Seattle, part two: not in Seattle

Though there's plenty to do in Seattle itself, Jen and I also decided to spend some time outside of the city, up in the mountains.  Our first day trip was to Leavenworth, Washington, a little town tucked away in the Cascades, about two hours' drive East from Seattle.  Or perhaps, rather than "town," I should say, "Bavarian village," as the welcome sign does.

Leavenworth is an unusual find: all of the architecture is modeled after the idea of an old Bavarian village, complete with half-timbered facades.  All the signs in the town, including those marking outlets of national chains, like Bank of America or Starbucks, are painted on wood in an Olde English script, which is cute, if perhaps a little gimmicky.

Unlike the real Bavaria (home of Oktoberfest), the beverage of choice in Leavenworth is not beer, but wine.  Jen and I, along with Jen's roommate Elizabeth and their friend Hannah, made the trek across the mountains (and, as they, all being atmospheric sciences graduate students, kept pointing out, over the rain shadow) for a day of wine tasting.  Over the course of a few hours, we visited three wineries: Silvara Vineyards, Cascadia Winery, and Wedge Mountain Winery.  Though grapes don't grow all that well in the Leavenworth area (I learned that day that grapes grow well in apple country, but that Leavenworth is in the heart of Washington's pear belt; who knew), there are a number of wineries that have popped up in the area in the last decade or so.  Though they purchase their grapes from other commercial vineyards in Washington, the wines were made on-site at each winery.

We started at Silvara, which opened for business less than five years ago.  It boasts a brand-new, very happily situated tasting room that sits on top of a hillside, in the middle of a pear orchard, surrounded by wildflowers, with a spectacular panoramic view of the mountains.  If there was ever a more poetic setting, I'm sure I've never heard of it.

We tasted through a flight of five wines at Silvara, and I was particularly impressed with the Syrah, which was big and flavorful without being overly tannic.  Elizabeth and Hannah had never been wine tasting before, which surprised me - I forget sometimes just how much I do know about food and drink, because I always feel there is so much more for me to learn!  I led a discussion about our tasting so that, at the very least, I hope they'll be able to fake their way into the world of wine snobbery with passable repartee of legs, first and second noses, mouthfeels, and finishes.  (The trick is, when in doubt, go with "essence of toast.")

Cascadia and Wedge Mountain were fun visits because both wineries are family owned.  In both cases, we were tasting with one of the owners; at Cascadia, with the winemaker himself.  It was great to be able to speak to the people making the decisions about which grapes to use and how to make the wine to create the wines they particularly liked.  We tasted three or four wines at Cascadia, and another seven at Wedge Mountain, by the end of which we thought perhaps that was enough for one day.  Though I must confess that most of what I tasted has all run together in my mind now, the wine that really stands out to me was Wedge Mountain's raspberry dessert wine, made with 100% raspberries, ripe and sweet and utterly delicious.  The only bottle I actually bought, however, was Cascadia's Roussane, a pleasant, crisp white.

On the drive back to Seattle, we stopped at a couple of roadside fruit stands, several of which had posted signs advertising their cherries - just like Northern Michigan!  But with totems.

At the last stand we visited, I bought a few of the rosiest, most beautiful apricots I've ever seen.  Regretfully, I did not take their picture, but I'm happy to say that they tasted as good as they looked.

Elizabeth, not being totally sick of wine by the end of the day, came home that evening to begin preparing a homemade blackberry wine with blackberries she had picked along the Burke Gilman train a few days earlier.  From my limited exposure, it seems to me that winemaking is a lot like jam making: everything has to be sterile, and there's lots of fruit and sugar, and if you do something wrong then your final product may kill you.  Jen and I, being less adventurous, made a loaf of safe, reliable, non-lethal banana bread.

The next day, we ventured out of Seattle again, this time to the Eastern edge of the Cascades to a miniature mountain called Little Si.  Considering how nature-crazy most Seattlites seem to be, it hardly seemed right to make my visit without heading out into the wilderness for some white water rafting or extreme mountain biking.  However, being a Michigander and, therefore, not quite so intrepid as those hardy Washingtonians, I was glad we opted for a hike instead.

