Noshing to Avoid the Rain in Seattle

I'm in Seattle for the first of many birthday parties this month. My own naissance is next week (Scorpios rule!). But this weekend is all about feting my buddy Greta, a kindergartener who is turning 6 years old tomorrow. Until we board the Tumble Bus, a schoolbus that has been gutted out and padded so that kids can jump, scream and roll as much as their little hearts desire inside, I did my own tumble as part of Seattle's art walk in Pioneer Square. A couple of cool sources from the action sports biz took me to this basement bar called Marcus' Martini Heaven, where I started with a chocolate cake martini (Stoli citron vodka, Frangelico and a sugared rim) and a ginger martini (ginger vodka, lime and club soda). Then we walked in the rain to Snowboard Connection, a local shop that was throwing a sticker party for a Seattle clothing brand called Spacecraft. When I was first told about the Spacecraft party at SnoCon, I thought the technogeeks here were building their own space vehicle. It was a logical assumption considering that Seattle and its neighboring 'burbs are home to Microsoft, Amazon.com, Nintendo's U.S. ops and Real Networks, among other tech companies. Alas, the peeps at Spacecraft were a lot cooler than the Web wonks. They baptized me into the world of local brews, including Rainier beer.

After comparing dark nail polish with some chicks at the party, I went to get a late dinner with Greta's dad, Rob, whom I met in Japanese class during my sophomore year of college. My nails, painted Mac's Nightfall, blended into the velvety mole at La Carta de Oaxaca, the latest great eatery to open in Ballard, the Western neighborhood that has been the locus for Norwegian and Swedish families in Seattle for generations. I first bristled at the thought of an Angeleno getting Mexi food in the Pacific Northwest. But good food brings good times. Plus, Ballard is getting hip. Rob, who's lived in Ballard for some eight years, said you'll get a blend of twentysomething hipsters who frequent Archie McPhee's shop on Market Street and geriatrics who get medical check-ups at the Swedish Medical Center a few blocks away.

I've never had tamales with mole before. For the regular mole, I selected pork, which was so tender that it fell apart with little goading from my fork. For the tamale, I ordered the chicken. The banana leaf was so fragrant that when it was brought to the table my senses were tricked in thinking that I was about to dig into some Viet grub, which also uses many sheaths of banana leaves to cook dumplings.

Rob said I might gain a few pounds this weekend, what with all the dinners and birthday parties I have lined up. But I'll be walking the calories off en route to Salumi Artisan Cured Meats in Pioneer Square, Cafe Besalu in Ballard and in fleeing Greta and her 3-year-old sister Lucy. The kids are like tornadoes. Condensed bundles of limitless energy, they are heard before they are seen.

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