Despite pushback from the ACLU, the City Council is expanding the use of body cameras by Seattle Police. Plus, there's a move to create a city income tax, a property tax to help the homeless, and a commission to give renters a voice in Seattle. Also, find out why the planet Mars is driving scientists to madness, how web-based films are taking off in our city, and how, with a little luck, you can take part in one of Seattle's most popular cultural festivals. All this and more on Seattle News NOW.
With Super Bowl XLIX right around the corner, our food writer, Bethany Jean Clement, explains Seattle's inherent food superiority to the city of baked beans. And, to be fair, we invited Boston Globe food editor Sheryl Julian to argue her region's case, which ran in the Globe.
To define Seattle at all is a tall order. Right now, we’re involved in an expansive, sometimes contentious civic debate about who we are — in newspaper articles and online threads, in bars and cafes. With Super Bowl XLIX imminent, let me explain Seattle — by way of its food — to you, Boston, the city of baked beans.
Seattle contains multitudes, more and more every day. There’s much discussion here of “newcomers,” of who they are and what they mean, of skyrocketing rents, of terrible traffic, of cultural shifts, of cold “natives.”
The real natives, of course, ate Chinook, coho and sockeye salmon, and steelhead trout. Stinging nettles, the curly tips of fiddlehead ferns, weirdly elongated razor clams, and hugely phallic geoducks are our delicacies now.
We take credit for the improbable greatness, the objective superiority of our sweet Dungeness crab and lush local oysters, made sweeter and lusher by our frigid waters. In reality, we’re just lucky to be here, lucky we didn’t stop and stay somewhere else.
In the middle of the night, in the rain, on the Seattle waterfront, you’ll see weirdos shining bright lights into the cold, clear water, jigging for squid. Along the roadsides in the summertime, you’ll see us infiltrating thorny, insane tangles of blackberries, only to make jam that is undeniably too seedy.
Blackberries, however, aren’t native, either. They’re a freaky invasive plant that took root here and won’t let go.
Our local restaurant heroes serve these foods in season (of course), in airy, well-appointed, buoyantly busy places. They live these foods: James Beard-award nominated chef Renee Erickson pulls crab pots into a boat on sparkling Puget Sound. Chef Matt Dillon, who has a Beard (plus a beard), keeps bees on nearby, verdant Vashon Island. Those who cannot fish or forage, but can afford to pay for others to do so, have dining rooms all over Seattle, usually equipped with the glowing hearth of a wood-fired oven.
This part of the food life here is relatively young, but growing absurdly fast: Seattle is fifth in the number of full-service restaurants per capita in the country. We’ve got 125-plus Thai places. (We only had one in 1981, but now Thai food is more popular than pizza here, and we’ve got four times as many Thai restaurants as you do, Boston.) And countless places for pho, the Vietnamese rice-noodle marvel: The favorite food of a local guy called Macklemore, it has arguably become Seattle’s favorite soup (supplanting clam chowder, which we like New England style — thanks for that).
Sir Mix-A-Lot extolled the virtues of Dick’s Drive-In, and that’s still where we get our late-night burgers and perfect, salty, floppy fries served in a paper envelope. From what is remembered of the grunge era, everyone just drank Rainier beer. Jimi Hendrix ate only acid.
The biggest Seattle restaurant story of all time (so far) is, oddly, the sudden shutdown of a tiny Cuban sandwich shop called Paseo this past fall. The city’s favorite (and messiest) sandwich, the Caribbean roast pork loaded with caramelized onions and secret-recipe aioli, was seemingly lost forever.
There were allegations that the owner had underpaid and mistreated workers, then a declaration of bankruptcy. People lit candles in front of the store. Then, suddenly, Seattle’s sandwich nightmare was over: A new owner came to the rescue, rehired the workers and reopened Paseo, to what might seem like inordinate citywide rejoicing. We just love that sandwich.
Speaking of workers, we voted to give everyone paid sick time (reducing sneezing in salads) and a $15-an-hour minimum wage. And we’ve got legal pot. When it comes to bite-sized THC chocolate-chip cookies (like those from local baker SPOT), eating dessert first is the new Seattle way. We’re jumping over instead of trying to push through.
Sure, for every locavore lovingly sautéing tricolor chard, there’s a bunch of people staring at a big or small screen, shoveling food into their collective face from a new delivery dot-com. But, then, former Microsoft nerd Nathan Myhrvold created his six-volume, 2,438-page “Modernist Cuisine.” And former Microsoft nerd Wassef Haroun and his wife, Racha, created their Syrian, Lebanese and Persian restaurant Mamnoon, making food an ambassador for their culture.
It nearly goes without saying we have the best coffee, and an unmatched amount of excellent local beer. We’ve got distilleries proliferating unbelievably, making delicious local booze.
Then there’s the wine, lots of it made right here — the grapes come from over the mountains (the ones to the east; we’ve got majestic peaks in all directions). So do Washington’s famous apples, which make crisp-tasting, dangerously drinkable cider. Seattle’s all-cider bar, Capitol Cider, serves all-gluten-free food; we’re tolerant of the gluten-intolerant.
In this city, some of us make magic: flying machines, virtual stores where you can get virtually anything, computers and holograms. Some of us ride bikes, do yoga, meditate. As a city, we still love books. We’re freaks and we’re geeks, and we don’t care.
We came all this way; we’ve got no desire to be defined. We were losers for a long time. It only makes the winning taste more sweet.
Read Boston Globe food editor Sheryl Julian’s take: “A taste of New England from the land of the dreaded Patriots”
HOQUIAM — In 2015, Ceasar Hart and his partner were sitting at Simpson Avenue Bar and Grill in Hoquiam when two men began making hateful comments about them. The owner, Shelly Dixon, confronted the men.
