Picture courtesy of Seattle Center Foundation

​Can you drink the essence of Japanese tourists, aging bellydancers, and a building shaped like a crushed pop can? In honor of the 50th anniversary of the World's Fair, six bars around Seattle Center are selling collectible Zombie glasses with pictures of the Space Needle, the Monorail, and other landmarks, plus specially concocted drinks like the "206 Rain" and the "Seattle '62." The promotion runs until August 31.

Ben Sherwood, manager of Capitol Hill's Marjorie, which is serving a caipirinha--a Brazilian cocktail made from cachaça, sugar, and lime--in a green International Fountain glass, says his restaurant is participating because owner Donna Moodie is a member of the Seattle Center Foundation. "The Seattle Center is a passion of hers," he says.

Rather than try to create a drink that would somehow capture the Center's flavor, Sherwood says the restaurant aimed for aesthetic appeal. "We made the drink to match the color of the glass," he says. And of course, there's always the emerald green-Emerald City connection.

Steak and potatoes, in Avila's unique style, now gone for good

​This note came in earlier this morning from sharp-eyed reader, Chris. It's as simple, direct and to the point as these kinds of things get:

"Do you guys have any information re: Avila has closed its doors? I loved this place so if true, I'm very sad to see it go."

Sadly, Chris, I do have some information for you. As (very briefly) mentioned in Surly's column yesterday ("Ventana is a Midget Orgy of Flavor"), Avila has, in fact, shut down. Sunday was the restaurant's last day of service and, come Monday, the doors were locked and all the lights were dark.

This hit Surly hard. He liked Avila, thought that the boys in the kitchen were playing around a little too much with the competing flavors, but had a lot of respect for chef Alex Pitts and the risks his kitchen was willing to take. He wrote about Avila just last month, giving it "7 Play-Doh colors out of 10" which, for him, is a pretty good rating. Weird, but pretty good. Just like his mom.

Because of the sudden closure (and the delay in getting the reservation system shut down), it took me a couple days to get Avila's (now former) owner Jared Carpenter on the phone. But he and I finally got to talk this afternoon. And the one big question I had for him? Considering that Avila only managed to last nine months, what the fuck went wrong?

"We got to a point where we just weren't getting enough bodies in the door," he told me. But that's not really much of an answer. That's like me asking a medical examiner why this guy over here died and the medical examiner telling me, "Well, his heart stopped beating." Not getting enough people through the door is a cause, for sure. But I was looking for something more...definitive than that.

"That's the most frustrating part," Carpenter explained, telling me all about the good reviews, the good reception he'd gotten in the neighborhood. "So many people left so happy. There was really nothing we could point to and say, 'This is what's going wrong. If we could just fix that.' Honestly, I'm a little confused as well."

According to Carpenter it really was a simple question of math that killed Avila. It was a small space. The overhead wasn't too bad. The restaurant could essentially support itself on a single turn of the floor. But the trick? It had to get that single turn every night, and there were several nights where it just didn't happen.

"It would be a consistent Tuesday night where we would do 10 people," Carpenter told me. And that hurt. He said that, going into the summer, Avila was already in "pretty bad shape," but everyone was hoping for things to turn around. "We needed the summer to get us going," he said.

But it didn't work.

"We made it about nine months," Carpenter continued. "I take a lot of pride in that. We made it as far as we possibly could." But in the end, the final closure was a sudden, surprising thing.

"It was on its way," he said. "It was definitely coming. I wanted to go until someone forced me to close, but then..."

But then it just became too much. Avila served about 55 people on its last Sunday--not a bad night. But too many other really bad nights had already passed by, too many Tuesdays, too many nights where the kitchen served 10 dinners over the course of an entire shift. And Carpenter knew he was done.

So right now, Avila is shuttered. Carpenter is looking for a buyer who could take over the space as a turn-key operation, but for his part, he's out. Chef Alex Pitts, Carpenter thought, was probably headed back to Spring Hill (where he came from to help open Avila). And the rest of the staff?

"They're restaurant people," he said. "They're survivors."

Here's hoping he's right about that.

​

Okay, folks. This is one for the champs. As you can see from the picture above, this is a burrito. It's a big burrito. It's a big burrito smothered in red chile and stuffed with beans and carne asada.

Because taking a picture of it in its natural environment would've been an instant dead giveaway, I had to get this one to go. And I managed to take only one small bite before snapping this picture for our game this week.

Need some more clues? Look for them after the jump...

Clue #1: Already gave it to you. Had I shot a picture of this thing in the restaurant it came from, there would've been no way for me to disguise it's origins.

Clue #2: Just like the famous bologna, my burrito has a first name... My burrito has a second name, too. And if you know them, you'll know exactly where it comes from.

So tell me, folks. Can you guess where I'm eating?

​Six months ago, my boyfriend Slavko and I made an arrangement that we would meet for lunch weekly at a different Asian restaurant. He was born in Serbia and accustomed to Costco sushi platters, pad thai, and teriyaki. I was born in Japan and eager to introduce him to the awesome authentic offerings, of several Asian countries' cuisines, that this city has to offer.

