James Beard winner Renee Erickson on Ballard’s role in restaurant empire

This piece is from our latest This City Block series, which highlights stories from Ballard.

South of Old Ballard, there’s a former marine manufacturing building, erected in 1910. One hundred years later, chef Renee Erickson toured the long-abandoned building. After running Boat Street Cafe since 1997, the University of Washington alumna from Woodinville was looking for her next restaurant. 

Entering through a plywood door into a dark room with a dirt floor, Erickson was drawn to the space near the old loading dock, where there was light and room for a patio. It was small, which was important at the time, since the idea of opening a big restaurant was “terrifying” to Erickson.

Nearly 15 years and a baker’s dozen restaurants later, it’s hard to imagine Erickson being terrified. But in Seattle, change is the only constant. The space would become The Walrus and the Carpenter — nominated this year for a James Beard Award for Outstanding Restaurant — and from Ballard, Erickson would launch her Sea Creatures restaurant empire. 

I sat down for oysters this month with Erickson and Jeremy Price — Sea Creatures co-owner, along with Chad Dale — to talk about how their careers, their flagship restaurant and the neighborhood have changed over the past 14 years. There was a lot to cover: Ballard is less sleepy these days, for one. Price, then the general manager, is now second in command at one of Seattle’s most successful restaurant groups. And Erickson, on the cusp of publishing her third cookbook, spends almost zero time in her restaurants’ kitchens. Meanwhile, Ballard’s population has boomed, and the cost of doing business in the restaurant industry has skyrocketed. 

“The whole world felt different in 2010; it wasn’t as fast or commercialized,” said Erickson, who was named Best Chef: Northwest at the 2016 Beard Awards for her work at The Whale Wins in Fremont. 

“It was super exciting [opening The Walrus and the Carpenter] 15 years ago,” Price said, “and super stressful. Both of those things have gone down and I think that’s a good thing.” 

When The Walrus and the Carpenter opened, Erickson could be found shucking oysters or working the short-lived brunch shift. Price would take down names and phone numbers for the waitlist by hand. These days, Price joked that having either of them working the floor would be like “calling grandma and grandpa out of retirement.” 

The building that houses The Walrus and the Carpenter, which still has the name Kolstrand Mfg Co on the brick front, is just outside the bustling commercial heart of Ballard Avenue. In 2010, the rapidly growing neighborhood was already a hip place for a night out or a morning at the farmers market, but this part of Ballard Ave was quiet. That was part of the appeal. 

“We liked being down here because it felt authentic to Ballard,” Erickson said. “It was grungy and you could see boats coming and going.”

Price said, “There was this little train that would go back and forth — just some guy that had a little train he would drive every now and again, and you would hear his steam whistle. It was charming.” 

Ballard matched their vision for the restaurant. The neighborhood felt charming but still rough around the edges, perfect for an oyster bar that was unpretentious, with a happy hour that offered bivalves for a buck apiece. The cozy space was often abuzz with music and chatter.

“We wanted it to be casual so that even though you were eating something that wasn’t cheap, it was an experience that was a lot less pretentious,” Erickson said, “hoping that a fisherman could come in and have a beer and eat some oysters and have it be approachable.” 

Ballard is still Ballard, but “the character has changed a little bit” in the neighborhood, Price said. 

In 2010, Ballard Avenue had a reputation as a good street for bars, which remains true. Price said the neighborhood still feels dynamic, but the churn seems greater these days. Retail shops seem to turn over more quickly. Gone are some longtime neighbors — like the New York Fashion Academy — replaced by buzzier, flashier stores like bridal boutiques and trinket shops. 

“Now it’s more popular and there’s something for everybody, but I think it was still loud and dirty and grungy” when The Walrus and the Carpenter opened, Erickson said. “That was the charm for us.” 

“It hadn’t been quite as gentrified and we were a part of that,” she added, “so there you go.”

And the cost of doing business has mounted since Price and Erickson bootstrapped their way to opening the Walrus. Price said the price to open the restaurant was about $400,000, “and now it would be more like $1.5 million, which is insane.” For Sea Creatures’ new Phinney Ridge hot spot, Lioness, which is smaller than the Ballard oyster bar, the restaurant group “probably paid three times as much” as they did to open The Walrus and the Carpenter in 2010.  

Labor costs have also risen, with the city’s minimum wage creeping toward $20 per hour. Erickson and Price said rising costs are hard on their own, and that negative consumer reactions to rising costs present an additional hurdle. 

“Consumers don’t want to believe bread costs as much as it does,” Erickson said. “We have more confidence in what we like and in our intentions. But restaurants have not gotten easier. It’s a harder business to do well at.” 

You can no longer get oysters for a dollar, but at the casual space that catapulted Erickson from rising chef to acclaimed restaurateur, not everything has changed: Customers still eat freshly shucked oysters in the afternoon sunshine the way Erickson craved when she toured the space.  

“I think part of Walrus’s magic is the hustle and bustle. It’s the energy,” Price said. “Some people hate it — it’s too loud, it’s too crowded. But I know one of the things I missed during the pandemic was going out somewhere crowded and lively. One of the things people come here for is to be a sardine with other people.”