Emma's Reviews

A new section of this humble blog featuring my opinion on Seattle eating establishments and providing a way to hone my Seattle Metropolitan-nurtured review writing skillz and procrastinate writing the thesis which is now due in less than ONE WEEK.

Pasta + Co., University Village (and other Seattle locations)
The quality of baked goods in most Seattle coffee shops is abominable. Pastries are supposed to make you forget their prosaic yeasty beginnings through great flavor and light fluffiness. The heinous muffins and so-called “scones” distributed by Issaquah-based Mostly Muffins to what seems like every coffee establishment in the region are heavy and chewy, making it a chore rather than a pleasure to ingest the 20,000 or so calories each of them no doubt contains.
At Pasta + Co., I was only lucky enough to taste one tiny taster sample of the sweet, nutty and subtle white chocolate brownie, but it was enough to convince me that this place is something different. The chocolate cupcakes topped with huge swirls of chocolate frosting nestled among the other sweets in the glass-fronted case ensure I will soon be making a return trip.
But Pasta + Co isn’t even primarily known for its desserts but for its, well, pasta, along with other Italian and Mediterranean entrees. I had the “house pasta,” a lemony blend of elbow noodles and breadcrumbs tossed with a light cream dressing, which was yummy but smacked suspiciously of mayonnaise, a taste I try to avoid at all costs. I also ordered one-half pint of rapini, a broccoli-like vegetable salad, as a side dish, encouraged by the reasonable price ($4.10) of the pint of pasta – only to find while handing over my debit card that the very small container cost over five dollars. And although I enjoy strong flavors, it was much too bitter for me to handle. No worries, though – I walked back into the store and the friendly staff were cheerfully willing to exchange it (pointing out that they did, in fact, offer tasters). I got a grain salad instead, which was adequate, made with fresh vegetables and dressing.
One of the best parts of Pasta + Co. is the little treats they have on hand for customers. This is the first time I had actually bought something at the store, but I had been in at least twice before for a complimentary chunk of Beecher’s absolutely delicious flagship cheese on flatbread. On this occasion they also offered excellent eggplant caponata with ciabatta bread, the aforementioned brownies, and – tucked to the side of a counter – more ciabatta with a wide array of oils and vinegars for testing. I tried the orange and avocado oil, which was, despite the name, not sickening but lovely.
Pasta + Co offers to-go salads and entrees, a variety of pastas that you can warm up at home, desserts, original cookbooks, and pre-packaged sauces, cheeses and spreads. It is expensive, and it’s not the place most people can afford to buy a nightly dinner, but the food – rapini excepted – is tasty, the staff are helpful, and the samples are plentiful – making me feel I hadn’t wasted my money.

UPDATE: I returned to Pasta + Co today for a delicious pint of hazlenut tortellini with feta cheese, artichokes and chives, the best entree I've had there yet.

Grade: A.

Songs I'm Enjoying

Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin
You Know My Name - Chris Cornell (James Bond theme)
Sexx Laws - Beck
Kiss the Girl - Ashley Tisdale (what can I say?)
Flathead - the Fratellis
Other side of hte World - KT Tunstall
Only Hope - Mandy Moore (...)
Passionate Kisses - Mary Carpenter
Grace Kelly - Mika (strangely addictive)
Fidelity - Regina Spektor
I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow - Soggy Bottom Boys (heh. original of me)
STray Cat Strut - Stray Cats

Enjoyable but hardly the best writing music *bangs head against wall*

Mock Trial with J. Reinhold

(Mock Trial...) Mock Trial with J Reinhold (Mock Trial...) Mock Trial with J Reinhold (Mock Triiiiiiiiiiiial...)

Michael: I do not want to turn this mock trial into some kind of...
GOB: You were gonna say mockery, weren't you??
Michael: I was in trouble, like, 3 words into that.

