Va Va Va Vegan!

Hi. My name is Rachel, and I'm addicted to the Internet.

It's true! But I had no idea how much I depended on the World Wide Webby Poo (I figure an adorable nickname is suiting since we do spend so much time together) until I found myself computerless. Hence the lack of new blogs. Hence you crying on your pillow every night.

But all that time previously spent Googling Celine Dion's shoe size, has now been devoted to filling my face with delectables from Seattle restaurants that I have never tried before!

Where have you been eating, you ask? Well, for one, Hillside Quickie up on Capitol Hill. I have read reviews and passed by this vegan sandwich (yeah, that's right, more sandwiches) shop a baker's dozen times, but never stopped in. For two reasons:

1.) When it comes to vegetarian and vegan food, I prefer creative combinations of real veggies, legumes, tofu, pasta and rice, as opposed to those creepy curtains of wrinkly fake meat.

2.) Vegan food, especially sandwiches, tend to be B-L-A-N-D. Blandwiches, if you will.

But boy did I feel sheepish after taking my first bite at Hillside Quickie! After spending a secretary's lunch break deciding what to order ("Ooooh, look at that one! Fire roasted yam sammich?! Jamaican spiced tofu wrap?!") I finally settled on the Purple Haze:

Cushy rosemary focaccia managed to bookend an absolutely enormous sandwich filled with smoky slabs of soft eggplant, seitan steak, sweet grilled onions, and barely cooked, crisp bell peppers. This was a vegan sandwich with FLAVOR! With DEPTH! It was messy and drippy and threatened to disassemble at any moment, which are all the signs of a superb sandwich.

I am often lured into ordering a main course based on the sexiness of its side dish, and at Hillside Quickie my seitan stack was not accompanied by plain-old ordinary chips or potato salad. No sir. Piled up beside my teetering sandwich was a lovely lump of creamy risotto. It seemed to maybe possibly perhaps be made out of quinoa, and it seemed to be much better than the sticky, gooey "risottos" I've tasted at fine Seattle restaurants over the past year.

So the next time you accidentally drop your laptop in the toilet, or get busted for pilfering your next door neighbors Internet - seize the opportunity! Don't mope! Eat! Eateateat! Even if you're scared of potentially wrinkled up fake meat.

Earl of Sandwich: I Salute You

Oh boy, do I love getting mail. It's like magic! You open up the little box, and there is stuff in there waiting for you! I love the "Happy Birthday" postcard my dentist sends me, I love the Latina magazine that belongs to a lady down the street, that ends up in my box. And best of all, I love the sweet little red envelope we have all come to recognize as Netflix. I hadn't gussied up my long-as-Crystal-Gayle's-Hair queue in ages, so imagine my surprise when I found the hard hitting, groundbreaking documentary Sandwiches You Will Like in my very mailbox.

Um, okay, you can totally wipe that face off your head. Like you've never watched a sandwich documentary. Pfffft. Please!

Anyway, this visual sandwichpalooza launched me into a sandwich frenzy.
Frenzy meaning, I ate three sandwiches this past week, two that will make you wanna hug your grandma.

Never underestimate the potential of a grocery store sandwich. Pete's is a small, unassuming shop right across the gravel road from the east shore of Lake Union. The crumbly storefront is a clever disguise for what's inside: aisles of fine wines, an impressive cheese selection, and a deli where you might spend 18 minutes deciding what to stack between two slices of bread *cough*.

After a long fret, I chose to fill my soft roll with peppered turkey, capicolla (paper-thin slices of Italian spiced ham) , provolone (I really wanted my boyfriend brie. Oh, Brie! But I used my willpower to stick with the Italian theme) roasted red peppers, balsamic, red onions, and lettuce. Momma mia! (I am allowed to toss around obnoxious, cliche Italian phrases, since I sacrificed the brie for provolone) This was a mighty fine sandwich! A sandwich with a view, enjoyed just blocks away from work.

Sandwich number two takes us to beautiful Aurora/Highway 99. I was driving back to work after interviewing several homeless people (I'm living the dream, people) when I remembered Barriga Llena, Seattle's newest (uh, and only) torta shop. Desperate for authentic over-the-counter Mexican food, I took the Spanish-only menu as a good sign.

