Oh Harrisburg, I've pretty much conquered you. You, with your commercialized restaurants and lack of innovative chefs, you give me nothing. The only ethnic food you offer is Italian, with the long "I". You leave me no choice but to cook for myself, and daydream of what once was.
When I don't know what to cook, or where to get dinner, I usually have several things from Seattle that I'd be willing to venture out to get. The first would be teriyaki. And I don't mean that sweet, BBQ-y junk that its become. But, steamed, spicy chicken, thin juices soaked into fluffy rice, with a crunchy salad on the side. Ah, its Styrofoam heaven.
People here think pork and beef when they hear grill. All I long for is a whole salmon, stuffed with lemons and dill, cooked until its skin is crispy and its pink flesh is medium.
But, deep down, I know what I really need: anything that comes from Tom Douglas' restaurants. More sighs. Yes, I have his cookbooks and rubs-with-love. But, what I really want is the atmosphere, and the sample of Washington state pears with a bleu cheese and WA honey drizzled over it, that I got at Dahlia's that one time. A Lola breakfast. Mussels and clams steamed perfectly in a medley of wine and their own God-given juices. I want to partake in after-hour cocktails and happy hour at Palace on a Thursday night. Not to be noshing on chicken strips, but a beautiful soup or clam bake. Heaven, I'd be in Heaven.
Instead, it’s just up to me to try to infuse some of these elements into my cooking. So, I rub my chicken and steak with love, I check back often for new ideas from his kitchens, and I dream--how in 2 years I'll be sitting in one of his 5 (star in my opinion) restaurants, enjoying his food even more than when I always had it.
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