Mazar-i-Sharif to Queen Anne: Waking Up

This morning, outside my daughter's first-grade classroom at Coe Elementary, I looked into the eyes of a tall man in a dark suit, a man with eyes so dark his pupils were lost, a man responsible for the killing of hundreds, if not thousands, and shook his hand.

Tashakor, I said quietly, unsure of which syallable to stress. He replied in kind, warmly: thank you.

His name: Ustad Atta Mohammad Noor, the governor of Balkh Province in Afghanistan and a former schoolteacher / mujaheddin / warlord or freedom fighter, as you wish. Of all the provincial governors in that fragile, tormented country, Atta has been the most successful in keeping the Taliban at bay. The dollar amount of U.S. aid to his region was recently tripled.

On this first visit to the U.S., he (ostensibly) came to Coe today to thank the community -- particularly the 400+ students who sat before him on the lunchroom floor -- for aiding his people. Coe helped build a sister school for 1,000 girls in Balkh, in 2002 after the fall of the Taliban. Students, through a program run by former Seattle attorney Julie Bolz, continue to raise funds for, and exchange artwork with, this sister school.

What was Gov. Atta's agenda? Who knows? He was accompanied by several Afghan professors who are studying law at the UW and drafting legislation for their fledgling government. Atta has events at UW and Seattle University this week.

It is surprising that such a promiment figure would choose to visit Coe, asking for no media or special handling. He paid no mind to the camera crews (go here for a Seattle P-I article), although I've been told he travels under heavy guard in Afghanistan, and his schedule is not public. Al Quada has made several attempts on his life.

I hope he is genuine about his support for girls' education. I hope he protects the schools and teachers.

And I hope more Americans see the necessity of helping. A stable, educated Afghanistan is not just a good thing for Afghans, but for the world, for our children and their future. Go here for a rundown by Kurt Vollker on: 'Why Helping Afghanistan Matters." Some quotes:

"In 2001, when we went into Afghanistan and liberated it from the Taliban and al Qaeda, only some 900,000 children were enrolled in school. Today there are more than 5 million students in that country. More than 1.5 million of them are girls. We know the exact number of girls were in school in 2001 because that number was Zero . . . "

"We have to remember that we've already seen what can happen when Afghanistan becomes a failed state and a haven for terrorists--the export of violent extremism. This was Afghanistan under the Taliban, where not only was there brutal repression at home, but there was an open door for al Qaeda, using Afghan territory and facilities, to train thousand of extremists and terrorists."

"Although we've made substantial progress in eliminating places al Qaeda can call home, the simple truth is that this terrorist group is still out there, and still dangerous to people of good will, whether in Afghanistan, the wider region, Europe, or America."

My small contribution to the event: these lines from Jalaladin Muhammad Rumi, the beloved 13th-century poet from Balkh. When principal David Elliott recited them to Gov. Atta, his expression could be described as pleasant surprise.

Rumi is the best-selling poety in the U.S. today, 800 years after his birth, no doubt because he calls us to a unity beyond race, religion, and country. It seemed a fitting tribute.

Stay together, friends
Don’t scatter and sleep
Our friendship is made
of being awake.

Eating Out

Since our 8-year old learned to talk, he has been asking questions, nonstop, about the substance and meaning of everything imaginable. Good questions. Questions that deserve thoughtful answers.

"Mom, why do people do drugs?" he asked out of the blue the other day. We were walking up to Big Howe and I was adding items to my mental to-do list (a list with wavy edges and disappearing ink).

"Boredom, maybe?" I said vacantly.

"Well, if they're bored, they should try something NEW, like a new Italian restaurant," he said, gesturing in perfect imitation of an old coot. "Not DRUGS."

"Indeed," I said. I wonder what the teen years will hold for him, and us. (Can I have that in writing, young man?!)

It wasn't boredom but friends who introduced me to three new restaurants this week. Each experience was satisfying if very different.

First was a visit to Opal by a few of us market organizers after our Grand Opening last Thursday. At 7:30 pm or so, there were only a few tables open (a good sign), and I was attracted -- sentimentally -- to the northwestern corner where in former Banjara days, the staff hung out. I miss that staff. I miss their food, especially the sizzling tandoori salmon and the saag paneer and cilantro chutney. Living a few blocks from an Indian restaurant (even a spotty one) was an excellent thing. For many months I have been miffed at its chi-chi replacement.

