Although I’ve been a Seahawks fan for as long as I’ve been serious about NFL football, I had only ever been to the Emerald City once, and that was for a whirlwind 18-hour trip where I took a plane from Portland that landed around noon, got on the Link, went straight to the stadium, saw the Hawks come back to beat the Niners in Pete Carroll’s coaching debut (still have the program–and the front page of the Seattle Times), checked into my hotel, headed to a nearby Belltown sports bar for the Sunday nighter, left at halftime, fell asleep, got up early and was on another flight back to PDX at 6:30 the next morning.  I can’t say I got to see much of the city.  Last weekend, however, I had a chance to take in some of the sights and sounds of Seattle.  Church of Misery was in town for the last date of their North American tour, there’s an AC/DC exhibit at the EMP, and most importantly, I picked up a new Hawks jersey:

Yeah I know, it’s a 12th Fan jersey.  But I knew coming in that I couldn’t get Brandon Browner’s 39 anywhere, and apparently the Pike Street Pro Shop was sold out of Marshawn Lynch jerseys until July.  The only players they had on the shelves were the likes of Miller, Baldwin, Chancellor and Rice–while I almost went with Dougie B, I figured the Number 12 would be a safer bet.  After all, there’s virtually no chance of the team trading the 12th man–or not offering him a new contract after leading them to the biggest playoff upset in NFL history.  (Yeah, I’m still less than thrilled about that.  Here’s hoping Matt Flynn can be the next Matt Hasselbeck…)  So there you go.  Bills fans, if a fat fuck in the jersey pictured above taunts you in Toronto come December–it’s probably that other guy.

Anyways, I took a whole buncha pictures that I’ll be posting over the next couple days of the gig, the museum and the view from the Space Needle, but I figured I’d kick things off with some culinary photos for all the epicureans out there.  I got to Pike Place right around 5 pm, when everything was either closed or closing, but that didn’t stop me from grabbing a bite to eat.

Lowell’s Restaurant has been a local institution since 1957, and still draws a decent crowd as the market shuts down on a Saturday night.  Though all the tables overlooking the ocean were taken, I could still gaze upon the fruit and vegetable stand below.

As they say, when in Rome, which translates over here to “When in Pike Place, drink Pike Pale Beer.”  The Heirloom Amber Ale had a nice smoky taste, with a finish that kinda reminded me of the Bacon Maple Ale from Portland’s Rogue Brewery–minus the maple, mind you.  I later had their IPA on tap at Ivar’s, and thought it was too citrusy, but this stuff, on the other hand, it ain’t too shabby.

I may not have a smart phone, but does yours take pictures in beer-goggle vision?  Didn’t think so!

As for the entree, I went with the Alaskan king salmon tacos.  It seemed like an interesting way to enjoy the local seafood.  The fish was fresh and moist, with the green picante giving it a nice little kick.  I will say that 18 bucks for two tacos and a small bowl of beans isn’t a screaming deal–but hey, I was on vacation.

After wandering through the Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana and AC/DC exhibits at the EMP, and watching the guitar god’s stellar performance at the Monterey Pop Festival on the big screen, I grabbed a bite at POP Kitchen + Bar, the museum’s restaurant.  Not bad for a 12-dollar avocado club sandwich.  Dunno what’s the deal with those chips, though.  They also left a basket of them on my table at Lowell’s…

Ivar’s Acres of Clams is another local institution, one that’s been right down on the waterfront since 1938.  Although there was a considerable mass of humanity in their front hall waiting area shortly after 6 on a Sunday, they still had a couple empty seats at the Clamdigger Bar, no reservations required.  Did I mention it was Happy Hour?  Of course, Happy Hour is another Seattle tradition, though I thought it was only a Monday-to-Friday thing.  But, as Stephen Harper says, that’s simply not true.  Happy Hour at Ivar’s runs Sundays as well, and that means two pints, clam chowder and fish and chips, all for 21 dollars–or a couple bucks less than a beer and those fish tacos at Lowell’s.  Let’s just say I had plenty of fuel for the long uphill walk back to my hotel…

Definitely not English-style, but it’s not like the Brits catch fish from the Pacific…