Veg Out: The Fat Hen, etc.
I am filled to the brim with veggie food news. Since Guillaume took over posting, I’ve been to Vij‘s in Vancouver and Pizzeria Mozza in Los Angeles. I finally tried kombucha. I met two very friendly llamas at Sutra‘s new farm. But let’s start the updates closer to home and work outward, shall we?
A few Sundays ago, June was doing what Oscar Hammerstein said it would. Thanks to Pretty Little May, a crowd of Doubtin’ Thomases had predicted that the summer’d never come. I set out into the sun-drenched morning to fetch americanos.
But it’s comin’, by gum!
Y’ ken can feel it come,
Y’ ken can feel it in yer heart,
Y’ ken can see it in the ground,
Y’ ken can hear it in the trees,
Y’ ken can smell it in the breeze.
Look around, look around, look around!
NO REALLY, Cris. Y’ken LOOK AROUND while yer rockin’ out to the Carousel soundtrack on yer morning walk to pick up coffee, or ye may be attacked by a low-hangin’ lilac bush.
So beautiful. So vicious.
I almost took an eye out.
Despite my early-morning ineptitude, Jules and I managed to meet dear friends at The Fat Hen right on time, at 11 a.m. But there was a wait for brunch. What to do … what to do …? Why, pop across the street to Honoré Bakery for macarons, by gum!
My vision must have fully recovered by that point, because I also spotted a Gruyère-stuffed, thyme-flecked, croissant-like wonder in the case. Jules and I promptly split it. Is it bad to arrive at brunch with buttery pastry shards in your hair?
Fortunately, the nice people behind the counter were too busy making coffee to notice.
We sat down at a pretty, rustic table surrounded by many other pretty, rustic things that made me want to call my landlords and ask them if they might let me install vintage beadboard on my kitchen walls.
It’s probably a long shot. But if I can’t have their kitchen, at least I can try to replicate The Fat Hen’s cocktails at home. Jules had a rhubarb fizz, and my Aperol and orange juice contrasted nicely with the richness of my baked eggs, which were served on top of spinach and smoked mozzarella.
Jules was a little disappointed with his baked eggs in tomato sauce, which were, for some unknown reason, missing the fresh basil the menu promised. But our friend S. enjoyed her asparagus eggs benedict, one of two veggie-friendly benedicts they were serving that day.
After brunch, we carpooled over to the Ballard Farmers Market. Sunshine brings big crowds to the market, by gum. But I can’t complain. Crowds bring the best street performers. Including:
*A child doing an interpretive dance to “My Heart Will Go On” form Titanic … with a puppet.
*A man with a handlebar mustache and ukelele singing “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic.” (This was one of my favorite songs as a child. You should listen to this somewhat creepy version of it. I spent countless car trips replacing the line,”Watch them, catch them unawares” with “Watch them catch their UNDERWEAR!” and then laughing until I spit Cheerios everywhere. My poor parents.)
*A woman dragging her significant other toward the smell of fried dough, singing, “It’s almost time for donuts, baby! It’s almost donut time!”
*A one-man band playing Nirvana’s “In Bloom” on bugle and accordion.
Look around, look around, look around.