Showing posts with label Tavern Law. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tavern Law. Show all posts

6.19.2011

Urban Woodsman: Since when did cool guys grow heirloom legumes and butcher pigs?

I have this gem of a book. My friend, Blake Lown, gave it to me a few years back when we were sure the world was coming quickly to an end - or maybe it was just the last semester of college. Anyway, it was called:

It really did tell you everything you'd ever need to know:
how to buy a horse, build a fence, attract hummingbirds, build a stone wall, and raise chickens.

Which brings me to last night:
Two bartenders were arguing last night over the real way to make a traditional Old Fashioned for my date, the Non-Scotsman. Funny that perhaps one of the newest spots on Capitol Hill, Artusi, was up in arms over how to make something the oldest way.

All that to say I read this article in GQ today that made me literally laugh out loud. The author, Mary H.K. Choi, is wondering why, for the past four years, "city-bound American men have been eating like yeoman farmers and dressing like Wild West oil prospectors." Basically, why is everyone wanting to go back in time so badly?


(Photo compliments of New York Magazine)
As quoted in GQ: "[…]

In fact, everyone on the cutting edge of culture seems to be yearning for simpler times that we’re too young to feel nostalgia for. If we aren’t subconsciously battening down the hatches for Armageddon, why are college-educated men learning to raise and butcher pigs? What’s up with techy guys cultivating rooftop gardens because heirloom legumes are cool? Men who live in Brooklyn, both Portlands, and Austin are studying the arts of pickling, canning, and skeet shooting. We’ve got grown-ass men with jobs learning how to make candles, for (C*#%$) sakes. Goodnight, moon.

[…]"

Choi doesn't specifically reference Seattle in her article, but all she really needs to do is walk down 1/18 of Ballard Avenue (think: Bastille's rooftop garden) or on Cap Hill between Pike & Pine (enter bearded bartenders at Tavern Law, butchers next door to pickle-topped Sitka & Spruce).

Damn, I love this city!

5.17.2011

Not your "Gas Station Cherry Pie, best if sold by Aug 1998"

I am so thankful that my pregnant friends have cravings! How else would I have discovered the most incredible Coconut Creme Pie this side of the Mississippi?


Right up on 12th. It opened this past year in it's own little space, although the pies have been served at Fuel Coffee for a few years now. The Trace Lofts couldn't have found better tenants --- High 5 Pie and Tavern Law.

"Happy (drunk on gin and pastries) Neighbors, Happy Landlords" I always say.

I know Seattle's been on a pie kick for a while now. But this pie is different. The crust on this coconut creme pie was ... well. Let's just thank our lucky Seattle stars for this spot.
I mean, these aren't the cherry-filled little pies my dad would get at 7-11 on roadtrips:



They come in slices, bags, and on sticks:


And you can even head home with goodies in adorable rolling-pin totes:

FLAVORS INCLUDE:
Apple
Egg & Cheddar
Egg/Bacon/Cheddar
Cherry Almond
Peanut Butter & Jelly
Coconut Cream
Banana Cream
Veggie Pot Pie
Potato/Dill/Cheddar
Key Lime
Peach
Lemon Shaker
Vanilla Cream
Broccoli/Cheddar/Mushroom
Peanut Butter & Chocolate
Chicken Pot Pie
Marionberry
Frito
Maple Blueberry
Ham & Gruyere
Caramel Pecan
Spinach Feta
Chocolate Cream
Savory Beef

1.09.2010

The Hidden Cocktail


The sign said “No Pictures.”

I didn’t see it until it was pointed out to me on our way out the door last night.

Like New York’s Milk & Honey, PDT, and other acclaimed “secret” classic cocktail joints, Capitol Hill’s Needle & Thread seems to want their cake and eat it too. Don’t’ get me wrong, their cake is delicious. They want everyone to know they’re there without anyone really knowing. They want to be underground (hence a “no pictures” rule and a sacredly guarded reservations phone number) but also in the public eye (hence the not-so-mysterious black telephone next to a massive vault door in the main dining floor wall). That not-so-hidden entrance gets you up to Needle & Thread, the 2nd story floor of Tavern Law. I'm so glad I found it, quite easily, a few months ago.

(A friend, on the right, holds a fabulous concoction of Whiskey, Gin and Lillet, 2010).

It's absolutely charming, and although some say it is trying a bit hard, I admire the way they sought to create a whole new world outside the typical Seattle scene. (Like one of my vibrant roommates who decorated her whole bedroom like a Moroccan tent. Sometimes you just want to be over-the-top, live like you're in a movie).

(Moroccan tented bedroom, 2009)

Anyway, there are times I try too hard too, and I'm often pleased at the results. I have been three times now and have always found it quite easy to make a reservation, and my cocktails have always been well worth pretending you finally unlocked a secret code and deciphered the phone number.

(Our second round of drinks at Needle & Thread, 2010)

“Something with champagne, not too sweet,” or “rye whiskey and maple, no egg” will get you a smashing success and leave you clapping your hands joyously for another round. You admire Needle & Thread in the same way you admire the hostess of a “casual dinner party” who nonchalantly says she just “whipped up” the 5-course meal you are enjoying. You love every bite, but you know it took a lot more skill, creativity, and intention than she is letting on. You love her for it!

Brian McCracken and Dana Tough are the chefs and creators of both Tavern Law and Spur Gastropub, where the food is to die for and every cocktail a new favorite. Both pull from al old-American era: Tavern Law's wood-paneled, book lines rooms are warmed with heavy drapes and photos of naked women and parasols.

One idea I stole from our visit to Milk & Honey in Manhattan a few year ago

(Outside the secretive Milk & Honey, NYC)
was the concept of "house rules." Every restaurant or bar should have them, and I made my own version for a cocktail party at our house shortly after.

(Lund Cocktail Hour House Rules, posted on my door, 2008)