Slavko has since feasted on Filipino food on Beacon Hill, soothed a hangover slurping ramen at Samurai Noodle, experienced the madness of Chinatown at 2 a.m., and discovered that yes, the Cambodian people have their own style of cooking as well - and Phnom Penh Noodle House's Lok Lak is tasty as hell.

There are certainly more restaurants he needs to try, but come September, Slavko will return to Serbia for several weeks. So it made sense that we stop recapping our lunches via blog. To make our adventure come full circle, I decided to take Slavko back to where it all began: Kimchi Bistro.

Coincidentally, the tiny eatery housed inside the Alley Building on Broadway is also his favorite of all the establishments he's visited. He says it feels like "getting a home-cooked meal from someone's grandma. It puts me in a good mood; I walk out stuffed and smiling."

On this visit, he ordered a grilled plate of squid; stir-fried strips of meat, vegetables, and spices that upon arrival, continued to sizzle for several minutes. He deftly used his chopsticks to pick up bean sprouts and shredded cabbage from the accompanying side dishes. After he put the first piece of squid in his mouth and reiterated his love for Korean food, I responded that this would be our last column.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Slavko asked in shock.

"Just professionally."

Once he regained composure, he said that he was sorry to see it end - and not just because he was going to lose the free lunches. In six months, he had developed an appreciation for Asian cuisine that went beyond that.

He now understands that it goes beyond teriyaki. As he surmised, Every country has a different approach; Vietnam uses the freshest ingredients, Japan is all about presentation... and Kimchi Bistro just wants to make you happy."

On a more serious note, he noted, "I never experienced the city like this. I never went to all the different neighborhoods. If I'd gone to Chinatown, I would've walked right past all those restaurants! Now I know better."

As he picked up another piece of squid, he added, "And my parents are absolutely shocked that I can use chopsticks now. My entire life, they've only seen me eat with a fork and knife."

Once we finished eating and paid the bill, Slavko was slow to walk out of Kimchi Bistro. "We're coming back, right?" he asked.

"Of course! But we've explored a lot of places; we can come back on our own time."

He turned to me with a hopeful expression. "Maybe we just need to switch continents," he suggested. "Is anyone writing about Serbians eating African food these days?

This week the siren that is comedy took me to a small town in the North Cascades, Twisp, population 938, where my attempt at dieting and staying healthy took a backseat. This spunky town has a unique venue that runs parallel to the Twisp River, aptly named the "Twisp River Pub," where the Methow Valley receive the bulk of their entertainment.

This was my second time performing there, and it happens to be my favorite place to perform comedy, as it's always packed with what feels like half of the town. The audience is witty, carefree and eager for a good time, because honestly, it's Twisp, and where else are you going to go?

Cinnamon Twisps in Twisp the home of the perfect cinnamon treat!

​
On this particular evening, I opened for Arizona-based comedian, Kenny Smith, who is a favorite guest of the syndicated radio show "Bob & Tom." I asked Smith for some advice prior to the show, as there were some kids in the venue past their bedtime eager to watch the show and I wasn't sure if I should tailor my entire set to three kids scattered around the room. Smith pointed out to me that it wouldn't be fair to the rest of the audience to censor me because of a couple of kids, as the parents know that live comedy at a pub on the weekend is bound to have adult themes. With a combination of Smith's logic and the owner saying "do what you want," I felt fine to give it my all without reservations.

Children and adults were cracking up to each set, eager for more, and a few audience members stole the show with their larger-than-life laughs. In the middle of one of my jokes, a woman let loose a huge rolling laugh followed by a snort and closed with an additional rolling laugh which stopped the show, giving the audience an experience that couldn't have been staged and was unique to them... their very own orgasm laughter.

Saturday morning at the Cinnamon Twisp Bakery.

​
The last time I spent the night in Twisp, my morning was rudely awakened with a piercing hangover due to the neighboring pub, BJ's Branding Iron Cafe & Saloon, a notable dive bar which is the heartbeat of the Methow Valley, full of a wide variety of characters. Last weekend as I sat in front of the bar, I witnessed three women yelling at one man in a Jerry Springer-like fashion. Finally all of the excitement of being a part of a Springer audience but none of the shame or unemployment benefits!

The morning was gorgeous in the valley. We walked over to the local bakery, Cinnamon Twisp Bakery, which had a unique Columbia City meets the Wild West vibe--if the Wild West went organic, vibe. At 9 a.m. there was a line out the door for their organic scones and spanakopita, which they described as Greek Spinach Pie. There was a charming older woman who sat outside the entrance holding her Pomeranian on her lap and greeted us with a smile, saying it was his normal Saturday morning outing. And why not? When you look up, people are already smacking their lips in anticipation.

I enjoyed a Cinnamon Twisp, which is their version of a cinnamon roll, only the consistency of the entire roll reminded me of my favorite part of a cinnamon roll: the sweet and soft inner core--the part that isn't tainted by the crusty outer layers and is drenched in cinnamon sugar! Twisp perfected what I like to call "one large core roll," sticky and delicious, with small hazelnuts sprinkled on top and warmed upon ordering. This was worth the four-hour drive.

