If you like bad service, bad cuts of chicken and great drinks all at exorbitant prices, I have got the perfect place for you. Come on down near the 12th and Pine and throw your hard-earned money away at Rachel’s Ginger Beer and Sunset Fried Chicken.
Rachel’s Ginger Beer
Rachel’s Ginger Beer is on the marquee so it’s only fair to start the review talking about that sweet, spicy nectar. Rachel’s Ginger Beer is spectacular. It’s the best ginger beer you can buy. Every flavor variation is delicious. Every sip is better than the next.
All those positives out of the way, it’s so damn expensive though! I mean, over five bucks for a twelve ounce plastic cup?! Come on Rachel. Just because you have an amazing product that is miles ahead of your closest competitor it doesn’t give you the right to charge two arms and two legs.
Or maybe it does. Damn it. Just looking at this photo makes me want to waste even more of my money on this completely unnecessary and outrageously delicious beverage. And long gone are the days of buying just regular-old Rachel’s Ginger Beer at your local farmers market. With the fancy new digs in the heart of Capitol Hill (and Pike Place Market) you have to get adventurous and try a cocktail or a fancy Moscow Mule.
I’ve been out of the drinking game for too long. I am awaking from my cryogenic chamber only to find a world I do not know or understand. Everywhere I look there are copper mugs filled with ginger beer and vodka. They’re good, but does every single bar, restaurant and cafe need to have it as a specialty?
Rachel’s Ginger Beer probably should. Yeah,that makes perfect sense.
Sunset Fried Chicken
If appearances were everything Sunset would have one of the best fried chicken sandwiches in the world. It looks amazing. I mean, just look at the glorious gift from heaven they place in front of you. Admire in the golden light beaming from the crispy breading.
However, I had one little, tiny, itsy-bitsy issues my chicken sandwich: the meat was an inedible piece of tough, knotted rubber that appeared to be slightly under-cooked.
But other than that!
Maybe I had the one bad egg. Perhaps my sandwich was just an anomaly. I can accept and forgive random mistakes. At any ordinary restaurant I would just politely ask for my order to be remade. A normal restaurant would remake it. My new normal sandwich would be great and everybody’s happy.
But Sunset is not an ordinary restaurant. It’s a little tiny counter in the corner of the room. And in my time there, the counter was manned by a human being maybe 10% of the time. That is not an exaggeration.
I wasn’t sure if Sunset was open when I first arrived. There wasn’t a menu. There wasn’t a sign. There wasn’t an employee. There was just a tiny counter covered in dirty trays. I found it incredibly rude that people would just stack dirty dishes right there on the counter. Just put them in the bus tub guys!
I waited maybe four minutes. The Rachel’s Ginger Beer bartender kept looking at me as if I was lost. Fortunately (at the time) and unfortunately (in hindsight) someone from Sunset eventually popped out from the kitchen. Clearing the dishes away, the menu finally became uncovered and I could finally order. I opted for the OG, just the regular sandwich.
Luckily (at the time) and unluckily (in hindsight) my sandwich arrived at an okay speed. It wasn’t super quick but I didn’t wait long enough to forget what I was waiting for in the first place.
Damn my sandwich looked good–
Oh, they didn’t bring me any napkins. Can I get some napkins? Nope, the guy delivering my food shot back into the kitchen at lightning pace. Maybe there are some napkins at the bar. Nope. At the Sunset counter? Nope. Oh, there they are, behind the counter where only employees can get them, employees who appear less frequently than a mayfly.
I won’t be getting napkins anytime soon. Might as well eat before my food is cold.
Words cannot describe how much disappointment I felt trying to eat my Sunset Fried Chicken sandwich. Scroll back up at look at that thing. How can something so beautiful be so angry inside? What demon caused the poor chicken such strife that it tied it’s muscles into indestructible knots?
Maybe if I can tear the chick apart I can get rid of the weird pick and brown clump in the middle of the breast meat. Shit. No napkins. I don’t want all this grease on my hands. I’m trying to take pictures.
Screw it. I just ate the breading, bun and slaw. It wasn’t bad. But it sure as hell wasn’t worth $8.50. I’m just going to cut my losses, bus my tray and hurry home just in case that chicken really was raw.
Now where’s the bus tub? Do they seriously not have one? Fuck it, I’ll just leave it on the counter.