nudle

Egg story.

Poor breakfast egg. He sits here still, uneaten. The end.

Salmon Story, by Iona, age 6 and almost a half.

Dear Bella,
The salmon called Coho is from a native language. We went to the Locks today there is kind of an elevator in the water. The salmon dies where they were born. Bears eat salmon, sharks eat salmon, eagles eat salmon, people eat salmon, seals eat salmon. I am learning salmon at school. What do you know about salmon? I hope you had a good day. Read this two times a day or three times and when they're red they are close to dying and they also have a hooked nose.

My Seattle.

Restaurants

Salumi (meat, meat, meat and go early and still stand in line but the sandwiches are worth it; only open Tues-Fri 11-4; you can buy cured meat online!)

Matt's in the Market (get a table that looks out over Market; pork sandwich is great)

Other Coast Cafe (east coast style sandwiches; Ballard and downtown)

Bakeman's (122 Cherry St near Pioneer Square; unfancy; classic sandwich cafeteria; cheap)

Mee Sum Pastry (in the Market; are humbow Chinese sandwiches? Good take-with-you food; cheap; get the baked ones)

13 Coins (overpriced and frequently surreal, but quintessential counter chic; there's one downtown off Denny and one across the street from the airport; open 24 hours)

El Puerco Lloron (Market Hillclimb; eat outside on a sunny day)

Canlis (fancy; from their web site: "At Canlis, you cannot be overdressed." Queen Anne)

Cafe Campagne (Market)

Etta's (Market)

Pink Door (good bar; we hung out here in college)

I hear Le Pichet on First near the Market is good

Lockspot (good if you're visiting Ballard Locks; old Ballard ambiance, if you can use that word for a place like this)

Added: Since I eat there so frequently, Shiro's; what a genius with fish he was until he retired; the place is still open and still serving good sushi and I'm still there once or twice a month; and Shiro sometimes shows up still on Friday nights (Belltown)

Bars

Comet Tavern (we used to drink Pilsner Urquel and smoke Lucky Strikes here in college; Capitol Hill)

Pink Door (we used to drink red wine and pick up boys here in college; Post Alley above Market)

Cyclops (funky bar that used to be a cafe on another street called Free Mars and I used to go there in college; I met the owner at Iona's pottery camp a couple weeks ago which made me reflect on how things have changed since college; Belltown)

The Local Vine (high design and great wine plus tiny delicious food; Belltown)

Music

I don't go to clubs any more but this is from my friend Ron, who is an expert on the subject. He made me go to shows back in the day. Most of the great music I've seen is because of him and my sister's fake ID.

These are the pages to bookmark:
KEXP events

KEXP calendar

Ballard is the most fun right now. The Tractor is the same as always (maybe a bit more diverse) and the Sunset is great for unbroken local bands. (Added by me: High Dive in Ballard too.)

The Comet has some good random shows lately too and good energy when there is a band playing. I also like the Rendezvous (but hate Belltown now). Both these places are unpredictable which gets them a star in my book.

Chop Suey will inevitably get the B-level bands that the Croc used to get. If you are into the newest thing and read popmatters or pitchfork you have to keep an eye on Chop Suey.

Neumos and The Showbox get the A-level people. Lots of sellouts.

Triple Door gets the has-beens and the occasional hipster show.

Thanks, Ron.

Movie theaters

Central Cinema (movies with drinks)

The Big Picture (cheesy but I love movie theaters that serve drinks)

I haven't to these theaters to since we moved back, but I used to love them:
Harvard Exit (Capitol Hill)

Egyptian (Capitol Hill)

Seven Gables Theater (University District)

Neptune (U District)

Attractions

Pike Place Market (touristy but I will always love it)

Seattle Center Fun Forest for kitschy rides (you might need kids to enjoy this; give the roller coaster a miss -- it hurts; available for a limited time only because they're gonna take it all away)

Central Library (Rem Koolhaas)

Parks

Waterfall Garden Park (this is really one of my favorite places; I should go there more often; 219 Second Avenue South)

Sound Garden (it was a park before it was a band; a trek from downtown and very limited hours; next to Warren G. Magnuson Park on Sand Point Way)

Seward Park (south of us on Lake Washington)

Discovery Park (sometimes my sister makes me run here and it's big; between Ballard and Magnolia; Ballard Locks are close by and worth seeing when the fish run and you can eat at the Lock Spot)

Arboretum (git your dose of dappled sunlight here; I have great memories of driving too fast through here to get to a college boyfriend's house)

Book stores

Elliott Bay Book Company (for ambiance and recommendations; Pioneer Square)