Little Si boasts a pleasant hiking path, about five miles round trip, to a summit at 1576 feet.  On the way, it was clear why Washington is known as "the Evergreen State" - the path was surrounded by tall, tall trees. 

At the summit, we soaked in the sights while munching on slices of last night's banana bread.  Not bad for a day's work.

Seattle, part one

The day after my grandma was laid to rest, I had a flight...

...to go here...

...to visit her:

Allow me to introduce you to Jen.  She's not always quite that excited - only when she has lunch with me.  Or, perhaps, only when she's about to eat an eggplant and goat cheese sandwich at Boat Street Cafe.

Jen and I met during our freshman year of high school, but we became friends during sophomore year, when Jen joined the swim team.  Back then, we had a whole litany of reasons that we got along so well: we both made fudge, which we both knew was best paired with skim milk, and neither of us drank brown pop or ate any seafood other than tuna from a tin.  (Though we still eat our fudge with skim milk and eschew coke and pepsi, I'm pleased to say we've both progressed to enjoying a wide range of fish and shellfish.)  Jen moved to Seattle last September to begin grad school at the University of Washington, and after about a year apart, it was high time for a visit.

This was my first visit to Seattle, and I have to say that four days was not nearly enough time.  Between trips to wineries and strolls along Puget Sound and Lake Union, the days were just packed.  And then, oh then we went out for coffee or lunch.

My first morning, it was appropriately cloudy and we went for coffee at Espresso Vivace, home of the first latte art.  You - or, I suppose I should say, I - can thank Alex for ordering a cappuccino a couple of months ago and getting me interested in latte art, which inspired our trip to this shop, which wasn't exactly in Jen's neighborhood.  It was well worth the visit, though.  That day, I was the one ordering a cappuccino:

Jen, not being a coffee drinker (apparently one year in Seattle has not been enough to convert her) went for a take on a London fog, with cinnamon:

I'm used to adding sugar to my coffee, and must say I missed it a little, since I didn't want to pour any in and mess up the heart.  Luckily, the coffee was rich and dark and eminently drinkable, just the same.  This outlet of Espresso Vivace was, by the way, across the street from the flagship store of REI, which features an entryway consisting of a signed forest path, complete with waterfall.  Impressive.

Sufficiently caffeinated, we walked across town, passed the statue of Chief Seattle and through Seattle Center under the shadow of the Space Needle (which did indeed have a shadow, thanks to the sun's midday appearance), towards lunch.  Before I left for Seattle, I had asked friends who had lived in or visited the city where to eat; everyone recommended Boat Street Cafe, so I knew I wanted to get there during my trip.  Jen, ever the courteous host, happily obliged.

The dining room was white and clean and utterly comfortable.  The space was awash with light from the sunshine that filtered through the many windows, providing a warm, cheery ambiance.  But just in case you were interested in something more than just the decor, let me tell you about the food, too, which was pretty fantastic.

I ordered the flageolet beans with sauteed beet greens and a poached egg, which came with fresh beets and some buttered toast.  Everything was just packed with rich, earthy flavor.  The egg yolk was perfectly runny, and when you got the beans, greens, and egg together for a bite on toast, it was a fantastic combination.  It wasn't heavy, but it was also plenty filling - perfect lunch fare.

But what's lunch without a dessert?  Jen and I decided to split the Amaretto bread pudding:

The pudding was made with a crusty European-style bread, and served with a butter rum cream sauce.  Sometimes I feel that the alcohol in bread pudding is overwhelming, but this sauce added just enough of a kick to assert itself, but not so much that you couldn't walk straight when you left the restaurant.  The crusty exterior of the bread was soft and light, but it was the luscious interior that really won me over, each decadent spoonful melting on my happy, happy tongue.

After lunch, we took a leisurely stroll through the Olympic sculpture park, and then headed along the Sound waterfront toward Pike Place Market.  After balking at the ridiculous line to get into the original Starbucks shop, we entered the market in the middle of a long line of flower stands. 

Pike Place was filled with everything you'd hope for: farm fresh produce, hand-made soaps, cured meats, the occasional grocery-type dry goods shop, a coffee shop or two (of course), and lots and lots of fresh fish.

