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

Up atop the Wild Mountain

This morning we were slated for the Wild Mountain Cafe just down 85th toward 15th, the kids and I, along with their visiting friend Eric.  Something eaten yesterday didn't agree with me in the night, so I almost begged off, but I'm so glad I didn't.  J. texted me at 7:45 to say Whizzer was chanting "Muh-muh-muh" and looking through the baby gate down the stairs, watching for me.  So I rushed it and drove over a little after 8:00.  She saw me from the window and waved down at me, crowing.  Now that is a reception!  The lovely thing about this Grandma gig is that I haven't done much to earn the love, but it's there.  Friends had told me that there's some magic about being Grandma, and now I know it's true.

The cafe was great.  Service is leisurely, and I'm Type A when it comes to service, but I relaxed with a Mimosa as we sat and talked.  They brought Whizzer soymoo in a spill-proof cup, which made her very happy, and a huge cinnamon roll for sharing.  Around the table, when they served the platters, there was a BAT Benedict (avocado instead of lettuce), scrambled eggs with fruit cup, lox on potato cake (instead of English muffin) with cream cheese, cheddar scramble with toast, and my delicious chicken sausage, eggs, and toast.  Coffee was supplied by Herkimer, which means it was really, really good, and their homemade raspberry preserves were luscious.

Saturday brunch is crowded, of course.  Maybe I'll go back soon, just me on a weekday morning with my lappy, and sit a long time over more of that good coffee.

Wild Mountain Cafe

Dine Around Seattle, at the O&G

Your peripatetic diner is home from a lovely 3-course prix fixe dinner at the Olive & Grape, hosted by Paola, who's always indulgent when I try out my ancient bit of French or slightly better Italian on her.  The first course was a salad of baby spinach and spring greens with walnuts, artichoke hearts, roasted red pepper, and a fig vinaigrette.  It was huge, where I had been expecting a small plate.  (Shades of the rosticceria in Roma where Gerry and I thought to have a light lunch but ate so much that, by the end of all the courses, we could barely waddle to the station for the train back to Frascati.)

Second course was a Turkish lamb stew, Sultan's Delight, which I learned too late had cinnamon in it (one thing I must avoid), but it was delicious over polenta.  The authentic version was over pureed eggplant, but eggplant and I aren't good friends.  It was so good that I ate it all.  Oops, rosticceria time.

Third course was their creme brulee, very good if not quite the perfect texture.  Usually theirs is like panna cotta, and this was a bit looser, but still just what I wanted.

I let her choose my wines, which turned out well.  She gave me a Malbec first and then, when I had drained that halfway through the lamb, brought me a Tempranillo.  I staggered home, pretty much, but the block is well lit, so I was fiiiiiine.  And happy.

She had on unusual music.  At lunchtime, it tends to be a mix of Greek, Italian, and Turkish pop, but this was old American stuff mostly.  Oh, please, stay by me, Diana.  Fun for an old girl who remembers them all.

I love that place.

Olive & Grape on Greenwood, Dine Around Seattle menu

Return to Than Brothers

I'd had a little sniffle and light cough for a few days, but last night the cold got serious.  I woke up feeling pretty lousy and needed breakfast.  No dice:  the projected opening of the Green Bean coffee house next door has been delayed from today until Friday; the new Bill's on Greenwood will start opening for weekend brunch tomorrow rather than today; and The House Sports Pub said they do breakfast only on Sundays, for the football crowd.  So I felt all frustrated.  

Luckily, the kids said they were going for pho around 11:00.  We met up at Than Brothers and had great soup and cream puffs, and then we went into the Chocolati showroom to buy some truffles.  Plus I bought Ted a white chocolate ghost on a stick.  I'm still sick but am in much better spirits now!

Last evening, by the way, I had Gainsbourg's herbed white bean soup and roasted beet salad with my happy hour white wine.  Life on this block has turned out to be a good thing.

In other news, after talking to my bank guy, I had Pho for very early lunch. I noticed as I parked in front of Than Bros that the Chocolati factory is right next door, so I walked in and chatted with the nice clerk, who turned out to be the mother of the owner! That was fun. The dark chocolate-coated ginger is still their best truffle. Now, I tried 6 times to photograph my Pho with my cell phone camera. Believe it or not, this is the clearest shot. Sad, sad.

That's #6, chin nam, with precooked brisket and flank. (I don't trust the raw beef people put into it.) There's a cream puff to the left, a signature freebie of Than Brothers.  Note lots and lots of chili oil in the broth.

Than Brothers Pho

Foggy morning, sunny afternoon

It was a nuit blanche, so to say, last night -- I slept till around 2:30, maybe three hours total -- and that was that.  I got up at 6:00 and was ready to walk down a block and a half to Chocolati at 7:00.  I was the first customer, which pleased me because I like it quiet.  Such nice young people work in there.  The barista was cheerily listening to the Funk station at Pandora, so I got to boogie along with all manner of upbeat music, from the Bee Gees to Ray Charles to the Jackson Five.  OK, I didn't boogie with them.  Michael Jackson's piping child's voice has always made me want to tear out my hair.