University Bookstore in the U District (has everything including art supplies)

Speaking of art supplies, Daniel Smith in SODO (south of downtown)

...and, OT but speaking of SODO, visit Urban Hardwoods (on Colorado Street; we bought our table there)

Seattle Mystery Bookshop (close to Pioneer Square and Bakeman's so go for lunch then buy a page turner)

Peter Miller Books for design and architecture books (First Avenue; it's full of itself but what can you do? Go buy books you'll never actually read anyway)

Fantagraphic Books in Georgetown (Georgetown is great but Fantagraphics is really great)

Shops

REI downtown (go for the retail experience but get your ski gear used at Alpine on Leary)

Archie McPhee (visit this geeks' paradise for all your novelties; Ballard)

The shop at SAM (for gifts; Second Ave)

...if you're at SAM visit DeMedici Ming if you like paper and there's this cool Asian store nearby that has beautiful, expensive things

Treats vs. Vegetables, by Iona.

Treats:                                          Vegetables:
Not healthy                                    Healthy
- Trick-or-treating                         - Carrots
- Suckers                                      - Broccoli
- Lollipopops                                 - Lettuce
- Twix                                          - Tomatoes
and lots of other stuff like that     and lots of stuff like that

[Iona created this chart, unprompted by me, one morning before school last week. At the end of the "treats" column (spelled hcrets), she wrote, "If you eat a lot of treats you will be fat." I don't use the word fat in our house but it's amazing how often it shows up in classic children's literature. And Ewan is always watching what he eats, so I'm sure something comes through. At the end of the "vegetables" column, Iona wrote, "...(if you eat) healthy stuff you will be healthy soon."

So okay, maybe fewer after-dinner brownies?]

Cool teas.

I was at QFC, our local mainstream grocery store, yesterday and came across these teas:

 

Of course, I bought one. In addition to tea for regularity and energy, there's one for  and PMS/menopause, weight control, detox, clear skin, getting rest, scratchy throat and digestion. Like all Patricia and Mel Ziegler stuff, the design and writing are great, which makes sense because he's a former journalist and she's an illustrator. I guess they're idols of mine. Way after they sold Banana Republic (which you may remember used to be a very different store) they started ZoZa.com, which was "urban performance wear" sold through a web site. I bought a skirt that I still wear occasionally. I don't know what happened to the company, but I'm curious (too much capital invested too early? because that was the way it went in those days, way back in 2000). I've always meant to read their book, The Republic of Tea Book. Maybe I will, after my class is over.

The cocktail alchemist at the end of Freeman Alley.

He moved like a fairy tale figure, like a gnome with his teeth going every which way and his blond hair brushed up into a ridge on the top of his head and he did a dance with the cocktail shaker like his life depended upon him getting the right mix, the right froth. He expertly separated egg whites into an shaker with ice, and hammered a towel filled with cubes until the cubes became snow, then scooped out the right amount lovingly into a tall, immaculate glass and poured white rum, grenadine and soda in, and planted a shrub of mint on top, adding more and more until the volume of greenery reached ridiculous proportions. Then he presented the drink with a ghoulish smile that held kindness and such a desire to please that all one could do was praise and praise, and drink.

Fiery shrimp!

Tonight our friends Pip and Patte are having their second annual fundraiser party for Habitat for Humanity's Musicians' Village in the ninth ward of New Orleans. I cheated and made an asian recipe; but it's spicy and it's shrimp, so I'm cutting myself some slack. I love Pip and Patte's parties. They're warm and intelligent people and their souls are so good, and their friends are always interesting. Whenever I leave their house I am filled with a warm glow (and it's not just because they brew world-class mead).

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 teaspoon minced peeled fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
16 uncooked jumbo shrimp, peeled, deveined
4 12-inch-long wooden skewers, soaked in water 30 minutes
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Lemon or lime wedges

(It's never enough marinade, so double it. I made five times what the recipe called for, but I always get a little too excited about fiery shrimp.)

 

Merry Christmas from Helensburgh.

We're home from church. It's gray and damp outside but nice and cozy inside; the turkey has been in the oven since before I got out of bed and Iona is playing with her new Polly Pocket and Polly's beauty shop car. The beauty shop is somehow in the trunk of the hot pink vehicle, complete with hairdryer, comb, brush and a tiny compact that opens.

