t 'n t luoma

On the way we saw The Crab Pot. In another life several years ago I was there with a group of teenagers after a mission trip to the Seattle area. It was the end of a long week of hard work and as a reward we brought the kids to downtown Seattle. Ask anyone who has led a similar trip and they will tell you that no matter how good the trip has been (and ours had been good) and how good the kids have been (and ours had been great), by the end of the week everyone’s nerves are a little frayed and tensions can run a little high.

It was our last night together before we flew back, and the other adult leader and I were walking around town looking for a place we could take this group for a big send-off meal together. The group of about 15 was pressuring us to be able to eat wherever they wanted to, in separate, smaller groups. We looked at each other and decided that we were going to keep them together. The only problem was finding somewhere we could all agree on, which isn’t an easy thing to do with 5 people, nevermind a dozen-plus teenagers and two adults.

I don’t remember how we decided upon The Crab Pot, other than the fact that it was there and had enough seating for all of us, but it turned out to be the perfect place. We all sat around one huge table together. Several of the kids (a term of affection, not derision) ordered a crab pot, which is, as you might expect, a large pot filled with crab. What you might not expect is that the crab is meant to be dumped all over the table, bibs are handed out, and one is not only allowed to make a mess while eating, it is intended to be a part of the experience.

So while the rest of us were eating like civilized folks, a small contingent was feasting on crab in what would probably pass for a decent reenactment of a Roman pagan food festival on the scale of Marti Gras in New Orleans. And while one might expect that those who were not gorging themselves on crustaceans might object to being hit by the occasional bit of flying crustacean juice (especially if the recipients of said flying liquid were teenagers at the end of a long week of manual labor), there was not one single unhappy sound uttered for the entire meal. In fact there was quite a bit of laughter, happy chatter, and overall merriment around the entire table for the full duration of the meal. It was one of those serendipitous times where everything worked out perfectly. At several points during the night my fellow chaperone/leader and I both found ourselves smiling over the entire scene, and exchanged a look across the table which said, “This was what we all needed as the perfect ending.”

Back to present day, we piled onto the boat and had a very enjoyable cruise around the harbor, and picked up a few interesting tidbits including the high sales level of sunglasses in Seattle (“we don’t need them very often, so we buy a new pair, wear them, then lose them before the next sunny day, so we have to buy new ones” explained our tour guide) and the low level of rainfall in Seattle (about 36 inches, we were told and easily confirmed via Google, which is less than many cities (see the same link for a listing) such as Miami, Dallas, and Chicago. Of course while Florida cities get more rain, it usually falls in torrential downpours measuring roughly 8,500 gallons in approximately 6 minutes around 4 p.m. each afternoon, preceded and followed by approximately 18 hours of sunshine, as opposed to Seattle’s 23 hours and 54 minutes of gray on the average day).

After the cruise we headed to Pike Place Market (note: resist the urge to call it Pike’s Place which is a bar in Wisconsin, not a Seattle landmark). We found yet another great parking space with 1 hour free parking near one end of the Market. We did have to wait for about 4-5 minutes as a group of folks with a combined age of 415 got into their car, but the line of cars behind us was very patient as they all accepted the fact that they too would hold us traffic for such a primo spot, but their karmic balance was just a touch too high to score such a great spot.

In addition to the many ultracool homemade goods which are available, a highlight of the Market is the Pike Place High Flyin’ Fish Market where they toss the fish about the place just for your entertainment (they also have a High Flyin’ Fishcam, err, webcam). It was something of a slow day for business, so there weren’t all that many fish being tossed either hither, thither, or yon, but still it was more flying fish than I usually see during the course of a day.

Ethan enjoyed the opportunity to run up and down the aisles and going up and down the stairs and basically going every which way but loose.

Next up on the fast and furious touristy day (BTW I am not getting paid per use of the word “touristy” but if anyone would like to sponsor the word for a nominal fee, please let me know) was the Space Needle. Another decent parking spot and some spare change later and we were on our way.

Another brief step into the past... when we were in Seattle with the aforementioned teenagers, we arrived at the Space Needle en masse and were greeted by a very friendly (which seems to be common in the city) ticket seller who realized that we were a group and sold us a “frequent rider” pass. With approximately 16 people riding up to see the city from on high, this saved us at least one or two full fares and was a generally really nice thing to do. That trip was also in the month of July, and the line for getting up was quite long. Today there was no line at all, in fact we were the only folks on the elevator (did I mention Ethan loves elevators? He likes to push the button and then insists on standing by himself, even when he was being held, which he almost always prefers. He stands right up against the wall, and is usually the first one out the door when it opens).

