Vino Manzanita More than a place to drink, Vino is a wine bar worthy of dinner

Published 4:00 am Thursday, September 3, 2015

When Dixie Lee bought Vino Manzanita some nine years ago, she was drawn more by quaint opportunity than infatuated with fermented grapes.

“I read ‘Wine For Dummies’ three or four times,” Lee said, chuckling, of her pre-purchase baptism.

But lest we paint her as some dilettante, know that Lee is approachable and unassuming, and her wine education has since come full circle. Vino offers a diverse, well-curated wine list that ought to please the most discerning wine-o-phile.

Don’t take my word for it — I’m the first to admit wine is well outside my wheelhouse. So to imbibe Vino, I brought along an expert, a rep from a winery in the valley. I also consulted with a certified sommelier familiar with Vino and the wine lists of restaurants up and down the North Coast. Both answered with affirmative enthusiasm: While relatively concise, Vino’s selection includes styles and regions that should appease most any desire. It does so while taking the path less traveled — Lee sticks to burgeoning wineries. (It deserves mention that Vino’s by-the-glass offerings are rather scant – five reds and three whites ‚ in comparison to bottles.)

As my companion and I were feeling rather bubbly, we opted for a bottle of rosé, Olivier Marin’s Tentation ($38). With dry, pink effervesce in hand, we clanked flutes and began to peruse the menu. It was, as one might expect, befitting of a wine bar: little bites of cheeses, charcuterie, olives and so on. Vino also offers a rotating entrée, and on this day there were two: a vegetarian lasagna and sausage-based meatloaf. We chose to share several plates, and our server asked if we’d like them in any particular order. We left it up to the kitchen.

First came the Smoked Salmon ($14), served with crackers and vintage white cheddar. The strip of fish delighted simply. It was succulent, naturally oily, and topped with a dash of pepper. Two diners next to us took notice. “We woofed it down,” the couple guffawed. “It didn’t need the cheese or crackers — just the salmon, it was so good!” And while I found no reason to be upset with the accoutrements, it’s true that a bit of our cheese and a few of the thin crackers went uneaten. Indeed, they were eclipsed by the salmon. The adjacent diners went a step further, giddily researching the provider, Seattle’s Gerard & Dominique Seafoods.

And therein lies the heart of Vino: strong sourcing. As the kitchen is the size of a closet, Lee and her staff are able to serve dishes only requiring a modicum of preparation. By and large, they must stand on the raw quality of the ingredients.

But it isn’t just the kitchen that’s small. Vino is, to put it kindly, cozy. At times it can get downright cramped. There’s an L-shaped bar with six or seven seats, though it’s less than ideal for a full-on meal. Then there are a handful of tables, no more than five. In the summer, seating often spills outside, both in the front and back. And while with the right kind of weather the patio seating could be divine, it’s easy to imagine folks getting stuck out in the cold once the sun begins to dip. On this particular evening, Vino’s dining room was lively, though hardly livid. Between dishes, a string band began strumming in the corner. Though they cut further into everyone’s elbow room, the trade in ambiance was worth making — the three-piece was mellow enough to talk over but proficient enough to steal your attention.

Our second plate was Spanakopita ($6). The four, triangular, fully-enclosed pastries were light and flaky, sealing in creamy spinach and feta, and served with plum preserve. While applying the jam offered a more complex flavor, I appreciated them equally without, and I admired the thinness of the crust, which kept the little puffs from becoming too dry.

Our third plate was the Vegetarian Lasagna ($18), one of the entrées of the day. Again, we shared it. A bit of a short-stack, the baked lasagna was not an overwhelming portion, but its taste was stellar, smooth and bright. Really, there was no secret: It contained a bit of spinach, basil, green onion and bright tomato sauce. The cheese on top was lightly singed, a delicate crust and gooey inside. (As we later learned, the lasagna had been made at Elephant’s Delicatessen, a renown Portland eatery. By and large, half of Vino’s daily entrée specials are made in house, the others outsourced.) Of similar, striking freshness were the accompanying greens, grown at the nearby King Fisher Farm in Nehalem. It was as if they’d just been plucked from the ground. My companion and I marveled both at the main course and the side. Both avid carnivores, we found the vegetarian lasagna total, whole and realized — we were not left wanting for meat.

And to that end, while it can be traditional European coursing to finish with a cheese plate (which we had originally chosen) I became weary at the thought of it. I asked our server if we could amend our order and he warmly obliged. Dessert suddenly seemed more appropriate, and when I noticed Vino offered Buttercup ice cream from Nehalem, I was insistent. (I’ve written at length of Buttercup, see Mouth of the Columbia, May 28, 2015.)

The last-minute substitution was an ideal cap. I left satisfied and satiated, yet lightness prevailed. Thanks are due in no small part to the rosé but to Vino’s rich, unpretentious setting as well. Indeed, it may be a wine bar first, but Vino too is a place worth having dinner.