Went to Phinney's Oliver Twist tonight with Sarah, Erin, and Sarah's friend Sarah.
Everything was fabulous -- creative mixed drinks, nice ambiance, a nice cowded mumble loud enough to feel social but not overwhelming, flatteringly dim lights, a Seattle-typical waitress who's minimal enthuisiasm was more conversation piece than annoyance, flavor combinations very Top Chef, predictable prices -- except the menu's awkward liminal state: not quite bar food, nor appetizers, nor dinner. Absolutely tasty. I wasn't hungry when I left. Was I satisfied? I'm not sure. How do four excellent dates stuffed with cheese and bacon in tomatey sauce really compage to a hefty burrito or bowl of green curry?
In conclusion: Americans don't do tapas. We want a steak and four pounds of mashed potatoes, so we can leave half our meal on the table. Wasteful indeed, but at least we leave stuffed instead of confused.