A tropical treat in the Methow Valley, Fresh Fruit Delight

​

There are so many options at Cinnamon Twisp Bakery that it was hard to choose one breakfast option. I also ordered a Fresh Fruit Delight, which is an organic tart with cream cheese topping covered in fresh fruit and pineapple juice. It's a delightfully tropical and divinely fresh, semi-healthy "cheesecake." The layers of fresh fruit are so enchanting that it makes it hard to know where to plunge your fork, as you don't want to ruin the rainbow of strawberries, grapes and peaches. I found it funny at first that Cinnamon Twisp Bakery didn't have a business card anywhere to bring home, but with a town of less than 1,000, why would you?

Luckily, as we were leaving Twisp, we happened upon their farmers market. I felt like there were more people manning booths than there were walking through. I found a small booth called Harmony Preserves that was serving lavender lemonade. Surprisingly, it was pink lemonade with a hint of lavender. Tart yet sweet, it was a delicious cool-down treat in the soon to be 90-degree weather. The prize of my trip was the purchase of a mason jar filled with fresh honey for $9, a steal considering I'd have paid double at similar markets in Seattle.

The fudge is packed... with flavor at the Flavor Express

​
We ventured into Leavenworth later in the day searching for German-style cuisine and instead discovered fudge! The Flavor Express is a guilt-free fudge shop which uses half and half instead of butter, oils or margarine. There are only 13 grams of fat per half pound of fudge! They also use a soy substitute for their vegan fudge. My favorite flavor offered was cookies and cream, which had a lighter feeling to it and a much creamier texture. If you're worried about which flavor to chose, don't fret, as the clerk told us you can try anything in the store but him--because that'd be cannibalism.

We ended our trip with a visit to the München Haus for brats and German potato salad. München Haus has an outdoor eating environment with a beer garden and large communal tables. A huge line awaited us, as the smell of brats and sounds of polka music was too hard for many tourists to pass up. I had the Hans' Jalapeno & Cheddar Sausage, a "lean" choice if ever I saw one. The cheddar was mild, not squirting out from all angles like the cheddar dogs we had as kids. The jalapenos were ground in with the meat, creating a pleasant kick that wasn't overpowering but was just enough to be enjoyable rather than painful. München Haus has a variety of mustards and sauces available, including amber ale sauce, German curry and their fresh-simmered apple cider sauerkraut. This makes it possible to personalize your brat for your mood. Although that mood could change easily during your stay, as the music being played felt like a German version of "Who Let the Dogs Out."

Hans' Jalapeno & Cheddar Sausage at München Haus in Leavenworth.

​ One of their signature dogs and reason for the 30-minute detour was the München Haus' currywurst. This bizarre and ingenious creation of German street vendors takes a regular bratwurst and combines it with curry flavoring, allowing it to soak up all the spices. Traditionally it's served cut up into pieces with a roll, but in Leavenworth, a town that screams German "authentic" tradition, it's served on a hoagie roll, because let's face it, nothing says German like curry!

All Hail Delicatus! And his faithful hound, Deli Dog!

​Surly Notes: Hey guys, I didn't TECHNICALLY write this entry this week. I just translated the writing inscribed on an old piece of pottery I found buried in a sand dune in Iraq. It seems to describe a magical king or demigod, who seems to be some sort of harbinger of bounty.

In an ancient text I found strange stanzas which shew a method for summoning a King. A True King! A King of Sandwiches!

"Hear me, Delicatus!" I spoke, for those were the words writ. "I call to you, in the name of all who hunger for meats, and cheese, and lettuce, maybe vinegar of some sort, on freshly- baked bread, and some chips, bring forth the King of Sandwiches! Delicatus!"

Fire and wind and mustard heralded the arrival of DELICATUS, the Sandwich King! Eight sandwiches high he stood, with rippling muscles like bread-n-butter pickles, eyes like gleaming melted provolone, and temper like the hottest horseradish sauce. "TRAVELLER," spoke Delicatus. "Thou hast summoned me! What sandwiches dost thou seek?"

"I seek sandwiches of four meats!" I said, "and also some chips!" Delicatus waved his pickle spear and amid fanfare and Holy Light did bring forth the required sandwiches.

"BEHOLD!" sayeth Delicatus. "Sandwiches--four of them-- I have summoned. And I have summoned THIS!" and Delicatus summoned forth a salad.

"Thou hast selected well, child," Delicatus spoke. "For I bring you the world's bounty: First we must have BEEF." Delicatus handed me forth the CLASSIC REUBEN, for $7.75. I ate with relish; this reuben was a template of its type, so classic was it: salty corned beef, layered like pages in a wizard's spellbook, with sauerkraut, tangy and sharp, and Swiss Cheese on a light and sweet rye.

"Now, I bring you PORK!" sayeth Delicatus, "The Fists of FURY! Behold its price: $7.75." And Delicatus brought forth Pork. The Fists of Fury was a sandwich weapon I had used before, though I had known it to be called "Banh-Mi," with shredded roast pork, and cucumber diced fine, and lettuce, and cilantro. Yet the Fists of Fury had something more than the Banh- Mi I remembered: TOBIKO, those fish eggs which when eaten pop cleverly like a Hindoo's drum when bitten. Though if I recall the Banh-Mi cost 1/3 the price. If pressed again, I would take a Banh- Mi over the costlier Fists of Fury.

