Snow

The most amazing thing happened last night. It snowed. While we were reveling with friends inside, two inches of snow fell silently outside. After our guests left, Peter and I went out for a midnight walk. I'm quite certain Ballard has never looked so enchanting*.













On a chilly night when it's snowing outside, nothing beats Jambalaya. I heard Seattle is expecting more snow on Wednesday... and I know Minnesota already has plenty. So go get your groceries now. When the snow comes again, you can stay in with a spicy, steaming bowlful.

Jambalaya

3/4 lb smoked andouille sausage, sliced into rounds
1 red pepper, diced
1 green pepper, diced
2 celery stalks, chopped
4 scallions, sliced
3/4 cup coarsely chopped parsley
3 cloves garlic
2 Tbsp fresh thyme
1 1/2 cups rice
1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into chunks
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
2 cups chicken broth
3 bay leaves
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1 lb medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 Tbsp lemon juice

Saute the sausage in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat until browned. Remove the sausage and set aside. Add the bell peppers to the Dutch oven and saute for 2 minutes. Add the celery, scallions, parsley, garlic, and thyme, stirring well. Cook 3 minutes, then add rice, still stirring. Add the chicken, combining well. Reduce heat to low and cook 5 minutes. Stir in the sausage, tomatoes, broth, bay leaves, salt, pepper, and cayenne. Cover and cook for 20 minutes, or until the rice is done. Try to resist the temptation to lift the cover to smell your simmering stew. Once the rice is cooked, stir in the shrimp and lemon juice and cook until the shrimp have just turned pink and are done, about 3-5 minutes.

*Speaking of enchantment, it's worth taking note that Linda, our neighbor, has created a colorful holiday display in her front yard. Tinsel, blinking lights, sculpted shrubs. It's very, very festive.

Pile of Pancakes

If you're like I am, the days after Thanksgiving are filled with nibbles and left-overs. By Sunday, I'm usually ready for something that doesn't resemble turkey, yams, or cranberries.

And that's precisely why I became fixated on pancakes yesterday. I had gotten a taste of these last weekend when our friends, Matt and Elie, joined us for brunch. I pulled out a recipe I'd printed a year ago and stashed away: Mark Bittman's Whole-Grain Pancakes. For those of you who don't follow the Minimalist, I highly recommend his cheeky videos on nytimes.com; his recipes happen to be fabulous, too. This recipe yields a big batch of fluffy, moist cakes, despite the whole-wheat and buckwheat. The secret is in the eggs, which are separated... the whites are whipped into stiff peaks.



Sunday Morning Pancakes
(adapted from Mark Bittman's Whole-Grain Pancakes)

3 Tbsp butter (plus more for serving)
1 cup whole wheat flour
2/3 cup buckwheat
2 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
2 large eggs, separated
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup milk

Melt 3 tablespoons butter. In a large bowl, combine flours, oats, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon and salt.

Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form (I prefer to let my electric mixer do this job.) Don't overbeat. In separate bowl, beat milk and buttermilk, yolks and melted butter until foamy - about a minute. Add milk mixture to flour mixture and give a couple of good stirs, but don't overmix. Fold in egg whites and stir until batter is just evenly colored and smooth; the lumps are okay.

Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add butter, heat just past white foaming stage, then add batter. Drop walnuts onto batter rounds. Cook until bubbles form and pop, about 1-2 minutes. Carefully flip and cook until well-colored. Keep them hot in the oven while you finish the rest of the batch.

Serve with a bowl full of colorful fresh fruit... or caramel-y sauteed apples, as we did yesterday. Please don't skimp on the maple syrup. And if you're feeling decadent, whip some cream and add a generous dallop to your steaming heap.

Full-Time Thanks

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I'm feeling the urge to give a little thanks.

I'm delighted to report that I accepted a wonderful job offer yesterday... at the Swedish Medical Center Foundation. In my new position, I'll be working on a variety of events that support one of Seattle's most well-respected and established medical centers. I'll be tied closely with the brand-new Center for Advanced Brain Tumor Treatment, and a fascinating pianist-turned-neurosurgeon named Dr. Greg Foltz.

I was pleased to hear from my dad (I wonder how many other Minnesotans read the Seattle news?) that there was a lengthy article about the new Brain Cancer Center in today's Seattle Times! Click here to view the article.

I'll look forward to sharing more details soon. But for now, I just have to say, "thank goodness."

Tasty Morsel

So, you probably want a juicy update, don't you? I'm inclined to blather about our stunning Sunday hike near Snoqualmie Pass, but I'll give you a few scraps to chew on rather than wax poetic about a yellow maple.
































I started a part-time internship at the Seattle Art Museum today. I'm working in the development department, spearheading a fun, new corporate membership project. I should mention that this new internship complements my part-time work at the University of Washington and my other part-time work at a charming restaurant in Ballard. For those of you who aren't great with numbers, three part-time jobs = a lot of work.