It was a pleasant walk there, by the way.  I hadn't realized till I went out into the dark that it was foggy.  Fortunately, Greenwood is well lit so that I didn't have to worry about tripping and falling, always a hazard when one is of unsure footing.  Standing at the busy intersection at 85th made me a little nervous, but there was another woman standing there beside me, which meant no one was likely to speed around the corner and flatten us.

By the time I left, after having had an 8-oz. regular drip and a 12-oz. decaf Americano, it was lightening up a bit and clearer.  I came home and then later walked out to Bartell's Drugs' brand new store, immediately next to the old store, and to Fred Meyer.  Walking is helping my punk circulation, especially now that I wear support stockings.

In the afternoon, toward happy hour, I geared up and walked out again, in brilliant sunshine this time, to Gainsbourg Lounge, where I had a good salad (arugula, slices of cooked red and gold beets, a few bits of walnut, and some gorgonzola, plus vinaigrette) and a Gainsbourger.  Oh listen, the burger was incredible.  I hadn't had one in over fifteen years, and this was worth breaking that fast for:  a mix of beef and lamb, nicely cooked, with caramelized onions and aioli on a good bun.  I ate it very slowly.  Of course, I also had a second glass of house white to wash it down (red would've been more appropriate -- next time, Gadget!).  Duncan introduced himself to me with a handshake after I complimented the "bourger," and I left feeling very happy indeed.

In the elevator up to our floor, I was thinking about chocolate, sad that I had none.  I was speaking French to myself, as previously noted is common after un verre (ou deux verres) de vin ordinaire.  My son gallantly walked over to Walgreen's for Russell Stover chocolate Halloween pumpkins.  He's a prize.

Now to see if I am able to sleep tonight after all that!  Hope so.  Bonne nuit!

Dim sum, bubble tea, and a good browse

After I had a decaf Americano at Chocolati, I debated having breakfast at The House Sports Pub. Good thing I didn't, because the kids texted me, and we went down into the international district for dim sum and then bubble tea. I tell you, this was the best Chinese food I've had in forever. The barbecue roast pork, hum bao, and garlicky green beans were sensational. Then we had bubble tea at The Oasis, walked through Uwajimaya Village for groceries (I bought a beautiful Japanese tea cup), and headed home with Whizzer sleepily cuddling up to her new Hello Kitty Cowardly Lion. Great time.

http://sun-ya.cwok.com/16_e_dim_sum.htm
http://www.uwajimaya.com

Bon soir! J'ai bu deux verres de vin blanc!

And that means I speak perfect French!  When I start spontaneously speaking in tongues, it's Italian if I'm sober and piss-poor French if I've had some wine.

Just now at the Gainsbourg Lounge, I had two stemless glasses of their really good house white, along with a little crock of wild mushroom chowder (Chanterelles locally harvested), a bit of baguette, and a pot de creme with strawberry preserves on it instead of the broiled sugar that would've made it brulee.  It was great, and Virginia the lovely waitress/bartender was very sweet to me.  I am a happy old girl.

That is a fun place.  They project black and white movies or videos onto the back wall, and those tend to be really weird.  Their music mix, presumably played from an iPod, encompasses thousands of songs, which range wildly from French bistro to rockabilly to what sounds ethereally like Brian Eno.  I haven't failed to enjoy trying to identify what I'm hearing.

J'aime beaucoup Gainsbourg.  Ah oui.

http://gainsbourglounge.com/

Of babies and baristas

This morning I went back to Chocolati.  Yesterday's excursion to Neptune was a reaction to a slightly impatient answer to a frivolous question I had asked at Chocolati the day before.  I'm childlike in that I experience that kind of impatience as a slap, so yesterday was a day off to think it over.  

Glad I went back today, because the barista who had bruised my feelings asked about my stomach and expressed real concern at my recent digestive problems.  And then he made me his usual delicious decaf Americano.  I heard him tell another customer that the new baby in his house had given him some bad nights' sleep the last few days.  Sure explains a slightly impatient answer!  All is forgiven, of course.

The thing is that a favorite place becomes magical for me.  It was the Silver Diner back in Maryland for about four years after my husband died.  I'd go there for breakfast and their then-excellent coffee almost every day.  It gave me a society on mornings when my house was too quiet and too empty.  When they changed their menu and went upscale, I had to move on, but it was to La Madeleine, which was the perfect place for me to have eggs and baguette, lots of coffee, and nice leisurely time at a wooden table to write poems and stories.  I still miss La Madeleine.

