A Fish Story

"It's on the house," Toyoda's sushi chef slid a plate heaped with albacore sashimi towards us. My eyes widened.

"Wow, that's a lot of fish," I murmured, chopsticks paused in mid-air already grasping a slice of maguro tuna. The tiny dish of maguro and scallop had seemed, to me, to be the perfect size for one. Now I'd been presented with an unexpectedly large gift, increasing my fish supper three-fold.

Not that I could complain; the albacore was soft and delicately flavored, fresh and cold on my tongue. But I couldn't eat it all on my own - I needed to bring Michael over to the sashimi side of sushi.

There is very little in the way of seafood that Michael will eat. But a tuna sandwich, especially one featuring albacore, is one thing that doesn't elicit a grimace, and with the discovery about a year ago that he outright loves spicy tuna rolls (which, let it be known, contain tuna in the raw), I saw an opportunity.

"Michael, you really should try a piece," I offered. "The flavor is just like albacore from the can, and it's much milder than the maguro, which is what you ate in your spicy tuna rolls."

Michael wasn't so sure, but with a little more sake, he felt ready to take the plunge. First, though, the albacore must be marinated in soy sauce and wasabi. And oshinko maki (pickled radish roll) was on hand to act as a chaser. Gingerly, he picked up the piece of tuna, practically dripping with soy sauce, pausing to examine it with a worried look before popping it into his mouth.

He chewed. I waited silently, breathless with anticipation. I still remember the putrid look he gave me when I convince him to try calamari in Greece, and I was hoping this wouldn't be a repeat. He swallowed, then turned to face me.

"You know, it wasn't bad," he mused. "If I can just get over the idea of eating raw fish."

Victory was at hand! Over the course of the evening, Michael managed to eat two more pieces, and even tried a tiny sliver of scallop, my personal favorite. Of that, he wasn't sure what to think.

"It's not fishy," he agreed, "but it's slimy and weird." He reached for another piece of albacore, and I happily polished off the rest of the scallop by myself.

Falling for You

Yesterday, I was down. Work, the weather, a dull dinner of tuna melts on the menu (not to dis tuna melts - after all, it's cheese that puts the "melt" in them); I felt a vague dissatisfaction, not to mention a little restless. The fact is, this is the fourth night in a row I have spent at home doing nothing in particular, and it wears on me.

But! (Yes, there is a but!) This evening left me feeling right as rain, which is an admittedly odd turn of phrase considering the fact that the sun has reappeared has not a little to do with my change of heart. After work, the Lake City farmer's market was abuzz with people out enjoying the golden glow of an Indian summer. Unexpectedly, I happened upon Dimitris, our former Fred Meyer fishmonger. Years ago I told him of my dream to some day go to Greece (his home country), and now that I'm heading there in less than three weeks, I lamented the fact that I wouldn't be able to tell him. And there he was at the market! Coincidence?

The "seconds" at my favorite tomato stand had the perfect heirloom specimens for tonight's pizza, and after getting such a good deal, I was inspired to pick up a hunk of Mount Townsend cheese and a loaf of rustic Italian bread to take to my parents this weekend. Heading to the car, I ran across another friend, out enjoying the park with her kids. The Lake City Market, being adjacent to a small park and offering homemade ice cream, crepes, and Czech pastries, is a popular spot for families.

Arriving home, I found Michael parked on a blanket in the front lawn, taking a break from studying in a valient attempt to keep Lucy from lunging straight for me. In the mind of our dog, seeing someone in an surprising situation is cause to bring out the crazy. This was no exception.

With Lucy safely back inside the house, I joined Michael on the lawn to see what the mail had brought. Michael's passport! A belated birthday card! A Pottery Barn catalog! OK, so that last one just went in the recycling, but still. I then dumped out the "goodies" I'd brought for Michael from work - new moneybelts, Greece guidebooks, and other trip related swag.

