Seattle Food Porn

Some tasty pics from my trip to Seattle. Coffee, fresh and local shellfish, french fries with garlic and apple slices, and local beer at a Mariners game: who could ask for anything more?!

Pretty 'til the last sip

And that I did.

Feast.

Catch!

Oh the tales they could tell.

The apples help counter the garlic.

Watermelon

Due to my job loss and computer crash this week, no new post here for another week or so, but there is one on my other blog, WatermelonShoes.Blogspot.com

Thank you to NotEatingOutinNY.com for answering my questions and driving so much traffic this way.

I look forward to regaling you soon with the details of my bachelorette debauchery and further engagement eating!

Fridays at Franny's

OK, so I've only been to dinner once at Franny's. But it did happen to be on a Friday night, and after spending four sublime hours there, I felt like a regular.

When the Times reviewed it in August, I immediately knew I had to eat one of their blistery pizzas with Liz. She and I have shared some very special meals together over the last year (Aroma, Veloce), and Franny's might have been the best yet. The restaurant doesn't take reservations, so I arrived in Park Slope early, freshly gymmed and showered and ready to relax into the weekend.

After I staked a claim on the 40-minute wait list, I happily stationed myself at the bar. I'd been waiting months to try the Prosecco with Wild Celery. The bartender, who was performing an impressive ballet of one, explained that the celery is actually lovage, a plant with leaves that resemble celery in look and taste. The leaves are heaped into a pot of simple syrup that's been taken off the heat, similar to making lemonade.

The drink is a cocktail and amuse-bouche rolled into one -- its flavor depth and earthiness awakened my palate for more of the farm fresh ingredients that were to come. The prosecco was dry with small bubbles, and the celery essence was clear but not overwhelming. There was just enough syrup mixed with the prosecco that you got a hint of sweet and a taste of earth with each sip. I have a thing for rustic flavors, be it truffle, the basil at the bottom of a mojito, rind, or shellfish brine, so I welcomed the squeeze of lime that topped it and ate the rind when I got to the bottom. Twice, with some crisp white wine in between.

Looking around the 50-seat space, I had a chance to really take in the restaurant -- exposed brick walls with mirrors that make the narrow, rectangular room appear larger; loud but not painfully so; mostly late twenty- and early- to mid-thirtysomethings; a contented crowd drinking, eating, and laughing at the bar. Comfortable, with a dash of City and a pinch of Country, Franny's is a very modern take on the neighborhood pizza parlor. Grimaldi's, for example, does not carry the same bonhomie, but then, you wouldn't want it to. Franny's manages to make you feel like you're at your favorite, legendary New York pizza parlor, be it Grimaldi's, John's, or Lombardi's, but with a twist -- it tosses its pizzas and twirls its pastas using only local/seasonal, Greenmarket food finds.

Liz is one of those special people who make you feel like you could learn to believe in Santa Claus again, so although I'd scanned the menu at least ten times beforehand, I looked at it with fresh eyes once we were seated. The Crostino of House-Cured Pancetta with Butter or a plate of Sopressata (both cured in the basement)? The Roasted Pumpkin with Parmigiano Reggiano and Balsamic or the Bosc Pears and Toasted Hazelnuts with Pecorino? The Bucatini Cacio e Pepe, or the Linguine with Mussels, Chilies and Garlic? Believe it or not, I just listed a good portion of the menu!

I decided to order what I came for: we split the Wood-Roasted Octopus with Salsa Verde, which arrived perfectly charred yet tender, with that phenomenal campfire-like smokiness from the wood-burning oven. Liz ordered the pizza with Tomato, Buffalo Mozzarella and Sausage. I ordered the pizza with Clams, Chilies and Parsley.

We cut slices of our respective pizzas, and then the eye-popping, silence-inducing, merriment-encouraging reverie began. Oh! the perfect pizza blisters and thin doughiness of the crust. Oh! the sea-saltiness of the clams. Oh!/Ow! the perfectly apportioned sprinkles of chilie. We could barely speak.

"Your sausage is so flavorful and juicy, and I don't care how dirty that sounds!" I thought, if not said.

"I didn't know this had cheese on it," I moaned as I gave up cutting my second slice and began ripping and tearing the pizza apart with my hands, which were quickly covered in parsley.

"What kind of cheese is this?" I asked the waitress. "Ah-ha! it's cream mixed with clam juice...what a culinary revelation!"

The clam cream was brilliant in flavor, and also in texture -- it capitalized on the clam flavor, but didn't turn the pizza into a wet, runny heap, as some Neapolitan style pizzas tend to become.

We ate and drank and took moments of silence, and before we knew it, our pies were gone. We wanted more, and not on another Friday. That Friday. I wished aloud for a dessert pizza like the Oreo one I keep seeing advertised for Domino's. We gave each other a look. And then, when the waitress came to collect our dessert order, we said no to the cannoli, and yes to the Tomato and Buffalo Mozzarella pizza. Oreos be damned, the margherita made for a perfect finale.

The New New

Taking my last bites of The Big Apple, one Ruben's empanada at a time.