"More still!" cried Delicatus, "I bring you the FRUITS OF THE SEA!" Delicatus brought forth the sandwich called "NOT CHARLIE'S TUNA," which at $7.50 seemed an easy price to pay for the greatest house-made tuna salad I have tasted, and made from no less esteemed a denizen of Poseidon's realm than ALBACORE. The tuna was silken and creamy, though with not an excess of mayonnaise, and with minuscule cubes of celery, scattered through like a quail-hunter's shot. It was topped with lettuce, and with thin rounds of Roma tomatoes, and held a nest of finely shaved onion. And it was on a fine wheaten bun.

"And here I bring you FOWL," Delicatus said, and brought forth the Warm Chicken Salad.

"But it is not a sandwich, my Lord," I cried.

"But it MIGHT AS WELL BE," swore Delicatus, for it was just as hearty, though without bread. For $8.75, the Warm Chicken Salad had juicy shreds of poached chicken, and veritable fields of Romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and creamy ivory rounds of fresh mozzarella.

And Delicatus gave me the Dressing on the Side! Beneficent indeed is Delicatus, for although the Pesto Dressing is smooth and flavorful, it might have had a little too much raw garlic!

And then Delicatus brought forth the ULTIMATE SANDWICH! Which sandwich was this? "MUDD HONEY!" roared Delicatus, "Though I admit the name is stupid, for I forfeited the naming rights by trickery to MY SWORN ENEMY, THE SOUP NAZI! Still," spoke Delicatus, "it is a sandwich of rare form!"

The Mudd Honey was a fair price, at $8.25, for a sandwich of witchcraft--one that could change flavors at will! The Mudd Honey was of three parts: on top, bacon and melted white cheddar, with a sweet and smokey barbecue sauce. Then below: roast beef, juicy and sliced thinly as though cloven by Delicatus's very own sword. Then still further down: turkey breast! And a mild horseradish sauce. Truly this was a magical Sandwich, a Sandwich for a Mighty King! For it changed flavors, from bacon through beef through turkey, as I ate it.

"Thou has eaten my sandwiches four," Delicatus told me, "And my salads one. And do not forget that all of my sandwiches come with CHIPS!" And Delicatus brought forth chips.

"Thank you my Lord!" I cried in supplication. "All Hail Delicatus, the Sandwich King! The True King of Sandwiches!"

Rating: 8 Babylonian Fables out of 10

To visit Delicatus's shrine, make a pilgrimage to 103 1st Ave S. Or to summon one of His Priests, call his sacred number 623-3780.

​

Elvis Presley Burrito at Mama's Mexican Kitchen:

Oh, I know what you're thinking. How could one burrito be more important than all the other burritos being served in Seattle these days?

Simple. Because the burritos being served at Mama's were some of the first burritos ever served in Seattle.

As with so many of these Essential Dishes, it's not just the dish itself, but the history behind it that makes it an indispensable facet of the City's culinary heritage--an intrinsic part of the whole we have today.

Mama's Mexican Kitchen introduced Seattle to Mexican food. Specifically to the Southern California style of Mexican-American cooking that owner Mike McAlpin learned growing up in a family that ran restaurants all up and down the West Coast and as far away as Hawaii. Mama's has been open for 36 years now, and while the lore of the place might say that it was Seattle's first Mexican restaurant, really it was only among the first. Near as McAlpin can recall, there might have been as many as three other Mexican restaurants in the area at the time Mama's first opened. Three places, one of them a tiny taqueria, to serve everybody in the entire city who was interested in tacos or burritos or mole or menudo.

Today, there are hundreds. And Mama's is still among them--still packing in capacity crowds for lunch and dinner, still serving SoCal food to up-north fans.

Other than history--other than the honor of having been one of the first Mexican restaurants in the entire Seattle area and the gateway drug to many of the city's most notorious taco addicts--one thing that Mama's has that no other restaurant does? An entire room devoted to Elvis Presley. Or a burrito named after the King of Rock and Roll--a gigantic, Left Coast-style burrito full of refritos and carne asada, swimming in red chile sauce and topped with a heavy jacket of melted cheese. There's nothing even vaguely Elvis-ish about it (no peanut butter, no bananas, no fistfuls of Percocet or Valium), but for some reason that only adds to the guilty-pleasure indulgence of ordering and eating one under the frozen gaze of the King.

It's not the best burrito you're ever going to have, but it is unique. It is singular. And it is essential to the understanding of where Seattle's cuisine is coming from, and how we got to where we are today.

​A weekly column in which we ride the light rail to random stops, hop off, and wander around until something strikes our culinary fancy, treating the train like our own personal café car.

The Stop: Mount Baker

The Vibe: The station is located above the street level. When you get down to the bottom, your ears are assaulted. The sound of sirens permeates the air and a security alarm is going off at a vacant store front. Cars honk at each other as they attempt to negotiate the intersection Rainier Ave. and MLK, Jr. Way.