It was so empty that we actually wondered if it was closed, which it wasn’t, but there was a sign that said that the observation deck had been reserved for a “private function” from 5:30 - 8:30 p.m. We were led to wonder who in their right mind (or otherwise) rents out the entire Space Needle. One of the employees told us that it happens quite often for various functions and that it was actually a fund-raising group that was in town for a conference. Apparently the whole “gotta spend money to make money” is true everywhere. I have already started to think about possible upcoming life events which would warrant my renting the Observation Deck of the Space Needle, so don’t be surprised if the invitations to my next birthday party come with a phone number for a travel agent.

I was surprised on my previous trip to the Space Needle that upon arriving at the outside area of the observation deck, I was panic stricken over the height. I literally had to have someone else take pictures as I pressed my back against the wall, and imagined that I felt the hold structure swaying in the wind. So I was anticipating a similar reaction this time... except nothing happened! I was absolutely fine and had no qualms about it. I’m not saying I wanted to get out and walk around the edge but really it was no big deal to be on the observation deck.

I did notice that if I looked through the safety plexi-glass while I was walking, there was something of a shimmering effect to whatever was being viewed below. Perhaps that is what turned my stomach around last time. I really couldn’t say.

It was a really nice time to be out there, the deck was not overly full and the sky was relatively clear. Ethan was just a little too short to see anything without being lifted up, and kept trying to bite the telescope, so it probably was not a highlight of the trip for him... except, who knows, how often do you get to bite a telescope if you don’t own one?

Upon descending to terra firma, we exited into the gift shop (no flies on those architects!) and located a large-enough-to-not-get-lost-and-small-enough-not-to-be-overwhelming new ball for Ethan. It has the Seattle Mariners logo on it instead of the Space Needle, but Ethan seemed unfazed by the disconnect.

Not wanting to waste any moment of the day beyond the ½ of it we spent in the car which I promise not to mention again, we headed over to the Children’s Museum, which, despite the name, is not a place where they store children from throughout the ages, although I did suggest that perhaps they get together with the wax museum people and get on that.

Some might think that it is silly to go to the Children’s Museum at 4:30 p.m. when it closes at 5, but they would be foolish people who are not wise in the ways of travel. We popped our heads in and asked if we could see a brochure, and the kindly woman let us just go in and look around. This gave us 30 minutes to check the place out, which was more than enough time for Ethan and I to play a little ball and for his mom to totally check out the rest of the joint. It was not something that he would have enjoyed, ergo, it would not be a place we would have enjoyed, so we did not need to plan to go back another day. (Did I mention that Tracey went through the entire day saying “CHECK!” whenever we finished our time at one place, as if mentally checking off items from some travel to-do list? Ok, sure, we do have such a list, but who wouldn’t? Still it was a little disconcerting...)

After that there was little to do but go home, since most of the touristy ($cha-ching$!! <insert your slogan here!!>) places close around 5 p.m. Of course on the way home Tracey started talking about food, and asked me if I was hungry, which I wasn’t and which she wasn’t, except that she started talking about food, so about 10 minutes later my stomach started saying “Food? Really?” So we had to look for a place to eat. The traffic home wasn’t bad, especially compared to the nightmare that would have been San Francisco traffic at 5 p.m. which is why their touristy places probably stay open later.

We stumbled onto a place called Claim Jumpers which is a totally goofy name and a place we had never heard of which made us skeptical. We drove around the area several times without finding anything better which led us to say that we’d try it and see.

There was a bit of a wait, so Ethan got to play ball with Some Random Woman who was also waiting for a table. She very much thought he was adorable, which means that we liked her immediately and had a sense that she must be a good and kind person, and we wish for good things to happen to her. That was fun and all, but now we were both hungry, so it was time to bring on the food!

