Where was I?

This blog has languished, huh?  A longtime LJ and FB friend mentioned it to me the other day, and I had to stop and think about what she might mean.  Then, oh yeah!  My diner blog!  Yes, the old girl is getting scattier by the day.

Latest favorite eating places have changed a bit.  I've been splitting up breakfast times among Chocolati down the block, where Thomas makes cafe' au lait just the way I like it and serves up a delicious ham and Swiss quiche; Bill's on weekends for brunch still, though the sweet young woman who said she liked to cook for me has moved on to a different restaurant; and Baranof, the dive next door.  I mean, they're proud of being a dive!

I grew up in a very blue-collar town in south-central Indiana, surrounded by people who exhibited the remnants of a Kentucky coalminer's dialect.  There were bars on Main Street that were probably a lot like Baranof.  Not that I ever went into one -- I left home for college and never hung around town much after that.  I feel oddly cozy in the atmosphere of Baranof, though:  guys in flannel with gimme caps, kind of rough-looking older women who likely have lived in this blue-collar area of Seattle their whole lives, and barflies back in the bar area even early in the morning, getting their beer on.  They do karaoke in there at night, which I haven't had the urge to try out yet.  It'd be too noisy for my ears, no doubt, and there's no way in hell I'd ever get up in front of people to do anything at all.

Welp.  I'm nattering.  I had some really poor chicken soup from a different place (which I won't name) for lunch and am feeling sorry for myself about it.  Really, I should start cooking again, but that's not gonna happen.  Maybe I'll buy something much better later on for my supper.

Let's see how long it takes for me to forget this blog again.  :D

Enjoy breakfast while you can

There was a death in my apartment complex that was discovered last evening. I got the scoop from the manager and was somewhat rattled by the circumstances, so I made Ted go over to Bill's on Greenwood with me for a Campari & soda. He had a little pizza, while I ordered happy hour mushrooms, which were incredible. 

This morning I bought eggs at Safeway, came home, and used leftover mushrooms as filling in an omelette. My technique has gotten rusty, but Bill's seasoning was so good that the omelette made a lovely breakfast. (The manager told me even more details this morning. Life is a precarious thing. Enjoy breakfast while you can, you know?)

Mahalo, Seattle

I had breakfast at 10:00 in a place new to me, though I had driven by it several times after going to my doctor's office: Kona Kitchen, founded and run by an actor who was in Karate Kid with Ralph Macchio. All the posters say so. It was pretty run-down as to looks, but the food was fine. Well, they gave me creamer with the Kona coffee, which will not happen again (ugh), and the scrambled eggs were dry, but Seattle does not know how to scramble eggs. The Hawaiian fried rice, though? Aces. It had little bits of bbq pork, Spam, and green onions in it, and they brought it to me on a platter. The nice young waiter assured me the boxful I brought home will taste great after I blast it in the microwave. From the moderately busy business they were doing, it's clear the Maple Leaf neighborhood considers it a place to go.

Kona Kitchen

Bill's brunch on Greenwood

Today turned out to be a good day to try the brunch menu at semi-new Bill's on Greenwood.  My younger son has been underwhelmed by their pizza and cheesy bread (though my older son liked the meatball sub just fine last week).  However, brunch was a great deal and lots of fun.

It's only about 22 degrees out there, which is brutal for Seattle in December.  I know this with only one previous winter under my belt here.  Brrr.  My back is in spasm from lord-knows-what little movement, and I had my cane with me in case I needed its support in getting up again after sitting down.  Believe me, the cold didn't help.  I was the only customer in there for a while, which is fine with me, because I'm a hermit.

But.  It went very well.  The mimosa was presented nicely, with a flute of mimosa plus the rest of a split of California champagne and a little carafe of OJ for dosing seconds.  Unfortunately, my lip found a rough edge of the flute where it had been chipped in the washing.  No blood, but I brought it to Brodric's attention.  Out he came with a second split and a fresh flute with mimosa in it.  As I told him about ten minutes later, I was "unexpectedly jolly" from the extra bubbly.