The restaurant options have a similar random and slightly chaotic feel. There is a cheesesteak joint designated by the giant "Philly" sign on the roof, a Vietnamese/Chinese restaurant, and the obligatory corner Starbucks. The block south of the station on MLK has been claimed in the name of Ethiopia. A convenience store advertises African spices and tucked into a shared parking lot is...

The Café: Café Ibex (3219 Martin Luther King, Jr. Way S., 721-7537).
It's early dinner time and Ibex--named for a small wild goat living in the mountains of Ethiopia--is nearly empty. Three men sit in the bar watching futbol. With the rest of the restaurant empty I sit there too.

A woman comes over with a notepad and I order one of three combos. According to the menu it comes with a chicken, lamb and vegetable dish. I also ask about one of the Patron' Citrus Crush's listed on a cocktail menu near the impressively well-stocked bar.

The food is great, but this is the real reason people go to Ibex.

​"Oh, she's not here," the server says, implying, I assume the bar tender. The server leaves before I can ask anything else. It doesn't seem rudeness, it's just seems that the early dinner hour isn't when Ibex does most of its business. As I take a look around while I wait for my order, it becomes clear why. Behind a pair of doors is a sizeable stage, with a full band setup, a dance floor, and several tables.

A poster on a nearby wall advertises a 21+ show starting at 9 p.m. on Saturday. Having pretty much no knowledge of Ethiopian music, I don't recognize the band. "Dress code enforced," notes the poster.

But despite operating primarily as a nightclub, the food is hardly an afterthought. Not only does my order come with a chicken and egg dish and lamb stew, the kitchen added some kind of beef to the mix. And apparently "vegetable" means every lentil or steamed green on the menu. For $13 I get a feast with enough leftovers to satisfy three friends.

Photo by Leslie Kelly

Matt Fortner previously cooked at Tavolata and Marjorie.

​Before becoming chef at Ethan Stowells' How To Cook A Wolf, Matt Fortner spent nearly a year traveling around Argentina. He got fired up about the method of cooking beef over wood fires. Read part one and part two to learn more about Fortner's culinary journey. Here's his red-hot recipe for chimichurri, which is sometimes referred to as the ketchup of South America. Serve this steak sauce with a well-seasoned ribeye.

Chimichurri
4 cloves garlic
1/2 cup Italian parsley
1/2 cup fresh oregano
1 fresno chili
red wine vinegar to taste
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup water
2 teaspoons salt
Mince garlic, parsley, oregano, and chili. Add salt, water and oil. Season with vinegar and store overnight in the refrigerator.


Charred zucchini and tomato salad

4 zucchini cut in half lengthwise
3 tomatoes cut in half
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
1/2 cup grated ricotta salata
10 mint leaves, chopped
extra virgin olive oil
lemon juice to taste

Drizzle zucchini and tomatoes with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. place on grill and allow to char slightly. Remove from grill and cut into bite-size pieces. Toss in mint, pine nuts, and cheese. Season again with salt and lemon juice.

Farewell to Avila's fancy food presentations...

​Blackboard Bistro is scheduled to open at 3247 California Avenue Southwest, come August 13, according to West Seattle Blog. The eclectic menu includes frogmore stew, gnocchi, and beer-battered okra, plus booze.

In other news, Avila at 1711 North 45th Street in Wallingford has closed. The restaurant's run was a short one; Avila originally opened in November of last year. The Surly Gourmand was a fan. So, what went wrong? Check out the conversation between the owner and Jason Sheehan here.

I do NOT want this creepy woman making my Hot Dog on a Stick

​Hot dogs are good, but you know what's better? Corn dogs. Because they come on sticks.

Chicken is delicious, but yakitori is super-delicious. Twinkies are good(ish), but deep-fried Twinkies are awe-inspiring in their fatty, lava-hot and bad-for-you greatness. Deep-fried Twinkies on a stick? That's even better.

Everything tastes better either served on a stick or made in stick-form. That's just one of those inarguable laws of nature. No one really understands why, but if this weren't the case, then why are there so many fat people at state fairs cramming their snack-holes with candy bars, pizza and SPAM on sticks? Obviously, the fat people know something. They know that modern conveniences like plates and silverware will only slow them down.

So still being in the grips of summer and summer being prime stick-food season, we've decided that the time is right for making a list of the best stick-based food items ever. Enjoy...

​

"A non-frozen balanced energy snack in rod form containing nutritionally balanced amounts of carbohydrate, fat and protein."--from the original description of the product, manufactured by Pillsbury. Sounds delicious, right? Rods are so tasty...

While food on sticks has been around since caveman days (and is probably the only form of food as old as grilling and older than barbecue), Space Food Sticks stand as the ultimate example of over-the-top modernization of the simplest thing in the world. Two funny things about Space Food Sticks? Astronauts never ate them (they were a purely consumer-oriented creation, though a version of the product did go up to Skylab as an absolute, last-ditch, total space-based emergency ration). And today, they stand as the culinary grandfather of all the bazillions of energy bars on the market.