But now I've tasted the chi-chi and I'm a little less miffed.

A lot less miffed.

Eating at Opal is synesthesia on a plate (or an ovoid platter, to be exact). We ordered a variety of small and slightly less small items, and oohed and aahed from A to Z. Our rapture was fueled in part by the celebratory mood and the champagne we were drinking, an off-menu bottle whose make is lost to me, but tasted deliciously of lemon peel.

No doubt much of the enjoyment of a meal is the company, and if you can arrange to share Opaline bites with a couple of erudite, funny, and easy-on-the-eyeballs companions, by all means do so. Don't come ravenous, though.

Had we been hungrier, the evening would have cost a fortune instead of a small dowry. We shared among us:

Seared Foie Gras and Diver Scallop
Hudson Valley Foie, Seared Diver Scallop, Potato Mousseline
Aged Balsamic, Foie Nage

Seared Kurobota Pork Belly
Fennel, Apples, Crunchy Salsify, Cider Braise Drizzle

Blue Cornmeal Crusted Striped Bass
Anson Mills Sweet Corn Grits, Popcorn Shoots,
Smoked Paprika Popcorn, Lobster Essence

Duck... Duck...
Hudson Valley Breast and Foie, Leg Confit and Potato,
Fiddleheads and Favas

Grilled Beef Tenderloin
Cippollini Onion Rings, Butter Braised Rapini, Whipped Potato
Caramel Peppercorn Reduction

"PB&J"
Peanut Butter Mousse, "Berry Jam Granite",
Cinnamon Angel Food, Marshmallow, Raisin Paper

Dark Chocolate Satin
Hazelnut-Graham Crust, Pecan-Orange Torte,
Huckleberry Cream, Red Wine Caramel, Guinness Ice Cream

It was almost thoroughly divine. The only criticisms were "this scallop could be fresher," "the pork belly is a tad greasy" and "what in the HELL am I chewing on?" (a resistant little marshmallow, it turned out). All other remarks were in the "oh, my gaaawwwwdddd" category.

My next outing was a return to happy single-girl memories (of dancing all night) at the Old Ballard Firehouse. We joined another couple and their kids for dinner at the Hi Life before taking in Ratatouille at the Majestic Bay. TIP: see the movie first and then go out to eat, inspired by its culinary theme. This is one of those Disney movies adults can really enjoy.

The Hi-Life is one of Chow Food's restaurants, but the menu is much larger than the 5 Spot's, and the setting -- well, you can't beat those enormous firehouse ceilings, exposed beams, and garage doors. The afternoon light made it look like a movie set. The ambiance suffered a bit when I picked up a wine glass on the shelf near our booth and discovered rubber chablis (a good name for a band? for a massage therapist?) inside. While the fake food was fun to fiddle with, it lowered my expectations precipitously. Maybe that's the idea?

Our kids enjoyed sitting at the bar and watching the cooks. When the food came, they sank into a booth behind us and devoured their Micky pancakes and mac-n-cheese and sauteed asparagus. (Well, not the latter actually, which became a tasty secondi at our table). Between us, we tried the roast chicken, salmon, steak salad, and pork tacos. All of which were filling and tasty, but nothing extraordinary.

Nothing like the movie's ratatouille: a dish I'm inspired to try next week with fresh tomatoes.

Today, a little further down the food chain, we tried Stell's on Third Avenue West, across from SPU. It's a modest burger joint with Greek flair. I ate a gyro. It was really, really, fingerlicking yummy. The kids ordered grilled cheese sandwiches, which were grilled perfectly, not too soft or greasy or hard, on thick white bread . . . . but two bites in, their abject blandness was evident. Cheese food. Remember that? In a brick? Ech.

We met Stell Makratzaki on our way out. He's an affable guy who seemed pleased to hear about the Queen Anne Farmers Market, and agreed to check out the produce next week.

Wouldn't it be great if QA's restaurants bought from our farmers each week? Let's get these connections going!

Tonight for dinner we broiled some salmon and threw together a saute from yesterday's market: baby white turnips, broccolini, zucchini, garlic, and fish sauce. Not bad. Not Opalesque by any stretch. If you have a good way to fix those turnips, let me know.

After the kids were tucked in, I made two rhubarb-raspberry pies (the cheater's way, with prepared crusts), one for keeping and the other for taking to Cecile Andrews' tomorrow night. She's hosting a Live Earth potluck. Can't wait!

