Chris "Don't Call Me Christy" D.'s Profile

I think places like Freeway are where terrorists go to learn to fly. That's probably not a compliment, is it? I don't know, I kinda think it is. I mean, it's not good to train turrurists, but I kinda like that I showed up, shook hands with some dude in his 20's that barely spoke to me and then we FLEW A PLANE. Non-chill types would probably freak out at the idea of getting in a plane with someone who you've had less conversation with than a one night stand, but I'm like Fonzie. And what's Fonzie like? Come on Yolanda what's Fonzie like? Correctamundo.

Did I mention I flew a damn plane? Anyone who lets me do that is A-OK in my book.

Oh Terra Plata, how do I not love thee? Let me count the ways...

1) Waiting 5+ minutes at the host station to be greeted, despite no fewer than three employees making eye contact with us.

2) Getting a bottle of water of with a rather noticeable amount of crap in the neck of the bottle: http://www.yelp.com/bi...

3) Being served a legitimately raw ham steak. I love rare meat and I never send food back, but I really had no choice since it was so raw I couldn't even cut it.

4) Being up-charged for the poached egg on my replacement of biscuits and gravy. I would have said yes, but I should have been asked and/or informed of the price difference when the waiter suggested the dish instead of offering a menu.

5) Being up-charged for the poached egg on my replacement of biscuits and gravy WHEN MY FIRST DISH WAS RAW.

On paper, both figuratively and literally, Terra Plata looks great. They've turned an interesting building into a fabulously warm and welcoming space. Their menu offers a broad range of delicious sounding, honest food. Even their prices are reasonable for a modern restaurant in the heart of Seattle. Sadly, that's where the charm stops. Five strikes and you're out.

I love Fitzgeralds for super cheap craps.

Sometimes the dealers (excessively) break wind and blame the customers.

Not the crap shooting I had in mind.

I really, really like the feel of this place. From the texting for reservations, to ringing the doorbell for entry, to the hushed enjoyment of the patrons... it all makes for a very cool experience. Plus, the food was very good in that homey, well executed bar food kinda way. Anything with pastry? Get it. Flaky and delicious, even if the secret ingredient in the chicken pot pie was a crap ton of poultry seasoning.

What I didn't like was waiting a half hour (not exaggerated) between getting our drinks and being able to order our food... or another drink. I get there's only one waitress for the place, but it's tiny and it shouldn't have taken that long for her to come back around. I saw her floating around, waiting on other tables, but I just couldn't manage to make eye contact to flag her down. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was purposely avoiding us.

Over the course of our longer-than-necessary time there, we only ended up ordering two rounds. Considering we were living four blocks DOWNHILL at the time, this is at least half of what we would have drunked with decent service. I'd go back, but would probably look to take others along to make the most of it (and hope for better service). They get that ironed out and it *could* be a 5 star joint.

I didn't think a $5 sammich that doesn't suck was possible, but they've done it.

Maybe it's the sprouts?

The roasted pork daily special lunch was delicious. This pork was tender and juicy, the buns were light and pillowy and the sides were a tangy contrast to the richness of the previous two. I'd eat it again, but it would be a much better meal if it was about a third cheaper or you got a third more dumplings. I don't know what it is, but there's something about paying $9 for 8 bites of dumpling that bothers me. I guess it has to do with stuffing my face with dim sum for $20/head on so many weekend mornings. I really shouldn't be surprised with Tom Douglas' name on it (OMG I GOT TO WRITE TOM DOUGLAS IN A REVIEW!) and it clearly catering to the South Lake Union yuppy crowd (hey, I'm one of 'em) by only being open 11a-2p Monday thu Friday. If $10 dumplings are your thing, and their ain't nuttin' wrong with that, than this is your place.

I'm pretty sure this place is designed to cater to Washington Flyer taxi drivers just coming off or going on shift. It's like a mall food court, but it's a free standing building in the middle of seemingly nowhere. I love mall food courts for what they are - a plethora of really unhealthy but delicious food choices to fill your gullet. The sad thing about Market Fresh is the choices are hardly a plethora and food is just plain bad. (My "Turkey Philly" was made with deli turkey thrown on a skillet. lulz.) I knew that from my visit a few years ago, but we were so freaking hungry we bit the bullet and ate there 'cause there was nothing else around... and that's how they stay in business.