After lugging my 25 lb. laundry bag down four flights of stairs, around the corner, and three blocks more to the cleaners (there's one right across the street, but my clothes came back smelling like the inside of a perfume bottle), I waited in line and listened to the woman ahead of me talk. She said she was moving from New York and needed her shirt altered that same day. How very New York of her, n'est pas?

When I returned that evening to pick up my laundry, she was again in front of me in line. We recognized each other, and I asked where she was moving.

"California."

"I'm moving too, I think. In January. To New Orleans," I said.

We talked about how hard living in New York can be, how tired we are of schlepping our laundry, packages and selves around, our small noisy apartments, salaries that never get us ahead, and how the City has aged us. Then we talked about how we are going to miss those very things as well as the conveniences, sounds, rhythms, and pleasures both simple and indulgent.

Having known for many months that Jon and I might move, I began to say goodbye to the City slowly, carefully. In fact, the list of restaurants I mentioned in my Slices one-year anniversary post was made with moving in mind. Once we were more certain, I started fine-tuning it and also made a list of things to do, which honestly isn't very long (walk the Brooklyn Bridge, go to The Cloisters and ice skate in Central Park once more, museums, Essex Market, etc.) -- a sure sign that it's time to go.

When I moved to New York straight out of college to pursue a journalism job, it was a dream come true, and I took the city head on, discovering it, my adult self, and love in the process. I also took many tumbles, including my Dad's illness, September 11 and a slew of bad jobs. My seven-and-a-half-year romance with New York, as Carrie Bradshaw would say, has not yet come to an end, but my desire to live a softer, slower, slightly Southern-accented life has grown overwhelming.

It's funny that my Jersey-born beau's job is what's leading me back to the South. I hope the opportunity allows us both to be a part of New Orleans' post-Katrina growth, and I expect it to changes our lives in ways unimaginable. I'm excited to sink my teeth into the city too...crawfish étouffée, red beans and rice, gumbo, jambalaya, grits, collards, King Cakes, po'boys, muffalettas, beignets... With so many fried and heavy foods and an automatic assumption of cream in your coffee waiting for me, I know that the kitchen gear we receive for our wedding will be used to cook healthier fare. I'll enjoy writing about my kitchen exploits as much as my dinner reservations.

Until we move, I'm trying to balance pre-wedding fitness goals with a hankering to eat my way through my list. I have to keep reminding myself that the restaurants (well, most of them) will still be here when I come to visit, so I don't have to cross them all off...I just want to!

Tantalizing details about meals at The Tasting Room, Sfoglia, Kyotofu, Franny's, Jack's Luxury Oyster Bar, and more, to come.

Case Taste Part Two

One thing I like about the wine selection at Trader Joe's is that many of the bottles they sell have descriptions. Instead of choosing a wine because I like its name (Goats du Rhone is an especially clever bottle, though all the punniness in the world can't turn it into great wine) or the pretty colors in its logo (if the logo's pink, you know I'll buy it!), I can make my decision based on something more sensical.

Also, many of their bottles are screw caps. As a master of cork disasters (would you like a little wine with your cork?), I'm never disappointed with a screw cap. A recent Times article by Eric Asimov details the latest on the cork vs. cap question. Asimov explains that winemakers use caps to prevent cork taint, which is a result of fungi that occurs naturally in the cork tree. Apparently caps have their own problem, which is breathing-related, but whereas when a wine is "corked" it's undrinkable, when is wine is "capped," it often can be restored by decanting.

Lastly, it's hard to spend a lot of money on one bottle of wine at Trader's. While the 12 bottles I recently tasted had only a few winners and many losers, I am still most likely to keep spending around $10-$15 per bottle and hoping for the best.

And now, the second half of my great case taste:

7. Trader Joe's Moscato Paso Robles, 2005. A dessert wine. Light but gummy, a little like cough medicine, but with notes of apricot and honeysuckle. Sweetness makes it go down real easy despite the bitter aftertaste. Would like to start drinking more dessert wines, but not this one again. $5.99.

8. Josefina Syrah Rosé, Pasa Robles, CA 2006. Mostly flavorless. It didn't roll notes of strawberry and summer over my tongue like the rosé I recently had at Bar Veloce. $4.99.

9. Fetzer Vineyards Valley Oaks Chardonnay, California, 2006. Crisp, citrusy, with a mild mineral after taste, which I like. Drinkable on its own and with the salmon I ate with it one night. $6.99.

10. Echelon Pinor Noir, 2006. The bottle says "black cherries, plums, prunes, cinnamon spice, and reccomends it with wild mushroom risotto." I forgot to write down anything for this one, and the week I drank it is a wedding planning fueled blur. I think it was good not great. $11.99.

11. Dynamite Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon, Red Hills-Lake County, 2004. Hands down the best of the dozen. A luxurious palate pleaser. Berry, wood, and pepper. Worth the price. $17.99.

12. Gasparetto Prosecco "Vino Frizzante." I love prosecco, for the bubbles, and the celebratory and debaucherous mood that drinking something sparkling often implies. This one goes down really (sometimes too) easy. Medium bubbles. Tart, floral, soft. $6.99.