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!

Lump-O-Coal Christmas.

So here we are, another Christmas upon us and all that.

Due to various horrible circumstances, Mr.Pants and I have extremely little income coming in these past few month. I still get my pittance, but Mr. Pants doesn't get his, at the moment.

So we are preparing for a Lump-O-Coal Christmas. We'll get a lump of coal and put it on the credenza. Maybe if we put Googly eyes on Lumpy it might lighten the mood, make it seem like a little pet or something. We are discussing.

One side of my family always celebrated on Christmas Eve. Christmas morning was more like recovery time, but Christmas eve was the big production. I remember sitting at the kids table with my cousins, a plastic yellow table with matching chairs where we could throw our asparagus spears and freely play with our olives.

A large, fragrant Christmas Tree looming its sparkly glow over everyone, crinkling of piles of wrapping paper as everyone unwrapped each present at once, one present at a time. We had to display each present and tell everyone what we had gotten. The youngest kid played Santa and did the distribution of gifts. It was all VERY exciting to me. The lights, the decorations, the imminent potential for loot. ESPECIALLY the imminent potential for loot.


This year, our closest friends will be in Florida, others in Vegas and still others in Mexico. We will no doubt make some fabulous meal and eat it in front of our pal Netflix.

No tree this year. No loot either, but that's okay. We'll just have to make up for it later with presents and /or trips to foreign lands and, you know, joy. Merry Christmas everyone!

Favorites: Quinn's

It isn't the handy location, just blocks away. It isn't the waitress that Mr. Pants thinks is cute. It isn't even the friendly staff or that the bartenders make possibly the best Old Fashioned in Seattle.

It's more that the food is really quite good. Quinn's super fine selection of whiskeys and beers doesn't hurt, either.

I also have to love a place that doesn't cave to foie gras protestors picketing right in front of the diners. The wall of windows look right out on Pike Street and the occasional protestors. Dim lighting, dark bar, tables and chairs and other cool touches make it a hip but comfortable space.

Though I am sorry they took the bold descriptor "Braised Farm Animal of the Day" off the menu. I wonder if they had second thoughts on their own, or received complaints. Whatever it is they are calling it, it's hellishly tasty.

They use some uncommon cuts in some entrees, which denotes a sort of respect for the animal. It also may be off-putting for some, and sometimes a dish can be less than stellar to my eyes because of this. Yet I appreciate the whole beast principle.

Beasts like chicken, for example. There's often a great chicken dish on the menu; usually halved and roasted with various seasonal preps like chick pea puree and green olives. Soups are also seasonal; we loved the summery green asparagus and prawn several months ago, and recently, a winter-perfect borcht.

Mr. Pants is fond of their "Reinforced" Guinness. The reinforcement comes in the form of shot of Cynar and bourbon, which keeps him loopy and docile.

Highlights: chicken, soups, WIld Boar Sloppy Joe

Mr. Pants: full and happy, loopy, docile.