By the Sound of It
March 17
I am in the Hotel Seattle, a little place on Seneca Street in Seattle.
The hotel has seen better days, but that’s all right. It’s like an 11-story
Three Bear Inn, so I feel right at home.
And hell, this is Seattle, where they have light rail, monorail, China
town, little Vietnam, Starbuck’s, Pike Place Market, Puget Sound (about three
or four blocks from the hotel), maybe whales, and definitely beer. So I’m all
right.
WiFi works in the lobby, so I’ll be checking e-mail every day.
The trip out was without incident. I read the Times online at Newark Liberty. I was in the last row, again next
to one of the one or two unoccupied seats on the plane. That was lucky, because
there was no overhead room, so I would have had to make the trip with my coat
and hat on my lap if the row was full.
The back of the plane was full of kids, including identical twins who
were dressed alike—dark trousers, fuzzy blond haircuts, and T-shirts that said
“Praying Pelican Missions” (or was it “Pelican Praying Missions”?). Anyway, I
think they were a church youth group on a field trip because they were very
well behaved.
Time now for a little mischief and exploring. I’ll send a report
tomorrow.
Harry
March 17
Are you having Alaska salmon? Dungeness crabs? King
crabs?
Are Starbucks ubiquitous?
Beatrice
March 18
So far, Irish stew and oysters, Beatrice.
But I'm working on it.
Yes, a plethora of Starbucks. But that's true of
just about anywhere in the States.
Harry
Head on a Pike
March 18
From what I’ve seen of it so far, Seattle is a
promising place.
I left the hotel sometime around three and decided
to walk downhill toward the water and then head to one of the big gathering
places in town, Pike Place Market. Alan, is this where you told me the original
Starbuck’s is?
You have to be careful not to lose your footing as
you go downhill, or else you’ll roll right into the bay. I think Seneca Street,
where my hotel is, lies on a 30 percent grade.
The part of Puget Sound next to this neighborhood
of the city is called Elliott Bay. There is a large Ferris wheel at the
waterside. It would be like Wildwood, N.J., except the horizon isn’t the
waterline of the Atlantic Ocean but snow-capped mountains on the other side of
the sound.
There are what may be cranes for a port to the
south and the north seems to be more mountains. tall enough to be covered with
snow, even though the cherry trees are in flower around the city. The
temperature was about 50 degrees this afternoon.
Pike Place Market is maybe half a mile from the
hotel. On the way, I passed the Seattle Museum of Art, which has an exhibit of
Dutch and Flemish masters, including Rembrandt. Very cool. I can stop in to
visit his work here before I go to visit his house in Amsterdam next month.
I also passed the Brooklyn, a steak and oyster
house, which is practically around the corner from the hotel. At first, I
thought, “Why do I want to come to Seattle to go to a place that is trying to
be like New York?” But no, it’s in a building called the Brooklyn, which was
put up shortly after a fire leveled this part of town in the late 19th century.
Beef and oysters. You can’t beat that.
Pike Place Market is a lot of fun. It is filled
with gawkers and tourists, but I think there are locals there too. I stopped at
one stall that clearly was for out-of-towners. I bought a card to send to Karl
and Jeanie. Not too far from there was a fish stall, with all kinds of seafood
on ice. The crowd gathered there is the photo of the day.
Another popular spot was a bakery stand where
people were lined up to buy bags of little doughnuts.
I was getting a mite peckish, though, so I headed
for the Pike Pub and Brewery. It is one of the best brew pubs I have ever encountered.
I had a sampler of ales—six little glasses served
on a board with numbers. I had that with some Irish stew.
I had been seeing people all day, even on the
plane, who wore ornaments of bright acid green. I saw a young woman who had
pasted on a beard of that color. Anyone could tell that they weren’t her
whiskers because she was blonde.
The flight of ales were numbered from weak to
strong. No. 1 was called Naughty Nellie, named for a local madam. There was
Pike pale ale, which was like a lightweight English bitter. The third one, Pike
IPA, was perfect with the stew. Just the right amount of bitterness to bring
home the flavor of the fatty chunks of lamb in the broth.
According to the card they gave me with
the flight of ales, said the IPA was listed among “300 Beers to Try Before You
Die,” compiled by someone named Roger Protz. I don’t know who that is. Even if
Roger Protz is the pub owner’s brother-in-law, that was no overstatement.
The next was Pike Kilt Lifter, a Scotch ale, so it
wasn’t as bitter as the IPA. At 6.5 percent, it was about the same strength.
Not bad, but not going to be one of my favorites.
The extra stout was good, but like most stouts,
sweeter than traditional Guinness or Murphy’s. (Guinness makes a sweet stout
too under the name “Export Extra.”) The sweetness limits the types of food you
want to pair them with.
The last, and at 9 percent the strongest, was
Monk’s Uncle, a Belgian-style tripel ale. Also very good, and like most
Belgians, spicy.
The Elliott Bay Pipe and Drum Band came in for
dinner and started to play around 4:30 or so.
On the way back to the hotel, I came across a small
oyster house right by the water. I had a half-dozen on the shell. Damn, that
was good, too. But I am a geriatric on New Jersey time, so it was time to
stagger uphill. The effort would do me good—help burn off some of the calories
from the alcohol I consume for my health. (You know, right?, that it protects
the heart, improves circulation, and gives you a delightful buzz.)
There was waning daylight over Puget Sound, but it
was time for Harry to sack out.
Good afternoon, all.
Harry
