Text 27575, 62 rader
Skriven 2009-08-17 16:38:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: more trip 45
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Katie Down's is a waterfront tradition, which, along with
the neigboring Ram, I always look forward to. It's both a
bit costlier than the Ram and also a bit more divey. But
it has steamed clams, as well as things Annie can eat. An
order of crabcakes was half the price of the crabcakes I
am used to; but it also contained less than half the crab.
The frying was well done, though, and the bread cakes were
set on a good-tasting sweet red pepper puree. Annie liked
the dish; Hap and I focused our attention on a couple pounds
of steamed Manila clams; good and plain, plain good. Hap is
a proponent of west coast steamers, whereas I find them to
take a back seat to the easties. I told him that someday I'd
convince him, if it took a couple plane tickets to do so.

On the bus Friday, some lady we got into a conversation with
had said that Katie's pizza was the best in town, and Annie
wanted to test this assertion: a personal pizza with red
sauce and extra cheese, very brown and appetizing-looking,
was deemed good but hardly the best in town. Hap and I
confined our attention to a pitcher of Mac & Jack's porter,
which was satisfying if a little burned tasting and a little
vegetally tasting at the same time. Oddly, the second glass
didn't taste so good as the first.

In a discussion with one of the waitresses we determined
that 1. if we'd showed up half an hour later, we'd have been
able to get twice the clams for the price; and 2. there was
a place at the other end of town, Steamers, that might have
razor clams. We debated either 1. staying there and getting
happy hour steamers or 2. checking out Steamers. We did #2.
There didn't seem to be any. 

Instead of going back to Katie's, we decided to self-cater
and so headed to Metropolitan Market, where a free wine
tasting was in full swing. Except the ABC people were there,
and I was denied the pleasure owing to having left my
passport home; I stood there and schmoozed the manager,
Hap's buddy Kelly, while Hap and Annie tasted fruit-forward
quaffs of various sorts. No great loss, thought I, looking
at the list. I picked up a half pound of smoked mussels, a
promising-looking Snake River Farms American-style Kobe
chuck roast, and a bottle of wine. The market had no problem
taking my money without ID.

A friend of Hap's had bequeathed him with a case or two of
beer, among which were the evocatively named Fat Tire and
Skinny Dip, from the New Belgium brewery in Fort Collins.
These beers are less characterful than their names, and I
don't see that they deserve either the opprobrium nor the
praise that factions of beeries garner them with. They
were fine but hardly more so.

The mussels were delicious; last time they'd been not quite
clean; this time, pretty much perfection. I separated the
chuck roast into three steaky things and pan-broiled them.
Major yums, the Kobeness of the beef manifesting itself in
a sirloin-like level of tenderness and the depth of flavor
that I love chuck for.

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