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Picture of the Day

  July 9, 2015


Keepin' It WeirdSarah's mom and dad are in town. I was exhausted from laying two layers of 3/4" plywood subfloor in Arlington yesterday so we took it easy by the pool of the BnB across the street where they're staying. I even fell asleep in the sun, which is a rare feat for me. After that we went to The Edgewater for happy hour, which used to be a pretty good deal for the best waterfront seat in Seattle, but they no longer apply happy hour pricing to the patio, so it's probably my last time. Sadly, $6 beers seem to be the norm in these parts. From there it's a short walk to Olympic Sculpture Park. Someone said the magic word BBQ so after taking in the sights there we consulted the Oracle and found Barbecue Pit at 25th and Cherry. It looked promising but I should have read the fine print. We arrived at 7:15 and found a spot right out front. The smells emanating from within were divine (if you can put slaughterhouses out of your mind, which I can though I try not to make it a habit). Too bad they closed at 7. Consulted the Oracle again and found another promising spot at 1816 Yesler, just a half mile away, open till 8. The place looked good and again we found a spot right out front before noticing the handwritten sign in the window saying they were on vacation from July 4 - 15. OK, phone, don't fail us now. We were in the mood for Southern BBQ but thought we'd give Northshore Hawaiian Barbecue and Bar a shot for old times' sake. We were so distracted by hunger and relief at finding a place that was actually open that we overlooked the fact that it looked like no restaurant I'd ever seen. The impressions didn't really sink in until we were seated on the patio. The place apparently used to be a gas station and it still seemed more like a hoarder's garage than an eatery. There's a cute bar in back with $2.50 Kona happy hour but where stools should be was piled with boxes, a child's bicycle, and other random clutter. There were no other customers, just three generations of the proprietress's family--a thin old man leaned back in a chair in opaque oversized sunglasses, mouth gaping open, apparently asleep; another man, perhaps the husband, absorbed by a laptop as a giant flatscreen blared Asian TV; an adolescent daughter played games on a tablet, moving colored circles around. Another family member was transplanting and watering bamboo in white plastic 5-gallon buckets. That made me hopeful, like maybe they were on an improvement kick at last. The presentation was decent, the salad was fresh, but the meat was chew chew chewy and I used up my napkin discreetly depositing gristly bits. The mac salad, a key component of any Hawaiian plate lunch, was not spoiled-bad but it was so flavorless-bad that I couldn't bring myself to eat it. Why take that chance? The whole scene reminded me of Tampopo and I secretly wanted to be the cowboy riding in to town to save the struggling business. I must have a messiah complex. But they don't need my help. They have each other. We asked for the check and were left sitting with it. "I guess we pay at the register?" There was music coming from the entrance now, piano, and we got there to find the daughter rocking out Richard Marx on the old upright. She was good! I dunno what else to say about it other than: go check it out for yourself! Any place this strange in a Seattle that's rapidly homogenizing deserves some kind of support.