Text 27457, 141 rader
Skriven 2009-08-14 09:48:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: trip to Hap's 29
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0812 UA 171 BOS SFO 0600 0930 752 2A

The choices were: $50 cab ride with a company I don't trust;
$239++ at the Hilton; or get to the airport before public
trans stopped and hang out for 5 hours. After a desperate
look at Hotwire and Priceline, I chose the last option.
There was a bunch of desk work to do, so the time was well
spent, though sitting in a rocker and using my carry-on as a
desk was not ideal; plus I did nod off over the computer
once or twice. The airport is reasonably buzzful all night,
and I wonder why there isn't a bar or cheap diner handy.

After coming to a natural stopping place in my work, I got
my boredom passes, went through security (two bottles of
Bacon Salt, destined to be pawned off on the unsuspecting,
didn't elicit any interest; I'd taken the precaution of putting
them in the outside part of the bag for easy access if necessary)
in mere moments, and camped out outside the club for the wireless
access. When the club opened I didn't bother to go in, staying
put until boarding. Blended in right at the back of Zone 1,
despite the open and inviting red priority lane.

Periodic testy announcements during boarding about keeping
the aisles clear, getting seated promptly, and there being
no extra seats to switch to, so don't even try. And that
65% of the flight had international connections, which I
thought remarkable.

A pleasant cabin crew who got me Courvoisier whenever I
wanted, which was thrice.

This aircraft featured particularly fuzzy audio, which was
remedied by turning up the volume a couple notches louder
than normal. The ATC feed was available, as was the choice
of a spinach, artichoke, and cheese omelet or the fruit
plate. I had a double dose of snooze, thanks to my Channel
9 lullaby and the periodic ingestion of calming liquids.

A kiss landing.

We got in a little early, so I had plenty of time at the
club to do e-mail and marvel at the fragrance of the Renewal
Lounge. Got to the gate in the midst of boarding, but as
others were still using the red lane, I did as well.

UA 322 SFO SEA 1015 1213 752 2D

Same gate; same aircraft; same audio. I found myself on the
opposite side, so there was no opportunity to self-sight.
The portly gent next to me kept texting throughout the whole
trip, hiding his PDA whenever the flight attendant went by.
The behavior seemed juvenile and addicted, but he didn't get
us all killed. When I fell asleep he was at it; when I woke,
at final approach, he was still doing it. I shake my head.

Annie and Hap met me with a list of lunch places, including
the option of trying something new, which I voted for. This
turned to be a building south of Tacoma with the tantalizing
word BARBECUE painted in fading letters; I'd inquired about
it before, and they'd passed by it hundreds of times, but
nobody in our acquaintance had ever tried it. The Barbecue
Inn, it turns out, has indeed been there a long time, and is
more a Barbecue Bar than anything else. Not a problem, some
really good food comes out of really divey places that
nobody has ever heard of. We were welcomed warmly into a
pretty empty room whose obvious real purpose was to dispense
ardent spirits. Of which I had an amber ale, Annie had iced
tea, and Hap H2O, hold the straw.

I cleverly put my elbows on the table at the exact same time
that Annie was using it to help her sit down, and the table
tipped a bit, and her iced tea went rocketing into space.
Luckily my beer was intact.

Anne had a smoked beef sandwich, which she pronounced good;
Hap's pulled pork was, he opined, undersmoked if at all.

As it was my turn to treat, I got the fanciest thing on the
menu, the ribs and chicken quarter (dark or light) combo.
Two quite meaty, quite tender ribs, the smoke not apparent,
but fresh meat and pretty tasty. The chicken was smokier
but still mild - juicy, tender, and also fresh.

The cook came out to check on us - not a grizzled old vet
but rather a kid who looked just out of his teens. He seemed
proud of his work and pointed out the pork melted in your
mouth. I agreed.

Sauces on the side. The extra-spicy was mildly sweet with
ketchup in the background, the heat coming from a healthy
dose of chile powder. It wasn't bad, but the meat didn't
benefit much from it, so I used it sparingly.

Every lunch comes with a side: cole slaw was a bit too sweet
for my taste, but not too gooey, so that was points in its
favor; it was also fresh cabbage, reasonably fresh cut,
reasonably freshly made. Black-eyed peas appeared to come
out of a can. Hap hypothesized that at one time it had had a
piece of pork dragged through it, but I was unable to detect
any. My fries ordered well done were well-done fries done
pretty well - a commercial product but nice and crisp; the
extra hot sauce with its not overwhelming sweetness helped.

Back to the house for a rest, then the bus to the park, a
speedy and convenient trip, saving a fortune in parking
and a lot of rush-hour annoyance.

At Safeco we saw a dandy 13 1/2 inning shutout between the
White Sox and the Mariners.

In the middle of this gem, we went out for dinner, Hap
getting a burger with garlic fries, and myself trotting
over to Ivar's for clams and chips well done. His burger
was big, and his fries impressively garlicked. My clam
strips were one notch below Ho Jo's, with an aroma that
reminded me of Snow's minced and an overthick breading.
My chips were from the same foodservice pack as Hap's,  but
the well doneness helped a little. I dipped the ends of a
couple in his garlic, and that was plenty of garlic for me.

In the bottom of the 14th, with two on, Griffey came up to
pinch hit for Rob Johnson, who had hit the rocket to Kotsay
in I think the 8th that almost made the extra innings
unnecessary. Willie the seating host pointed out that there
wasn't much in the catching department for inning 15; I
said that this was an obvious win it or lose it on Griffey
move, and to counter it the Sox should have him walked - a
suggestion countered by the assertion from the peanut
gallery that one should never give a free pass to a .230
hitter, no matter his lineage or history. Whereupon the man
lined one into the right field corner scoring Adrian Beltre,
and that was that - and we poured out onto the street after
a nearly 4 hr game that had started out like a 1.5 hr one.

Impressive loading of the public bus: the dispatcher got on
and, after giving standees the opportunity of standing or
catching the next bus in moments, sent us on our way.

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