Let's say you're stuck at your eye doctor in Renton, which doubles as a Dairy Queen because you meet all your health needs via discount medical coupons purchased online (also: free ice cream!). And your eye doctor is too busy fixing the soft-serve machine to see you, and near-sighted children are screaming for Dip Cones, and the Internet is preoccupied with the weather. What the fuck do you do?
Carrots, those little spark plugs in a salad or a stew, have suddenly become an engine driving restaurant menus. Chefs across the country are showcasing handsome, meaty specimens in a rainbow of colors, dressed and garnished without a sliver of meat or fish. Well, maybe a touch of bacon.
“People are feeling more comfortable with having something like carrots in the center of the plate,” said Dan Kluger, the executive chef at ABC Kitchen in New York, where a salad of roasted carrots and avocado has become one of his most popular, and imitated, dishes.
Troy Guard, the chef and owner of TAG in Denver, makes a carrot taco that puts the root vegetable through its paces, with a carrot tortilla and a filling of braised carrots, a salad of raw carrots and cilantro, and guacamole.
“Last year brussels sprouts were really huge,” he said. “Now it’s carrots.”
And then you pray to Jesus Carrot-Humping Christ for your eye-doctor-slash-DQ manager to offer up a couple of forks, so that you may take care of your eye and entertainment problems in two quick twists of the wrist.
I'm no doctor, but I am a pioneer of innovative self medicating. For instance, did you know that when you suffer from a sore throat and headache, a bottle of red wine does the trick just as well as cough drops and Advil?
You have to be okay with drinking at 9:00 a.m. but I am perfectly okay with drinking at 9:00 a.m. Best yet, it turns the common head cold into a party for one.
So: We're sitting in our regularly scheduled editorial meeting where we enjoy high-minded conversations about new art openings and the nuances of pot legislation while patting ourselves on the back and obsessively polishing our hipster glasses, when all of a sudden someone brings up how great pumpkin seeds are.
Because they are. Fucking great. Roasted, salted, curried, garlicked to hell and back. Fucking delicious.
Only some people sitting around me got this look on their faces—that puckered asshole look—and started arguing that pumpkin seeds aren't all that fucking great because "there's not that much protein in them" and "they make your teeth hurt." Yeah, if your teeth are made of gummy bears instead of the hardest bone* in your body, like most people.
And I thought: "Who are these gummy-toothed assholes that surround me? Assholes who moan about pumpkin protein while stuffing Mound Bars end over end in their yawning cakeholes? Where's my face hammer???"
More importantly, are they alone? And so, good people of Slog, I ask you:
*Okay, teeth are not bones—they're stronger than bones. Whatever. Shuttup.
In case you missed it, a study says so! CUUUUUTE. Of course, baby-kitten-viewing was only shown to increase productivity in terms of improved performance at a game that's "a lot like Operation." No one has that job except surgeons.
Smith, the pub/taxidermy haven from Linda Derschang on Capitol Hill's 15th Avenue, had an unfavorable revolving-door chef situation for quite a while after it opened in 2007.
Then, finally, Eliot Guthrie started cooking there, and at last, it was good. Then he left (anyone know where he is now?).
Then Chris Howell took over, and he'd been a lead line cook with the Tom Douglas empire for a number of years, and it was good again. Now Howell is returning to T-Doug—he's going to Brave Horse Tavern, lucky for Amazon employees.
Yesterday was Howell's last day at Smith, and no one there knew who'd be taking over next. Sigh. Derschang has not yet returned an email asking what's up.
(Meanwhile, newly open today on 15th: The Wandering Goose, from Volunteer Park Cafe’s Heather Earnhardt.)
How I learned to make friends and influence people.
Sometimes people ask me, "Cienna, why are you such a fucking freak?"
A birthday package recently mailed to me by a family member from my beloved home state of Idaho provides some insight. In the package, wrapped up in newspapers from 1993, I found:
· Two decks of used playing cards · One can of pink lady mace · Five pounds of homemade beef jerky/pepperoni sticks · Two tripod camping chairs · One electric knife sharpener · One rainbow kite · One 50-cent coin · Empty bullet casings · One blank birthday card, no interior message · Fireworks!
This is not weird. It is, essentially, a Baby Bunker Starter Kit™ meant to prepare me for the Great Race War my uncles love gabbing about. And while I still haven't picked a side for the Great Race War (there are so many to choose from!), I cherish my knife and kite collections. And macing people. So if you need me this afternoon, I'll be in Cal Anderson, lighting off fireworks while sharpening my knives.
Seattle, WA – Seattle Repertory Theatre announced today that they have extended Artistic Director Jerry Manning’s current contract to June 30, 2017—a two-year extension.
