Monday, September 19, 2011

The things we eat.

 Foccacia with caprese salad at Talaricos, where photographing your food keeps you from eating, and that's blasphemy. Slices of pizza arrive sprawled over their metal plate, with toppings you always hoped someone was thinking of pairing together. Inside, they have built a restaurant you want to live in, or at least rent out for a party you would otherwise never get invited to. Style is the least of their worries, and their weekly calendar has trivia, karaoke and dancing. Thank you. A+

The best BBQ we've had so far, with fancy sliced peppers, pickles & onions at Cedar River Smokehouse. I had the pulled pork sandwich and Bill had ribs with mac. Choice sauce and fair portions. Right down the street from Bill's office. A.

Lunch specials at Ginger Teriyaki, a 4.5 star Teriyaki joint.           B. 

Outside our local Texas-style Road House, Jimmy Mac's. F*n strawberries. Inside, some silly ass food. Check out their website for vaguely familiar Texas noise. Their peanuts and menu were homey comforts, their rolls a mockery of yeast and sour margarine, their iced tea a gloomy, bitter.... Okay, it sucked. But I'm going back. I'm unexpectedly affected by Texas license plates nailed to walls. B.

For reasons innumerable, this was the best breakfast I've had in Seattle. It answered my hangover with precision, made me stand in line for 15 minutes, came to my tiny, crowded table just in time to curb my murderous delirium, and turned my bad attitude into calm with gratitude. Fluffy, mastered eggs over medium, thick, dark and chewy bacon and pancakes I could've stuffed my bra with. My Dolly Parton Pancake plate was under $7, the coffee was 91 cents. So was Bill's coke in a glass bottle. 91 cents. An atmosphere is always improved with a built-in record store, and  Easy Street Records & Cafe has it. Go ahead, get out your dollar and get a drink. A+




Disappointment of the week. The Ogen melon. $3 at the farmer's market yesterday where I opted for novelty over bright, sturdy carrots and greens. Heralded as an out-of-this-world delight with a pear-like flavor, I found myself saying "green cantaloupe" aloud over and over, until I was grade-A disappointed.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Weekend. Again.



One of several licorice cases
 This week we continued to explore our dear West Seattle, a kindly peninsula sporting a well-endowed park, 2 1/2 miles of beach with an unrivaled view, fabulous homes and The Junction - a strip of retail clutter with something for everyone. We took a turn in Husky's, a deli specializing in expensive groceries, vast selections of licorice not entirely captured here, and home to a hard-working ice cream counter. For $3 I got a generous single scoop obligingly split in half: maddeningly-smooth nutella and potent kona koka rum. I haven't tried Full Tilt yet, but I'm giving this a free-spirited grade A.

Powerful shit.
While in Paris in 2006, Bill and I went to a charmante petit cafe by Notre Dame one morning and split a breakfast of eggs, tomato slices, coffee and the only croissant I'd ever met. Surely, I'd had croissants before? I couldn't say. It wiped my memory card of anything I'd previously called croissant. I hadn't tried another contender since, until recently. I stole away to Bakery Nouveau a while back to try their famed Twice-Baked Almond Croissant. While no one [everyone on the street] was looking I walked out of the bakery and tried to nonchalantly eat the whole thing, (a whopper about the size of your biggest, most delicious shoe) but dutifully saved [about] half for Bill. It's got the softest, most confident almond paste center surrounded by layers of expertly formed pastry. Looking at it, I thought, almonds on top. Isn't that garish? Powdered sugar. Who are they trying to impress? At the end, when my crinkled bag had yielded all the flakes and crumbs it could, I recanted. It's meant to be a mess. If you're going to lose yourself in a pastry, and hopefully that's while wearing a smock, shouldn't there be some evidence? That thing was large and in charge.  A++. +.

Now that you're in the mood, gaze into the deep paper sack that held our Labor Day celebration. En route to Marysville last weekend to hang out with my uncle, we sought out the thoroughly reviewed Countryside Donut House in Mountlake Terrace. At 11am they were already close to sold out, with no plain glazed left. We got some maple bars, an apple fritter, some bavarian filled and their most threatening confection, the Bacon Maple Bar.

