I missed my bus yesterday, so I had some time to kill in the International District. Time to kill in the International District equals food, of course. Normally I'd pop into a unassuming cafe for a bowl of pho or some fresh spring rolls, or hop over to Shanghai Garden for their unforgettable hand-shaved noodles, but I'd just eaten, so I had to content myself with buying a bag of groceries.
Which is more fun than it sounds. Although many Seattle residents equate ID groceries with Uwajimaya, the epic and admittedly entertaining Asian superstore, I've always preferred to poke through the countless mom-and-pop shops that line the Jackson street corridor. The entire area is like a candy store for people who love pickled things and odd cuts of meat: you can find Chinese pickled lettuce, Vietnamese pickled water spinach, and about 50 varieties of pickled chiles, not to mention pigs' feet and live fish swimming woefully in murky tanks. Eleven dollars will buy you a bag bursting with odd roots and colorful cans, and the crowded isles and pungent smells create a vaguely Third World ambiance that always makes me feel at home, even though I'm sure I stick out like a sore thumb. If my tendency to gangle over the vegetables, peering at roots with a confused expression didn't mark me as a novice, to the trained eye my selection of groceries spell dilettante: lemon grass stalks, a bunch of cilantro, rice sticks, oyster mushrooms (organic! 2.99 a lb!), canned baby corn, two cans of coconut milk, and a can of coconut juice (I am curious, but it turns out to be too sugary). Total cost: the aforementioned eleven dollars. Now on to find some doable recipes in my new Mini C cookbook. (On Sunday, I used her recipes to make marinated pork and rare sirloin steak with chili sauce, and both dishes turned out pretty damn delicious, so I have high hopes for the rest of the book.)
Which is more fun than it sounds. Although many Seattle residents equate ID groceries with Uwajimaya, the epic and admittedly entertaining Asian superstore, I've always preferred to poke through the countless mom-and-pop shops that line the Jackson street corridor. The entire area is like a candy store for people who love pickled things and odd cuts of meat: you can find Chinese pickled lettuce, Vietnamese pickled water spinach, and about 50 varieties of pickled chiles, not to mention pigs' feet and live fish swimming woefully in murky tanks. Eleven dollars will buy you a bag bursting with odd roots and colorful cans, and the crowded isles and pungent smells create a vaguely Third World ambiance that always makes me feel at home, even though I'm sure I stick out like a sore thumb. If my tendency to gangle over the vegetables, peering at roots with a confused expression didn't mark me as a novice, to the trained eye my selection of groceries spell dilettante: lemon grass stalks, a bunch of cilantro, rice sticks, oyster mushrooms (organic! 2.99 a lb!), canned baby corn, two cans of coconut milk, and a can of coconut juice (I am curious, but it turns out to be too sugary). Total cost: the aforementioned eleven dollars. Now on to find some doable recipes in my new Mini C cookbook. (On Sunday, I used her recipes to make marinated pork and rare sirloin steak with chili sauce, and both dishes turned out pretty damn delicious, so I have high hopes for the rest of the book.)
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