Iain, Craig, Finlay, Iona and I went to church this morning to hear Mary sing in the choir. (Ewan and Claire stayed home.) There is a tradition at Mary and Iain's church where people bring in one of their Christmas gifts and the minister walks around and talks to people about their gifts, sort of talk-show style. So the first twenty minutes of the service I was trying to extricate the Polly Pocket car from its box, undoing twenty of those silver twisty ties, handling it quietly in spite of the crackly plastic box, and trying not to let any of the itty bitty high-heeled sandals get lost under the pews. This was so Iona could show the minister how you can put Polly in the hot pink car and do up her seatbelt.

My rewards were that Mary and her choir sang very well! And at the end of the service was that really joyful organ piece, I think it's the Toccata, and it's the one that always makes me cry (v. embarrassing).

Now Ewan has lit the coal fire and we're about to eat some potato chips with various Indian dips and maybe even drink some Champagne if Ewan has anything to say about it.

There are some differences between Christmas dinner here in Scotland and at home. One is that Mary makes small sausages that are served with the mains. This year they're wrapped in bacon and boy, do I love sausage. Sausage wrapped in bacon? I love that even more. Another thing is that they always have the roundy green sprouts from Brussels. I love those too. And after, there's Christmas pudding, a dark, sweet, fruit-filled, peel-filled, butter-filled, brandy-filled cake that has been steamed until it's just perfectly fluffy yet also chewy, and you top with brandy butter (which is brandy mixed with butter) or heavy cream or ice cream, or some other sort of delicious fat, and then you eat it. We ate ours with pink champagne, which we all really needed at that point.

For the record, I've spilled wine and gin and wine again on the carpet since I've been here. And Ewan's also spilled red wine on the new white carpet, which trumps my spills. But in spite of our gaffes our host and hostess have been nothing but lovely, graceful and amazing.

Addendum: There are also the post-main-meal chestnuts roasting on the open fire. Mary roasted them on long forks while everyone else sort of rolled their eyes and didn't join in the roasting wholeheartedly. By the time they're speared on the end of a long fork and held over the coal fire the nuts have had all the big outer (conker) skins removed, and some of the inner skin which is brown and gets crispy is still on, and you have you have to peel it off before you bite in. They're sweet and mealy and crunchy and charred-tasting.

Addendum II: Mince pies are the shite. We had them yesterday when we went visiting at the Richards'. Hot and small, with white, sugary crusts, they're delicious. The filling is dried fruit like (I suppose) raisins and prunes and orange peel and all the other stuff that goes into the other desserts here. Warm. Crunchy and sugary outside and tart and soft on the inside. Served with hot tea with milk and sugar. And me, I'm a gimme a drink already sort of gal, but I'll take this afternoon pick-me-up over a gin and tonic any day.

Addendum III: Because of a couple verbal comments I received regarding Addenum II above, I feel compelled to clarify my use of "the shite." When I wrote mince pies are the shite I was making a joke combining two colloquialism expressions, one American (the shit) and one Scottish (shite). I meant that I find mince pies delicious when I wrote that they were the shite.

The American slang expression, "[Fill in noun here] is the shit!" means, "[Fill in noun here] is [really good or stylish or fun or delicious]!"

For more on this use of the interesting use and the etymology of the word shit, see this entry at www.reference.com and scroll about halfway down the page:

"Perhaps the only constant connotation that shit reliably carries is that the referent to which it applies holds some degree of emotional intensity for the speaker. Whether offense is taken at hearing the word varies greatly according to listener and situation, and is related to age and social class: elderly speakers and those of (or aspiring to) higher socioeconomic strata tend to use it more privately and selectively than younger and more blue-collar speakers. Moreover, in some colloquial speech, calling something or someone the shit is laudatory. For instance, Dave's new car is the shit, suggests that Dave's new car is very good, or very cool. This meaning is also essentially a substitution for the term stuff, but is also similar to the vernacular usage of bad to mean dangerous and deserving of respect. Crap is unknown in such locutions."

Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving in our house, as it unfolds:

9:30
I just put the pumpkin pie in the oven, slopping some of it over the side. We'll see if the Organic Farmer's Market Pumpkin in a can makes as good a pie as my mom's Libby's. While I beat the pumpkin with the sweetened condensed milk (what is that stuff, anyway?) Ewan called his parents (it's windy and wet in Helensburgh, they did their Christmas shopping already) and Iona stayed glued to Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Ewan and Iona are making syrup and breadcrumb pie (AKA treacle tart), which is a Scottish delicacy that only Ewan eats. He's modifying it by putting coconut in; that's just the kind of cook he is.

More later...

------------------------------
11:55

The pie is out.

The stuffing is done and in the bird. The turkey has been rubbed with olive oil, salt and paprika and has been in the oven for an hour.