Heck, even hanging out the laundry felt good. I pulled down a load of freshly dry whites, so different from the still-damp jeans I'd come home to last night, and reloaded the lines with the next batch. Mmm, clean laundry!

And here I am, still home, and not going to the John Vanderslice concert tonight after all. But I'm OK with it. Maybe all I needed was a little bit more summer to help ease me into fall.

Washington Whirlwind

A month or so ago, I got the inspired idea that we should visit Washington State's two most famous national parks - that would be Mount Rainier and Olympic - while Leonie, our German "exchange student" (actually a seventeen-year-old friend of a friend from Wiesbaden who stayed with us for ten days during her summer vacation) was visiting. After all, no visit to Washington would be complete without taking in some of the natural beauty and grandeur of our mountains, forests, beaches, and lakes. The catch was that we really only had two days in which to do this.

Now, I am here today to tell you that this can be done. With better planning, in fact, it could be done much more efficiently than our two day road trip bonanza turned out. This is not to say that we didn't enjoy ourselves, but after getting a late start and not leaving the house until 11am on Saturday morning, due partly to the fact that our entire household stayed up until 12:30 the night before locked into a game of Settlers that Michael had gleefully instigated, we were pretty much two hours behind schedule for the next two days.

First up: Mount Rainier. What better time than August, right? The wildflowers are in bloom, and the meadows at Paradise live up to their name. But as we left Seattle the blue sky turned to mostly cloudy, and the fog started in earnest right around the elevation of Paradise. After a four mile round trip hike to view Comet Falls looking mysteriously disembodied in the mist, we made our way up the road, where Leonie commented that it was hard to see even the trees ahead of us, let alone the giant mountain that was supposedly just beyond.

A late trip to Rainier led to a late arrival in Shelton, where I whipped up dinner for six at my friend Rebecca and her husband Chris's place in town rather than meet up with everyone at the Hartstine Island cabin as was the original plan. Heading out late once again, Michael, Leonie, and I made it to the cabin in time for a slightly earlier bedtime than the previous night, but not by much. At 10am the next morning, with just enough time for Leonie to observe the emaciated starfish that crowd the waterline at low tide, we were back on the road.

Just before two, we made it to our first official destination, Ruby Beach. Incredibly, the weather at Ruby made up for the disappointment at Rainier, with warm sun shining down above the trees that clung for dear life on the cliffs edging the shore, and piles of driftwood creating the perfect picnic spot from which to sit and watch the waves. We could have spent all afternoon exploring the nooks and crannies of the windswept rock formations, but after an hour we were on our way again, with so much more to see ahead.

Or so we thought. After making a decision to bypass the rain forest due to time constraints ("On a day like this, we can't miss Hurricane Ridge," I asserted. "It'll be more than worth it."), we drove on to Lake Crescent, stopping to marvel at the clear blue water and forested hills that plunged straight to the shore. It was also at Lake Crescent that we learned the fateful news: the road to Hurricane Ridge was closed, owing to an unforeseen landslide. Oh. Well, there's the rub. I guess we could have stopped by the rain forest after all.

But all was not lost. We decided to do a quick stop in Port Angeles, which gave Michael enough time to sneak away and buy a Butterfinger blizzard ("We don't have Dairy Queen in Seattle!" was his not unreasonable excuse). Driving into Kingston at about 7:15, we were making pretty good time, when I saw the sign; there was a two hour wait for the ferry to Edmonds, and we were stuck in line on the highway. Perfect.

But, as it turns out, it was perfect. After about fifteen minutes, the line moved and we were able to park the car in the ferry lanes at the port, get out, and treat ourselves to ice cream cones. Not only that, but we even made it on the ferry in only an hour, not the dreaded two hours as had been warned, and for the first time in her ten day visit Leonie was able to see not only the elusive Mount Rainier, but the stunning silhouette of the Olympic Range, back lit by a sunset that filled the sky with bands of pink that deepened and grew as the ferry sped across the Puget Sound. No trip across the water could have hoped for a more amazing display.