That was just the beginning.  The vanilla Stoli French toast, with berry compote and whipped cream, plus two patties of pork sausage and a little cup of maple syrup, was a treat.  It's so cold out that it wasn't optimally hot by the time I ate it -- this is partly due to my time-consuming attempts to photograph the plate with my two-bit camera -- but even so, it was delicious.  I dipped bits of sausage into the syrup and was happy, happy.  (Brodric, whom I had told that I preferred the sausage very well done because "pork makes me nervous," announced on bringing me the platter that it was "done to 175 degrees internally."  I replied to that, "Oh, bless your heart.")

Side note:  if you have gray hair and look like someone's grandma, because you are someone's grandma, don't hesitate to play the Grandma card.  It will win you the sweetest treatment, almost always.

They serve Caffe Vita and have only dark roast with caffeine, no decaf, but after the second little bottle of champagne, I needed the zip and went for maybe three refills on the regular.  So yes, boys and girls, I am immensely jacked up on both champagne and good coffee.

I was still the only customer -- most breakfasters on the block go to Baranof, but the food there is vastly less fresh and good -- so I kept chatting up poor Brodric, who explained that no, he's not named for Broderick Crawford (I asked!).  It's an Irish name, he said, and he's the eldest of nine kids, but the others are all back in California.  He told me about the motorcycle accident when he was 17 that wrecked his knees, which means the cold hurts him too.  He shook my hand, asked my name, and was in general extremely kind to me.  I was ready to adopt him, but he didn't ask me to, so there we are.  I'll see him again some weekend morning when I go back to try the pancakes.

Photos below, if my giddy state allows me to figure out how to upload them in the proper order.  If not, here they are out of order!

                                           Mimosa set-up:

Vanilla Stoli French toast with mixed berry compote, whipped cream, and sausage, syrup on the side:

(My hands shake, ok?  It was cold!)

The aftermath:

Bill's on Greenwood

Today I went to the Olive and Grape for lunch (yet again) and chose the fresh linguine in a creamy vegetarian sauce, with a glass of Greek red wine.  I enjoyed it, even brought part of the pasta home for supper.  They were busy in there for a Monday, which is good.

I thought about ordering a dessert, but Paola was hopping, so I just paid and left.  It may be time for a nap, middle-of-the-day Italian style.

Sorry about the blur.  My cheap little phone is hard to use -- when I press the panel to shoot a photo, the phone shakes.  You can see the grape tomatoes, bits of red pepper, and asparagus, though.

The silence of the heart

Last night I found a restaurant online that I wanted to try, so this morning I ventured into the drizzle and chill to Silence-Heart-Nest in Fremont, hippie capital of the PNW, apparently. It was wonderful, like stepping back into 1972. Lovely, serene people in saris (the ladies) or calm blue shirts (the men) served me good food, smiled at me, and let me take 3 little calling cards with sayings of Sri Chinmoy on them. Plus, they serve Caffe Vita in beautiful, floral mugs.  Listen, I will be back. 

Parking is dicey in Fremont, but Providence made sure there was no one parked in Fremont Place right in front of the restaurant, so I could park there. Well, I don't really believe in Providence, but it seemed kind of a lucky break! Online reviews make it clear I must go back for their "neatloaf" in brown gravy. I brought home leftover grilled potatoes and a sweet potato biscuit for later. 

Sometimes you just have to follow your bliss.

Silence-Heart-Nest in Fremont

naked in the city (not really)

Ted and I went over in the early-evening dark to Naked City, across the road from us, and enjoyed their Sunday happy hour.  He had extra-crispy fries, which they season with black truffle salt and serve with beer cheese dip, while I had an unsalted warm pretzel with stone ground mustard and a sliced-up stick of Landjaeger.  OK, truth be told, I also had a glass of Veni Vidi Vici chardonnay, the house white, and a quince tart with cinnamon whipped cream.  It was fun.

Lovely Jamie the waitress came on duty after we'd been served, in friendly fashion, by Dan, but she stopped by the table to let us know the Seahawks had won in a rout.  

I cannot tell you how much I love being well enough known on this block to have people remember me and seem to like to greet me that way.  

Naked City on Greenwood