Like this, but with a broader focus.

What do Mustafa and Lincoln do when Mustafa is home after weeks on the road?  Why, they go out and try to find someplace to eat, of course.  This is rarely difficult, as the Seattle area has literally thousands of great restaurants.

Mustafa returns from the Land of the Mostly Dead to write about his most recent week at home and some of the awesome food that Los Bros managed to consume.  Remember, we're not "gluttons," we're "foodies."  We're also not "drunks," but "connoiseurs of the brewing and distilling arts," and, while we're at it, we have a "healthy admiration for beauty," which sounds a lot better than "creepy old perverts." 

We are still "geeks," however.  Click here.

Get ready for ACTION!

Mustafa loves curry.  A lot.  Perhaps too much, in fact.  And what, exactly, has curry ever done for him?  Has it soothed his brow during a fever dream?  Has it ever called him in the middle of the day just to let him know that it was, you know, just thinking about him?  Has it ever ONCE occurred to curry that maybe, just maybe, Sounders FC season tickets might be a really nice and considerate way to show that curry still cares?

Mustafa hasn't been getting enough sleep lately, is perhaps the point.  You can read about his obsessive behavior as regards curry here.  You can read about his obessive behavior as regards other things when it finally comes up at the indictment.

Makes food louder.

The Stax Bros' love for various hot sauces is legendary.  One weekend, when we lived in Portland, Oregon (but only until the statute of limitations ran out) Lincoln and I, and a couple of other brothers, Leto and Voltaire, sat in the basement of our house and had a little Hot Sauce Party.

We had a little table, on which was a box of saltines, a couple of cans of spray cheese, a beef summer sausage the size of a calf's leg, and a big knife with which to slice the sausage.  There might have been a few chairs as well, and my mountain bike was down there.  Somebody had given me one of those home-brew beer-in-a-bag things, which we had made and then hung up on a nail down there to ferment, and it was time for that to spring forth.  Read more...

Farewell, Curry King

Seattle's Georgetown neighborhood has long been a rundown, working class kind of place.  Ancient crumbling brick buildings sprawled alongside Airport Way bearing names like "Sick's Seattle Brewing and Malting Co." and "Seattle Metal Salvage."  Railroad tracks cross every street.  Lately, though, gentrification has slowly moved in, transforming factories to lofts.  Rather than an anti-gentrification diatribe, though, I want to point out one of the positives. Read more.