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you're discovering in the 'hood.

Musing Among the Radishes

Welcome to our virtual piazza. It was so satisfying to attend the launch of our very own Queen Anne Farmers Market Thursday that I thought it was high time we had a neighborhood blog. Capitol Hill has one. Ballard has one. West Seattle has one.

I hear Issaquah has one, for cryin' out loud.

So here we are. Not sure what to expect. Except for the unexpected, as on Thursday, when we volunteers charged with setting up the association booth discovered that WIND had not been factored into our plans.

Rain, yes. Wind, no. Unlike Aesop's fable, where Sun triumphs over Wind in divesting the traveller of his cloak, Wind had the upper hand on us around 2:30 pm, threatening to remove our displays from their easels, our literature from the table, and our tent from its designated parking spot.

So we scrounged: a bungie cord here, a length of twine there, some pushpins, some tape, a rock paperweight -- and in doing so began the many small reciprocal relationships that make a community.

By the time the market opened at 3, we were giddy with anticipation. The skies were spitting intermittently ("a good omen" said the vendors). Customers began to trickle in, some of them stopping to admire the life-size portrait of Queen Anne (circa 1700) but most moving quickly to the stage: a dazzling display of onions and greens, berries, cherries, apricots, lilies, cheese, pasta, crepes, pastries, fish, jam, jewelry, sweaters, and more and more.

A year ago, this bounty was merely a "visioning exercise" among a group of Queen activists (from the QA Neighbors for Responsible Growth, the group working to save our local Met Market).

Pie in the sky, so to speak.

Thursday it was clearly pie in the hand, but just how MUCH? With top-drawer produce, meat, fish and flowers available every day on QA Ave, would residents buy directly from farmers on a Thursday afternoon?

They would. They did.

Dr. George Counts, chair of the association, stood quietly at the First Avenue entry, allowing the occasional grin to escape his natural reserve. Nancie Kosnoff, co-founder of QANRG, George's cohort (and temperamental opposite), was beaming ear to ear, greeting friends (every third person seemed to know her personally) and steering them toward the cotton tote bags, free with a $25 donation. It was encouraging to see the empty totes bursting with produce by the time their bearers reached the end of the stalls.

My role was simply to help, in any capacity. In early Spring, the marketing arm of the association had approached me about designing some merchandise -- totes and tees and whatnot -- for the market. I was eager to help, having had a longstanding desire for a market in the hood. In 2004, while promoting Fresh Air Preschool at the Magnolia Farmer's Market, I asked the managers about establishing one on Queen Anne. They were cool to the idea, and if I remember correctly, wary of competition with their existing markets and difficulty in finding a suitable site. Well, that was then. The growth in new farmers markets has accelerated considerably, with no end in sight.

(But they were right about the siting. McClure's parking lot is servicable, but it's no Florentine piazza.)

I didn't hesitate to put my shoulder to an already well-greased wheel, and began meeting regularly with Maria College and Tara Lawrence. They've been a joy to work with, and I'm very grateful they sought me out. (Note to self: there is nothing like the "personal ask.") In a few months, I gained a solid appreciation for the work -- from raising seed money to siting and permitting, contracting, marketing and more recently, walking postcards door-to-door -- that went into making the market happen.

So I blanched inwardly when (on a bathroom break at Starbucks), a woman noticed my black apron and market badge and said: "It's great to have a farmers market here, but what TOOK you guys so long? I mean, we've needed this for a long TIME."

What the?

I muttered something about this being a volunteer effort, with neighbors taking the initiative . . . but she had already moved on, with her venti nonfat two pumps caramel and smug sense of entitlement. As if "Queen Anne" OWED her a market. If you happen to read this, Ms. Two Pumps, make a paypal donation to the assocation, okay? You owe them a big, fat one.

A subsequent encounter had a better aftertaste. The crepe lady, who with grace and seemingly no sweat glands, swirled hot crepes for four straight hours, mentioned that she was looking for help next Thursday. I hied over to the association booth to see if any volunteers had a teenager in need of a job. Bingo. The teen was actually there, loitering with her pals. She was dispatched poste haste to the crepe lady, and a match was made.

Now that's community.

NEWS FLASH: The market association needs a volunteer bookkeeper pronto -- just an hour or so a week. Pretty, pretty please with a fresh locally grown organic Rainier cherry on top?