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.  New restaurants keep popping up.  One of them was Curry King.  Curry King was the stuff gastronomic dreams are made of.  It was a basic, unassuming little hole-in-the-wall inside a red brick building.  As soon as we walked in the door, the food was spread out in front of us in glass and stainless steel industrial high school food cases.  A couple dozen curries, red, yellow, and more, some with beef, some with chicken, some with vegetables would fight for our attention.  Mustafa and I ate there maybe 5 times, trying something different each time.  The portions were enormous.  Tiny little old Chinese women served it up to us in portions so big, we would swear they were trying to fatten us up.  We couldn't go there and eat everything that was dished out to us.  The rest went home with us to be eaten later that night while watching MST3K or anime.  And then one day it was gone, a Japanese restaurant in it's place.  All that is left to us is a blurry camera-phone picture and our memories of the best curry house we'd ever experienced.

Lincoln Mustafa