One of the great joys of having friends and family visit is having the opportunity to show off what a truly great city we live in. Unfortunately, one of the great pains of having friends and family visit in the summer is that the city is frickin’ up to it’s proverbial neck in tourists. Every day, cruise ship after cruise ship disgorges hundreds upon thousands of tourists who, while great for the city and local business coffers, tend to make local travel around the city a royal pain. Normally we tend to stay away from the tourist spots during this time of plenty, but when family is in town you have to bite the bullet. So with a 30-30 round firmly lodged in my molars, we took the boys down to the waterfront for a trip to the aquarium, the Market, and then lunch at the Crap Pot, I mean Crab Pot. Sorry, freudian slip there.
First up, the aquarium. I won’t even go into the mess that was traffic on Alaskan Way. One of the cruise ships was loading, and the snarl was unreal. After a bit of honking, praying and general good-hearted cussing, I managed to get to the parking garage. I pulled off a miracle, pulling into a space designed for a grocery cart, and we headed to the aquarium. For those who have not yet gone to the Seattle Aquarium, I really do recommend it. It’s a wonderful place to lose yourself for a couple of hours. The local divas of the aquarium, the sea otters, were as entertaining as always. We caught them napping on their backs, lazily floating around like old men at a pool party. One even held on to what looked to be a small frisbee, apparently dreaming of younger days at the beach with his buddies and cases of Bud Light. As much as I enjoy it, the aquarium does mess with me a bit in one respect. It’s a little odd to be walking about, seeing fish and marine mammals locked in man-made enclosures, when there are some of the same animals roaming free right outside. Ah well, again, the Yin Yang of zoos and aquariums.
After seeing all those wonderful sea creatures, it was time to gnaw on a few. We headed over to that bastion of tourist seafood dining experiences, the Crap Pot, along with what seemed to be the entire population of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Okay, you caught me, I mean the Crab Pot. Sorry. Okay, look. Here’s the thing. I’m totally, 100% spoiled by the fresh seafood we get here. I love going down to Central Market and getting fresh halibut. I’m completely blown away by Dungeness crab that just hours before was at the bottom of the Sound wondering why there was a cage around his dinner. I’ve become a seafood snob, and I’m totally fine with that. So it was with some reservations that I agreed to go to Pot. We got 4 of the Alaskan combos. King, Snow and Dungeness crab, sausage, corn, potatoes, mussels, clams and shrimp. Beth and the boys loved it. For me though, ugh. First off, what is with the frickin explosion of paprika over everything? I mean look at those pieces of corn, and that was some of the lighter bits. I still have stained fingers. The crab was okay, but the Dungeness tasted like it was frozen, a crime given the time of year. The mussels were very good, I’ll give the place that. All in all though, there are much better, and less expensive places in Seattle to experience our kick ass seafood. Enough said.
Next up was a walk up to Pike Place Market. Beth wanted the boys to see the fish tossing, and despite the crowds, I’m glad we did.
This is another place that in the off season is a great place to spend a day. During the middle of cruise ship hell, it’s…well, hell. Typical snippets of conversations: “Honey, did you see that guy throw fish? I thought they only did that on TV!” , “See, this is the place where Anthony Bourdain comes. I wonder if he’s around?” , “Don’t look at the street people kids, you’ll only encourage them” , “Can we go back to the ship now? This place smells like pee” , and my personal favorite, “Can you tell me the restaurant where Sally faked her orgasm?” Seems some folks confuse Sleepless in Seattle with When Harry Met Sally. Silly tourists. Still, through it all, the Market was a joy. I’ve seen worse crowds, and the boys seemed to like it. We walked on through the street venders and stopped at the park for a bit. One plus I feel I need to point out. We were only approached by one person looking for a handout, and he was very cordial about it. He asked once, then moved on through the crowd. There are times, especially on as nice a day as yesterday was, that the panhandler to visitor ration is almost 1:1. Either the bounty was elsewhere this day, or the increased police patrols are working. After listening to a guitar player/singer mimic Alpha Blondy for a bit, I dropped a five in his cup, and we headed back to the car. I’ve said this before, but please, if you stop and enjoy a busker’s performance, give a little. They really do earn their money.