Not much later we were sitting, exhausted, back in Lake City, poring over the menu at Thai One On. A little Thai food hit the spot before going home to unpack and say our goodbyes to Leonie, who took the Greyhound back to Vancouver today before her flight back to Germany tomorrow. We hope she enjoyed her time in Seattle, and maybe even the whirlwind Washington tour despite the lengthy time in the car. And hey, now she can tell her friends, who've all seen Twilight, that she's seen Forks and it really is as boring as anything. But hopefully Seattle was a little more fun, and the bright spots in our weekend getaway made all the driving worth it.

Click Happy

Some may have noticed the return of photos to Rutabagastories, which can only mean - drum roll, please - I have a new camera! The good news is, I think I've found a keeper (although Costco does have a 90 day return policy, so I'm not locked in yet). The not so good news... it didn't come cheap. After playing around with a few point and shoot models, I came to realize that what I really wanted, what I've in fact wanted since I bought my original digital camera about six and a half years ago, was an SLR.

The fact is, I love setting up a shot the old fashioned way, looking through a viewfinder. And I love the option of a true manual focus. But on a typical point and shoot model the viewfinder is woefully inaccurate, and the manual focus, if it exists, is a joke. A DSLR, I figured, would give me the control I craved, and allow me room to grow as a photographer. The only downside, really, is that a DSLR is much larger than a point and shoot, making it too unwieldly for certain situations. We may just buy an ultra compact, inexpensive point and shoot to have on hand for such occasions.

I haven't had much of a chance to play with my Nikon D5000 (the model I chose after extensive online research) yet, but managed to bring it along while walking Lucy this afternoon. Initially Lucy wasn't too keen on stopping for what was, to her mind, no reason whatsoever, but overall she was extremely patient with her dog mommy's strange behaviour. While the lighting wasn't always great and our neighborhood isn't the most thrilling place for photography, I did get a few nice shots. Here's a sampling:

Sushi in the Hood

Being as there was no food in the house yesterday to speak of (no vegetables, fruits, or protein other than beans, that is), there were two logical options:

a) go grocery shopping

b) go out for dinner

While the more frugal option would doubtlessly have been (a), we chose the more enticing option of eating out. After buying a couple of beers at The Beer Authority, I was on a support-local-businesses roll, and as it had been years since we'd eaten at Toyoda Sushi, the choice seemed obvious.

Amy, Michael, and I took our seats at the bar, which afforded us entertainment along with our dinner, as we watched the chef prepare plate after plate of tempting sashimi, maki, and other sushi. Toyoda is a real neighborhood place, typically packed with locals, and the whole time I was there I kept wondering to myself, "Why has it been so long? What reason have we not gone here lately?"

I also sadly recalled the demise of Shian, the Chinese restaurant across that street that opened a few years ago but has since closed. Shian never managed to build the kind of following Toyoda has, despite stellar Chinese food. People were doubtlessly scared off by the "American Chinese" sign by the door (not what you want to advertise as a Chinese restaurant in Seattle) and the very un-Chinese faded pink and mauve Victoriana of the interior, a relic from the old Baker's restaurant and candy shop. Once Michael and I were bold enough to try it, we fell in love with the spicy dumpling soup and homemade noodles, and we showed our loyalty by eating there almost every time we chose to eat out in Lake City for at least a year. Sadly, our efforts were not enough, which is hardly surprising when we typically ate alone in a space that could easily seat 50 people or more.

Thankfully, Toyoda's popularity does not seem to be waning, and I'm happy to add it back into our (admittedly rather infrequent) rotation. I was also thrilled to discover that Michael will actually eat raw fish - and enjoy it! He has a newfound love for spicy tuna rolls, which is quite something coming from the man who will typically only eat three kinds of seafood: canned tuna mixed with mayonnaise on a sandwich, halibut or cod that has been battered and fried, or shrimp, preferably the small salad shrimp that don't "pop" when you bite into them (and preferably doused with plenty of cocktail sauce). He even branched out last night and tried the eel - and declared it to be "not too bad".