Feierabend is about sitting on benches with friends drinking large vats of German beer and absolutely nothing else. If you're looking for comfortable chairs, fancy lighting, specialty cocktails or being seen, go somewhere else. Hell, you might even have to share a table with complete strangers. Oh, the horror.

I can't wait to drink 98 more liters and get my very own stein with my name on it!

Wow. No seriously, wow. My experience at Import Doctors exceeded my expectations in every possible way. I really wasn't looking for a mechanic, but I found them during a desperate search when my car showed up in ill health after being transported across the country. When I say found them, I mean I used Google Maps on my phone to locate the nearest mechanic because A) my car wouldn't go much above 7 mph and B) I knew if I turned it off it wouldn't start again.

I called them, from my driver's seat, to make sure they could take a look at my car. I explained the situation to Marco and asked if I could drop it off. He said he could, but due to the amount of business he had, he wouldn't have room for it until later in the day. I asked if there was anything he could do, given my situation, and he told me to bring it by and they'd figure out where to put it later.

I limped the half dozen blocks, left the car running at the entrance of the PACKED garage and checked in with Marco. He said he probably wouldn't get to it for a day or two, but he would be in touch. I inquired about the dearth of space, to which he explained there was a lot of work to be done and none of his employees had shown up yet. This didn't inspire me with confidence, but there wasn't much I could do at that point.

Two days later, I received a call explaining my battery was dead, the positive terminal had corroded and fused to the battery and everything was back to normal after replacing those two items and flashing the ECU. I asked about cost and, expecting the worst, was pleased with the answer. I'd more or less predicted the repair, so I wasn't surprised at the outcome, but I was surprised I'd gotten away from a crappy situation for a relatively reasonable price and with zero hassle.

When I picked my car up the next day, ON A SATURDAY, Marco was kind enough to show me the corroded terminal without me even asking. The bonus? He set my radio presets for me, since a dead battery meant there were none (that and the car had just arrived in Seattle). Talk about an old school shop providing old school service. Refreshing. Very refreshing. They have likely earned my as a customer until they give me a reason otherwise.

When I was a kid, a friend took us to a Szechuan restaurant to celebrate his birthday. He warned us it was hot, but having grown up on his mother's cooking I was quite sure I was prepared. What I didn't realize at the time was there are different cuisines within the Chinese food family and Szechuan was absolutely NOTHING like what I'd had before. The pain I endured during (and after) that meal will permanently be seared (ha!) into my brain.

Fast forward 20 years when upon learning my friend's favorite restaurant had closed, I set about to find a *hopefully* suitable replacement. After a bit of Yelp digging, we ended up at Hong Kong Palace.

There is really no mistaking first impressions here. The place is tiny, looks like it hasn't changed since it was decorated in 1987, the tables and menus are sticky and you get the general sense they've probably seen a few health code violations. Since that's generally what we look for in restaurants, we dug into the Chinese menu to find dishes that would help recreate that memory from decades ago.

We decided on Dan Dan Noodles, Green Onion Cake, Ma Po Tofu and something my friend ordered by describing to our server since his momma wasn't there to do it in Chinese. (You see, he dropped out of Chinese Sunday school as a kid [much to her chagrin] and never learned to speak it.) Luckily, the server knew what he meant and scurried of to get our dishes.

Our food came without too much of a wait and I braced myself to relive the horrors of the past. Imagine my surprise when I realized that not only was I not attempting to drink the water from the never-been-cleaned fish tank in an effort to cool my tongue, but that my tongue was actually numb. Szechuan peppercorns were to blame and upon realizing it wasn't a sign of a stroke, I became addicted to the sensation. I'd take a bite of the well prepared, delicious food and then take a sip of water to obsess over how strange the water tasted. It was a vicious lifecycle; one that would eventually end in me eating and drinking entirely too much.

In the end, Hong Kong Palace was a great place to have lunch with a friend before I moved across the country. The food was exactly what we wanted/expected and all the Hole in the Wall nuances just faded into the background of our conversation. You eat here because it's as much a part of who you are, rather that how well they wipe down their tables.

The missing star? I'm reserving that in honor of the Szechuan of our youth.