Here in Seattle, where there's a restaurant or coffeehouse every few feet, I've flitted from one to another, always trying to find some magic.  For the moment, Chocolati has it for me at breakfast, now that the relationship is restored.  For lunch, I go to the Olive & Grape, more about which another time.

Oh, a while ago I had the leftover barbecue and potato salad from The House.  It was a good early lunch!

Dangerous intersection

When the maids arrived this afternoon to do the cleaning that I physically can't, I had to go down two long flights of stairs to get them and then bring them back up those stairs.  The elevator had chosen that precise time to go out of order.  Excellent.  I went back down once more to leave the apartment to them and to my son, who doesn't mind moving from room to room while they work.  It was 3:00 o'clock -- Happy Hour! -- so I went next door to The House Sports Pub for a cheap beer and a plate of sliders with potato salad.

I had my face to the big screen, though I was ignoring the sports, with my back to the street.  Suddenly the friendly young bartender dashed from the pub and then came back inside, shaken, saying he'd just seen a man hit by a car out in the intersection.  It's a busy one, Greenwood and 87th, with stop lights and walk signs, but during rush hours, drivers can be impatient with foot traffic.  I've crossed there at least once a day since moving here last year.

It wasn't long before a fire truck roared up, then a police car or two, and finally an ambulance.  The good Samaritans who had instantly gathered to surround the man in the middle of the road, comforting him where he lay and preventing cars from getting near him, were dispersed after giving their accounts to the police.  The young man whose car had hit the pedestrian was visibly beside himself with anxiety and distress.  I could see him through the window when I turned in that direction as he held his hands up to hold onto his hair as if to keep his head from flying off.  I felt for him.

Aaron the bartender told me he saw the victim answering questions asked by the EMTs, "So at least he's alive.  That's the good news."  

I sat a while longer after scooping the remains of the good potato salad and tasty barbecue into a little box, glad that the intersection had finally cleared of rescue equipment.  But you better believe I'll be even more vigilant when I cross Greenwood from now on.

Neptune goes upscale, appears less busy

This morning, wanting to be quick because I don't know when the maids are due to arrive today, I stopped short of Chocolati and ducked into Neptune, half a block closer.  This morning walk, brief as it is, has become very important to me in the last couple of weeks.  It's much more pleasant than driving down to the fancy Ballard Starbucks or over to the cheesy QFC Starbucks.  It makes me feel very much part of the scenery here, and I mean that literally -- I have to stand on the very busy corner of 85th and Greenwood to wait for the Walk, highly aware of being visible in my ultra-chic support stockings and out-of-season culottes.  But to hell with that, you know?  I'm a neighborhood eccentric!

Neptune used to be grungy in a way I found unappetizing.  It's right beside a Route 5 bus stop, and it always seemed busy enough, but the tables were old and tacky, and the general air wasn't attractive to me.  The few times I went in, early on last fall, were when Sip & Ship, the late lamented, was closed on Sunday, and I never was happy there.

Today, though, I was lured in by their spiffy new decor, everything bright and white and truly chic:  a iPad on the counter for the barista to use to ring up customers (I noticed he turned it to the woman after me, so she could punch in something or other), pretty square white plates for the cookies and such (like my very good ginger molasses cookie), and nifty tableware from Ikea.  The music was a little ethereal for my taste, something in between ambient and dance but not enough of either.  

Parenthetical thought:  I like Brian Eno's "Music for Airports."

The coffee wasn't good.  That's the bottom line, never mind decor and artsy music.  My decaf Americano tasted muddy and grainy.  One thing Chocolati does well is decaf espresso roast, so that their Americano is delicious.  This wasn't delicious.  I won't go back, but I wanted to try them out.  Mission accomplished!  Now to wait for the maids.

The coffeehouse is open

Odd as it may seem, especially to me, I've been asked to start a food blog.  Not a foodie's blog, really, so much as a "denizen of the diner" log.  I've been making posts about my breakfasts, brunches, and lunches out for many years, originally at Livejournal and more recently on my Facebook.  I always assumed people were either ignoring me or being kindly forbearing about these posts, but a few times there were surprise requests to do things more formally.

Well, as formally as I'm able to do things, which isn't very.

This morning at Chocolati on Greenwood Avenue in Seattle, I had an 8-oz. cup of their great Lighthouse regular, with a little sugar and half-and-half, and a marionberry truffle (free because I had filled in my truffle card), followed by a 12-oz. decaf Americano with half-and-half but no sugar (because I'm trying to work up the nerve to stop using it).  I always have them give me a ceramic mug, something that seems to mark me everywhere I go -- "She's one of those" is sometimes the look I get.  But it matters.

Over time, if I can crank it up to do so, I'll repost old LJ and/or FB posts, on occasion with the poem that appeared along with the prose. 

Welcome!  Grab a cup and have some coffee with me.