Big Girls, Global Kitchens: Eats of the Pacific Northwest

After telling the man at Enterprise that we were married in order to save paying extra insurance, we set out in our silver Chrysler Sebring in search of the impossible: a restaurant serving Seattle’s finest that was open on Christmas.

The initial iPhone research did not prove fruitful. But, being the geniuses that we are, we decided a likely gamble would be a hotel restaurant. (We were staying at Josh’s cousin’s apartment in Capitol Hill.) Our wandering brought us to Shuckers, at the swanky Fairmont Olympic hotel, where we felt it was only suitable to order a dozen oysters and a flight of microbrews. Our untrained palate favored the Fanny Bays, however until reading the signs on our way out, we did not realize it was because they were “medium-bodied with a subtle honeydew aftertaste.”

After our first course of traif, we headed to Chinatown-like Jews on Christmas everywhere-in Seattle’s International District. By this point, we had already realized some cultural norms: that only tourists would be caught dead carrying an umbrella, and that Seattlites, by virtue of living in a place where it rains more days of the year than not, are so complacent with their permanent state of dampness, that they do not bother taking normal means of procaution against the elements.

Once safely out of the rain at Ho Ho Restaurant, we ordered more seafood, including the Seattle specialty: Dungeness Crab. Ours was sautéed in a ginger-scallion sauce, and the platter containing these massive crustaceans covered most of the table. Ho Ho, which touted their 1987 New York Times review in the foyeur, turned out to be a perfect venue to first sample this delicacy; we sucked our way through the shells without feeling barbaric or self conscious for having stained the better part of our outfits in crab juice and oil.

The next day, we started our morning at Cafe Presse, where I ate one of the best omelets I’ve had in a while. I’m usually more of a scramble girl these days. But this omelet was an exception. The egg was perfectly thin and crepe-like, and the mushroom filling contained the perfect amount of cream—just enough that my stomach hurt for the rest of the day, but not so much that I don’t still daydream of the meal, fondly.

Fortified (though unnecessarily so), we made our way to the Ballard farmers’ market (the highlight of my trip) and the touristy, but not-to-be-missed Pike Place. Here’s a dirty little secret: market vendors in Seattle LOVE giving free samples. Be prepared to fend them off. Below is a recap of some of the delicious prepared foods we tasted, and many of the beautiful things we weren’t able to fit in our stomachs but saved room for in our suitcases to sample back East.

Next stop: Portland. I won’t bore you with as many details as above. But I will say that one highlight-in addition to our walk around the esplanade and photo op with a life-sized bronze statue of Vera Katz, the ex-mayor of Portland—was the enclave of ethnic food carts on every downtown street corner.

Though smaller than your average NYC food truck, the Portland carts are more permanent fixtures, paying rent to parking lot owners in exchange for the chance to remove those pesky wheels and place their once mobile storefront on cinder blocks. The cart offerings range from Belgian waffles to pad thai to coffee.

Mexican food cart (by its lonesome) in a downtown Portland parking lot

Coffee though, should be separated as a highlight unto itself. Once we were hundreds of miles away from the sleek, airy Stumptown outposts of Portland, and reduced to searching for drive-through caffeination, we truly understood the power of good coffee in Oregon culture. About 4 hours into our audio book (A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan), we stopped at a joint called The Human Bean. In addition to drive-through chicken, we got some of the best coffee of our trip. 5 points for Oregon.