Food

So it would seem that a good portion of my life these days revolves around the pursuit of good food. Funny considering the overabundance of issues I've had with food in the past. I remember one terrible time in history when I made sure my diet didn't exceed 500 calories. Ridiculous. These days, my palate has been spoiled. I don’t count calories, just taste, and not any old filet mignon will do. It had better melt in my mouth and be adorned with some decadent gorgonzola crust. Not to say that a warm Cinnabon won’t do the trick. I have dreams about Cinnabon.

I didn’t realize how food-centered our lives were until we took on the challenge of a 21 day cleanse, for the sole purpose of feeling better. Believe me, there would be no other reason to eat only fruits and vegetables, a protein shake and 95 supplements a day. I was diagnosed with lupus, in tremendous pain and desperate. It was a start. But I digress. There we were, looking at a bowl of steamed veggies and I snapped. I was enraged and on the verge of tears…utterly depressed. It seemed absurd to have such emotions over food, but for the last five years, in a daze of romantic ecstasy, we’ve indulged in every possible bite of heaven encountered (Cinnabon not excluded). Mind you, we share everything…portion control. Believe me, most portions these days are more than enough for two. Jeff protested at first, but both of our waistlines have thanked me since. Back to the picture. Having partaken of the likes of butternut squash ravioli, soaked with butter, sweet in the middle; chocolate bread pudding, soft and rich and partnered with French press decaf; medium-rare, buttery filet mignon topped with the aforementioned gorgonzola crust; and fresh tuna carpaccio, drizzled with innumerable flavor-infused sauces and spread out around a stack of crab meat…that pathetic bowl of vegetables threatened to destroy me. And as delicious as food has been, it wasn’t the taste alone I’d grown accustomed to, but the experience, the excitement, the pleasure. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, there is nothing exciting or pleasurable about a bowl of steamed vegetables, I don’t care what concoction you drizzle over them.


So we survived nearly 21 days, cheating only with hummus. When I told a friend I had cheated she thought cheeseburger, steak, milk shake. No, hummus. I was in a lot of pain and wanted to do this right. On day 18 we were sitting at Club 33 in Disneyland and there was no way on God’s green earth that we were ordering vegetables. And so, we were back. And it was delicious!


By the way, so that you don’t salivate in vain, I will list the restaurants that house the beautiful creations mentioned above. The butternut squash ravioli is from Sisley Italian Kitchen, the chocolate bread pudding is served at Maru Sushi and one of the best steaks I’ve had is found at Salt Creek, all three located in Valencia.

Needless to say, our Seattle itinerary heavily included finding the best food the city has to offer. We asked around, we read reviews, we sat on the hotel bed for a while trying to decide where to go. When we landed I was starving, like I’m going to hurt someone if food isn’t in my mouth in the next 10 minutes starving, and the closest place to us was The Cheesecake Factory. You don’t fly to Seattle to eat at The Cheesecake Factory, but there we were, and ashamed for wasting a meal on what another Seattle chef later promised us was more than likely frozen salmon. Oh well, the frozen salmon did the job and didn’t taste half bad either. We later ate at a place called Tilikum Place Café, a small café rated in Seattle’s top 10. The most enjoyable part of that experience was the squash blossoms stuffed with some ridiculously tasty cheese. The rest was, eh, okay. The view was oddly charming and made me feel unbelievably happy. Though I had the epiphany, once more, that wherever I go, there I am, and daily life in Seattle would eventually have me traveling elsewhere for a vacation from reality.

We had a surprisingly satisfying mocha in Port Angeles (more on this trip later), but the food in Forks, well, never mind. But the almond butter, Nuttela crepe in Port Townsend, now that was unnecessary. The almond butter I mean…and maybe even the crepe. I could be content with life holding a large spoon of Nuttela everywhere I go.

We were starving aboard the ferry to Victoria, BC and ventured ordering one of their “meals”. I ate the packaged saltines, that’s it, the rest was inedible, insulting, prison food, cafeteria food, no, much worse. Want coffee? Don’t do it! And their public pitcher of water was ominous as it’s fill line swayed with the rocking Puget Sound. When we docked, we were on the hunt for something amazing. The Empress offered $55 tea, uh, no thanks (I considered it, to be honest). So we walked, and walked, and walked. We saw a beautiful cathedral and their funny walk signs and found a little French Bistro called Bon Rouge Lounge. Okay, so maybe it was the Dramamine. It brought on familiar feelings of starvation and the desperate need for a nap. Anyway, hands down, the most delicious food of the trip thus far. I ate all of the bread they put in that little basket and drank at least five cups of black tea with cream and honey. Our lunch was some kind of crazy ham sandwich on their house bread, smothered in some ridiculous cream sauce with a bowl of French onion soup on the side. Oh my goodness. We wanted to kick our feet up right there and snooze to the Frank Sinatra classics playing in the background. But we only had five hours to see EVERYTHING, so we dragged our bodies back outside. An hour later, another note-worthy mocha at a little place run by college students, who spent most of their life bantering at one of the tables, interrupted on occasion only by tourists like us. Jealous.

When we docked back in America, we headed to the renowned Metropolitan Grill. I was expecting to be blown away given the prices on the menu and the demeanor of our waiter. I was beginning to feel like a popper when he began telling us, ostentatiously, about our “fresh young asparagus” as he served them. Um, ok. So, maybe I’ve had too much steak in my life, but having finished our paycheck-priced meal, I felt myself longing for Salt Creek and their mouth-watering food at a reasonable price. I don’t even think they have fresh young asparagus, per se.

The Steelhead Diner in Pike Place Market was one of my favorite moments of Seattle life. I remember the company more than the food, but the crab cakes were amazing! The poutine (fries with gravy and cheese) everyone raves about was, um, bland. But the atmosphere was awesome. Where else do you get to eat while a man a floor below plays a saw? I’ve neglected to mention the breakfast in bed we had everyday. It wasn’t spectacular food, but hello? It’s breakfast in bed!

 

On our last day, just hours before our plane would take off, we stumbled into Ruth’s Chris for a farewell lunch. HOLY MOLY (I’m trying to avoid expletives). We ordered their hamburger and all I could say to the waiter when he asked was “this was ridiculously delicious”. What an awesome way to finish. The sad news is I couldn’t finish my half of the burger. Don’t fret, Jeff took care it.