Results tagged “breakfast”

Dahlia Lounge pays homage to authenticity, turning congee into comfort food that somehow feels right at home next to that monkey bread and eggs Benedict.

"waiting for breakfast" by Christopher Furniss, from the Seattlest Flickr pool

Belltown's living room, Buckley's, is packed. We're facing a traditional American breakfast: eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, toasted muffin. Pat of butter, small plastic tub of raspberry jam. We've already had our espresso, now it's time for a serious Mary, garnished with pickle, pepper, olive and lemon slice, accompanied by shot of Pete's Wicked Ale. Deceptively traditional; only today do we recognize its incredible diversity. So here's the challenge: What to tackle first? The spicy tomato-vodka beverage? A bite of garnish? The pickle or the pepper? Perhaps the bacon, crisp and peppery? Not the hash browns; they look like they came out of a box. With humility and gratitude, we pick up our fork and break one of the yolks. The first bold stroke of action taken. The price and promise of breakfast, of hope and virtue, a meal both real and serious, the cheerful and joyous beginning of a new day.

Today marks the debut of the aforementioned new item on the menu at Jamba Juice. But this ain't your grandmother's Starbucks' oatmeal--it's made with slow-cooked organic steel cut oats, made from scratch on-site. Altogether, it takes about 40 minutes to prepare, which is, like, a year in fast food time. The oatmeal comes topped with a brown sugar crumble and your pick of fruit toppings: blueberry-blackberry, apple cinnamon, or fresh bananas. To celebrate the rollout, Jamba Juice is doing the non-profit community a solid by making deliveries to workers at non-profits in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, and Salt Lake City. Here in Seattle, it's the employees of the Downtown YMCA who got a warm 'n' tasty oatmeal breakfast on this chilly morning.

One pancake house goeth, and another strip club cometh; but Aurora's tackiness abideth forever. Looks like Bob Davis, the guy who's plunking down cash for Cyndy's Pancake House, will be turning the into a kitchen-equipped strip club come spring. Seattlest knows not a few rappers who will be very happy at the prospect of food plus sexy naked ladies, that's for sure. Mmmm, bacon and boobs! Two of life's greatest pleasures, right? Together at last.

It seems that before Thanksgiving is even over, we are encouraged to panic over the fate of our leftovers. This seems strange, as we’ve always found it remarkably easy to get rid of leftovers by refusing exit to any guest without a plateful. Barring that, there’s always turkey curry salad. Still, there are a couple of Thanksgiving purchases that cannot so easily be passed off or reused; among them is pumpkin purée.

This morning, we were down at the local diner having breakfast and mulling the sports weekend which was as lacking in hope as the plate of runny eggs sitting before us. Huskies lost. Cougars lost. Seahawks lost. Even the Husky hoops team lost.

Recently, a major renovation of our pantry was conducted in an effort to oust the Indian meal moths afflicting our apartment. We tend to buy our staples in bulk, so our pantry is rife with the kind of flimsy and easily infiltrated baggies beloved among Indian moths. Tearfully, we threw away bags of unused arborio rice, granola, and fun spiral pasta, until at last we came across a tin that had proven sturdy enough to resist the moths: John McCanns Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal. After not insignificant efforts, we managed to pry off the lid to find a pristine cache of the beautiful oats. We could have cried.

     

We don’t go bonkers for brunch. Why pay ten, fifteen bucks for someone else’s spin on eggs or bubbling of batter when we can easily cook that stuff at home?

Showstopper of Seattle's long-running cabaret Angry Housewives was, you may recall, a number titled "Eat Your F***ing Cornflakes!" (What, you don't remember? Brain cells degraded by poor nutrition, no doubt.) Anyway, Starbucks is now seeking to recapture the breakfast market by offering freshly zapped oatmeal with a choice of fruit, brown sugar, or mixed nuts.

  

As 7:30 a.m. rolled around, we were ready for breakfast and tired of slowly following the STP riders through Kent, so we made our way back to I-5 and headed south to the first of two stops that took us away from the bicyclists' course.

Holy Jeezits, what an outstanding weekend!

Last year we went all crazy for rhubarb, but this year, sadly, we’re been rather silent on the subject. (Truth be told, we’ve been rather silent in general--but no more!) To mark our return to rhubarb (and posting), we’re talking about something too ambrosial to possibly ignore: Rhubarb-Vanilla Bean Jam.

Damn you, Cafe Stellina. In the year and a half the restaurant's been open in its new space (the Piston & Ring Building, the same as La Spiga, on 12th Ave just before Union), their business hours have thwarted our attempts to eat there on at least five occasions.

Winter in Seattle is rough. It’s dark and rainy and getting out of bed in the morning is probably the last thing that you want to do. We know. We wake up at 4:30 so we can start baking by 6 and lately, it’s been tough. But seeing as though our life already revolves around food, we thought we might try and work it into our waking up routine: because really, everything easier when there’s something good to eat.