Even after fighting I-5 traffic at 4 pm on a Friday, I can say it was a day well spent. As Marc said heading back to the car, “You’re right Dad, Seattle is pretty cool.” Could not have said it better myself.
Gregor
What the…? No, I haven’t lost my ability to spell. Hang in there with me and all will make sense in a bit.
My boys are in town visiting for about a month. Marc is almost 19, headed into the Air Force and I could not be prouder, even if it isn’t the Navy 
. Jake is 15, going through a serious growth spurt, and a budding sports writer. And I couldn’t be prouder. Beth and I took them to LockSpot Cafe for lunch yesterday followed by a trip to the zoo. At LockSpot Marc got the sampler plate with fried cod, shrimp and clams, while Jake decided not to stray too far from Central Ohio and got a cheeseburger. Beth and I went the the fish and chips, always a winner at the Cafe. All four meals were quite tasty, as was the service. I also scored a parking space right out front which was a total bonus. The boys dug the lunch as well as being in the place that After the Catch was filmed in, as you can tell by their smiling, joyous faces. Um, yeah.
Next up was the zoo. Again, my luck with parking was phenomenal as I found a place right outside the west entrance. And I mean, right outside. As we were walking in, I remarked that it seemed pretty empty and that hopefully we wouldn’t run into a bunch of day camp field trips. If the trip came with a soundtrack, at that moment ominous music would have been playing. We paid, thankfully Beth had a coupon, and headed in. For those who have not been, the Woodland Park Zoo sits just southwest of Green Lake, near the Freemont, West Woodland, Wallingford sections of Seattle. Great zoo, and well worth the time. One of the newer inhabitants of the zoo are the Meerkats. They appeared to be just as curious about us as we were of them. I could have sat and watched them for hours if it were not for the (ominous music plays here again) kids shrieking at the top of their lungs. I don’t know if the children were especially loud, or if it was due to the huge numbers, or if it was just the acoustics. All I do know is that every human over the age of 15 came out of there holding their ears. As it turned out there were 4 or 5 day camp field trips going on and kids were flying around like bras at an Elvis concert. Zoos are wonderful for kids to learn about animals and what we can do to save them. They are not so well suited as a free-for-all day care. Just saying.
There is a section of the zoo devoted to the tundra of Alaska called the Northern Trail. In one of the more spectacular settings you can sit down and watch trout and river otters cavort in a stream, while watching brown bears roam. It was quiet, relaxing, and dare I say it? a bit spiritual. Deep down I have a Yin Yang thing going on with zoos. On one hand I know that they serve a greater good. They instruct others on the plight of endangered species, they allow humans the chance to interact with animals they might not otherwise see, and they offer a sort of refuge for animals that might not otherwise survive. On the other hand…it’s a cage. I tried, but I couldn’t spend any time at all in the eagle area, and the thought that the wolves are feed like household pets is… jarring to say the least. Like I said, Yin Yang.
This is all well and good you say, but what about this crazy Aged to Perception thing? Okay, I’ll explain. By the time I was 19 I had already been through boot camp, my class A school, and had experienced some pretty wild adventures. Before heading to Nuclear Power School, I took leave and went to visit my dad in Denver. I can remember feeling like I was being treated like a little kid again and I hated it. He just couldn’t see me as the man I had become, instead he treated me like I didn’t even know how to make coffee in the morning. Heck, to this day my mom still thinks I’m 12. Up until yesterday I just could not understand why they did that. Then it dawned on me as I found myself at LockSpot and looked, really looked, at Marc and Jake. I realized I still saw 2 small little boys, trying their best to understand why I didn’t live at home anymore. I know Marc has grown into a kind, understanding man and Jake is well on his way. But my perception of their ages is all a kilter. I think I understand now what my mom and dad see when they look at me. Perception of age. If only it were not just a perception.
Gregor
As Beth and I were pondering where to have dinner Friday, I remembered my buddy Kelly talking about a place called the Wild Vine Bistro. Not ones to ever turn down a “recommended by Kelly & Lisa” place, we headed out, salivary glands at the ready.
