*Exciting News! Salty Seattle will be featured on The Cooking Channel’s Food(ography) hosted by Mo Rocca this Sunday, March 20th at 6:00pm PST, 9:00pm EDT. If you miss the premiere episode, there are repeat showings throughout the week on March 22, 26, 27, and 31. Get thee to a TeeVee and check it out. Even better, if you are in Seattle, join the party and watch with me at Pnk Ultra Lounge, 600 Pine St from 5:30-8:00pm.

This dessert will invoke the feline in you. Don’t try to deny it; everyone has some cat inside, whether it’s a parlor pussy with orange silk fur and a barely audible purr when you scratch just right or a snarling leopardess who attacks anything in sight with bared teeth and bucking hindquarters.

What both of those catty creatures have in common is their sultry ability to lick with gnashing abandon. This is a licking dessert. You want to slather each texture throughout your mouth. When you’re finished you are left breathless, wishing you could lap up more with your over-stimulated tongue. Read more

Just when I think it might be nice to gnaw on a simple roast and gaze contentedly out the frost-paned window whilst puffing on a pipe wearing a sweater with elbow patches, THE DARK SIDE CREEPETH FORTH. The Dark Side has a voice and it sounds suspiciously like James Earl Jones. I’m at the butcher shop, fingers fondling an enticing slab of chuck, and The Dark Side says, “How the hell are you going to modernize a roast, Salty? You have a reputation to uphold- go buy some sustainable Ahi tuna and update Ahi Poke. It’s so tired with those boring wontons and gloppy salsa. Make it new, fresh and hip or I will chase you down the street with the giant roast you’re clutching and I’ll throw it at your head and it will land on your face and you’ll hereto forth be known as Roast Face rather than Salty Seattle.  Do you really think Roast Face would be a good name for a blog? I didn’t think so. Now take off that nubbly sweater and those hideous rain boots, put on your big girl panties and a pair of stilettos, and feed me something clever.” Read more

It’s the dead of winter and I’m back in Seattle after a week spent languidly wallowing in the warm tradewinds and easy sunshine of the Caribbean. I’ve had my hot fun, and now there isn’t even a glimmer of vacation on the horizon until summer pops her fickle head out from the clouds.  I have been accused of being a touch on the stubborn side, and I ALWAYS want what I can’t have.  Right now that’s sun and the pints of ice cream that come with it.

A hot August night invariably takes me back to my eighth grade summer; the year I discovered fast cars and learned to avoid the fast boys that often drove them. The pegged-pants and Hypercolor set would cruise the sweaty asphalt of Blue Lakes Boulevard into the wee hours. To my young mind, those high school-and-beyond boys with spiked mullets, Stussy shirts, and Drakkar Noir-drenched necks were the embodiment of cool. They even wore their Oakley sunglasses at night. Read more