​There's just something about the Woodring Orchards stand at Pike Place Market: hundreds of glass jars with gold and white tops, all adorned with the simplest white label, neatly stacked three-levels high and three-levels deep. It looks like a perfect battalion of jellies, preserves, compotes and pickles--an army of deliciousness ready to go to battle.

Woodring is a family-owned business based out of Monroe, Washington. They cultivate fifteen acres in nearby Goldbar, and produce an astounding array of fruit products: apricot, blueberry, huckleberry, marionberry, and tayberry spreads; apple-ginger and Rainier cherry chutneys; agave apple butter--even a few spicy fruit-and-pepper jellies. What they don't grow themselves they purchase from nearby farms and producers. Under the helm of Dale Nelson, a chocolatier by trade, Woodring also makes quite a few sweet sauces like bittersweet chocolate, chocolate hazlenut, caramel, and white chocolate marzipan.

One day, I might try some of these sweet treats. But for now, I can't get past Woodring's spicy pickled green beans.

Typically, when I buy some of Woodring's green beans, I buy two jars because I know one of them will be quickly dispatched, by me, in one sitting. Often before I get home. There's plenty to love about these green beans: the briny tartness you'd expect from a great pickle, plus a good dose of garlic and dill, along with a super-assertive kick of red chili. They're also uncommonly crunchy and satisfying to bite into, with hardly a disappointing soft bean in each bunch. (True to what the label says, they also make excellent additions to a Bloody Mary.)

The pickles, named Parker Pickles after Nelson's son, come in both mild and spicy varieties, and also include asparagus and okra. (The chipotle okra is quite tasty, the smoke from the chipotle being surprising and subtle.)

In addition to their permanent booth at Pike Place Market, Woodring also sells weekly at the Columbia City, Phinney, University District, and West Seattle Farmers Markets.

Po Dog with peanut butter and bananas... yum?

​Hello, foodies! Here's a recap of the week's restaurant news...

On Capitol Hill, Po Dog's sibling sports bar Auto Battery (1009 East Union Street) is now open for business. It features a full bar, wacky wieners from Po Dog, and sweets from Macrina Bakery. Oh, you can also shuffleboard.

In the U-District, Curio Confections (5509 University Way Northeast) re-opened over the weekend. Its new owner who has expanded the caramel and lollipop-loaded menu to include espresso, sandwiches, and pizza for those without a sweet tooth.

West Seattlites score Northwestern cuisine, come Friday, August 13. Blackboard Bistro (3247 California Avenue Southwest ) features beer-battered okra, frogmore stew, gnocchi, and more.

Wallingford lost Avila (1711 North 45th Street) over the weekend. The restaurant was up and running for just six months.

Over in Burien, the third Grand Central Bakery (626 Southwest 152nd Street) opens on Friday, August 20. They will be donating a portion of opening day proceeds to the Highline Area Food Bank and the Highline Schools Foundation for Excellence.

The Eastside gets some love this week, too. Cantinetta in Wallingford is known for its Northern Italian cuisine and fine wines. The upscale restaurant brings its second venture to Bellevue (10038 Main Street) by late August. And Steamers Seafood Café (228 Central Way) is now slinging fish and chips in Kirkland.

Enjoy the new eats, ya'll!

It remains to be seen whether Allen will take his martinis to Hell.

​A new lunch menu and the water taxi dock's southward move weren't enough to keep Marcus' Martini Heaven afloat, as the ironically-named subterranean cocktail lounge quietly closed its doors earlier this month.

Co-owner Steve Alexander says simply that the bar wasn't making ends meet. Pioneer Square's a really rough spot to make money right now," he adds, underscoring a sentiment captured in Laura Onstot's recent cover story on the historic neighborhood's ongoing challenges.

Alexander says he's "taking the summer off," but could be back with a new venture in fairly short order.

Yummy! Irwin's German chocolate cake.

​You can pig out on free (!) hot dogs, hamburgers, and salad from 4 to 7 p.m. on Sunday, August 1. Wallyhood.org reports that Irwin's Neighborhood Bakery and Cafe's Linda Fecher is celebrating her four year-run as owner by throwing a sidewalk barbecue at the Bagley Avenue North and and 40th Street Noth in Wallingford. The cafe will be closing at 2 p.m. that day, so swing by earlier if you want something sweet to start with.

In other news, a restaurant specializing in Pacific Northwest cuisine is coming to Bellevue on Thursday, August 5. La Bête will occupy the former Chez Gaudy space at 1802 Bellevue Avenue. The menu will feature wok-cooked Dungeness crab, grilled fish, and more.

Sarah Ann Lloyd

​The flier says it all: Sometime on or around September 17, the 72-year-old Buckaroo Tavern will pour its last pint--barring a miraculous relocation, anyway.

According to Buckaroo owner Donna Morey, the property's owners, Lars and Nils Christian, declined to take her up on her offer to either buy the building outright or enter into a new lease agreement. The State Liquor Control Board's website confirms the Christian brothers' intent to open a fully licensed restaurant-lounge in the space; the application (notification date: July 16; application #351086) currently lists the heir to the Buckaroo space as "Nils-Sila Pub."

