Good company

Food is always made greater by good company. There isn’t a single dish that benefits from being eaten alone. Since starting this blog, regular meals have become occasions, and I’ve experienced the great fortune of having friends get excited about this little thing I’m doing here. When you share what you’re excited about, people become excited to experience that thing with you. People want in on whatever intoxicating bit of life you’ve found. When that bit of life is food, you get the chance to experience some great meals with some excellent people.

A friend I’d lost touch with reached out with a couple restaurant recommendations after reading my posts, and we decided to use one of her ideas as an reason to get together. At Some Random Bar in Belltown, glasses of limoncello cider and plates of nachos (both crab and brisket) were enjoyed on one of those perfect Seattle summer nights. The nachos were expertly crafted, piled high after being baked in a single layer for maximum chip coverage. The tortilla chips were either made in house or sourced from somewhere that does them well. Thick, but not too crunchy, able to hold a mound of crab and cheese without incident. The crab was the star of these nachos, but the supporting players all did their part to help it shine even brighter. A drizzle of cilantro pesto, a sprinkle of Aleppo pepper, and a giant pile of guacamole would all have been great without the crab, but with it, the nachos became greater than the sum of their parts.

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After an 85 degree day, the evening had cooled just enough, leaving a pleasantly warm breeze even after dark. The deck outside Some Random Bar sits on the street, and cars occasionally whip by fast enough to halt conversation for a second. We lingered over our meal, covering everything we’d missed over the last year and a half of losing touch.  We sat back with our glasses of (showstopping, not too sweet, slightly tart) limoncello cider. We made jokes with the next table while they had a bit of trouble taming their adorably mischievous puppy. We made a promise to keep in touch this time, to actually schedule that next meal, to use this blog to give us reasons to keep catching up. To cash in on this great city and enjoy the ridiculous meals it has to offer way more often.At Sisters and Brothers in Georgetown, my sister and I recovered from a (not really) near death experience at good old Wild Waves. Sitting in the sun at a picnic table, we chased away the roller coaster anxiety with a Rainier buzz, followed by Nashville hot chicken and waffles. A couple cold cans settled my nerves, and the meal revived them.

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Normally, I require my chicken to have skin, but Sisters and Brothers doesn’t fry real chicken until dinner, so strips it was. A damn good rendition, especially considering my disdain for skinless fried chicken. It was everything a strip should be: crispy, juicy, and easy to eat. The decision to only serve strips at brunch made more sense once I realize how convenient the execution was. Each bite had a perfect combo of crust, meat, waffle, butter, and syrup. The ease of eating this dish was only beaten by the easy flow of conversation.
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When you’ve been not only siblings, but also best friends for 26 years, sentences are rarely finished. The meaning behind each phrase is completely understood before all of the words can exit your mouth, and the next topic is already broached. The conversations I have with my sister are wildly efficient, and frankly, slightly annoying to anyone listening, but to me they feel easy and refreshing. To enjoy a meal alongside one of these conversations is one of my favorite things in life.A couple weeks later, I met a friend at Sisters and Brothers to buy some boots from her and shoot the shit. Like a pro, she offered to order something different than me and to split whatever we ordered so I could learn more about the menu. She ordered the braised pork sandwich with a side of fried green tomatoes, and finally I got skin-on fried chicken with a side of mac and cheese. The Genesee cream ale we ordered showed up in hilariously big 24 ounce cans and totally hit the spot. Armed with a buzz, we dissected the food in a methodical manner, taking bites and discussing what was in front of us.

The braised pork was the underdog winner, with a surprising amount of mustard seeds strewn throughout, giving each bite a crunchy pop. The meat was tender and well-seasoned, pairing well with the zucchini sauerkraut on the sandwich. Fried green tomatoes were addictive. Sour, crunchy, and the only thing we thought about ordering more of. The chicken and mac and cheese were exactly what they should be, the former having an intensely crunchy crust, the latter having a fantastically creamy sauce. The meal was well done, a good way to spend a Tuesday night, but the conversation was what made that trip to Georgetown worth it.