<3

Internet hearts look more like asses to me. Behinds. Bottoms. Derriers. Funny how "bottom" sounds better in a British accent but "ass" sounds better in an American one. But anyway, I had my mock trial on Saturday. I got up at 5.45 to get to the courthouse on time. It was the actual King County Courthouse near Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle, complete with security guards, X-ray machines and a real judge to officiate the trial. I thought it was very generous of the judge, who is at his courtroom Monday-Friday anyway, to officiate a mock trial at 8 am on Saturday morning. He was VERY judicial - gray hair, kindly but stern, slim, distinguished looking. He looked like John Edwards except older and wiser.

Anyway, when I got there, it was the first time I had ever been into an American courtroom (I observed one day of a British murder trial at the Old Bailey, from the public gallery as a tourist). Most of the other jurors there were old people, who were very cute, but I was alarmed as I thought I would be with students. Turns out they were in the wrong room and all of the jurors for my case were young, but I was sitting next to the old ones long enough to hear some choice snippets of conversation; for example:

*sound of high heels clipping down the corridor*
Kindly Old Lady #1: Now that's a lady.
*pause*
KOL #2: ...Or a transvestite.

The Seattle University law students were professionally dressed and seemed pretty nervous, especially the guy who did the opening statement for the defense. His hands were shaking. I tried to smile at him encouragingly. I kept on thinking how much rehearsal and performance goes into the law. It reminded me of being in a play. And most of the lawyers-in-training were in their mid twenties. They aren't too much old er than me, just in professional school, and their nervousness and lack of assuredness reminded me more of myself than of TV lawyers. Everything seemed to remind me of what I'd seen on screen - the exhibits, the "ladies and gentlemen of the jury," "We hope that you will return a verdict of guilty," "objection!" etc., etc., and I had to keep reminding myself that however stylized the law appeared, this wasn't a performance but a trial, and in a year or two the students would all be actual lawyers, saying these things for a living. It was weird.

It was a murder case, and we returned a verdict of guilty of first degree murder. The state team didn't badger witnesses like the defense did, and they had a more coherent argument. Our deliberations were videoed for the benefit of the students which was a little weird.

5.00 ... have to go study. More on juicy details of mock trial later.

Me, Myself and I

Here I sit, blogging (it's amazing what boredom can drive a person to) at Nordheim Court. I'm not entirely sure where I am in relation to the ground. You don't have to go up any stairs to get to the apartment's outdoor entrance, but when you stand outside the door, you're one story above the ground - because the lot is on a hill, I suppose? Then there is ground outside my bedroom window, and I mean RIGHT outside, at eye level rather than below – an artful tangle of weeds and dandelions left to grow semi-wild between our building and the next. But I specifically am sitting on a bunk bed at a ridiculous height. It’s not high enough to do anything underneath it but store things (although you could make a great nest, but it would be impossible to sit up). And it’s too high to get to comfortably. Instead, you have to jump and land on your butt, setting off the creakings and springings. Just now I was trying to type this into Blogger, but the Ethernet cable didn’t quite reach, so off I jump, reconnect, launch myself onto the bed again, try to sit back, but the cable’s too short for comfort (I should have sprung for 14 feet). So I disconnect it from the computer and after a few minutes it falls down off the bed. After I finish this I’ll have to restart the creakings and springings again to reconnect the cable and publish the entry. It sounds like some kind of masturbatory orgy going on in here, but I’m just getting in and out of bed. When you begin to live with people you don’t know, appearances matter. It’s difficult to be natural. Walking down the corridor, you hold your muscles a bit tight, because slouching would seem too studiedly “natural.” Getting a glass of water in front of your roommate feels like a performance. Of course, it’s different if you know the person, or if you all move in at the same time – so you’re on the same footing – but this situation is a bit awkward for me, although I doubt it is for them. You worry: does staying in my room with the door closed (which I did) seem reclusive? Does watching The Office with roommate and her boyfriend (which I did) seem intrusive? What about starting a conversation during the ad break? Why can’t I remember the name of boyfriend, or of the tall elegant black girl in the room opposite (Teyga? Teisha? Damnit! We share a bathroom!) I should treat this place like home – I pay as much rent as the others. But I’m here temporarily – so I should act like a guest.