Morey says she's heartbroken, but will do her darndest to try and find a space to relocate before the tavern's lease expires at the end of September.

"I'm seeing fliers all over the neighborhood about us. I feel grievously sad about it, but I didn't do it (i.e., post the fliers herself)," says Morey. "We're gonna give it a 1-2-3 try to give it moved elsewhere in Fremont, but we have no legal papers signed or anything. It is our desire to relocate, and we will try to do that, if at all possible. The lease expires on the 30th of September, but we will probably vacate on the 17th. I am grieved over [the landlords'] decision after 72 years. All I know is they want the space for their own use after they led us to believe that a new lease has been possible all the whole four-plus years they've owned the building."

"I asked them to sell me the building, and they said no," continues Morey. "I asked if they'd discuss a new lease with me and they said no. And I'm gonna shoot out the door without a living cent I guess. It's virtually impossible to replicate the Buckaroo in a modern building, but maybe we can make it look like the old Buckaroo. I know my customers are as sad as I am. I saw tears in a young fellow's eyes. He was about 30; it blew me away. There are so many people who are so fond of this silly old place, and I never imagined I'd be the person who would shut the door here. I guess they need the space to build a restaurant]; that's all I know."

The Christian brothers declined to comment for this story.

Pho 900, you will be missed!

​Get your pho and cream puffs while you still can. Pho 900 on Capitol Hill is closing on Monday, August 9. Capitol Hill Seattle reports that the space will be torn down as part of the 230 Broadway development project and that owner Tiger Le has been unable to another affordable space for his business in the neighborhood.

The very bittersweet bit to this news is that to thank customers, Le will by serving $2 beers at Pho 900 from now until the closing date.

So go eat - and drink - up!

​

The Knee High Stocking Company is yet another of Capitol Hill's literary focussed speakeasies, offering colorfully named drinks like Hemingway's Daiquiri, The Last Breath and the Absconded French Girlfriend. These drinks and many more are garnished with snappy and charming synopses within a pristinely designed booklet that gives the sense of tremendous dedication behind the counter. Also, what bookish bar would be complete without a gin drink based on a Claude McKay poem?

The cocktail menu is divided into three fairly self-explanatory sections: In The Book, Stock Sauces and In Season. "In The Book" is dedicated to the classics; The Jack Rose, The Sazerac and the boastful Perfect Manhattan all make up a well-scouted Hall of Fame for the discerning drunk.

"Stock Sauces" focusses on creative in-house creations like the aforementioned Bourbon Dynasty and a fire-scorched scotch and Gunpowder Liqueur concoction aptly named the Gunpowder and Smoke.

"In Season" presents drinks made from the Knee High's rotating selection of particularly fancy liquor as well as cocktails catered to the weather -- right now you can expect to see a good number of tequila drinks and summer refreshers.

Whiskey drinks were prevalent through all three categories, so it seemed like a better gameplan than any to draw from all three wells.

From "The Book", I chose The Cat's Meow. The Meow is prepared with Maker's Mark, Dubonnet & Cointreau, shaken ice cold and served with a twist. Dubonnet is a wine based appertif known for two things -- one is being incredibly bitter, and another is being one of the most historically successful treatments of malaria. Basically, French legionnaires had a bad habit of not getting their allotment of quinine until it was supported with carefully chosen herbs, spices, and -- most importantly -- fortified wine. This storied liquor combined with the citrus edge of Cointreau and the smooth, yet substantial base of Maker's, The Cat's Meow is a perky delight that keeps the Roman fever away (disclaimer: this cocktail review is not AMA-approved).

Moving on to "Stock Sauces", I chose the Bourbon Dynasty, an awesomely agreeable drink that blends Evan Williams, Lillet Blanc and Creme de Cassis. Creme de Cassis is a blackcurrant liqueur that, for no good reason, doesn't show up in half as many American cocktails as it does in their European cousins, so I was excited to see it in action on this side of the pond. The citrus core of Lillet and blackcurrant provide just enough of a fruity aftertaste to the humble comfort of Evan without letting you forget exactly which dynasty you owe your buzz to.

Finally, from "In Season," I chose the invigorating Preakness. As mentioned earlier, The Knee High advertises a Perfect Manhattan as though it were some kind of secret weapon -- which makes the Preakness drink like enriched uranium. The Preakness combines the smooth grasp of 18-year-old Elijah Craig Bourbon, Peychaud's bitters and fine Carpano Antiqua vermouth with the Knee High's seasonally held Benedictine herbal liqueur, turning the old Manhattan workhorse into a strapping crowd-pleaser.

This tiny bar might be one of the harder bars to find in Seattle, but the hunt is well worth it. At the risk of sounding elitist, the Knee High's "hiding in plain sight" approach seems to stem belligerent walk-in traffic. That said: skilled bartenders, a friendly atmosphere and a commitment to that perfect blast of booze and flavor keep The Knee High Stocking company on no small amount of return patrons' radars.

