On Wednesday, at a new place downtown called Vessel (you can guess its intended fanciness level by the single noun name), there was a glowing green staircase, dates stuffed with cheese and hazelnuts, and cucumber infused water. Whenever I think about vegetables I hate, I'm reminded of that co-op retreat where Amy used "I think celery smells refreshing and delicious" for her lie in the two truths and a lie game. This is how I feel about cucumbers. Refreshing smelling, but disgusting.
Because the weather was sunny and clear on Thursday and you could see the snow capped Olympic mountains across the sound like they were next door, I walked over to Whole Foods for lunch. There, after procuring a sandwich and soup from the many islands of food products I happened upon a bottle of tea and picked it up. It said something about citrus and looked unthreatening. Yet, drinking it, it exploded in my mouth and resisted swallowing, tooth and claw all the way. It was Kombucha, and the label explained that it was living tea for living bodies. Fermented for thirty days, it becomes alive and somehow magically healthful. As awful and weird as it sounds, I couldn't stop drinking it.
Later, a stop at the McLeod happy hour for a glass of Lillet with a slice of orange, then to Chop Suey where Neal Pollack and Dan Savage read about being alternadads. Sean Nelson's introductions were funnier than the readings and at one point "awesome" sang a wikipedia page. As Samantha said, the funny thing about parents trying to be hip is that by talking about their kids so much, they pretty much guarantee that they'll lose a bit of their coveted coolnesss. We stopped at the Satellite, where they serve sweet potato hush puppies with honey and sour cream [!]. Closing the night at the Hideout, several Seattle Notables were in attendance. One wiped his face on the couch. Lele and I sat on the floor for the now traditional photograph and then I drank something made of champagne and brandy. As the evening wound down, we found ourself prospecting through a plate of peppers to find exciting foods that were not peppers including dolmas, carrot strips, and, most excitingly, artichoke hearts. This was made all the more entertaining by the low light, many of our distaste for all things peppers, and one of us not wearing the correct glasses.
Happy hour brought the epidemiologists to the far reaches of SoDo to the Elysian Fields. It's pretty much like the Capitol Hill version except with terrible art, weird glass sinks, and slightly more upscale food choices. We eventually escaped to the Rendezvous, where there was some weird talk about smurfs and postmodernism that I didn't quite follow. Another escape to the Crocodile, but the show was sold out; so no S or Menomena for us despite valiant attempts (by others) to sweet talk the management and to replicate the stamp with an eyebrow pencil.
Today, we celebrated guacamole while watching the Super Bowl. God didn't love the Bears enough to let them win. I suppose someone has to like Indianapolis better than Chicago; so it might as well be the Lord. The commercials weren't even that great (the rock/paper/scissors Bud Light ad [aol] in the beginning was simple and funny), but Prince's rain soaked performance (we were surprised that he didn't bring his own bubble to avoid the downpour) was probably the best halftime show in recent memory. The guitar shadows on the windtunnel tarp were really hilarious.