It appeared as if Lady Luck was dining with us as there was a table available on the intimate front patio. After checking in with the hostess, we were seated and within seconds water and menus arrived at the table. It was early evening and the sun was still bright as we started to look over the menu and wine list. Straight away I felt we might be in for a real treat as I found a Januik ’06 Syrah on the list. A lovely Syrah that fills the mouth with deep cherry and plum notes, it’s a good sign a place really knows wine when it’s on the list. Love it.
For our dinner we decided to split an appetizer and an entrée. To start we had the Antipasto plate. Prosciutto, coppa, cheeses, figs, jam and crackers. Simple and spot on perfect. Elegantly presented, the selection of meat, fruit and cheeses was phenomenal. Running the gamut from hard to soft and tangy to mellow, the cheese in particular all worked together in harmonious splendor. Wait, harmonious splendor? Sorry, that was way, way over the top. Look, just take it from me, it totally worked.
After we polished off the antipasto plate, we had a few moments to enjoy our wine and the nice evening. We don’t always get good weather in this part of the country, but when we do, wow. The sun had started to dip lower when our main course arrived, Duck 3 Ways. There was a confit leg of duck that was cooked to perfection. On top sat a fig and balsamic compote that wasn’t too sweet, nor was it too tart. Goldilocks would have totally dug it. Next up in the trio was roasted figs with chevre blanc picked duck and sea salt. In my opinion, the weakest of the three, but still great. The duck just seemed overwhelmed a bit. Still tasty, and I certainly would not turn it down for a date to the prom. Finally, there was the duck cake with mint and peach purée. Oh my. The cake was crispy and delicate outside, with a melt in your mouth inside. The peach sauce and nectarine slices added to the party without being the idiot with a lampshade on. Subdued, yet it would not have been a party without them. All three components together made this one of my all time favorite dishes. I’ve used this phrase before, but it truly was nirvana on a plate.
By the way, the service during our meal was top notch. Never hovering, always there when we needed something, and totally up on the menu and wine selections. I can’t even count how many times a good meal was ruined by bad service. At Wild Vine Bistro, you don’t have to worry. Both the service and fare are exceptional.
After our meal we headed inside to enjoy a nightcap at the bar. Inside, the place is large enough that you don’t feel cramped, while still maintaining an intimate “bistro” setting. While sipping a black Sambuca con mosca (Sambuca with 3 espresso beans floating on top. Con mosca translates to “with flies”. See? And you thought I was just a dumb biker dude) the owner, Laura Bliven, stopped over to see how dinner went. You could tell Laura loves what she does, and it shows. It shows in the decorating details, in the staff, in the wine list and certainly in the food. I’m not sure who the chef was, and I feel bad for neglecting to find out, but they also deserve a huge round of applause. We will be back, that’s a given.
Wild Vine Bistro sits in a strip mall at the south-east corner of Bothell Everett Hwy and 180th St SE. It’s a little hard to find, but do what ever it takes to find the place. Hire a guide. Call me. Get a map. Seriously, the place really is that good. My meager words do not do it justice, you’ll just have to see for yourselves. I give it 5 out of 5 vines.
Gregor
Just as I finished a rant yesterday about Lebron leaving Cleveland, I found out that Harvey Pekar had passed on. For those unfamiliar with him, he wrote a series of graphic novels called “American Splendor” about life in Cleveland. At times poignant, and at times as rough around the edges as Cleveland herself, Harvey nailed what it meant to be a Clevelander. I remember reading my first one in ’76. I had been living in Columbus for a couple of years, and reading it was like going home. I’d say Lebron should read some of his work, but something tells me he just wouldn’t get it.
Harvey was Cleveland, man. Cold, hot, smooth, harsh, lovable, hurtful, funny, sad, picked on and passed over. I haven’t read any of his comics for awhile, but I plan of finding some asap. I need to go home.
For a take on Harvey that is truly a work of art, check out Anthony Bourdain’s blog . Be patient as it loads, it’s more than worth the time.