Are you getting this, Texas?
Unadulterated, their maple bars were the best I'd ever had. Topped with bacon, I felt scared, like maybe I'd gone too far. I only had two bites of it (too many flavors taking shameless advantage of each other), but I've been extra watchful of my jowls this week, certain that I'm at the mercy of gravity and calories like never before. Cheap and addictive, donuts are the crack in my well-balanced diet. By some twist of fate, I've been placed in a region where I have to actively seek out these things; nothing in walking distance or even on my radar in West Seattle. I'm living undetected in a healthy warp zone where it's always a good time to be outside, there's fresh produce begging to be taken home, an average temperature of 75 degrees, juice bars, rampant park landscapes - all this complete with an entire zip code of people who are not what I'd call obese.
Take these beauties for example. I picked them this morning on the street and could've picked lots more. Blackberries are as commonplace as Teriyaki joints up here, growing wherever they can, despite the ideal sun/shade war that's becoming apparent as the summer dwindles, and have a huge role in my snacking.

Chicken Yakisoba for $7.95

Teriyaki is an ubiquitous nuisance here. A retail space vacates, the block hopes together that something novel and healthy will spring up and then, just like you knew it would, a teriyaki shop moves in. Mostly, they are all the same. The recipe is simple. Either a large portion of skillfully fried Asian barbeque or a disappointing and small serving of oily mess served up for around $8 out of a divy storefront. One such teriyaki joint that gets pretty stellar reviews is Beni Hoshi. We tried the Chicken Yakisoba at the recommendation of the guy behind the counter. Rice and yakisoba, (?),  some pretty great chicken and some questionable broccoli, and a crumbling bodega storefront, Beni Hoshi didn't quite fulfill the teriyaki fantasy I was hoping for. B.
Today, we thought we'd give it another try and set out for New Teriyaki, another highly-regarded spot for quick, cheap take-away. Sorry Moreno, Sunday's are anti-teriyaki, and no matter how many listings you can find on your smart phone, they'll all be closed. Teriyaki time over, we opted for another fast food phenomenon...
It really is.
Mexi-fries. or in Christian circles, Tater Tots.
        I know. It's unreal. It's something you'd see on Full House, warning Uncle Joey from your couch that it's gonna turn out bad. Bill has a devout attachment to Taco Bell, and I thought I'd jazz it up a little with some tacosomethingelse. Here's the low-down: Taco Time, while sporting wildly different architecture from store to store, has the same problem - oh you guessed it - the menu. How this chain took off with actual Latinos in the vicinity is beyond me. This place is where Mexican food goes to die a sterile, uninspiring and overpriced death. Granted, their fish taco was pretty delicious for $4, the burrito Bill ate garnered no complaints, their "Mexi Fries" were fried to perfection (if not a little surprising to find on the menu), but I'm not sold on this Seattle staple. Taco Cabana, you're a treasure. TacoTime, you get a B, because you have crushed ice.
Chunky and crisp Corned Beef n' Hash Bash

We had a great time yesterday morning at West Five, a diner and cocktail bar born of the flawless style of the businessman's 1960s. Brunch offers generous portions to sop up whatever social faux pas you overindulged in last night, the coffee arrives in a cup and saucer you actually want to drink from, and the cocktail menu is the stuff of fantasy, inviting me to coordinate the outfit I'd be wearing next time I walk into this paragon. Despite it all, an A-, for stale coffee and an absentee server.
You'll be glad you did.
Chilaquiles, The Migas from my personal paradise.


Culture is expensive. Sorry.
   And now, a quick holla to our new feature: the item of the week.
 I'm at the grocery store about once a day, and Friday I sampled this, right before I bought it. Find it if you can, and enjoy. Creamy, expensive and pretentious as hell, it's well worth it. Try it with another snooty snack, such as Granola Flats, about 8oz of crisp, sweet crunch in a bag for about $5.
Enjoy!

