Friday nights are usually pizza night at the Gregor household. Neither one of us really feels like going out to dinner and we sure as heck don’t feel like cooking. This past Friday, Beth, who was getting sick of the same ol’ cardboard cookie-cutter pizza, decided to do a little online research. Her search formula was simple but brilliant; “Pizza for Delivery in Mill Creek WA.” We like pizza, but on Fridays we are as lazy as sloths on ‘ludes, so delivery was a must have.
What came up was Elliott Bay Pizza & Pub. Let me say that one more time, because I’m sure I will be writing more about this place. Elliott Bay Pizza & Pub. In a world of rabbit pellet sausage and tomato sauce made in China, this place is a culinary breath of fresh air. Let’s get right to the particulars.
First off, the menu is extensive. If you can’t find a pizza or sub that is to your liking, well, you probably need to go out for sushi. I encourage you to hit up their website for all the yummy details. For know, I’ll talk about our meal.
I opted for the Combo Sub. This sub is over-flowing with roast beef, turkey, ham, provolone, lettuce, onions & tomatoes. It had what tasted like a combination of Italian dressing and a spot on perfect horseradish sauce. The deli meats were incredible. I want to be buried someday in a casket of that roast beef. Perfectly done and tasty beyond belief. Each part of that sub worked on its own. Brought together in a fresh made roll it was out of this world.
Beth went with the Italian sub. Pepperoni, salami, canadian bacon, provolone and Italian dressing. Again, it was an incredible sandwich. My axiom when trying new places is first try the old stand-bys. If the place can’t do them right, walk away. This was one of the best Italian subs I have ever tasted. Enough said.
We also ordered a pizza, just to check things out you know. I wanted to try out every single one, but we decided on one called Taste of Greece. A superb crust that was topped with salami, fresh spinach, onions, feta, sliced tomatoes & kalamata olives. Again, each ingredient was fresh and would have been wonderful on their own. Put together they became something remarkable.
It is one thing to be a kick-ass pizza place. To add delivery on top of that is… well, its pure heaven. Next time we plan on visiting the place in person though. You know, to get a feel for the place, the decor, the beer. Oh, did I forget to mention? They have craft beers on tap. I may never leave.
Gregor
Wait, what? A new site? I know, I don’t even keep this one up to date. Well, here’s the deal.
When I first started this site, it was intended to be a place for all things food and drink. Wine, recipes, reviews, that sort of thing. Over time though it has become more of an outlet for me to rant and rave about things that are totally unrelated to those items. Now, I’m not ever going to stop bitching about road repairs or reality crap on TV, so I needed a new outlet. A place where my crotchety old self can ride wild and free.
With that in mind, I give you Grumpy Gray Beard.
Lord help us all.
We pull off the road, exhilarated from the ride and parched. Mouths drier than a Brit’s wit. I’m talking dry here. Kelly, Brian and I have not been on the road long, but it’s been busy. A lot of blind, off-camber turns and traffic have taken a little bit of a toll. A cold Coors is calling my name and I feel the need to heed the call.
We stop and pull into a small little dive. The vibe from the place screams “LOCALS ONLY” as we enter the cool interior. Patrons glance our way hoping to see a familiar face and seeing none, return to their beers. I order a $3.50 draft and hand the bartender a 5 spot, telling her to keep the change. I’m “in” now. Oh yeah, so in.
I make my way to the back patio. Biker heaven folks. Porta potty, tables, beer and smokes. Like I said, heaven. Crap! Smokes! I forgot my smokes on my scoot. I now have to walk back out through the bar to get my cigs. Through the stares. The questions. The stale spilt beer.
“Nice bike, what size?”
Excuse me?
“Your bike, what size motor do you have?”
Oh, sorry. It’s an S&S 107. Good motor, too bad the electronics suck.
“Well, it’s a nice bike. You should be proud. Hey, nice tat by the way, did you serve?”
I did. Fast attack submarines. A long time ago though.
“Hey, serving is serving man. God bless ya.”
Thanks, man.
“So what do think about all this 911 coverage?”
Awe dude, I’m not sure I want to talk about that.
“Why, you don’t want to remember?”
Look man, I remember. Like it was yesterday. I remember. I also remember Dec 7, 1941, and Aug 6th, 1945.
“What does that mean?”
Nothing man. Hey, cute dog. My wife and I have a small dog too. Never thought I’d have one, but man, I love the lil girl
“Oh yeah, we just love her… Hey, you’re looking pretty pink!”
I let out a laugh. I know, my skin is almost the same color pink that’s in my feather tat my daughter Amanda designed for me.
I show him the tat.
“Hey, you’re right! So why do you hate America, and what the hell happened to folk music?”
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I’ve just wolfed down a killer Klondike Bar, dark chocolate mind you, that is sitting rather heavy on the 4 extra dry martinis I made for myself tonight. Look, don’t let the headline scare you, I’m just experimenting tonight. I’ve spent the last couple of months writing pablum for the masses. Headlines and short snippets designed to get folks to click on a story. Don’t get me wrong, it is good work and I love that an uneducated biker dude like me was given the chance. It’s just not me, you know? I love to write. I love to express my thoughts in ways I hope that help people understand who I am. That’s immortality, right? It’s what we all look for, no?