​Editor's Note: Despite my name being at the top of this post, I didn't write it. This one is courtesy of Hollis Wong-Wear, but seeing as she's stuck in an airport somewhere and currently writing by phone, I took the liberty of posting it for her. So please, picture her and not me sitting at the bar and sipping cocktails between the two burly locals. Trust me: that's a much prettier picture...JS

The Watering Hole: The 9 LB Hammer, 6009 Airport Way South, Georgetown.

The Atmosphere: The 9 Lb Hammer is an enormous, barn-like tavern that serves as the Cheers for the blue-collar artists/eccentrics of Georgetown--the closest thing Seattle's got to Bohemia. It sits on the same block as Georgetown Records and Fantagraphics, on the main strip of Airport Way. Drafty, dark, and littered with peanut shells, "the Hammer" actualizes the fiercely unpretentious, industrial roots of the neighborhood with a lot of room for raucousness to ensue. There is shuffleboard, a small stand to buy tamales (the chicken mole for $3.50 was particularly good), and, among various notable wall adornments, a velvet painting of the Last Supper that hangs next to the pool table. Pool is free, and so are the peanuts.

The Barkeep: There are many things Darcie has a lot of -- moxie, verve, spunk, feistiness -- but fundamentally, she is a more petite Ani DiFranco who could lay down the proverbial nine pound hammer if things get out of line. Originally from East Long Island, she cites her reason for moving to Seattle as, "What? I don't know... On the lam. Why else do people move to the Northwest?" She has been tending bar at the Hammer for over four years, lives in Tukwila, has aqua-marine and purple hair, and seriously could kick your ass. For real.

The Drink: "Well, it's a shot!" Darcie exclaims when I deliver the First Call challenge. She manages to serve half a dozen beers in between when she starts preparing my drink and when it's poured in front of me, so I perch myself at the bar, sandwiched between men who look so at home it's like they lease out their respective bar stools. I receive a couple of curious looks; conversations tone themselves down a bit. In an effort to be sociable, I ask the two overalled men to my left, "What's the best day to come here?"

"Depends on who I'm talking to," one replies.

"Oh, stop being such a paranoid hippie," says Darcie. She has arrived with my drink. "It's called the Dara. Named after a woman who used to live in Georgetown. She moved away but she's still very dear to this place. She used to get this shot, muddled lime and roses with Hornitos. I add pineapple."

The Verdict: The drink is smooth and sweet, and although I'd probably get a more characteristic taste of the Hammer with a pint of Olympia or any one of the Georgetown Brewery beers on tap, the Dara speaks more to how cherished the regulars here are. Darcie emphatically explains 'hood loyalty: "Everyone is welcome here. We've got your guys in button downs, the metal worker chicks, the straightlaced, the freaks... Come as you are. But if you step out of line, or trash on the neighborhood, we're gonna run you out."

As I jot notes, the men sitting on either side of me begin their own running commentary.

"She's just sitting there, sipping on her yellow drink and writing," says one.

"Well yeah, she's a writer," says another.

"If she wants to write about the Hammer then she has to be a regular. At least for a night," the first declares.

"Well, then she wouldn't remember anything, would she?"

The experiential purist finishes his PBR and steps outside for a cigarette, and Darcie swoops in to clear it. "Don't listen to a thing that guy says," she tells me. "Who gets a PBR tall can here? I hate PBR. I've been asking Scott [the owner] to stop ordering them for years."

The perfect name for a restaurant

​Okay, so this is the kind of thing that makes me happy to be a food writer--a sort of food-world elegant equation where tiny space + good neighborhood + blooded chefs + a screw-you-we're-doing-it-our-way kind of menu = one very happy restaurant critic.

I'm talking about Hunger, the new restaurant just opened by chef/owners Jamie Mullins and Brian Brooks in a small, wine-colored and half-hidden space at 4256 Fremont Avenue, which hooked me both because it has that kind of underground-y, shoestring vibe that I find totally charming in chef-driven operations, and seriously, what a perfect name for a restaurant, right?

The confit salad

​The place has been open for all of about a week so, obviously, I haven't gotten there yet (I actually just received my first email praising it this morning). Which leaves me nothing to go on but the menu. But the menu? It looks good. Dig it: short rib sliders with garlic aioli, harissa ketchup and manchego, roasted clams and mussels with chorizo, duck confit salad with bacon and a poached egg, tortilla Espanol with romesco--and that's just the small plates. There's also big platters of wild boar osso buco and paella and harissa-smoked lamb stuffed with linguica sausage which, unlike a turducken, is the kind of food-stuffed-inside-other-food gimmick I can really get behind.

Hunger's bent is obviously Spanish. It's a tapas joint the way Ocho is--taking Spain as a base camp of inspiration, but then flowering outward into Mediterranean, French, Middle Eastern and Indian flavors.

Right now, those who've wandered into Hunger during its zero-publicity soft-open have come away just over-the-moon in love (as described by the surfeit of adjectives on, say, Yelp). And while I would normally be tempted to immediately scream vote-rigging--especially since some of the 'reviews' (of a preview dinner) are from before the place actually opened, and the rest seemed to come in awfully soon after the doors were unlocked--in this case, I don't much care. I'm sold. And I can't wait to get out to Fremont myself for a taste.