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Long Weekend

I sat down a moment ago to start the long task of recording the weekends' dining adventures, but found myself on facebook and now I'm braindead. Watch as this post get more coherent as coffee recharges my battery.  Now, forward or backward, forward or backward. Which way do I walk best? Let's assume I'm great at both and start with last night.
On my way home from training at the Center for Wooden Boats, I called Bill to play our little game of "what's coming over for dinner?" Winning this game is not a plus. Whoever wins, typically the one behind the wheel, is in charge of picking up both a satisfying, frugal and novel meal, reaping the consequences of self-flagellation if one of those statutes is not met. What boner-killer did I decide on last night?
This crap. I chose the $13.95 Beef Brisket Dinner which comes with baked beans and your choice of cole slaw or potato salad. I'm a slaw gal myself, but this was meant to be a crowd-pleaser, so the motley mayo mush came  home. The brisket: a fatty, wet, sauce-drenched "pound" of meat (sauce) done no justice by the curiously white white bread, the above potato number and some straight-forwardly sweet baked beans. Surely though, for near $15 after tax this meal was plentiful? Stingy sides, saucemeat and the four slices of bread I begged for could've been excused with some pickle/onion action, but at Jones BBQ, they apparently haven't heard of such phenomena. Rudy's, I've got a Phil Collins ballad playing for you, states away, (half passion/half shame). Jones, you are forgotten, D.
Matt, Angelica, Bacon and Eloise
                                                                 *                *                 *
This past week we played at vacationing with the visiting Nortons. Their vacation needs revolve around Belgian ales, parks, architecture, acclaimed dining, high chairs, milk, fruit and bacon.
Goat Cheese, Carmelized Onion &
 Red Bell Pepper
Quiche
For brunch on Monday we visited Odd Fellows Lodge, an old fraternal temple built in 1909, spruced up with updated/outdated repurposed cooler-than-thou decor. Ready to out-class you at every turn, this spot is guaranteed to impress you and your hipster cousins. The Nortons sampled the BLAT, (BLT+Avocado) Meatball sub, tomato soup du jour and a honey drizzled fruit bowl. I took a leap of faith and ordered something with goat cheese, which I totally enjoyed. Coffee was ok, they sold me Turkish Taffy, and I was genuinely distracted by the whole presentation, scoring them an A+. I'll be back.

Digesting, we strolled next door to The Elliot Bay Book Co, where I perused the staff-recommended shelf, reading their eloquent and clever reviews of books I'll be chasing down at the library. Visiting good bookstores gives me pause, short pause, right before my brain shuttles headlong into writing novellas without hope of recording word one. Reading those reviews reminded me that I, too, can write, have written, and should write simply because I share a vocabulary with billions of people. Communication is not the point, I have access to finite experiences I have only moments to memorialize before the brain surge vaporizes (if that's what it does), the memory never to be recalled. And my memory needs all the extra RAM I can get. Is that what this blog is for? Probably, but without becoming a "Captain's-log-in-public" kind of person, I won't really alleviate the loss of my fleeting brilliance.

Ha Noi Grilled Pork Noodles
For dinner, we spent our last meal together at Long Provincial, a posh, Vietnamese spot with neither high chair nor milk, but with a menu fit for reciting. Our server was reminiscent of E.T., his presence and cadence alike, and the things he brought to our table were no different. Tamarind Tree Rolls, crispy chicken wings, shrimp paste fried rice (an elusive favorite of Eloise), fresh tequila cocktails, just a few examples of the quick-to-vanish fare. I ordered the Ha Noi Grilled Pork Noodles, a combo of thin-sliced grilled pork patty and pork sausage in a broth with vermicelli. Hiding under everything were pickled kohlrabi and crisp green mango treasures. Hiding elsewhere on the table were the cinnamon pork rice balls. This was the last thing I tasted here and the effect was arresting. I'll say nothing else. Just get yourself some. Soon. A- for dirty water glasses and cheap flatware.


Sunday was all power eating. We grabbed an early booth at Luna Park Cafe, just down the hill from our West Seattle sublet. Everything I've read about this place is prefaced with "The milkshakes are" and though I like to do some high-protein breakfasting, I ordered an Espresso hand-dipped milkshake that made me feel like I'd finally made peace with lactose. Maybe. Dizzy with my dairy delirium I lazily nibbled on some of "Betty's Pile." Not the sexy, faceless situation you're envisioning, but a mound (doh!) of breakfast foods topped with fried eggs.
Betty's Pile (add black olives) and her friend,
 the highly preyed-upon grilled biscuit.
The dutifully grilled hashbrowns wanted salt and the coffee tasted like dirt water next to my creamy Espresso creation, but truly, everything was good. The eggs benedict I glimpsed across the table had some pillowy soft medium poached eggs going on, but I couldn't move my fork past the grilled biscuit and gravy I was devouring. Listen. Be sure and order that biscuit grilled. Our laugh-at-everything hyperactive waitress claims she ordered it that way for us, but I assume she does it for everyone.Make sure this is done for you. It was right. A.