“We are thrilled to offer this extension to Jerry; he has clearly earned it,” said Hal Strong, current Chairman of the Seattle Rep Board of Trustees.
This news is significant to Manning, of course, and to his board. For the rest of us, it's just more of the same—which is fine. The Rep hasn't taken a spectacular direction nor a terrible one under the reign of Jerry the Gentle. But they want you to know that his contract has been extended, so I'm posting about it.
Last night, I almost failed to make it through the most recent Sherlock Holmes movie (of the Robert Downey Jr./Jude Law/Guy Ritchie franchise). It was not only boring, it was irritating, so I walked away. But I was curious about why it irritated me, so went back to finish it.
Here's the problem: The original Sherlock Holmes in the Conan Doyle stories and the early British TV series with Jeremy Brett...
... was at a believable summit of the scope of human potential. He had powers of deduction. He was book-smart, science-smart, street-smart, performance/disguise-smart and was seductive because he seemed like something almost attainable with enough reading, discipline, exercise and other forms of human development. He understood convention thoroughly, but was unconventional enough to see beyond the bounds of conventionality and leverage them to his own ends.
He was something to aspire to.
But the new Sherlock Holmes is supernatural. He can read minds, control his environment down to the nanosecond, fight like a CGI monster. He's a superhero and, with apologies to Paul Constant, superheroes are boring. We can no more aspire to be this latest Sherlock Holmes than we can to be Spiderman.
Fortunately, the desire to learn, develop, and achieve (and solve mysteries) is evergreen. We will have a better adaptation of Sherlock Holmes. Or at least the old stories to read and shows to watch.
by Dan Savage
on Wed, Aug 29, 2012 at 12:01 PM
This one goes out to everyone who thinks bashing hipsters and their skinny jeans and their ironic facial hair is edgy or brave or interesting...
‘Whac-A-Hipster’ at Bumbershoot with Toyota’s Prius Family Playground
Seattle – August 29, 2012 – Ever felt the urge to ‘Whac-A-Hipster’? This weekend at Bumbershoot the Toyota Prius Family Playground will offer folks a chance to live out their hipster-whacking fantasies. Whether hoping to escape the heat, looking for an off-the-wall challenge, or searching for a place to re-charge your phones, there’s a little something for everyone at the Prius Family Playground.
Check out the game that’s taking the nation by storm, the Prius v Whac-A-Hipster. Take a spin on the Human-Powered Prize Wheel, a giant hamster wheel that makes you work for a prize, or challenge your friends with the Prius Family Challenge. Too much tweeting, texting and instagramming for your cell phone to handle? Hop in the Prius Plug-In and Charge Up Station where up to five people can charge their phones for five minutes. After working up a sweat, cool down with a complimentary Prius-shaped popsicle and cooling Bumbershoot bandana. And for those festival-goers in the market for a new ride, a few of the latest vehicles in the Toyota Prius Family lineup will be on display as well.
Corporate America feels your hipster-induced pain, Can't-Fit-In-Skinny-Jeans America.
But if a bar moves—especially from a classic corner-bar spot to a contemporary cavern of a space—can it ever be the same?
The last time I went to the Whisky Bar*, it was 4 p.m. on a Saturday, and it was great:
The bartender at the Whisky Bar has a truly beautiful, truly terrible black eye. It's still swollen squinty, and the damage extends to cheek and ear in colors that human skin should never be, the colors of Mardi Gras. No one stands on ceremony at the Whisky Bar—it's come-as-you-are, do-as-you-please (within reason)—but in this case a code is in place: Don't stare, no matter how much you want to (which is a lot).
A question is ill-advised but cannot be contained: How does the other guy look?
"My friends took care of him," he says, grim. He's of the tough-but-not-unkind school of bartending; when a guy in a Seattle Marathon T-shirt asks if they have Hoegaarden, instead of barking, "NO, JACKASS," he says, shortly, "Hefeweizen is the closest." He's got a machine gun, among other things, tattooed on his arm. Under and around the bruises, he looks good-looking. If life were a movie, he'd be chosen to play himself—Bartender with Black Eye...
EVO Tapas Kitchen & Cabaret on Capitol Hill, in front of also-new nightclub the Social, never sounded like a great idea: small plates "with a Mediterranean flair" and a show every night "ranging anywhere from chill lounge DJs to extravagant Burlesque performances and everything in-between." The decor was described to me as difficult to describe; they also were calling their patio their “urban oasis.”
If you blinked, you missed it. Now news intern Mike Gore reports that EVO has become something called Theory Vodka Lounge. So, there's that.
