips and should be enjoyed with a rich Belgian or porter or strong cider; kids (who are allowed, but not behind the bar rail) may choose housemade root beer or vanilla bean sodas, which taste like sticky feels. All adding up to exactly what you want to eat and drink, together at last, in a neighborhood that’s on the way to everywhere.
This article appeared in the April 2015 issue of Seattle Met magazine.