IKEA for breakfast

Ah, moving. For the first time in our history, Bill had full charge of our move and about 3% of packing while I was out of town in Idaho. My planning was extensive, of course, but nothing short of a me-shaped, talking chalkboard with itemized tasks could've managed his actual execution. All told, he did pretty well, and though a few things didn't make it, two carloads were dragged upstairs and barfed onto the floor of our new home without a single drop of my own sweat. Unless you count my fastidious, space-defying and efficient week-long packfest.

If you're looking for the other half it's schmeered on my face.

Still looking for my peanut butter, I ventured out for breakfast today to Zatz-A-Better-Bagel. Don't dwell on that incorrigible phrase, stay with me, we're talking about an important meal. Back in Brooklyn, bagels were everywhere and my favorite combination was plain schmear, tomato and pepper on a toasted egg bagel, for about $2. Here in West Seattle, there's only one shop, and they do a pretty good job, working with the city water they've been given and charging you accordingly. I ordered a "scrambagel", a sandwich they have suggestions for. I had to do a little convincing to get some garlic herb "shmeer" (slightly less yiddish?) on my bagel with scrambled egg (eggbeaters poured in a round tupperware and nuked), (perfect circle eggs? I'm into that), and tomato, as I was warned it would be too messy. From behind my glasses and bedraggled bedtime 'do I was complemented. Then I thought, "you mean in addition to all (gesturing) this?" I admonished the girl with a deadpan "let's do it." Though I refused the bacon and onions, I still paid $6 for the thing. Paired with a stiff cup of coffee and the IKEA catalog, it was delicious.

One of my bargain finds on our
latest Ikea installation, "Desk" in green.

Getting installed in a new home is usually a drag for me. I have to unpack all of my old things and arrange them in a new fashion. Not until now, with virtually no things, have I been able to unpack in one day and look around to still find barren rooms with empty walls and probably 10 items total in the kitchen. This. Is. Exhilarating. We haven't been over this yet, but I'm a highly-functioning hoarder. In high school it was all posters and worthless crap, which traveled with me to college and gradually transformed into framed pictures of colorful clippings, vintage celebrity, and handsome breakables. Then came Pottery Barn, where I worked and scavenged for a year, and my hoarding developed a slightly more mature, signature style, with patterns and textures I hadn't been attracted to before. Luckily, like my mother, I'm also a fierce deleter, erasing the evidence from an unsavory past collection and building it back anew through each transition.  All of my dearest knic knacs are now thousands of miles away, still happily installed in their nooks in my apartment there, blissfully ignorant that I'm rabidly replacing them one thrift store trip at a time.

I've added a widget to my brain laid
out in this fashion. Just choose your
favorite color and eat it. Or go there.

Enter IKEA. Priced and laid out in terms I can understand and agree with, I was introduced to the Swedish Shangri-La in the summer of my 14th year. I went for an afternoon with my friend and her dad, grabbed at a few small items and tacked them to my walls for years and years to come. Many summers passed. Not until now, 14 years later, did I enter one again. There's an IKEA down the street from Bill's office, so the last few evenings we've been taking dreamy strolls through the show room, picking out a sofabed (our new friend "Beddinge" - pronounced Bed-ding-gah) and a desk. And ice trays and lamps and tools and utensils and on and on. We have a small place, so these are the only things we're allowing ourselves for now. It's nice to have room to dance and twirl in the home, and with Beddinge around, we have a place to lounge and to sleep. The desk, who remains nameless, was offered in many different finishes. The "birch effect" was a little understated for our taste, so we turned to the colors. Green is a powerful force in our home, so we're letting it ride. Looking out the windows in our living room has lots to offer: a colorful woodsy view, with a leaf for every bold hue, bright light and a sense of wonder.  Any moment, autumn could shift and we'll be snowed in!  The trees could become a tie-dyed whirlpool and we'll be sucked in! The sea (Puget Sound) could overflow and we'll be washed away! We have great windows.

Peggy, and her friends Lamp
and the butternut twins, (we're not
getting too attached to the twins).

 Fall is here, the trees are explosive and our new pumpkin Peggy is loving the new apartment. See more on the wonders of fall and squash here. Peggy came to us from an expansive pumpkin patch in Idaho. Shaped profoundly unlike her brothers and sisters, she called out to me from the field nearby one of my job sites. A few days later, I cradled her in my arms as I boarded the plane home, and introduced her to Bill. They hit it right off. We don't mention the garlic butternut squash we'll be enjoying this season, or the butternut squash, sage and parmesan pasties, and especially not the roasted sugar  p***kin with sour cream and herbs. We'll be stowing her in the bedroom while enjoying those autumnal delights.

Taking a break from my Ikea idea stupor, this week we visited Red Mill Burgers in Phinney Ridge for a quick stop en route to a game night. No planning, it was just the closest. I've started yelping the establishments we're in while waiting for our food to arrive. And I don't recommend it. Not only do you quickly realize what you should've ordered, but it's like cheating. Suddenly I know all this trivia about the place, which for some reason, I end up passing off as my own research to Bill, and when my order arrives it's expected to live up to all the hype I've just absorbed. (Whispers) "hey Bill, did you know that Oprah said this is one of the 20 burgers you have to eat before you die?"
We liked these burgers though, and for the price, their grade soared even higher. Famous for their onion rings and a heart-wrenching bacon cheese burger, we ordered some regular burgers and  fries (you see?) which we thought were terrific.

One of our first meals in the new place was from the famed Pegasus Pizza. Renowned for its, I'm not sure what, Pegasus is always getting five stars. Though they had an impressive specials menu, we designed our own pizza, curious to see how well they could do bell pepper and anchovies, one of our old faves. The toppings however, would have little to do with our scoring. Pegasus boasts a "spicy tomato sauce topped with only the finest natural cheeses." We took home a dry blanket of thick, overly-chewy cheeses covering the toppings that subdued the sauce completely. I will admit that this pizza performed well cold the next day, (especially the crust - reminiscent of Pizza Hut's Pan Pizza...drool), but for our high expectations the night before, it missed the mark. The mozzarella was indeed fine, but the layer of asiago (not famous for melting perfectly) clogged up the whole works. We're a block away, so we'll be giving them their due, and then some, I'm sure, but they're really going to have to work it next time.

Amber, Bill and Peggy.
Forever.

Feature of the week: I'm a give a holler to Tomato Bros. the two-in-one trattoria and steakhouse in Clarkston, WA, and the standout eatery from my work trip. We dined in to talk shop over Italian at the end of a long day and the crayons and butcher paper action was just what I needed. Having just adopted Peggy, I scrawled out my heart's desires.

Returning a second time for steak and more tabletop coloring, I ordered the flat iron steak salad. Artfully arranged and wanting for nothing, it was just what I needed. The stars however, were the gorgonzola waffle fries that arrived just before we resorted to eating the crayons.  Topped with savory carmelized onions and tossed in my latest fascination, creamy gorgonzola. It was fabulous. And it coated every inch of that dish.Who knew gorgonzola was such a melting paragon?