|My name is Rob. I wear a badge.
Same "special police" shield Sarah and Andi wore when they were Planet of
the Apes riot cop gorillas in the summer solstice parade. I told the 3rd
generation Mike at Mike's Chili Parlor in Ballard that I was there to inspect
the chili. I did my job.
Equally delicious but for different
reasons were Andi's whimsical cookie people, baked on her parents' farm in
Mt. Vernon. I love them, she said, because there's northing to get in the
way of the sugar. Some came over to draw, but it was a half-hearted affair.
Can you believe it's almost Christmas again? It seems to me we're skipping
Its secret was quickly revealed--glistering
pools of animal fat looking like and every bit as flammable as marine gasoline
spills. Moments after scarfing a chili burger, a cleansing sweat broke out
spontaneous, rolled down my face and neck. But the true virtues were revelaed
only hours later when I took a leak and it smelled like sweet, sweet chili.
The last time that happened was after some perfect curry. Indeed, Mike is
a red bean and meat yogi.