SPL Lounge
Top view from SPL's 9th floor, 
Shortly after breakfast, Eloise was nap-ready, and everyone was full so naturally the boys went out for Banh Mi. Returning from Saigon Deli in the international district a little later with 10 or so sandwiches ($2.50ea) and beer, the eating recommenced. If you know anything about enjoying Banh Mi, you know you're a lover of cilantro, tender meats and crisp veggies, and probably call yourself a savant of sandwich. Sandwiches have yet to make their presence known on this blog, but as my exploration continues, I hope they will reveal themselves.
Having gorged sufficiently, it was time again for an outing. We headed to the Chapel of St. Ignatius, to admire its many architectural inventions, then on to closing time at the Central Seattle Public Library, a breath-taking cathedral of books. As soon as I get an address I'm getting my very own SPL card, and running mad up in that house.

4 of 16 orders at Kaname Izakaya's Happy Hour
Now it's time for the star of the show, the honored winner of the weekend, Kaname Izakaya's happy hour. I'm short of photos because as each dish arrived, we came down on it fast and furious. Here's a sample of dishes we carefully maneuvered to fit on the table already crowded with sake decanters, glasses, plates and the requisite foot of clear space out of Elo-weasel's reach. Fast and calculating as she is carefree, she relieved us of a hot presentation of sake, striking it to the floor milliseconds after its delivery to the table, getting mercilessly splashed in the process.The staff was on the scene immediately with grace, broom and towels, Eloise bounced back, the sake was replaced, and our ordering continued. My favorite? The Takoyaki: fried octopus balls. Chopped boiled octopus, pickled ginger, scallions and rice crispies battered, fried then coated in bonito flakes and drizzled with special, sing-for-your-supper-flavored sauce (sometimes called mayonnaise). Ultimately, my shellfish allergy bristled at this divinity, but was clouded by my delicious shochu martini. Kaname's a shochu bar at heart, serving the indigenous Japanese alcohol that goes down smooth and mixes like a siren. Shochu is the distilled cousin of brewed sake, and is now my number one alternative to that clear but vulgar fluid I used to imbibe: vodka. A++
 Bill hopes to acquire the statuette
 that allows him to summon
the magical panther Guenhwyvar.

 Saturday was Pax day. Bill and I headed down to take in the sights. Later that evening back in the West, (a new, presumptuous, never-likely-to-catch-on nickname for West Seattle) we took Matt to Beer Junction, a full service beer retailer. Their selection rivals the best you've ever seen, with knowledgeable staff, a chiller (3 minutes to perfectly potable!) and a database that logs your purchases and rewards your frequent buys. Thank you Beer Junction, for being just down the street. A++
 Friday night we met up with some of Bill's pals, and went to 820 Pike Street Pan Asian Cuisine. Usually, anytime a place boasts its Pan Asian status, I'm doubtful of its potency. 820 Pike Street, you have only confirmed my suspicions. I had the Spicy Ranch Noodles, (a disappointment for $9.95), Bill had the Drunken Crispy Chicken (good flavor and textures but lacking any star power) and the rest of the table ordered the acclaimed Hue Beef Noodle Soup (glorified, apparently typical pho).The real stand-out, was the Bloody Rooster - fresh basil, lime, & cilantro with vodka, tomato juice & a dash of Sriracha and hoisin sauce. : fresh basil, lime, & cilantro, with vodka, tomato juice, & a dash of Rooster Sriracha sauce & hoisin. Just know that every Bloody Mary you've ever raved about took a hard beating this weekend, and if you have any integrity, you'll put this on your bucket list B+
We traveled to Jai Thai for a stand-up comedy battle in their back bar. A nice room, unless you were there when we were. It was hot, with a tiny stage and a commercial fan that was turned off, to our chagrin, so the comics might be heard. Seemingly unattached to a Thai restaurant, attentive and quick, the bartenders were pouring generously. Will probably return for a meal here someday, despite the reviews on yelp. A.