Foodgasm.

This has been a Trip of Good Eating Events. I cannot complain.

Yesterday morning I went over to Ballard to visit a kitchen supply store (and Archie McPhee, of course), and as I walked around afterwords, Verite Coffee caught my eye, so I went inside to investigate. Well. Verite Coffee is also the home of Cupcake Royale, a gourmet cupcake shop, so of course I decided then and there that I simply had to have a cappuccino and cupcake. Oh. My. Goodness. If you are able-bodied and live in the Seattle area, you must go there and have a cupcake. The frosting was delicious. The crumb was perfect. The moisture level was divine. I almost started screaming, "Oh yes! Oh yes!" right there in the middle of the coffeeshop. I never knew cupcake perfection until I ate that cupcake.

The cappuccino was good, too.

Of course, I also went to Le Fournil for breakfast yesterday morning after rowing.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, if I lived in Seattle again, I would be enormously fat and happy.

Today has been about food, too, but in a different way. Last night, my family drove up to my grandfather's house in Enumclaw to visit and such. In the morning, we had pancakes with blueberries from my grandfather's blueberry bush and fresh whipped cream. Then we spent the day hiking around at Mt. Rainier and picked lots of blueberries and huckleberries.

I miss Seattle's food culture immensely.

(no subject)

This is my home now.

I just don't know how to turn this into a clever story

Yesterday, coming back from my foodgasm (see below), I hopped on the 48 and sat behind some guy in a wheelchair. He started a conversation with an artiste sitting across the aisle--first he wanted to know what she did (doctor? Nurse? Oh, artist?), blah blah blah, and then he tried to convince her that her art should be all about racism, because he sees way too much of it.

I love bus preachers. Unfortunately, Artiste was all too willing to smile and nod.

Anyway, he was preaching away as the bus went across the Montlake Bridge, and then a couple emerged from somewhere in the cavern in the back of the bus (it was one of those double-buses) in preparation for our arrival at the 520 bridge stop. They were clearly homeless, judging by their smell, toothless smiles, dirty clothes, and stringy hair. Then the woman, who was behind, turned and mumbled something to Preacher--I couldn't understand what--and then she reached out and gave him a huge smooch on the cheek. Preacher had no idea how to react.

Then the couple got off the bus, much to the relief of the other passengers, who had begun looking about wildly in a search for something--anything--to quell the stench.

Oh Metro. How I missed thee.