This stand is the home to the famous flying fish: when a purchase is made, the fish is flung from the display stand up to the center of the shop, where it's prepped and wrapped to go home.  We saw a number of fish go flying, though I wasn't quick enough to get a photo of any of them.

Jen and I bought a couple of beautiful coho salmon fillets (see, I told you we eat fish!) for dinner that night, which we prepared at Jen's house for dinner with friends.  We baked the salmon and served it with a simple lemon-brown sugar-butter glaze that I remembered from my first experience with salmon, which was at a salmon bake in Juneau, Alaska.  The fish was good, and the conversation was even better once we discovered that one of Jen's classmates in her department had gone to high school with my college freshman roommate.  Sometimes, it seems it's a small world indeed.

There's plenty more to be said about Seattle, and I'll say it all soon.  For now, though, I'll leave you where I wish I was: with Jen, looking out through a window at Pike Place, over the Sound and toward the mountains.

Endings

After a month and a half of summertime when the livin' was easy, the last two weeks have been crazy busy.  I've flown nearly 4,000 miles, and spent more time in cars than I care to remember (suffice to say, enough to listen to twenty-some episodes of A History of the World in 100 Objects and to sing along to all of BSB's Millenium, because really, who doesn't want it that way?).  I've slept in three different beds, and watched three Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers Movies and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.  I've caught up with old friends and met second cousins I never knew I had.  You might say it's been rather exciting.

In the middle of all of that excitement, when one event began almost as soon as the preceding one finished, I didn't really notice the endings because there was always had something else to get ready for right away.  But when I dropped Kate off at the airport yesterday, and all of the hullabaloo finally died down, it was as if all of the endings of all of the last couple of weeks hit me at once.  I never do endings very well, but when they're all piled into one day, forget it.  Time to dim the lights, pour a glass of wine, and start eating gelato straight from the pint.  It's fitting then, I suppose, that the first ending I want to tell you about is not only the most important, but also the saddest.

On Friday, August 5th, my paternal grandmother passed away.  She had been struggling for some months now, and after fighting off bouts of pneumonia and suffering a broken hip this year, she was struck with a few seizures and never fully recovered. She spent a couple of weeks at the hospital before she was finally discharged and brought back home. She drew her last breath less than 24 hours later.  I think she must have wanted it that way.  After her death, the next few days were a flurry of preparations that culminated in a visitation, a funeral, and an entombment.

When I was growing up, the best part of visiting Grandma and Granddad's house was the moment when I was invited to enter my grandparents' bedroom, tiptoe up to the bureau, and select a Red Rose tea Wade figurine from my grandma's ever-changing collection to take home with me.  For years, those ceramic animals were carefully displayed on top of my own bureau, until I got too old for them and they were relegated to a cupboard.  I had forgotten how many of them I had until I pulled them all out again today.

At the luncheon at my grandparents' house after the funeral, I didn't creep into the bedroom in search of another figure for my collection, but I did eat a few Ruffles - a food I almost never ate, except when we visited their house - in memoriam.

After three days of memorial services and visits from extended family, I was exhausted.  But there was no time to rest, because the next day, I had a flight to catch to Seattle.  And with the promise of that happier topic to come soon, I'll bid you adieu as my grandma would have done, with a request that you come see me again soon.

The bright side

Every day this week, I've been thinking about what I was doing exactly one year ago.  Today, for instance, after spending the previous evening at a symphony performed in the best preserved Roman theater in Europe,  I sipped un café in the backyard terrace of the former papal palace, danced on the bridge of Avignon, and found respite from the inescapable Provençal sun in a refreshing cone of lavender ice cream.  Excuse me for a moment while I indulge in a happy sigh.  That's the kind of perfect day that's just not going to be repeated here at home.

But there are a few advantages to being stateside.  Like grilling.  And, specifically, like waddling back out to the grill after a satisfying meal to use the embers to make s'mores.  S'mores are, I think, the essence of American summer in one messy bite.  But just because I'm missing my European adventures, I'll mix it up and replace the squares of Hershey's with a healthy dose of nutella.  What can I say - when I'm feeling nostalgic, I can get a little crazy in my cooking.

Here's to looking on the bright - or perhaps I should say, sweet and sticky - side of spending the summer stateside.