Market Tuesday

So I went to Pike Place Market today.

(Pay attention, friends: "Pike Place," like 'Melrose Place;' no plural, no possesive. "Pike's Peak" is in Colorado, a place that I has nothing to do with me. "Pike Place Market." If that's too much for you, you can simply say "The Market." Other open air markets are called 'farmers' markets.')

Anyway, I forgot to bring my camera. Sorry. It was stunning!

I had lunch at Jack's Fish Spot, which is one of those places that people get giddy about were it found in Marseilles or San Francisco. Fat tourists in wrinkled shorts will turn up their noses. Tiny steel lunch counters wrap around two tiny bays stuffed with tall barstools. There's no charge for the ketchup or tartar sauce (or the lemon wedge I asked for) but they don't sell drinks; the creamery next door sells bottled beverages.

Anyway, the kid left my fish and chips in the oil too long. This was a disappointment, since the fish was so fresh. Anyway, don't order fish and chips there if the blond kid is cooking; he gets distracted. I had the feeling that the dark haired kid was the cook, but he was eating. Regardless, once I got my food, I saw blondy handing plates of fresh shucked oysters and steaming heaps of clams and mussels over the counter, while the cashier was pulling some immaculate shrimp cocktails, crab cocktails, and smoked salmon cocktail cups out of the ice chest. They don't spoon the cocktail sauce over it until you buy it, so the acid doesn't rubberize the seafood; also, you can ask them to go light on the cocktail sauce. I ordered the wrong thing.

I bought this ramakin enameled cast-iron pot for kitchen salt. There were other tins, but none that I liked. This was next to all the Le Creuset gear. Unfortunately it was all non-stick, so I got this one instead.

I got some merguez sausages for dinner tonight. I'll get some baguettes later.

I got this double cigarette case at the smoke shop; it will be my new wallet.

And this is my new favorite cheese; they make it in their shop in the Market, in the corner store front that used to be a flower shop. When I went in, the cheese dude in a white coat was cutting the fresh curds so they could drain. I don't know where they store these cheeses to age, but let me tell you, this cheese is yum.

I remember once in Tagalog class in Madison, Wisconsin, we took a road trip to a snooty cheese factory. After the telling us the whole long, complicated, and intensive process they take to hand craft their mediocre (yet prize winning) cheese, one of the Tagalog profs asked "what kind of cheese can you buy that will not go bad if not refrigerated for four to six months?"

The guy (without chuckling) said NO CHEESE, but the prof didn't really understand. I talked to her later about putting the cheese in a cooler; that's when the light bulb went off. "Oh, that's why he couldn't answer my question . . . "

Anyway, this cheese, Beecher's Flagship, is much better. They actually make it taste good. I wonder why the Wisconsin people didn't just do that.