RIP Harvey, you old fart.
Gregor
Okay, let’s get this out in the open. “Professional Sports” are anything but professional anymore. Why on earth do we spend upwards of $200 and more just to go watch a bunch of mediocre “pro” players attempt new heights of boring play? Why add even more money to their coffers? Why do I even care anymore?
As most of you know, I was born near Cleveland Ohio, lived in a suburb for a while, and finally did my HS years in Columbus. I was then, and am now, a fan of Cleveland sports. I have pictures of me as a kid wearing a Browns uniform with a helmet 10 sizes too big. I lived for the chance to go see the Tribe play. I remember going with my dad to a Mike Phipps ball signing in 1971 like it was yesterday. I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I can remember that.
As I got older, my love of Cleveland sports grew. After I got a job at CompuServe, I realized that there were more like me. Fellow co-workers who loved the city and the teams as much as I did! We’d go up to the old stadium for the Tribe’s opener dressed like Nanook of the north, and we loved it. All of us, I think, have pieces of the old stadium, as well as bits of rock as they were building Jacobs Field. Hell, I named my second son Jacob in honor of Jacobs Field. That’s team devotion baby.
It seems to me that a fans devotion to a team mattered back then. Sure, as a Cleveland fan, I know more about losing seasons than anyone. But the fans stood by the team, and in a lot of ways, the team stood by the fans. With the exception of the Seattle Sounders (the owner offered to refund the ticket price of a horrid game to next years season ticket holders) that concept seems to have gone the way of dime a dog nights. We’ve forgotten about the “Team” and instead placed our bets on key players. I collected NFL stamps at Shell gas stations one time as a kid. I wasn’t happy until I got the entire 1972 Browns team. Sure, I had my favorite players, but it was the Browns I was in love with. The team. Even though they were losing, I never said die. Even after “The Drive” yanked my heart out and spat on it, I always said, “next year”.
Then a dark dark day happened. Nov 6th, 1995. He, who shall remain nameless other than to call him asshole, announced he was moving the Browns to Baltimore. I cannot begin to tell you how that hurt. I felt like my best friend just told me to get lost. I was devastated. We all were. I know others, like Baltimore Colts fans, knew what we were feeling. Thankfully the city of Cleveland managed to hold on to the Browns name and history, and in 1999 came back in the expansion. But something was lost that November day. I lost my trust of the team. Hell, I lost my team.
Time marches on and similar things happened across the “professional” sports scene. Oilers move to Tennessee, and change their name. Seattle Sonics moved to BFE. Teams shuffled like a cheap deck of cards. Then the players really get involved. Free agency trades. Money to be made. Lots of money. Team loyalty gives way to multi-million dollar deals. Owners make money. Players make money. Fans spend money.
We spend money. A lot of money. For what has become mediocre entertainment. On Saturday, Columbus played Houston in the MLS. 3 shots on goal. For the entire game. Combined. The World Cup. What could have been the match of the ages, turned into a flopping, sloppy mess. Teams, like the Mariners, spend good money to pick up talent, but for what? Seattle and Cleveland are both dead last in their div, both around 15 games out of first. Not just losing, but really losing. Professional?
And finally, the ultimate example of why there is nothing “professional” in professional sports anymore, Lebron James. In what can only be described as the most egotistical, raised middle finger attitude, grandstanding play of all time, he goes on national TV and tells the city of Cleveland to F**k Off. Just months before, he talked about how proud he was to have grown up in Akron, and how proud he was to be in Cleveland. That’s what really hurts. He chose to play in the city he said he loved, and in the end…poof. Don’t get to used to him Miami, chances are he’s moving on in a few years if you can’t give him the championship. And that’s the thing! We could have won the championship this year but Lebron totally checked out. Game 5 was a frickin disaster, and it was all his fault! So, good luck Miami. Make sure you pay $60k for court side seats. Make sure you spend $$$$ of your hard earned cash to pay his salary. Make sure you give Lebron a championship, he sure as hell isn’t going to earn it himself.
Me? I’m going back to watching the food channel. F**k sports.
Gregor
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