Table For One, at Volunteer Park Cafe

Volunteer Park Cafe is nestled on the corner of Galer and 17th Ave. E. on Capitol Hill, in an old corner store that was previously home to an almost Twin-Peaks-y European cafe run by a man who kept a portrait of Mussolini on the wall. Then, you could always get a seat. Volunteer Park Cafe took over the spot in 2008, and dug in like a burr.

The cafe now, run solely by Ericka Burke, is almost always jumping around meal times, which grumpy neighbors have had to learn to deal with.* (Former pastry-makin’ partner Heather Earnhardt is likewise packing them at The Wandering Goose up on 15th Ave. E.) It’s open for breakfast and lunch Tuesday through Friday from 7 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. (weekends the cafe sleeps in until 8 a.m.), and for dinner, Tuesday through Saturday, 5:30 to 9 p.m.

It seems to me that staff has been added over the years, with the result that food delivery is speeded up from its previous Southern-fried pace; they have consistently gotten me in and out for lunch in 30 minutes. They’re still capable of delivering you a French dip sandwich instead of, say, chicken soup with matzoh balls. (Wrong button!) But the most impatient you’ll likely feel is lining up along the counter, waiting to order at the register.

That delay is partly because, while the cafe’s menu is not extensive, it is almost all mouth-wateringly good, and even regulars can find it hard to decide. For lunch so far, I’ve had the French dip and BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, the wild boar chili and chicken soup, and even the chicken pot pie, though I had David Cross in my head the rest of the day. Prices are not cheap, but are fair, given the evident care in preparation. Lunch items will run between $8 and $12 generally.

There’s no quibbling over the ingredients to any dish; everything is just as it should be, even the variety of breads the sandwiches come on. The actual URL for the cafe is “alwaysfreshgoodness.com” and, before you’ve eaten there, that may sound slightly boastful. It is not. The matzoh balls taste of herbs. Even the red and black beans in the warmly spicy chili seem fleshily creamy, surprising your grinding molars with their give.

Cream is a byword. It’s a horseradish cream sauce that accompanies the au jus with your French dip, and so encumbered, the horseradish can’t monte le nez. The chicken pot pie is stewily thick, but in a cream stock. It comes with a golden puff pastry top, rather than something crustier (given the speed with which it appeared, this must be a pre-fabricated job, but it succeeds well enough).

There are of course salads–the beet and pear combination is a planned item, just as soon as my good intentions are no longer waylaid by the chili or sandwiches. This is not to mention the pastry case, which will have your inner cookie monster jumping out your throat. Be ready for that.

Though it is popular, it’s not impossible to get a solo-diner seat, thanks to a large table with benches that sits in the center of the room. There’s almost always enough room for one more, if the two-tops around the space are taken.

Food is either handed to you at the register or is set atop the pastry case when ready, and your name called. A drawer next to water cups contains cutlery; next to the water glasses are napkins. You bus your own dishes. Huge southern-facing windows will occasionally let the sun stream through, and your food will look as if it’s been painted by a Dutch master, for a few minutes. Then, either the sun will have gone, or you will have finished it.

*Neighbor Cliff Meyer disputes the characterization of the neighbors as “grumpy,” and in an email with the subject line, “Lay off the Cafe’s neighbors” says he would like the post revised and the link to the Crosscut article removed. “Ericka Burke and her neighbors now cooperate and co-exist very effectively,” he says.