Barriga Llena's specialty is the Barrigona, a torta stuffed with Old McDonald's entire farm: breaded steak, chorizo, pork leg, cheese, and a hot dog. Seeking semi-purity, I opted for the steak, pork leg and cheese. A Mexican roll, the size of my size-9 foot, is stuffed with the meat menagerie, mayo, mashed avocado, lettuce, tomato (no thanks) and then grilled 'til melty.

Every single person who walked by my desk stopped to gawk at the carnivorous creation. But as the after-school specials of my youth taught: looks aren't everything. The massive, fried steak reeked of elementary school cafeteria food, which sort of brought down the entire torta. And after I polished it off, my stomach felt like it was toting a toaster. But, on the plus side, the thick, brick red (homemade?) hot sauce was top notch, and helped ease the blow.

Nothing screams healthy like a big, fat, deliciously drippy, aoili-trickling-down-to-your-elbow Cuban sandwich. Which is exactly why I ate one right before a long walk around Green Lake.

Paseo has no sign, but you'll be tipped off to it's whereabouts by the hungry mob lined up on Fremont Avenue. This is, hands down, my favorite sandwich in Seattle. Order the Midnight Cuban Press and get hunks of slow roasted pork, thin slices of ham, melty cheese, sweet chunks of caramelized onion, cilantro, hot peppers and garlicky aoli shoved into a crusty roll and grilled. You will need 800 napkins. You will make embarrassing moaning and groaning noises. You will wait in line for this massive sandwich.

When I don't have time to take a nap after lunch, I order the scallop sandwich. About six or seven fat scallops peak out of the baguette, along with those perfect onions, jalepenos, garlic aoli, cilantro and a leaf or two of romaine. If you manage to capture one of the few tables inside Paseo, you will be rewarded with a half a corn on the cob smeared with more yummy tasties.

Forget President's Day, I think we need a three day weekend in honor of the Earl of Sandwich.

Barfaroni - The Sandwich of Dreams and Nightmares

I grew up in a Chef Boyardee free house. No TV dinners. No Hamburger Helper and no sugary cereals. When my sister and I accompanied our mom to the grocery store, we'd hungrily browse the frozen food aisle like a broke Elizabeth Taylor at Tiffany's.

So when Cathy's boyfriend, Sean, suggested we make grilled Chef Boyardee Ravioli sandwiches, I almost started breakdancing in Winco's canned food aisle. Instead I giddily grabbed a tin of raviolis ($.88!) and impulse bought a can of Beefaroni (my first ever!).

These wife-beater worthy sandwiches would be concocted at an event titled "Beer + Cheese + Whores = Your Perfect Friday Night." It was a Chico friend reunion (the whores, of course, being Cathy, Lisa and me); the perfect excuse to sip a 40 ouncer of Mickey's and bust out the SnackMaster.

Exhibit A:

* Beefaroni on white. Slice of American cheese. Slices of Tilamook Cheddar.

* Peanut butter on white. Slices of banana. Drizzle of honey.Chunks of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.





Exhibit B:
Clamp that shit shut (Sean's a professional. Note the "I'm concentrating really hard on this important task" tongue maneuver. )













Exhibit C:
That can't be good for the arteries.




















Exhibit D:
This is actually the ravioli sandwich.
Aka "the HeartAttackwich" AKA "Little Slice of Heaven."






Exhibit E:
Easy Clean-Up!








It was a white trash dream come true! One hand gripped the Mickey's 40oz. The other held my scorching hot dream sandwich. I nibbled a few bites of the Beefaroniwich. I nibbled a half a ravioliwich. I definitely had a few bites of a gorgonzola/monterey jack/wasabi mayonaise on sourdoughwich. And I sipped that sweet malt liquor. I danced on the counter. I ate a few cold raviolis out of the can. And then...

Readers, I totally barfed. Like, four times.

The moral of the story? Listen to your mutha. When it comes to a Boyardee ban -- she definitely knows best.