Mobile Chowdown: Hurry Up and Wait

Last Saturday, we hurried down to Mobile Chowdown in SODO, only to wait in multiple lines, for multiple hours.

Working as a team, one of us stood in the longest line, and the other brought back items for tasting, from other, shorter lines.

I love the idea of multiple venues to get a variety of food, but standing up while eating strikes me as somehow uncivilized, not that I require crystal glassware and white tablecloths, mind you.

I try to locate our friends in a different line, (their wait: 1.5 hours) and maneuver through the crowd, holding a carton of food I trip over a dogs leash, a baby stroller, and knock someones lemon ginger iced tea onto their sleeve accidentally. Fun times.

I awkwardly eat with one hand, drink clutched in the other, standing up, wind blowing my hair into my mouth, with every bite, while I squint against the sun, and fumble for my napkin which I've stuffed into my pocket. I began to become quietly enraged.

My companions in line held my hair back for me as I tried to take the occasional bite, my friend Tanya saying that's how you know who your true friends are.

We clung to the wild hope that we would all reach the front of our lines simultaneously, so we could sit and trade bites at one of the tables under a tent. We nabbed a table, but the wind still got to us, and the food got cold. Our other friends finally found us, only to find that music from the 80's (think: Electric Avenue) has started to blast into the tent so loudly that any conversation is rendered impossible.

Not sure I'd go again. But if I did, I'd bring a scrunchy.


Highlights: Marination's Kimchi fried rice, and spicy pork taco, Here and There Grill's short rib sandwich with horseradish cream and chick pea salad on the side. The bite of my friend's falafel, that I managed to steal. Skillet's burger.

Disappointments: Lines. Cold. Wind. Waiting. Koi's truck taco's weren't very interesting. Especially after that lengthy line wait of 1 hour and 20 minutes.

Mr. Pants: Annoyed, but still managed to eat too much.

lunch crunch

Pike St. Fish Fry is a cool, tiny space with a wooden ceiling and minimal seating, though there are a couple of outdoor tables so you can let the rain sog up your crispy fish.

It was a large lunch for $26 (and we didn't finish everything except for the fish, because it was too much—too much tasty, crunchy-fried goodness.

This is no light lunch. Next time we'll split one order of fish and chips with some other items from their menu, like a pulled pork sandwich, or Uli's sausage with slaw, or grilled veggies.

I tried not to think about the cholesterol entering my system, as I polished off the fried halibut, and tasted some of Mr. Pants' fried Cod.

An herby Italian Salsa Verde on the side added some welcome green (and a touch of garlic) to the mix, good on the slab of crispy fish, and a refreshing lemon aoli was everything I love in a sauce, both rich and tart. Perfectly seasoned fries, and one of my favorite things, fried lemon slices were welcome (if unnecessary and decadent) additions to our fish.

We split an Olympia beer to wash it all down, and promised ourselves to eat nothing but salad for dinner. Yeah, right.

Highlights: You are eating fried things!

Disappointments:You are eating fried things!

Mr. Pants: Wiping his greasy, smiling mouth.

I'll have the Ginawchee.

Mr. Pants can be evil.
He will purposefully embarrass me in the finest restaurants by maliciously mispronouncing words so that I sigh, hunch my shoulders and kick him under the table.

His favorite one to mispronounce is Gnocchi.

"I'll have the GINAWCHEE is usually how he says it, with a smirk. The waitstaff is never sure whether he is joking or not, poor things.

The other night at the Palace Kitchen, I was told by the waitress that I was the first person to pronounce Porchetta correctly. She may have just been being friendly or complimenting me, but it worked, and made me feel special. But seriously the first one to pronounce it correctly?!
Apparently it's not that uncommon, as we hear from the Chicago Tribune's blog The Stew:

Top 10 Mispronounced Foodie Words

The comments on that post are hilarious, too.

Valentine's Day Dinner: Spinasse

It has never been a big thing, Valentine's Day. Mr. Pants has never been one to celebrate holidays in general, let alone one that is so obviously syrupy.

Speaking of syrupy, soon after we first met, we were sitting in a Thai restaurant in Chicago, and they wrote "love" in the peanut sauce they brought over, after watching us have a good time together. I think of these things on Valentine's Day.

I took my man out for dinner at Spinasse this past V Day, since there's nothing like a little white truffle pasta and Affogato to shunt those unemployment blues to the wayside for a little while, at least.

From the amuse bouche to the espresso, it was a fine time. Dungeness crab heaped over an intense, creamy leek flan, and brightened with Meyer lemon. White truffle and cauliflower ravioli was warm, nutty, melt in your mouth good, hitting all those comfort-food needs head-on.

The not-too-sweet-but-perfectly-so Affogato assuaged my dessert fussiness. I fear and loathe overly sweet desserts. With SUCH a sweet dining companion, more sugar would be superfluous.


Highlights: Leek flan with crab, cauliflower ravioli with white truffle. Congenial, knowledgeable waiter.

Mr. Pants: Sweet!

Best coffee in the states is NOT in Seattle.

I lived in Ann Arbor for a spell with my dad when I was 12 and 13, and lets just get this out now; boy did I take it for granted.

Visiting a couple times since, I've been struck by the cool old architecture, and the huge, spreading oaks.