"Rione" is Italian for "district" in Rome; Rione XIII is the Trastevere district.
In less Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz food and beverage news, Kickin' Boot Whiskey Kitchen opened in Ballard last week, and while its name is also too long/concept-y, and it is brought to us by the parrrr-tay people of the Matador(s), and it represents yet more Southern comfort food in that neighborhood, the chef is Bo Maisano, whose work you may have enjoyed at the Tin Table (a while back) or 1200 Bistro (way back when).
And opening any second now on 15th on Capitol Hill (maybe soft opening tonight, even), it's Ethan Stowell's new Rione XIII, where makes-you-want-to-smash-things gift shop Tilden's used to be. There will be pasta and wood-fired pizza, and the menu reportedly won't change that much (which sounds kind of refreshing at this point), and it will very likely be very good. Eventually, the Wandering Goose, from the Volunteer Park Cafe people, will share the space. So, there's that.
Sometimes people email me for restaurant recommendations. I always answer! Here's one for Bobby.
Subject line: Since you offered
I’ve been trying to figure out the best teriyaki joint on the Hill. Any recommendations? I’m looking for something that offers to go.
Is there such a thing as teriyaki that is disallowed to go? Seems like the world would implode. Anyway, for everybody's favorite meat-with-syrup dish, we here at the office just operate under the what's-most-proximal-to-our-mouths-is-best rule, which means we go here.
But I realize that is a dissatisfactory answer, and surely commenters can do better.
Sometimes people email me for restaurant recommendations. I always answer! Here's one from loyal friend of Slog Elissa.
Sorry to be one of these people, but I've used the internet as much as possible and I'm frustrated! I am humbly asking for your assistance as a long-term Stranger & Slog reader.
My fiance's parents and my parents are meeting for the first time (along with his 12 yr old sister and my 9 yr old nephew), and we'd like to take them all out to dinner. I would like a place along the lines of Maple Leaf Grill, Stumbling Goat, Cafe Flora (but with meat) (but not all meat), Pair, etc. Small, neighborhood-y American or New American but not as pricey as Tilth, and ok with (very well-behaved) kids being there. A place where the adults can have a conversation. His family is from Wisconsin and mine is from Texas, so they'd be scared of anything super awesome, like Ethiopian, Thai, etc. Here's the problem: Monday night. It HAS to be on a Monday night.
Can you think of any place that fits these criteria??...
Five minutes ago, while I was typing away on some theater stuff for this week's paper, a bolt of electricity shot through my body, shooting me back in my rolling chair. The electric crack was so loud, it startled everyone in the office.
I asked Erin Resso, one of our tech-savvy, at-risk youth, who said it sounded like an electrical grounding issue ("the electricity was using you") and noticed that the plug attached to my power strip was half hanging out of the wall socket. Google says it might have been a static-electricity discharge from my battery.
I'm not sure I believe either of them. My teeth are still tingling from the first shock and I keep expecting another. "If you die at your keyboard," Paul said, "I'm definitely going to Slog it."
I'm not in the best position to cast stones, point talons, etc. on the issue of office cleanliness since it's pretty well established that I'm a disgusting freak, but I've been bitching at one of my coworkers to clean his or her keyboard for years now.
I think this damning evidence will prove that there's at least one person in this office is more of a wallow-happy pig than I am:
Someone chews with their mouth open.
If you're not convinced yet, I've included two more pics after the jump. And since I've learned first hand that public shaming is a great motivator, I think it's time for a Slog poll to see if you can guess who needs to clean their goddamn keyboard already.
Emails like this one, courtesy of Mudede, are what propel me breathlessly out of bed each morning and straight to my inbox:
two dreams i had last night. one involved eli sanders, and the other two cows. sander's dream was not erotic but the second one was. two cows bored with having sex on the open field, started fucking on the rooftops of city homes—im not kidding about this. they even fucked on my roof, and I could do nothing about it.
That was the extent of the email. I'm not leaving anything out. So tell me, dream interpreters of Slog—what does it all mean???
Make that day today. I mean, why not? Things you may learn: (1) The site was clearly lovingly designed in the early-to-mid-'90s and never redesigned, thank GOD. (2) "Luke Perry is one of the most charismatic performers of his generation." OBVIOUSLY.
“I’m very humbled for the opportunity to be able to serve the citizens of the 5th Legislative District once again,” Rossi said in a press release. “During the next four months, if any constituent needs assistance involving the state of Washington, please contact my office.”
Senator Rossi's caretaker term will expire before the start of the next legislative session, making it the perfect opportunity for Rossi to exercise his unique brand of leadership.