“Word got out that we were gay-friendly,” recalls Dixon, and soon more members of the LGBTQIA community began patronizing the bar. LGBTQIA is an inclusive term standing for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, and Asexual or Allied. When one of these new patrons suggested that Dixon host drag shows at the bar, she reached out to Hart.
Hart, who was already performing as a drag king in shows around the region, jumped at the opportunity to host his own show. The first show was packed. Eventually, Dixon had several walls taken down and a stage built to better accommodate the performances.
Now, the “Small Town, Big Hart’s Drag Revue” is three years old and thriving in this coastal county, one of more than 20 counties in Washington to vote for Donald Trump in the 2016 presidential election. The drag shows draw talent from all over the Pacific Northwest and are a main event at the town’s annual August pride festival.
But it hasn’t been all sequins and rainbows. Some in this former logging town aren’t happy about the shows and Dixon says she has received criticism for hosting them. Last year, a City Council member tried to block funding for the annual Pride festival.
“Our community should make sure that these kids know that there’s nothing wrong with them. I caught a lot of flack, but I kept my head up … This is important to me, just to make sure these kids feel safe,” says Dixon.
Ean Lavallee was 5 years old when he attended his first drag show. After the show, recalled his mom, Beth Lavallee, he began telling both of his mothers that he wanted to perform drag. They encouraged him to talk to Hart.
A few months later, in Hoquiam’s first all-ages drag show, Lavalle hit the stage as Stormy Skies, his first performance as a bio-king — a biological male performing as male. A month after that, he donned a silky blond wig and Aurea Sunshine was born, making her debut as a drag queen at a benefit for Beyond Survival, a local non-profit that supports sexual abuse survivors.
“My favorite things are it helps people and some people don’t like it though, but it’s the best thing in the world. I love drag,” says Lavallee, who is now 7.
Now, Hart hosts regular all-ages shows called “Hart’s of the Community” at Events on Emerson, an event venue in Hoquiam, and occasionally at Simpson Avenue Bar and Grill. Hart says that the shows have received a lot of criticism.
“Locals are calling me a pedophile and I’m just like, ‘Are you serious? Well then you come to this show and you tell these little kids that are crying on the microphone to everybody telling you how important these shows are to them. You tell me to stop doing it then.’ There’s no way,” says Hart.
For performers like 12-year-old Carly Rain, the performances are about taking a stand. She debuted as a bio-queen after drag king Parker Perry was attacked in Olympia in 2016,
“The first song she ever performed to was actually for Parker, because of how much he inspired her to not sit back and just take bullying and it was ‘Boomerang’ by Jojo Siwa, and she just rocked it,” says KC Rain, a drag king who performs in Long View and Carly Rain’s “dad-mom,” as she calls him.
Carly Rain is also part of the LGTBQ and Allies group at her middle school and recently stood up for a boy at her school who was being bullied for being gay. She smiles shyly when addressed, but speaks firmly. “It’s just standing up for what our community stands for, and it just feels good to do it,” she says.
Some Grays Harbor residents have taken issue with the increased visibility of the LGBTQIA community.
In 2016, Hoquiam City Council Member Dave Wilson unsuccessfully attempted to block the fourth annual Grays Harbor Pride from receiving part of a lodging tax tourism grant that would fund promotion and advertising for the festival, citing his Christian-based beliefs. No other council members seconded his motion.
Despite his views, Wilson says he has a great relationship with his lesbian sister and his gay brother-in-law.
“I love the people,” he says, “But I don’t love the actions. I don’t approve of lesbians. I don’t approve of gay, just because of my faith in God.”
Last year, tensions erupted between the LGBTQIA community and the former owners of Cappy Rick’s Black Pearl Tavern, when each accused the other of making physical threats at the bar.
Months later, the owners sold the Black Pearl, and Drew Paradisco, a drag performer who led efforts online to expose the bar for alleged discrimination, became known in LGTBQIA communities in the region as “The Kraken.”
This year Pride organizers held an after-party at the newly reopened bar, which new owners Penny Eubanks and William “Ugh” Hughes have renamed ‘The Place to Be.’
“And it was the place to be. We had a great time. The new owners there are amazing. They’re friendly. They invite everybody,” says KC Rain.
Nonetheless, this year’s Pride festival was moved from the 7th Street Theater in downtown Hoquiam to the less centrally-located Olympic Stadium. Out & Proud co-founder Jen Gillies admits that safety was one of the reasons for the change.
Gillies says the events last year made some people worry about attending Pride this year. “It rocked us,” she says.
“I think it’s hard. We live in a predominantly white, cis-gendered, male society here, and we definitely live in the era of pro-Trump and that’s really hard, and as a queer woman that’s married to another woman, I worry about the safety of my kids and the safety of myself,” says Gillies.
However, Gillies also feels that the drag shows and Pride have drawn together a supportive community. “The people that are here that support us, support us. We have some amazing human beings that live here,” says Gillies.
That support includes strong attendance at the shows. Dixon and Hart have raised an estimated $8,000 for local nonprofits and community organizations from ticket sales and from performers donating their tips.
Gillies smiles and holds back tears as she relates a story about two men who had met at Hoquiam High School several decades ago. Now in their 70s, they returned to Hoquiam for the first ever Grays Harbor Pride in 2013.
“Never ever in their lifetime did they think that they’d be able to walk the streets of their town holding hands during a pride,” says Gillies “That was worth everything,” she says, “How beautiful is that?”