So I’m sitting here tonight, no deadlines, no AP style guidelines stifling my words. Just me. Well, me and the ice-cold, very-dry martinis and a few packs of Marlboro Skyline 100s. Free form at its best.
Why do we fear death so? We know it’s going to happen. It’s the only certainty in life. We have no clue what tomorrow may bring, but we all know we will eventually die. So why do we fear it? If you are a religious person, you know your soul is taken care of. If you are an atheist, there is no afterlife, so death is just …. Death.
So why all the worry? Why the preplanning, the huge amounts of dollars spent on this? We spend more money and time on what might happen after we die than we do while we are actually alive.
I think we need to look at death like a vacation. Okay, I know, I lost a few of you there. But hang in there with me. What is a vacation after all? We all want rest, relaxation and to be able to forget the day-to-day worries of a living life. Death is a free travel trailer. Right?
Death is like parking your camper at a campsite you’ve never been to before. It may turn out to be a kick ass weekend, or you find you’ve set up camp next to a family that believes that whatever you believe in is wrong and they will spend every waking moment of their life proving it to you. It’s a frickin crap shoot and I’m not sure I’m willing to put that all on two, if you get my drift.
We all die. If I die 10 years sooner because I love my martinis and a smoke then so be it. I liken it to marathon racers. If you ever talk to a marathoner they will tell you they get into a zone. They stop seeing what is around them. They see their feet hitting the pavement one after the other. The goal of finishing becomes everything. And by doing this, they lose everything.
Life is what life is. We take what we are given and we try to make the best of it. Some of us get great ingredients, some of us try to make bread with clay and salt. it is what it is, but more so, it is what we make out of it.
I leave you tonight with one thought, And ye harm no one, do what ye will.
Gregor
First of all, apologies for the deadness of this blog of late. To be honest, I’m apologizing to myself as I find this sort of writing very soothing and I’ve missed it. As many of you know I’ve been back among the workforce, writing copy for a product on Bing called MSN Answers. If you use Bing you may have seen a larger than normal photo pop up with some copy to the side that then leads you to a full news story. I write those, along with a couple of other cats. After 8 hours of non-stop writing though, I’ve found myself less than eager to jump behind the wheel of this blog. But I’m changing that as of now. So with that preamble over, let the real blogging begin…
As a former scuba diver, I know the value of decompression stops. When we dive, nitrogen is absorbed into the body tissues. The deeper the depth, the more pressure is exerted on the body and therefore more nitrogen is absorbed. If you surface too quickly the nitrogen can turn to bubbles (think opening a bottle of beer your ‘buddy’ shook up) and those bubbles can then lodge in the bloodstream and joints resulting in the bends. Bad juju those bends. Good divers never forget to stop. Dead divers do.
Our daily lives are much the same as a deep dive. Pressure baby. Pressure from work responsibilities. Pressure from home. Money pressure. Partner pressure. Social pressure. Family pressure. It builds man, it builds fast. And if we’re not careful, pop go the bubbles.
Decompression stops. We need decompression stops for life’s pressures. Not just rest periods, but full blown decomp stops man. Time to just hang there at 15 feet and… well, hang.
Yesterday Beth and I did our favorite decomp stop. An overnight camping trip to the mountains. First of the year and man did we need it. We’ve both been diving at 150 feet for several months now and needed a stop. So yesterday we packed the car, including our newest family member Maggie, and headed east to Lake Chelan.
It was beautiful out when we arrived. 70, sunny… just spot on perfect. Spring came late to the mountains this year and things were still budding and blooming. Lake was down, probably on purpose to help contain what is expected to be a larger than normal melt off, but it was still beautiful. We set up camp and we started to hang at 15 feet. Maggie had a little bit of a hard time adjusting to the sun, she is a Seattle pup after all, but after a little buddy breathing she settled down.
After a dinner of brats and chips, we listened to the earth for a bit then called it a day when the sun decided to do the same. A couple of hours later I was jolted awake by a series of light flashes, like someone was taking flash photos outside our tent. I was trying to figure out how the paparazzi found my happy place when the thunderous applause of thousands broke out. Right when I was ready to start signing autographs, Maggie yelped, started licking my ear and I came to the realization that we were smack dab in the middle of one humdinger of a thunderstorm. I laid awake as the storm moved through, its thunder echoing across the mountains. The rain slowed to a steady beat against the tent and I was soon lulled back to sleep.
We woke when the sun did. Set about dealing with wet items left out, starting a fire for coffee and watching Maggie enjoy a romp through the wet foliage. Other camps were stirring as well and sounds of disappointment started to fall on the damp ground. Disappointment? Man. I will never understand why some folks love to have thunderstorms on their nature-sounds clock radios but are disappointed with the real thing. It was a symphony man. Sights, sounds, smells… the whole thing. I just smiled and hung out at 15 feet a little longer.
Time came to head to the surface, so we packed up the car and headed back home. Nature did let us hang just a little longer however, offering up spectacular scenes for our drive back over the pass. We pulled into the driveway, surfaced and starting packing things away. Stowed until we need them. Ready for the next stop.
Decompression stops. They really aren’t just a good idea. They are survival.
Gregor.
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