When I walked into the museum this afternoon, it smelled of peanut butter sandwiches and wet tennies. I rounded the corner to find a herd of fourth-graders, lounging on the steps and feeding from rumpled brown bags. It sounds odd, I know, but I envied those students and their squishy sandwiches!

I made my way up to the 5th floor and met Jeanine, my supervisor. She showed me to my glamorous cubicle. It's quite nice, actually, save the enormous computer monitor that makes my eyes jitter and twitch. Once I got settled, Jeanine took me on a grand tour and introduced me to the whole cast of characters, the people who make the Seattle Art Museum tick. It's good to be there and I'm happy to be connecting another group of interesting Seattleites.

That's your morsel for this week. Almost as tasty as PB&J from a sack lunch you didn't have to pack. I know.

Close of October

It's nearly the close of October and fall just keeps on coming. The trees are blazing with color; everything underfoot goes "crunch, crunch."













Peter and I spent the weekend close to home. Our free hours were filled by long walks around the neighborhood, making a few prints from collected leaves, weeding the small strip of garden next to our patio, potting some evergreens and chatting with neighbors.













Linda (aforementioned neighbor and Open Mic organizer) has a friendly exchange going with us. After she lent us her stock pot for our tomato endeavor, we returned it with a jar of sauce and a note of thanks. A few days later we found a squatty silver pot and a note on our door step: "Thought this would help with your cooking addiction. Lids are 99 cents at Goodwill." Yesterday afternoon, she brought over a little boxwood, some grasses, and a spidery climber from her backyard.

Clearly, now it's our turn to reciprocate with a neighborly favor. Perhaps, dear reader, you have a good suggestion. Toss out an idea and I'll keep you posted on this budding relationship.

Fall Visitor

I'm back. While Seattle saw rain, this blog saw a serious drought. The reason for my distraction? We had a visitor! My sister, Ann, was here for two fabulous weeks. If you ever find yourself in the Pacific Northwest with a dear sister (or brother, mother, father, or friend), I highly recommend the following agenda:

1. Cut yourselves some slack. Sleep in.

2. Take lots of hikes. Collect leaves of elephant proportions, as well as other interesting specimen you may find along the way (moss, lichen, branches from a monkey-tail tree).















3. Go for a run in the rain along Salmon Bay - you'll feel like a true Seattleite once you're drenched.

4. Head to Pike Place Market and buy the freshest, best-looking salmon and veggies you can get your hands on.













5. Find a happy hour location that boasts good micro brews and live coverage of the vice presidential debates.



















6. Take a ferry to Bainbridge Island. Wander through town to find the Harbour Public House. Get out of the rain, cozy up under the outdoor umbrella and order yourself a tasty beer and some fish and chips.





























7. Drive north along the Chuckanut Trail toward Bellingham. Along the way, enjoy the craggy coastline and stunning views. Pull over at the Oyster Bar for a delicious lunch and the best Puget Sound views in the state. May I suggest that you a) look fancy or b) bring a dramatic scarf to divert the other diners' attention away from your hiking boots and dirty pants? It'll make everyone more comfortable. Trust me.















8. Pick fresh apples at one of the many orchards near Samish Bay. When you get home, throw a crisp in the oven. Nothing nudges you into fall more gently than the smell of cinnamon and apples bubbling in the oven.

9. Stay up late, dream good dreams, and, with a little reluctance, send your lovely visitor home.

Yakima Tomatoes Galore

An ambitious moment at a Ballard produce shack resulted in a full night's work for Peter and me. Last week, I came home with 30 lbs of tomatoes from the Yakima valley: round, hefty, and ready for a little special treatment.














In order to give these tomatoes a run for their money, Pete and I had to round up a few tools. We managed to find the wide-mouthed funnel and tongs at the local hardware store (it was the fourth or fifth one we visited - apparently we weren't the only folks in search of tools we should've saved from Grandma's kitchen). The Kerr jars were easy to find. But getting enough large stock pots for all those orbs was a trick! We ended up borrowing an enormous pot from our neighbor, Linda.

(enter Linda from stage left)

Linda lives in the house right next door to us. She's probably in her forties. I'm not sure she "works" in the traditional sense of the word. But she probably says the same thing about us! Anyway, she's 100% dedicated to the Open-Mic Night she coordinates each week. She tells us about it every time she sees us and advertises it on the back of her car with white window paint. That's dedication.














As I looked online for a little assistance for our first canning endeavor, I came across a fantastic website from the National Center for Home Food Preservation - I highly recommend you check it out. We used their recipe for crushed tomatoes, which worked out brilliantly.














While we're chatting about good reads, I have one more tip. If you're lucky enough to live in the fine state of Minnesota, pick up a free copy of this month's Edible Twin Cities. In it, our good friend, Zach Hawkins, has a feature article entitled, The New Preservationists. But beware - it might just be enough to send you out in search of 30 lbs of ripe tomatoes.