The place itself is clean and devoid of odd smells and stains, which is all I wanted after last quarter. Sure, there are dirty dishes stacked in the sink, but the mess is controlled, contained. My own room is like a slightly-bigger version of a dorm room: completely characterless, but not depressing (well, it’s depressing now because there are no decorations, but it won’t be). I was worried that the complex would be full of preppy rich kids, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Of the three roommates I’ve met two, one for a minute at the door, the tall nameless one, and one a couple times, who is premed and volunteers at Children’s. Plus boyfriend, who is fat and friendly. There’s something about body fat on a college student – it says “I don’t judge people on personal appearance,” which translates to “I am not a shallow snob.” Rather like dorky T-shirts, bad haircuts and awkwardness. Stereotypical, yes, but comforting nonetheless – even the most friendly tanned-and-muscled people strike fear into my heart. Not to meet necessarily, but to live with. It would just be too much work to live with them, if you care what they think of you.

The other day, I looked up my mom on Google, then sent her a request for castles, small fortresses and other historical mock-ups via her website, including various other specifications, through some Re/Max email program. I got a reply with the subject line “Your Castle Needs”:

Dear Emma,
I know of a charming little fortress very close to the ocean far from marauding nerds. The laundry facilities are adequate they were designed for the downstairs' staff, of course, but I am sure you would be impressed by the space. The outdoor plumbing is of the very finest quality although it does get a little chilly in November and December.

When are you going to be in the Tacoma area, perhaps we can organize a meeting, I would love to meet you and show you this and other castles that might be of interest. Perhaps I could show you a couple that are fully staffed and then you wouldn't have to worry so much abut the laundry facilities.

Cheers,
Realtor of the Royals.

I had actually said “marauding hordes,” not “nerds,” but same thing I suppose.
What else? This weekend, I am going to a stand-up comedy show to benefit Ghana on Friday night, courtesy of the Jackson School Student Association (Jackson School = international studies). It’s at – wait for it – the ECT. I paid five dollars for a ticket today that is a blue stub saying “TICKET” on it. If they want to be professional they might as well take some lessons from EDS. They had a ticket stand outside the HUB, which is an interesting idea. Anyway, it will be weird sitting in the audience of the ECT and not rushing around backstage. I think I’m going to organize a ritual thesis-burning on May 4, the Due Date (FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK OMG MANDATORY HEART PALPITATIONS). Also on that date, who wants to go out for smoothies and something incredibly indulgent and worry-free? I do!!! I’ve been daydreaming about turning It in as I write… oh good god I can’t wait. The last month of school is going to be so easy. One month of writing 5 pages a day, one month of ease. I just hope I’m not up all night the night before after working on it for a year because that would just be depressing.

Then on Saturday I have my mock trial. My mom’s all like “You should go out with them afterwards and talk about the case! Law students! Meet some!” I’m all like “Who are you, my grandmother?” (Actually, I didn’t say that – I didn’t think of the resemblance until now). But really, I can’t imagine anything more awkward than a bunch of overly-studious UW pre-laws with nothing in common going anywhere that allows the under-21s. (Of course, I might be wrong). I don’t have a nice enough shirt to wear, I didn’t bring many clothes up. Maybe I could borrow one from Reader??

I found tons of internships to apply for next year, several paid. I hope I get at least one of them. I hope I get one really good one, the juicy plum on a mediocre tree. Atlantic Monthly, Smithsonian Magazine, American Experience…all good, excellent in fact. (The first two are actually in DC… Greg?) Tiny Unpaid Depressing Place In The Middle Of Nowhere… not so much.

Well, I’ve worn myself out writing about myself. There’s only so much of that one can do. I could write about something besides myself, but really, the desire’s not there. Oh, I’ll make a great journalist all right. (But the perfect little-read blogger).