THE SUBJECT: Ethan Stowell, the chef/kingpin behind Seattle’s esteemed restaurant trio Union, Tavolàta and How to Cook a Wolf. Stowell’s just been named one of Food & Wine’s Best New Chefs of 2008, and he’s a finalist for a James Beard Foundation Award in the category of Best Chef: Northwest.

“I don’t know what all it means, but we’ll see,” he says of receiving some of the restaurant industry’s highest honors. For one of America’s culinary meteors, he’s a down-to-earth guy. He and his wife share a tiny north Queen Anne house with their dog, two cats and more than 600 cookbooks. He offers the afternoon visitor a duet of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers—Original and Parmesan—and a glass of Austrian grüner veltliner wine.

“It’s the perfect pairing,” he says.

The bigger, bug-eyed cat is also offered a Goldfish, which he eats. Stowell, learning only now that the purpose of the visit is to inventory the contents of his refrigerator, has a preemptive disclosure to make.

“I’ve got a half a Subway sandwich in there. From yesterday. That I’m still gonna eat,” he says.

THE REFRIGERATOR: With its low wooden ceiling, the kitchen’s reminiscent of a ship’s galley. The owners of the house—former houseboat-dwellers—remodeled it; Stowell and his wife rent. The large-capacity Kenmore residential fridge has photos stuck to it with tiny measuring cup magnets: the two of them in Italy, his dad dressed as Drosselmeyer in The Nutcracker. (His parents, Kent Stowell and Francia Russell, founded the Pacific Northwest Ballet and directed it for nearly three decades).

Inside, there’s the Subway sandwich. It’s roast beef on wheat with pepperjack, jalapeños, and pepperoncinis. Is Stowell not deterred from patronizing Subway by the disturbing “baking bread” smell vented onto the sidewalk outside each outlet?

“It’s a bad sandwich—I’m not gonna lie to you,” he says. “It’s not a good sandwich. It’s only five bucks, though.”

Next to it is a sizable metal bowl of miner’s lettuce. “That’ll probably be salad later tonight,” Stowell says. Capers and cornichons are also front and center—“I made beef tartare”—as well as some mascarpone, “because I made some English pea risotto. I like to have a little teaspoon of mascarpone in my risotto.”

DEPT. OF REAPPROPRIATED DAIRY: A clear plastic deli container holds the world’s largest private supply of Parmesan, impressive chunks of it. Given the menus at his restaurants, it’s a safe bet that it’s Reggiano. The gallon of whole milk was, he says, “stolen from How to Cook a Wolf”; a brick of butter is “Union brand” (it’s Meadowbrook). The La Tur—an Italian sheep’s, cow and goat’s milk cheese—was recently on Union’s menu with poached figs. (Several unmarked bags of Italian Taggiasca olives, often used in dishes at Tavolàta, are found as well.)

ELEVEN BOTTLES OF WINE: Stowell’s wife, Angela, constructs the wine list for How to Cook a Wolf. The 11 bottles of white wine in the fridge are “Angela’s samples for work,” Stowell says. “You know, she’s gotta sample stuff in the morning when she gets up.” But seriously, Angela’s current favorite all-purpose white is Wachauer grüner veltliner. “It’s a $10 bottle of wine you can afford to have at home on a regular basis. We’ll go buy a case and keep it downstairs.” It’s a little grapefruity, uncomplicated but nimble. It is actually quite good with Goldfish crackers.

AUXILARY REFRIGERATOR: Over by the dining table, a Magic Chef 50-bottle wine cooler/mini-fridge from Home Depot holds yet more wine.

REGARDING BEER: Three lonely Redhook India Pale Ales have reportedly been in the fridge forever; no one will drink them. Stowell prefers Budweiser. He leaves the kitchen, returning to display a bowling ball made out of clear resin with a Budweiser bottle embedded in it. BREAD AND RADISHES: For a quick sandwich, Stowell stocks “cheap-ass whole wheat bread”—Safeway Select Country Whole Wheat. The remainder of a Grand Central Baking Company loaf has ended up refrigerated. Stowell bangs it on the counter. It’s rock hard. “That’s my baguette,” he says with glee.

A dish of radishes looks snack-ready, while crisper drawers hold jumbo carrots “for stock and stuff like that,” onions, yellow pepper, ginger, horseradish, a fennel stem, shallots, garlic, lemons, limes. A baggie contains some kind of mint. “I don’t know what that is,” Stowell says, smelling it.

THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR—A LIST: A forgotten package of quail eggs from the International District’s mammoth Asian grocery Uwajimaya: “They were gonna go on my beef tartare, but now they’re probably just gonna get sautéed off. They expire in a couple days.” Best Foods mayo: “only Best Foods,” he avers. The Big Hot One, a bottle of hot sauce with a scantily clad cartoon woman sucking on a giant red chili pepper on the label (tagline: How Much Can You Swallow?): “a Valentine’s Day present.” Ivar’s cocktail sauce: “I got some prawns from Metropolitan Market and had prawn cocktail one night. I figured, you know, hey, why not?”

Many Japanese condiments—“some friends of ours from Japan bring it”—including bottled yuzu juice (Stowell likes it on oysters), ponzu, and fermented soy sauce. “A lot of times for breakfast, we’ll steam off some rice, sauté some eggs and mix them with the rice, then put soy sauce and stuff like that on them.” Sambal and sriracha chili sauces. Miso paste.

MOST EMBARRASSING THING: While Stowell is unapologetic about Subway, he quickly distances himself from a bottle of Kraft Fat Free Catalina dressing. “Now this, I don’t know why this is here,” he says, chagrined. “This is not mine. And it has an expiration date of August 5, 2007. That’s gotta go.” And it does.

SELECTIONS FROM THE FREEZER COMPARTMENT: Fudgesicles: “They’re good, would you like one?” Chicken bones for making stock. A half-dozen kinds of sausage, including hot Italian, blood, and an unholy quantity of salami. Deer steaks marked Not for Sale: “a guy who used to work at Tavolàta went hunting.” Cuttlefish and shrimp-flavored fish balls: “Once in a while you have one of these things”—he grabs a Styrofoam-bowl noodle soup package from the cupboard—“and you feel like you oughta jazz it up a little bit, you know what I’m talking about?”

Bethany Jean Clement is a writer and editor. Her work may be found regularly in The Stranger.

Ethan's recipe for beef tartare can be found here.