You're special, because you're MTV Cribs

Since 2005, MTV Cribs has featured home tours of over 185 celebrities, musicians, actors and athletes. In this most recent episode, Cribs crew-members check out the rad retreats of Peter B. Nelson at his new duplex in Seattle.

Strangers

Oddly enough, Peter and I flew back to Minnesota this weekend. Not because of homesickness. Not because we're already experiencing Seasonal Affective Disorder (it's still sunny and 70). No, we had a Very Important Reunion Planning Meeting to attend at our alma mater.

I note this is because a peculiar and wonderful experience happened en route to the airport:

Peter and I boarded the #28, which runs out of Ballard and straight downtown. There, we would catch a transfer to the Sea-Tac airport. Still a bit uneasy as first-time riders, we clutched our suitcases tight on the bumpy ride. The bus driver came over the intercom, "Is anyone on this bus transferring to the underground tunnel at 3rd and Union?" We exchanged nervous glances and shot our hands up in the air, "We are!" Assuming he was announcing a detour or a warning, we wanted to be sure we caught on quickly.

As it turned out, we had volunteered to assist a young man in finding his transfer bus in the underground tunnel. The man walked down the narrow aisle, looking desperately from side to side in search of his appointed travel companions. Providing assistance was not something we were prepared to do, but our seat neighbors signaled to him and pointed to us. He sat down and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over.

"Where are you headed?" we asked. He looked at us blankly. "Little English," he said meekly as he pinched a tiny sliver of air between his thumb and pointer. We feigned an attempt at interpreting the bus numbers and transfer locations, but the notes on the paper were as foreign to us as English was to him.

Noting just how desperate we were, the man across the aisle made an offer to show us all the way to the underground tunnel and our connecting lines. Peter and I breathed a sigh of relief and gave the Turkish man the signal that transcends all geographical boundaries and language barriers: two thumbs up.

At our stop, the man across the aisle stood up, extending to six and a half or seven feet tall, and led us all off the bus. In a single file, we followed behind him: first Peter, then me, then the Turkish man. As if following a pillar of cloud, our Moses parted the Red Sea of 3rd Ave and led us safely toward the underground Promised Land.

Total strangers, momentarily bound, we descended the escalator in silence. We wove our way through the crowds of hustling locals carrying groceries, jabbering on cell phones. Moses stopped under a bus sign and pointed to the Turkish man. Then he tapped his own chest and signaled to the approaching bus. Screeching to a halt and throwing open its doors, the bus boldly welcomed the two men.

Swift currents of bus riders flowed in and out of the open doors while we four stood still in their wake. In recognition of the oddly profound journey we'd just shared, we exchanged handshakes and earnest thank yous. The two strangers boarded the bus and held our gaze through the window. Giving a cough of exhaust, the bus accelerated, then vanished.

Namesake Next Door

There's nothing like the aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies mingling with the smell of box-fresh IKEA furniture to make a house feel like home. Our first Saturday night in Seattle was spent creating this unmistakable sense of comfort.














The place we’re calling home is a sweet little two-bedroom duplex in Ballard. Just fifteen minutes northwest of downtown and situated right on Puget Sound, Ballard was a free-standing milling and fishing town until Seattle annexed it in 1906.

The neighborhood clings to its Scandinavian identity: Olsen’s Gift Shop on main street sells lefse, lingonberries and the works, the annual Syttende Mai celebration draws Seattlites from far and wide, and I got a hearty “Um Ya Ya!” on the bike trail in response to my St. Olaf t-shirt. So, I think I’m gonna like it here.

Back at the duplex, Peter and I had a chance to meet Frank, neighbor and namesake of the blog. Picture this: a vision of denim, plaid flannel, and the frizziest, bushiest, biggest red beard you’ve ever seen. That’s Frank. Lovely guy. Been in the front half of the duplex for eight years. Nice and quiet. Perfect neighbor? I’ll keep you posted.

Open Immediately

"Open immediately upon arrival in Seattle" read the box. Inside, a package of Minnesota goodies from Sally. The most brilliant treat was a four-pack of Surly Furious. A toast to Minnesota! Cheers!

Prelude

With our Honda packed full of the essentials and an i-pod plump with audio books and pod-casts, Peter and I set out across the western half of the continent last week. We left Minneapolis and wove our way through North Dakota, Montana, Idaho and Washington. Waiting for us at the end of the trip was a new home in Seattle (and a new neighbor named Frank).

The Seattle move was prompted by Peter’s graduate program at the University of Washington, but countless other discoveries have made us feel excited about trying on this new city for size. This blog is a way for me to jot down some of those thoughts for myself, and share them with you, dear reader.

The following photos are a prelude to Seattle, in the order in which they were snapped. In just five photos, you can see two and a half days of cross-country travel. Lucky you!