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My friend took it upon herself to meet me at my level. She was excited about the experience of having a meal for the sake of the blog, which fed my already heightened excitement about food. Our conversation twisted and turned around food, starting with what we ordered that evening and quickly turning into a recap of our respective food histories. I learned about what it was like to grow up in the South and what food meant to her family specifically. I learned about manners and traditions in the South, and about Beach Road fried chicken. This meal gave us the opportunity to share where we came from and why we are who we are, which is one of my favorite things about sharing a meal with a friend.

I talk about the taste and experience of actually eating food more than anything else, and for good reason. Eating food is one of the great experiences we are afforded in this life. But man, there is nothing better than sitting down to a meal and having a great time with the person across from you. The greatest thing about food is that it brings us together. It gives us a reason to meet, a reason to sit down for an hour or two and just enjoy life. It punctuates our day with tiny vacations, glimpses into the good things that make the slog worthwhile. I get excited about food for the act of eating it, but these meals have reminded me about getting excited for the experience surrounding it.

Borrachini’s Bakery

tl;dr: daaaaaaaaaaaamn their donuts are tight, and holy hell that glazed croissant. Beeline to the bakery section, pick whatever donut looks good, and also grab one of the glazed croissants.
Borracchini’s Bakery is so unpretentious, it’s listed as a convenience store on Yelp. That right there, well, that’s my kinda place. Though they put out what could be the most delicious cakes in the greater Seattle area, Borracchini’s gives no fucks whether or not you’re impressed with their decor. They’re here for the food, which suits me just fine.

Walking in, there are tables covered with different varieties of Italian cookies and crostini, and if you’re lucky, each table has a box open for sampling. You could use your entire appetite just perusing the samples. There are aisles and aisles of imported groceries and a solidly packed deli, but you’re here for the donuts.

Oh, you thought I was going to say cake? Well, yeah, you should definitely get a cake from here. We got a marble cake with custard filling and white Bavarian icing and everyone swooned over it. My sister even smushed a bit in my face, and it was actually a pleasant experience. That being said, man, we should have gotten donuts for our party.

The first donut I tried from Borracchini’s was a blueberry cake donut. I ate it while driving and shared it with two friends, which are two of the gravest mistakes I’ve ever made in my life. The donut was so distracting, it was probably as dangerous as texting while driving, and damnit, I should have eaten the whole thing myself. Or gotten two. Or gotten everyone their own donut because they’re sixty cents. Sixty cents for donut glory. The crumb of the cake was so unbelievably moist that the donut split in half when I tried to hand it to my friend. The crumb could barely hold on to itself, which made for a fantastic eating experience. The glaze was unobtrusive, adding just a slight crackle when you bit into the cake. The flavor? Fantastic, but really, it could have been any flavor with that kind of texture.
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I went back (OBVIOUSLY), on a mission. My sister and I got two donuts each, a raspberry filled, a glazed cake donut, a custard filled ring, and a glazed motherfucking croissant. When my sister spotted the croissant, I couldn’t believe it. Here I am, in possibly the most unpretentious bakery in the country, and they have latched on to the Cronut(TM) trend. But since the Cronut(TM) is trademarked, Borracchini’s just looked at a croissant and went, eh, let’s just fry that sucker and call it good. Instead of trying to keep on trend and make a knockoff Dossant, they did the smart thing, took what was already available, fried it, and said fuck it, that’s tight. And dear goodness, they’re right.
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This thing was dark brown, and covered in plain glaze. There were crunchy bites, crispy bites, pillowy bites, sugary bites, buttery bites, sometimes all five things in one bite. Though I’ve never tried a Cronut(TM), the pictures I’ve seen show a relatively homogenous texture on the outside, and the dough is fried to a regular golden brown. Now that I’ve had a glazed croissant from Borracchini’s, I feel as though I’d be disappointed by the Cronut(TM)’s lack of variety in texture and flavor. Making me feel like I’d be disappointed by a trademarked bakery product is a hell of an accomplishment.
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The other three donuts were obviously very well-done, and none were ignored, but damn, that glazed croissant. It was simultaneously nothing and everything you’d expect from a 94 year old Italian bakery. When you’re 94 years into the business, you don’t have to follow trends anymore. You can rest on your laurels and just enjoy the business of selling damn good cake and imported groceries. Or, you could keep your eye on what’s new, figure out the easiest way to do it, and make everyone else look like they’re just trying too damn hard.

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