As for me, I pretty much love it all - there are few edibles from the sea that I won't eat, and sandwiching a course of sushi rolls between an appetizer of vegetable tempura and a dessert of tempura ice cream was just right. Now I long to go back again - and I don't intend to wait a few years between meals there this time!

You've Been Good, Have a Beer!

OK, so Las Vegas was, in its way, fabulous, but let's be honest - the desert and casinos just aren't really my thing. So I was just a little happy to be back in Seattle today, despite the clouds and cooler temperatures, and I was also more than a little happy to check out the newest addition to our downtown Lake City merchants: The Beer Authority.

Yes! I kid you not! Lake City now has a beer shop! And, in all seriousness, I didn't intend for those last sentances to (almost) rhyme, but I must have been so excited that I spontaneously burst into verse. The Beer Authority has taken over the spot that once was Flava Coffee, and, while it is admittedly smaller and feels less lived-in than Bottleworks, they offer a fantastic selection at prices comparable to the other, not quite so local, places I go for beer, plus they have a 5% neighborhood discount. They even have a website already: http://seattlebeerauthority.com/

OK, I should probably stop before I start to sound like a literal advertisement for the place. No, I am not being paid, I just really enjoy good beer and supporting local independent businesses. Lake City has lost too many of those in recent years, so I hope the neighborhood will show it's dedication to the ones that are still there and the ones just starting out as best we can.

And in further Lake City news, I also saw that the vacated space that used to house the upholstery shop next to Toyoda Sushi (and which has since moved down the street to the former Taco del Mar location) has proclaimed in handwritten black marker on the brown paper lining the windows that it is soon to be a coffee shop! Now I am doubly excited because since Flava and Cranium's left we have had no real coffee shop to speak of, and I do not count the two Starbucks shops. They are too far from the downtown core to be easily walkable, anyway, aside from the fact that Starbucks in Seattle - or anywhere, fo that matter - is hardly unique.

But our future coffee shop needs a name and they are seeking submissions. You can leave yours by the door of their humble location. Let's also hope that they can put forth a good paint job and some fun decor to appeal to the locals, too. Lake City, I knew you had it in you!

Adventures in Bike Commuting

Despite the fact that I have worked there for almost three years, until last Saturday I had never biked to Europe Through the Back Door. While working at the UW, biking was my primary means of transportation for a large part of the year, so this was a real difference to me. Of course, biking to the UW was also a snap - about five or six miles along the flat Burke Gilman Trail, with the only real hill being the one I had to crawl back up to get to 130th Street at the end of my commute home. Getting to downtown Edmonds is another story.

The trip on Saturday morning wasn't too bad, however. Sure, it had its ups and downs, but I made it to the Aurora Village transit Center in time to catch the 131, providing me with the ease of bussing in for the last third of the trip. My bike stayed at work over the weekend, and then Monday I was struck by a strange urge to ride it all the way home, rather than take the easy way out and use the bus part way.

Had I known what I was in for, I don't know if I would have made the same decision.

I'm very aware of the fact that there are numerous hills filling in the approximately twelve miles between downtown Edmonds and my Lake City home, and traffic, to boot. Wanting to avoid some of the hills I chose to sail down Edmonds Way, which meant I had to deal with the traffic instead. A word to the wise: don't bike down Edmonds Way if you can help it. This is a road with almost no shoulder, and although there are two lanes heading in each direction, and traffic wasn't even particularly heavy, you would be surprised at how many people will whiz by at 40 miles per hour, not bothering to shift over to the empty lane on their left despite the fact that they are a mere foot from a stalwart cyclist. I could just see myself meeting my demise by tripping over a grate just as a Lexus SUV barreled by. It wasn't a pretty thought.