I remember going to the Borders Bookstore on State St. with Dad. This was the first, the original Borders- multi-leveled, hardwood floors warped and squeaking as you moved through the aisles. We would walk out and eye each other's purchased stack of books. Dad's been ill recently, hence my visit, but he's recovering pretty well so far. Helps to have people doting, I'm sure.

This visit I scarfed down a fantastic and fantastically messy sammich at Zingermans, and slurped some of the best coffee I've ever tasted at a small space called Comet Coffee, in the Nickels arcade building. I'm a sucker for this building in the first place, it reminds me of Europe. Comet Coffee does a great job with hip, genial baristas, a cool space, and most importantly, great coffee. Have to thank my two awesome brothers Sam and Ben for this experience, and for just being cool enough to scout out the best coffee in their hometown. On my first visit I got an absolutely perfect Macchiato, and when I stopped by again, (ok, every day of my stay) the pour-over drip blend from El Salvador was nutty, almost floral, and truly stellar. This is why I drink coffee.

Highlights: Macchiato, pour over drip coffee.

Disappointments: Mr Pants wasn't there to share it with me.

Mr. Pants: Not there!

Cheese!

I have a thing for cheese. Could be the addictive serotonin rush that cheese can provide, could be the salt that I crave. Whatever it is, I know I could slowly, knife lick by knife lick, polish off a wheel of a really good cheese. And not be sorry. Particularly the rich, foreign ones. (Like my men, ha! Sorry).

Mr. Pants and I get through the long, hot summers (who am I kidding, I live in Seattle), I'll start again: Mr. Pants and I get through the short, tepid summers living on tomato, basil and mozzarella salads. Easy to compile on nights when we are both tired and don't feel like cooking, this dish feeds us from June to October. We like the multiple brands that are sold packed in water. These are a gorgeous, milky counterpart to the bright taste of summer tomatoes.

I've long wanted to make my own mozzarella, but never trusted myself to do so without official instructions. However, the price of good mozzarella, which supermarkets have the gall to sell at something like $5 per small container, has been an issue. But now I've found a trustworthy instructor, and her name is Julie Steil.

Steil teaches cheese making classes at River Valley Ranch in Fall City, Mr Pants and I took the excursion to Fall City (along with fellow foodie and coworker Sallie and her beau)

I wanted to tromp down onto the muddy hillside to pet some animals, but I showed restraint, and settled for manipulating cheese curds. Which is basically how one makes cheese. We made mozzarella and a Tomme type cheese, and she shows you how easy it really is to whip up several balls of ready-to-eat mozzarella or press curds into a ready to aged wheel of cheese for treat, edible in about 2 months time.

Highlights: Julie Steil. Cheese!

Disappointments: At first the class room smells like, you know, cheese. Standing up for several hours in one place can be tiring.

Mr. Pants: Talking big like he's going to be making mozzarella and Tomme every single day for the rest of his life.

Tavolata New Years Eve

After a couple of wintry and thrifty hibernating weeks, we had to get out.

I had gotten Mr. Pants a (much needed) massage at Banya 5 as a Christmas present, for use on New Years eve. Ok, I got myself one too in a spirit of (much needed) decadence. After being pleasantly mashed about on our respective massage tables, we walked our relaxed selves out to Belltown for New Years Eve.

We stopped at the Local Vine for a glass of bubbly, (a crisp Gloria Ferrer) and, sufficiently warmed, walked to our reservation at Tavolata.

Tavolata has been one of our favorite places since Ethan Stowell opened it in 2007. We like the hip space, warmly lit, all concrete and rounded mirrors behind the bar, and the very long wooden communal table in the middle of the room.

Stowell was there serving up dishes to diners, this New Years eve, which I thought a fine and non-elitist thing to do, (the chef of the people!). He brought us a rich, thick Butternut squash soup with radish sprouts, and crunchy croutons, (I called them genius croutons, because they WERE genius) gave the squash soup heft and texture.

Mr. Pants and I agreed that we both wanted to try the pork cheeks, and these, laid over celery root puree was exactly how I always want my meat to be, fall-apart tender and melting.

Maybe my senses were heightened from the massage, but there was divinity in the Agnolotti. It was a mixture that would seem hard to sell, but boy, did it work. Brussel sprout leaves (just the leaves, mind), quartered turnips perfectly cooked and buttery, plump little agnolotti pasta filled with Hen of the Woods mushrooms, and a generous mound of parmesan shaved over all. I appreciated that the amount of parmesan was actually enough for me, because it's rare that I get enough, usually. (I'm the biggest mouse he's ever seen, according to Mr. Pants when it comes to cheese). I'd probably eat my own hand if it was covered in melted cheese. This was a perfect dish. I thought there might have been a touch of truffle but Ethan himself said no.

We ended the meal splitting the almond cake, nothing showy or flashy here, it was rich simplicity itself with dollop of whipped cream.

Maybe it was the massage, or cake and agnolotti, (and the wine and champagne) but we returned home to our couch where I promptly passed out, oblivious to the New Years Eve fireworks.

I admit Stowell is one of my favorite chefs at the moment. Reminds me to grab Mr. Pants and climb Queen Anne Hill more often to Stowell's How to Cook a Wolf as well as just up our street to his Anchovies and Olives. Looking forward to checking out Union's happy hour, too. No doubt Ethan Stowell's eateries will help to make it a truly happy New Year.

Highlights: Pork cheek, Agnolotti, Almond Cake

Disappointments: Ummmm…

Mr. Pants: Happy!