Marc Kevin H.'s Profile

I visited Gas Works Park on my first trip to Seattle, many mango seasons ago. It was the dead of winter: the remnants of grass were sparse, brown, and frost-covered; it was as cold and desolate as a post-apocalyptic wasteland. I loved it immediately.

On my recent return trip one of the few places on my "must-see" list was GWP. Our intrepid band walked therefrom Fremont (a bit of a trek, but safe enough on a Sunday afternoon), and enjoyed the spectacle of cardboard tube combat against the backdrop of corroded industrial machinery. But this time (early May) the grass was lush and green, there was a brilliant and clear sky, and the breeze was enough to keep the kites flying. It was marvelous!

There is that small matter of the peeling and corroded warning sign near the park entrance, the one suggesting that you wash your hands thoroughly after touching the soil or grass, and that you not let your dogs (or children) dig in the soil. It did give me some concern about coming back next time with a blanket and picnic basket. but hey! What are a few non-beneficial mutations among friends?

I look forward to going back during my next visit.

On my arrival in Seattle my lovely companion and I spent a good while trying to find this place. Oh, it isn't really hard to locate; she just couldn't remember the name or address, just that it was on the water with a nice view.

Having now eaten there I can understand. My fish and chips weren't at all bad, just unremarkable. She was a little more enthusiastic for her fish tacos, but in the end neither of us was gushing with emotion. Okay, perhaps there was a bit of emotion, because by the time she had called her husband to help us figure out the name of the place she was starving.

The view is nice enough, as well, if you are coming from some completely land-locked environment. Otherwise, it's -- well, an industrial harbor. Ooh, look! Masts! And concrete warehouse rooftops!

But again, the servers were nice, and did not seem to be out of work wannabe supermodels like I get all the time in Miami.

I was warned before going in that the place might be a little "douchey," and was not disappointed in that regard. They do seem to have been using up more than their quota of the local self-important and pretentious jackasses (and I'm coming from Miami Beach, where self-importance and jackassery is High Art).

Fortunately, the servers were efficient and pleasant, and the food quite good, so the overall effect was positive. On the recommendation of one of my lovely and talented dining companions I had an After School Special, a hamburger with the usual trimmings -- tomato, onion, pickles -- plus peanut butter and bacon. Wipe that horrified look right off your face! It was delicious, if a bit overdone for my carnivorous nature.

But to be fair, my opinion may have been somewhat clouded by the two Dark and Storm cocktails I imbibed, a delightful concoction of various rums and ginger beer. They were oh-so-tasty, and reasonably priced. Why, if I'd had a few more of those I might have even gotten along with some of the other patrons.

Hah! No, they weren't *that* strong.

Black curtains. Comfortable chairs. Shelves filled with tomes of esoteric lore from Time-Life books. A DVD player running documentaries and spooky films. Plaster casts of Bigfoot prints. Tarot cards, Ouija boards, and ESP tests. Bruce Lee & Kurt Cobain memorabilia. A smattering of history. A theremin. An oxygen bar?!

Okay, I don't have a theremin or an oxygen bar, but I do have cats running around. That puts my living room on roughly equal footing with the Museum of the Mysteries, and I don't charge $2 for entry.

I don't want to be too negative, though. The staff was pleasant, and it seems to function as a kind of Mystic Brotherhood Reading Room. Perhaps I am just spoiled by Miami, where every block you can find a bustling botanica.

I liked the look of this place right from the start -- funky, eclectic, bordering on eccentric. It's filled with antique bric-a-brac like any number of similar places, but there's a greater feeling of cohesion, like someone really thought about the decor instead of just buying any old crap at garage sales.

My food was pretty good, too, not that it is too easy to screw up a patty melt. The fries were crisp, and the portions were ample without being overwhelming. The mint milkshake, however, was divine.

And there are some seriously fun and cute waitresses, too. I got to meet the now legendary Suzie, who is so far beyond adorable it's hard to imagine without seeing her in person. There's a friendly and personable atmosphere to the place that would make me want to be a regular, if the commute from Miami wasn't so far.

The sacrilegious atmosphere at this place was pretty good, and the bartender not only failed to flinch when I ordered a caipirinha, actually made it well. The music wasn't too loud, either, but then I was there before the hours when it would really get thumping. It was comfortable, too, and seemed to have a pretty good mix of people. I would go back the next time I was in town (or that part of it, anyway).

No-one ever believes me when I tell them the best Cuban restaurant in Miami isn't in Hialeah or Little Havana, but in North Miami. The menu is filled with both traditional pre-revolutionary Cuban dishes (a lot of seafood), and the roast pork and picadillo Americans expect. The price is fair for the large portions, and the service is top notch.

It's a great place to bring out of town guests who aren't familiar with the food, as seating large parties is rarely a problem, and the menu is varied enough to satisfy everyone.