Roosted against a cool stone ledge of the penthouse balcony at Seattle’s historic Sorrento Hotel, I channeled my inner Oscar Wilde — gazing toward my city with twilight looming and clutching a goblet of wormwood to my chest. “A glass of absinthe is as poetical as anything in the world,” said the 19th century poet. “What difference is there between a glass of absinthe and a sunset.”
TV’s queen of Southern cooking, Paula Deen, has been slightly under fire for her recently public struggle with diabetes and her weight-inducing style of cuisine. The woman loves Crisco, deep-fryers and bacon, all for
Williams Shakespeare once composed that in his youth, he “never did apply hot and rebellious liquors in (his) blood.” Two weeks ago, I applied both hot food and rebellious liquors in my blood at Bellevue’s Z’Tejas Southwestern Grill kick-off for the chain’s annual Chile Fest.
Say what you want about my city – yes, traffic is an atrocious time burglar, the ground is usually wet and no one looks you in the eye as you walk down the street – but you can’t say she has a shortage of Asian cuisine.
Wordplay is a serious knack. It is honed by lyrical practice and linguistic appreciation. That being said, innuendo repartee is often times the most witty. I’m talking sex, drugs and, of course, swear words.
Unless you are a resident or are looking to become one and yet still keep your “city lifestyle,” the general vicinity of Ravenna/Bryant/Laurelhurst is somewhat of an overlooked and underrated neighborhood(s). Just a hop
25 years is a long time to do, well, anything. Not many can attest to having committed to much for the better part of two and a half decades – Washington state has one of the highest divorce rates in the country, according to the
Australia often times gets a bad rap. They like Paris Hilton a little too much, they honor the British monarchy, Fosters Beer isn’t really made there and Vegemite is upsetting. But don’t sell them short and do look behind the curtain, there is more wonder to Oz than one might imagine.
If there is ever an excuse to drink Barolo, take it. Although many and most Italian winemakers will debate they produce the greatest juice to ever have been bestowed upon their country, there is only one rightful king to the throne — Barolo.
Brainstorming dream life decisions over cocktails is a favorite pastime of mine. The mixing of fantasy and booze usually results in a heady concoction. In the instance of Mhairi Voelsgen and Erin Brophy, founders of broVo Spirits, the idea of leaving the
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