i'm obsessing about...
peak seattle
Monday, June 30th, 2008i’ve made no secret of my preference for seattle’s ace hotel when i visit the city. still, i like to sleep around when i can. that doesn’t sound quite right, does it? what i mean is that i’m game for a different hotel from time to time. another not-so-secret is that when i come to seattle i always find a place to swim or otherwise workout. the final not-so-secret is that i seek out new dining experiences everywhere i go. my next trip to seattle includes satisfying no less than three huge temptations.
first, i will stay at the inn@wac. the washington athletic club is a 5-star fitness center in the heart of seattle. their facility includes everything you’d want from a fitness club and a luxury hotel (heaven?), but reservations are only available for club members and their guests. a quick survey of my friends in seattle turns up mostly vagabonds, dirt-bag kayakers and other ne’er-do-wells. no wac members. sure, i have some business contacts who probably belong, but none i know well enough to beg for entrance to the wac. by some strange coincidence, though, i ended up in a workshop recently with someone willing to host my next visit. sorry ace; i have temptation issues….
this second bit may not resonate with non-swimmers, but i’m putting it out there anyway. seattle’s colman pool is an 8-lane, 50 meter, heated, outdoor, salt-water pool on the beach in west seattle. pinch me, slap me, hit me; can this all be true of one pool? i’m going to find out with twice-daily lap swims in spite of the three-lane, 25-yard pool just steps from hotel room. sorry wac; did i mention my temptation issues…?
finally, i’ve been dying to try how to cook a wolf, seattle chef ethan stowell’s latest creation in the queen anne neighborhood. you’re from seattle, right? you’ve either eaten there, stood in line with intention to do so or read about the rest of seattle doing the same. i fully intend to be in that line at opening next sunday to find out what all the fuss is about.
now if only modest mouse was squeezing into the del rey for one surprise show i could enjoy over fresh lime margaritas and fish tacos. peak seattle! kill me now.
rules
Wednesday, June 11th, 2008I have always been just a tad too irreverent. Let’s get this straight first, though. We all need rules. Even the zaniest, most spontaneous and random person you ever met lives by a set of rules you would find surprisingly organized and codified if you could probe that weirdo’s mind. It’s natural, normal and probably even necessary. There is a productive role for rules from the global to the most personal level. Also, rules are not principles. Principles are the guiding concepts around which we organize our lives (storytellers). Rules are essentially instructions on how to do so, and I am obsessing about rules in various states of decay and stoutness.
Anyone who’s ever put together an Ikea bedframe knows that, in general, instructions make things easier. Still, they don’t always work. Sometimes the instructions refer to a completely different end product than we had in mind. Sometimes there are missing pieces. Sometimes instructions just don’t make sense. Other times the instructions are perfect and everything is in place but we still ignore them, choosing instead to puzzle our way through. Why? Such is the nature of rules.
I comfortably posit that rule-bending is a generally good idea for most people in most situations. Rules tether us to modes of existence sometimes far past their expiration dates. Rules create walls where there should be wide open vistas. Rules give the impression that doors are locked when they are not, that we are safe when we are not and that we are stuck when we are not. As such, a certain amount of flexibility in the rules we live by can only serve us well, reminding us that life is a much more open book than most of us live.
For myself, I just lean a little further on the rules. I tend to bend them past breaking when I can’t ignore them altogether. In fact, I usually ignore them with pride and often try very hard to find ways around them. It’s not always pretty. If I was given a box of cake, for example, my fingers would be in that thing just as soon as it sounded good. Why wait for a fork, or a plate, or a table? You would find me standing in the rain, sheepishly grinning as I lick chocolate from my fingers, without a shred of regret and very glad to see you coming.
Or is that just my fantasy about myself? Even chronic rule-breakers ease slowly into unconscious routines and patterns. Rules are insidious to the modern human condition, growing vine-like around the untrammeled parts of our lives until paths once tread daily are overgrown and hidden. A life once a verdant forest of trails, mystery and adventure can become a paved and circular road, organized around a set of meaningless rules that serve only to tighten the circle.
But we are never truly stuck on that road. Exits are ever-present for those who would see: a chance encounter, a certain song, a shocking surprise, delicately running your finger along a string of glistening and tender flowers, an unexpected connection, even a seemingly useless fact that nevertheless tickles some urge to veer off course. A moment of truth opens before us like a curtain being drawn up a picture window we never noticed. We can pass through, or not. We can rewrite our rules, or not. We can relive yesterday or step into tomorrow uncertain, vulnerable, cautious, wearing a coat of question marks, brave as the wind or timid as a sunrise.