After that experience, I was more than happy to move to less crowded streets. Feeling pretty good about myself, I cycled down 185th Street, and was greeted by the most monstrous hill I could have imagined. Apparently I had chosen Shoreline's steepest street when I figured out my new route home, and there was no way I could pedal up this behemoth. Panting, I made it to the top , wheeling the bike beside me. I really do believe the top of the 185th Street hill must be the highest point in all of Shoreline. I could see both the Olympics and the Cascades over the lesser hills to my east and west, but frankly, given the way I was feeling at that point, I can't say I appreciated the view.

The good part was that it really was almost all downhill from there. A very long, winding way down. The bad part was that it was bone-chillingly cold, and by the time I got to the entrance to the Burke Gilman Trail in Lake Forest Park my hands were like red lobster claws numbed into place. I could barely zip my sweater, my fingers had become so clumsy. But I was in the home stretch! And I only had to get off and walk my bike two more times on the way up from the Burke! Woohoo!

Still, I may try this again - avoiding Edmonds Way, of course. And probably that 185th Street hill. Why do we have so many hills here, anyway? Who said Seattle is a bike friendly city? Ah well, without the hills I guess we'd be the Midwest, so I should probably count my blessings.

Everybody Wants a Piece of Tadig

Everyone wants the tadig. As I was eating a bowl of Persian style rice with pistachios and dill for breakfast, Michael even blatantly stole two bites of tadig right out from under my nose! He claimed he hadn't been given his fair share in the rice he took to work last night. Forget arguing over who got the biggest piece of cake; I can easily see tadig leading to a family feud.

For the uninitiated, tadig is the buttery rice crust that forms on the bottom of the pan when cooking Persian rice. Eaten fresh and hot, it provides a satisfying, oh-so-buttery crunch, and the fact that you only get one measly layer of tadig from an entire pot of rice makes it a precious commodity indeed. I first tried this delicacy about a decade ago, when Leili, a good friend of my friend Ursa's, made some for some kind of party. Frankly, I don't remember what the party was for, but I do remember the tadig.

Being Iranian, Leili is an expert in this area. As a novice, I'm still figuring it out. Last night I managed to get a wonderful golden crust that coated more than half of the bottom of the pan, but I still end up with loose bits of crumbly, buttery rice in spots. Not that any kind of buttery rice is really worth complaining about, but they can't compare to the tadig. My method is taken from Gourmet magazine (and can be found online at www.epicurious.com): wash the rice thoroughly, parboil it in salted water for five minutes, drain, then melt butter in the cleaned pan, layering rice and other ingredients (pistachios and dill in this case) on top. Use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke holes through the rice, allowing steam to escape and assist in the forming of a crust. To seal the pan well, wrap a dishtowel around the lid you use to cover the pan, then let the rice steam over low heat for half an hour or more. Another benefit to this recipe is the fantastic smells that will greet you when you remove the lid. If a crust hasn't formed, simply let it steam longer.

Of course, if you want to skip all these steps (although I do encourage you in that this is a simple technique; it just requires some patience), you can get your tadig, and other Persian delights, pre-made. Here in Lake City we're fortunate to have Pacific Market, a tiny hole in the wall selling Persian food supplies, including take away meals. They offer a fabulous saffron rice studded with sour bayberries served with tender chicken in a mild, yet rich, brick-red sauce. But if you want tadig, you have to ask. Last time, I was heartbroken to disccover once I arrived home that my request for tadig had been forgotten. I had two boxes of beautiful, jewel-toned bayberry rice, but no rustic pieces of the golden brown crust. Live and learn; next time I'm not getting away without my tadig!

The Best Laid Plans

Sometimes I really hate taking the bus.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but if I leave work at 5:14, one would think that it would be reasonable to travel the twelve miles between Edmonds and Lake City and arrive home prior to 7:25, no? Sometimes, such expectations are apparently too high.

Fact: I typically leave work at 5:15 or 5:45, run to the bus stop, and wait for three to five minutes before the bus actually arrives. True, this may be because the bus runs late 99% of the time, but today, for the third time ever, I missed this bus, despite leaving work one minute earlier than usual. I ran down the street, only to see the bus turn the corner ahead of me. Breaking into my closest approximation of a sprint did no good; I could see the 131 shrinking in my field of vision as it drove away, leaving downtown Edmonds, and me, far behind.