We did get our table pretty quickly and within the allotted 10-15 minutes our little Plastic Flashing Vibrating Signal of Chosenness started to whirr. It’s as close to winning the lottery as we’re likely to get, especially since we don’t actually play the lottery (which only slightly decreases the mathematically chances that we might win the lottery). Oh, did I mention that when we were handed said piece of Plastic Potential Signal of Chosenness I asked the hostess if it would vibrate when it was activated and she said, “Yes but we’re not allowed to say that”?? Is that not one of the stranger things you’ve heard? Wouldn’t you want people to know that the vibrating sensation they are feeling means that their time has come? I certainly found it strange, along with the fact that they made a big deal out of giving us some random Wild West Sounding Name (something like “Navaho Ranchers”) which, as near as I can tell, served no purpose except that they handed us a little cardboard coaster that had that made up name written on it which they never used for calling us because we had the Plastic Potential Signal. If I owned the restaurant I would skip the random Wild West Sounding Name and instead I’d write “Psst... the little plastic thing vibrates when it’s your turn, but don’t tell anyone!!” on it.

Our time came, we were seated and presented with menus slightly larger than Denmark. Seriously the things were 2.5 feet high and had a wingspan of approximately 6 feet when fully opened. Or maybe I was just hungry, but they were big menus. I ordered the Shrimp Taquitos (yummy) and the Pepperoni & Beef Pizza. Tracey ordered the Whisky Chicken. By the way, you may have noticed that several of the meals outlined from this vacation have been various levels of Not Atkins Approved. This has been pure laziness on my part, but I’ve also worn the shorts that I bought on our honeymoon and my 38" jeans are still a little loose, so I’m just going to keep on enjoying myself until we get back home and then probably go back to being more strict with the way that I eat. Just in case you were wondering. Oh, and Ethan ate most of the crust of the pizza, so that totally doesn’t count.

My pizza was quite delish, as were the shrimp taquitos (and the sauce), but the real star of the evening was The Mashed Potatoes which came with Tracey’s meal. These brought a look of joy and glee to my lovely bride’s face which is pretty much unchallenged for happiest look on her face since the doctor told her to stop pushing because labor was complete. These were, you understand, very good mashed potatoes. And gravy... let’s not forget the gravy, I think I heard her talk about the gravy too, but it was kind of hard to hear with all the mashed potatoes in her mouth. At one point I was fairly concerned that she might lift the plate, scoop them into her mouth and then ask for more.

The chicken, now relegated to essentially a side-dish to the transcendent MP&G of 2004, was stuffed with apples and some sort of a sauce that came as a welcome sequel, which even though it may not have lived up to the original, was still worth seeing... or, rather, eating. It was only a minor disappointment in an otherwise amazing meal when the chicken itself was found to be rather tough. Not overcooked, just generally not a great piece of meat, which is, statistically, going to happen once in awhile. Tracey said she was so stuffed that she couldn’t have eaten it anyway, and with her delicate flower of a stomach, there was no need to push it (she was still suffering some ill effect of something apparently from the Indian food of the previous day).

When the waiter heard that she wasn’t going to eat the chicken, he asked why, and Tracey told him that it honestly wasn’t very good. About 0.002 seconds later there was a manager at the side of the table, asking if she could replace the chicken with a new one at no cost. Here I was nearly sure that Tracey was going to instead ask for more mashed potatoes and gravy, but was legitimately full and assured the manager that she was full and it was really No Big Deal. The manager was clearly trying to make sure that we were not disappointed, and asked if there was anything else she could get us, but I had also maxed out, and Ethan had crutons, crackers, and pizza crust, so unless she was offering to give him a bath and get him down for bed, there wasn’t much more that could be done for us.

“Ok” she finally relented, “I’m going to take that off the bill then.” Now if you had seen this plate, where the stuffing and side orders looked like they had been field stripped by a team of army specialists, you would have no doubt felt that whatever battalion had been served, they had eaten well and were back out protecting the perimeter. (Hey, no judgement, there was nothing left on my plate either, although Ethan did eat the crust.) But she apologized again said that she hoped we would come back, and we assured her we would.

(By the way, to all the restaurant managers out there, this is how you treat customers so that they not only come back but tell others about your service. By taking $15 off the bill for someone who was a little disappointed with the meal, she pretty much assured that we would go away with a good feeling about their concern for the customer, and that if we were going to spend our hard earned money there, we were going to enjoy it all, regardless of how amazing the mashed potatoes were.)

After that there was nothing but a short trip home where we got slightly lost but didn’t really care because we were stuffed anyway, except that there were the 4 Diet Cokes with no ice and lemon that I had with dinner....