There are rules like the thou-shalt-nots and the rules of law, of course. These are fairly concrete. All the rest is illusion, which is not to say invaluable. When the instructions make sense, it’s hard to argue against them. Organize your life around rules that speak to you and 90% of the time you might love the results. Maintain a vigilant resistance to rules that creep into your life unconsciously and you might lead an extraordinary life. Fail to see the exit signs in your round-about, though, or ignore that 10% of the time in which the rules do not apply, and you may find yourself standing on some deserted pier, looking out over a vast ocean of possibility having already missed the boat. Are you okay with that?
Break a rule. Do it today. Find out. No matter how it ends or starts, it could be the turn that leads you home. It may be fraught with pain and suffering or wonder and joy, love, tears, laughter and regret. It may be the road to much useful knowledge. Even if it’s not, your circular road doesn’t vanish because you make one wrong turn. Do it today.
the perfect margarita ~ a chile obsession
Thursday, May 8th, 2008anyone who’s been to my house has fallen victim to a sometimes too enthusiastic hospitality. i actually lived in a trailer as a kid. it wasn’t what you’re thinking, though. children of divorce, my siblings and i got to choose where to live. we all tried to adjust to life in southern california, where my dad moved several years after the split. one by one we gave up, in favor of the douglas firs and parkas that felt like home. when the last of us decided to move back north, there just wasn’t enough room for everyone. rather than tackle an expensive remodel, i was–at 14–given a camper trailer parked in the very back of our deep lot as my bedroom. for the next four years i had lots of visitors. i think it set me up for a life in hospitalty, because i enjoyed making my friends comfortable as much then as i do now.
i gather treats to indulge my expectant guests, including the soon-to-be-famous spicy margarita. full discosure: the spicy margarita came to me through stephan, the bartender at verana in yelapa, mexico. but it has become an obsession all my own. in addition to perfecting the recipe, i enjoy trying out each variation on as many visitors as i can. how else to know if i’ve discovered some universal truth in the essence of a handful of those delightfully hot little peppers, or if i’ve veered off course into some strange alt.-cocktail fantasy best kept private? i have only a handful of converts so far. too many people still scrunch up their faces and proclaim my liquid love child…”interesting.” that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. still, i think i’ve found a combination i enjoy too much to tame down in favor of a wider audience.
1. put one bottle of herradura silver tequila, 3 each habanero, serrano and jalapeno peppers and 1 lime sliced into a pitcher. cover tightly and let sit in a dark cabinet for five days. strain out the chiles and lime slices and return the tequila to the herradura bottle.
2. mix equal parts spiced tequila and fresh lime juice with just slightly less cointreau to taste.
3. shake with ice and serve on the rocks in a kosher-salt rimmed glass.
4. repeat as necessary
5. tip: you can make a pitcher ahead of time and stick it in the freezer. you’ll end up with a nice slushy, spicy treat ready for your own expectant guests.
highly addictive if you have the chile obsession. if that gene skipped your particular generation, i weep for you.
san diego’s national cuisine
Sunday, April 13th, 2008san diego is my adopted second home. it is the antithesis to san juan island in many ways: crowded, noisy, bustling, urban. yet similar in many ways: sunny, seaside, active, friendly and easy to love. my dad was born and raised in seattle. one day he stood under his umbrella, furious at another sodden day in the torrents we pacific northwesterners both love and hate, and decided he’d had enough. after a time in santa barbara he found nirvana along the san diego coastline, ultimately settling in pacific beach, a coastal neighborhood of san diego. i visit whenever i can, which is never often enough. i stay in the slick, modern, boardwalk hotel tower23 and happily live the so cal beach life for a week or so until san juan island calls me home.
cities are not nations anymore. that era passed centuries ago, with only a few exceptions remaining today. still, if a modern city could be said to have a national cuisine it would be san diego’s famous fish tacos. like hordes of roman centurians spreading the glories of ceasar from africa to northern europe, san diego’s fish tacos have stormed through my palette and left me subject to swooning tyranny, a slave to the intoxicating smell of lime and masa on my finger tips. ruth reichl (another hero of mine, and editor of gourmet magazine) says fish tacos, “introduced to san diego by restauranteur ralph rubio in 1983, have become the city’s most famous dish.” indeed, they are available throughout the city in nearly endless variations from the classic, grease-infused, deep-fried original to super-gourmet versions with high-end grilled fish atop a bed of some complex slaw wrapped in a hand-made tortilla. it’s almost impossible to go wrong, though, as long as the fish is fresh.
when i visit san diego i force my family through a minimum of one fish taco meal every other day. i judge fish tacos on two scales, classic taco-stand and gourmet. my personal san diego favorite is currently the bay park fish company, whose panko-crusted fish tacos rate at the very top of the classic taco-stand scale. on the more varied and subjective gourmet fish taco scale, i’ve not found any better that portland oregon’s oba, where they have created an amazing slaw filling to wrap up with their excellent bits of fried fish. that’s perfection.