Fact: This is Murphy's Law of Buses. I had plans, you see. BIG plans, grandiose plans for a night of unbelievable, unprecedented - well, OK, I just had plans to go downtown with Michael for a movie followed by a late night happy hour dinner at Boka. In the scheme of things, this is not exactly earth-shattering. And besides, I only had half an hour to wait for the next bus. I should still be home by 6:45, just in time to peel Michael out of bed, get him to slap on some clothes, and head out the door. I made the later bus, and everything seemed like smooth sailing when I caught the 331 at the Aurora Village transit center, heading for Lake Forest Park and my third and final bus of the day.

Fact: OK, this is really Murphy's Law of Buses. When you have someplace to be and are running late, or perhaps just barely on time, you will miss your bus. The next bus, the law continues, will be late. And in the meantime, you will be driven absolutely, bats-all-up-in-the-belfry, bees-busting-out-of-your-bonnet insane. Because wouldn't you just know it? Already half an hour late and, what's more, apparently the 375 isn't running because it's one of the only buses in town that appears to be operating on holiday schedule for Presidents' Day, and you somehow missed that 522 in Lake Forest Park, and now you're standing alone at the bus stop where the light doesn't work simply pleading, praying, and swearing that a bus had better come now... or maybe now... or, some day, right? A bus is going to come? Pretty please?

But ultimately, that's life. So we didn't get to go out tonight, after all. I'm sure Michael benefited from the extra sleep anyway, and I found that leftover Thai curry that I'd made last week in the fridge and managed a decent meal out of it.

And Earl Grey tea really does have a wonderful soothing effect. Maybe I should try bringing a thermos full along on my next commute.

Snow Day!

The phone rang around 9:20 this morning, jarring me from my peaceful slumber.

"I'm on Boren," Michael voice came over the receiver. "This is horrible! James is closed. How should I get to the freeway?"

"Wait - it really snowed last night!?" I was a little incredulous.

"Yeah, this idea to take Boren was a bad idea. Oh, it looks like I can take Cherry."

I cringed inwardly, thinking of Michael driving down the dangerously steep hill on Cherry Street to get to the freeway entrance. The truth was, I really hadn't expected this. Walking home for the bus stop at 1:40am, what little snow there had been in Lake City had mostly melted, and the U District where I had just been was completely snow free. Unlike the previous few days, the temperature was now a solid couple of degrees above freezing.

But when I peered out the bathroom window this morning, a white world greeted me. Being as I was scheduled to work the late shift from noon to eight at work today, I called to see if the office was even open. Keith answered the phone, "We're open, but stay home if you need to. They said only to drive in if you feel comfortable."

Thankfully, Michael made it home safely. But he didn't recommend my going anywhere, and frankly, I knew there wouldn't be much to keep me busy at work today if I did make the effort. It looks like this would b e a snow day, after all!

Still, a snow day sounds much more glamorous than it actually is. There will be no sledding for me, no steaming mugs of hot chocolate waiting when I return from the cold. Instead, I will be cleaning out the refrigerator, vacuuming, doing laundry, packing for our trip tomorrow, and wrapping presents. Snow day, indeed!

Blonds Know Best

While waiting at the bus stop in front of the Lake City Fred Meyer last night, a woman told me the following blond joke:

A blond walks into a library.

Blond: I'd like a double stack with cheese, on a sesame bun...

Librarian: I'm sorry, but this is a library -

Blond (whispers): I'd like a double stack with cheese...

Heh. I actually laughed, just a little.

Funnily enough I had the same bus driver both heading to the U District and heading home on the last bus of the night. When I got off coming home he smiled and asked, "Did you enjoy your book?" "It's good," I responded, hopping off. Strangers don't usually say much to each other nowadays, but sometimes, it's rather nice when they do.