Iona is bathed and throughout, in the background, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade marches endlessly on...

To be continued.

------------------------------

Later:

During her bath Iona drew this family of ducks:

...and Iona and dog went to park.

Meanwhile, I managed to get a run in during the roasting of the Turkey -- and was greeted upon my return with this!

However, Ewan insisted upon watching football.

So I consoled myself with brussels sprouts.

The syrup and breadcrumb pie went in the oven.

Iona dressed for dinner.

------------------------------

Then

it was time to be hysterical nervous a little cranky with getting the gravy ready very fast hurry it has to be hot and

then getting the food on the table while it's at least warm

and carving and carving for what seems like forever

and then we can sit. down. and. take. a. breath.

Plus the pies were good too.

"Don't worry about my fingers Mom; I can lick them."

Pie is better with Sauterne.

And for your lesson, children:

Saturday night randomness.

It's very late and I'm watching Walking and Talking, a movie by Nicole Holofcener. I'm eating cheese and oat cakes (oat cakes are a Scottish thing). Catherine Keener is getting rejected by a total loser (of course, he'll turn out to not be a loser or at least will have something redeeming about him so she is humbled even more than she is already as the underdog in this movie) but that would never happen, Catherine Keener being rejected by a video store attendant with big glasses, because she has great hair and coloring and a flat stomach even though she is wearing really horrible denim shorts and now you know how judgmental I am about horrible denim.

Drunk people are standing right outside our open window and saying nothing good but here it is:

It's not that lucrative.
I have like a grand I've saved up.
(Mobile phone bleeps).
This is my best friend! DOUG! BLAINE! Sarah, this is Sarah.
I'm sorry. Why did I just call you Doug?
I've got this job and I can't take time off. I live with my parents and it's full time and I can't take time off.
How'd you meet ol' Danny here?
Through my friend Nick.
Nick I met because I met him on the train. Nick lives on the fucking south side now. I have their number. Him and Mo live in St. Charles now...I'm in Elgin right now, and I'm telling my school I live in the city. It's a lot cheaper for me to lie about it.
How you doin' Man? Yeah I'm good.
I'm thinkin' maybe I'll go get my law degree.
Yeah, you could come to work for me if you wanna be my secretary.
It's a pretty big firm, it's got a USSL, Kid Rock is doing something something and something for us.
Well my birthday was late so I was held back.
I did sound for George Clinton.
Yeah, I get $500. But I only work once a week. This is for filming music videos.
It's really hard to fold the clothes. Yeah.
Trailers? When they're doing car scenes. And Lenny Kravitz, and some girl who toured with Britney Spears.
Do you know Mister Blotto?
Dude, no. Who are they?
They've been a pretty big band in Chicago.
R Kelly bought two of Chicago's old studios.
I'm going to be project manager, however, there is no artistic freedom. I would love to be somewhere else and I'd work my way up.
You should come over to my house, I have a studio.
Fuckin' heroin junkie. He like robbed some ol lady. He's in jail last I heard.
Allison Rodez? You ever know her?
Yeah, Lacie? She was a piece of shit too.

This is the kind of thing we hear outside our open window every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night in the summer. Most times it's a solo conversation between a party and their significant other on the phone, a fight. Or someone saying, "What is this? This place? It's kind of cool, with the ceiling tiles?" "Um hmm." (We have a tin ceiling.) Some blessed someone has them smoking around the corner, far away from us, and not under our open window. That's unbelievably good.

Walking and Talking is a pretty terrific movie. Put it on your Netflix.

Ewan is flat out on the floor and he is snoring, something I usually do. Not the flat-out part but the snoring.

Catherine Keener totally got her teeth fixed since this was filmed (doesn't that sound like someone outside the door said it?), or they just made them look normal for for this movie, which was made in 1996. Guess what! Allison Janey is in this movie as a fellow cat-lover to Catherine Keener! And you know what? Anne Heche? She isn't very good! Or maybe she is good at being a really awful character, one who is not very likable. But Liev Schreiber is so believable and reminds me of my ex-fiance.

It is hot, sweaty weather, maybe 80 degrees and it's trickling down the sides of my face. The music in the movie right now is joyful and rambunctious and fun. I think it's the Waterboys but I'm not sure. If it is, I get to jump up and down and yell, "I win! I win!" But only the drunks standing outside my window will hear.

Damn. It's not the Waterboys. It's Billy Bragg.

Also: the music coming out of the bar is rambunctious. And it's time to get Ewan off the sofa (where he moved from the floor ten minutes ago) and upstairs to bed.