3 favorite storytellers
Saturday, March 22nd, 2008i had another great stay at ace hotel in seattle recently. their “everything you need and nothing you don’t” ethos really works for me, especially on business trips to the city. i rank the portland ace among my favorite hotels, and am glad to report that the older seattle version is more of the same. in fact, the front desk staff at seattle ace really put the place in the adam-approved category. stylish, simple and affordable lodging in the heart of downtown, among all the fluff hotels offering a bunch of stuff you never use for twice as many dollars. who wouldn’t love that? and they rescue nearly derelict old downtown buildings (which i love) in the process. wish i’d thought of that. but that’s not what i’m here to talk about.
the dark spot of my trip happened in a movie theater. i’m a reluctant cormac mccarthy fan. his books torture me slowly like a creeping disease but i can’t stop reading. no county for old men chewed me up and spat me out. why, then, did i think i should see the coen bros movie version in the theater on a cold, rainy night in seattle…alone? the movie is so well-made in all respects that it carries all the vile, putrid and irresistible agony of reading the book. mccarthy can really tell the story of a world gone so wrong it is unrecognizable, so can the coen bros.; read and/or watch at your own peril.
as dark a spot as that may have been, i found myself finally having time to sit and really listen to the shepherd’s dog, the most recent offering from iron & wine. sam beam is another favorite story-teller, and i was glad to find solace in the sheer beauty of truly great song-writer striking on all cylinders. my aural self started zeroing in early on the song “carousel.” i do that. i obsess. when a song gives me a gut check, i can listen to it all day. and boy did this song start to get to me. it wasn’t until i listened to it about 20 times in as many hours that i started really paying attention. i was surprised, even a little stunned, to find the lyrics of the song so complex but so clearly carrying the same message as no country for old men, the story of a world gone so wrong we get lost on our own streets. in this world it becomes so important to live by principles you can believe in and stick to. without personal standards we run the very serious risk of arriving someplace we really shouldn’t be.
from time to time we all find ourselves acting out dramas that we don’t belong in. we are a lucky lot, though, aren’t we, to have story-tellers like cormac mccarthy, the coen bros., and sam beam to reach really deep into our muck and pull out something so vital? i am obsessing over the lyrics to “carousel” and won’t even attempt to pass on what they mean to me. instead they are reproduced here for your consideration. i’m not sure it resonates the same without the post-mccarthy funk, but i’d love to hear your thoughts…
carousel: iron & wine
Almost home
When I missed the bottom stair
You were braiding your gray hair
It had grown so long
Since I’d been gone
And the perfect girls
By the pool, they would protest
The cross around their necks
But our sons were overseas
And we all know about the hive and the honey bees
Almost home
With an olive branch and a dove
You were beating on a Persian rug
With your bible and your wedding band
Both hidden on a TV stand
And the cruel wind blew
Every city father fell
Off the county carousel
While the dogs were eating snow
All our sons had sunk in a trunk of Noah’s clothes
Almost home
We got lost on our new street
While your grieving girls all died in their sleep
So the dogs all went unfed
A great dream of bones all piled on the bed
And the cops couldn’t care
When that crackhead built a boat
And said, “Please, before I go
May our only honored bone
Be the kinship of the kids and the riot squad”
verve remixed ~ the mysterious transformation of a purist
Sunday, March 16th, 2008i always considered myself a bit of a purist. at least, i always seem to land in the old-school voting block on any given cultural issue. especially music. classic songs re-done just don’t cut it for me. oh, but wait, there’s more. sorting through loads of music for the i-pod loaners i’m preparing for bird rock hotel, i discovered the verve remix series. there are some really solid remixes in here, and i find myself obsessing over the artistry of the mix masters, taking such soulful old voices and recomposing their messages in a modern context. it kind of reminds me of our bird rock project. just like grooving up those gritty old tunes, we set out to take something 100 years old, highlight what is great about the original form, while still completely re-imagining and re-inventing it for a contemporary context. i’m a convert and i downloaded all three sets. visit verve.
saving patagonia ~ we’ve got to draw some lines in the sand, folks
Sunday, March 16th, 2008travel is a celebration of everything on the planet, all it’s quirky weirdness and unexpected charms. travel opens eyes to other ways of life, times gone by or things to come. travel brings us closer together. to travel is to love the world, passionately. in this way, tourism done right can help save the world, because to love this world passionately you have to devote at least some portion of your time, energy or money to saving it. everyone has a favorite place, and i’m lucky to live in one of mine. there is another place, though, that i can’t stop thinking about: patagonia. i revel in the fact that there is a place still so pristine in the world, and i obsess over what i can do to save it from the mines, dams and development that would turn it from a paradise into products. let’s draw a line in sand in patagonia, right…here.
