Fine Jazz and Fucked up Falafel

Tuesday night brought equally fantastic activity. Julia had been organizing an evening of music at Jazz Alley for weeks with Bettye LaVette. When I tripped over my dress, tumbled down the stairs, and literally fell into Jazz Alley (years of dance, only occasional grace),  I had to make a quick recovery...the place is so swank. I dusted myself off, winked at a waiter and rounded the corner to find Julia and Chris at a nice table tucked in the way back. Chris was already into a Manhattan (I think--it was dark) and I ordered a Hendricks Gin & tonic, my latest gin inclination (Thank you Broadmoor, Uncle Chester and Doug). It was a fairly perfect drink, Chris raised an approving eyebrow and even Julia I think was tempted.


The band warmed up as Bettye LaVatte ascended the stage in a striking black pant suit. As a not-so-tall girl addicted to bright color and t-lenth dresses, I will forever envy tall women who pull off the black pant suit with elegance.  Judy Garland did it and she wasn't so tall. But uh, it was Judy and she was wearing no pants...so anything goes. **That link is my favorite scene in movie history, by the way. I'm singing along right now.

But Bettye. Woo boy, that woman is croaky and sexy and smokey and bluuuuee. Some of the songs she sang Tuesday night were particular downers. At the end of one number, the band fell away and Bettye moaned and pleaded the last lyric of the song for a good 2 minutes before taking her bow. Julia and Chris laughed at me when I whispered, "I forgot how blue-zy the blues are!" But I am fairly certain I was not the only audience member with a tear in her eye and goosebumps up her arms. Bettye's musicality was notable. Her arms sailed with the music, bird-like as she danced. Her facial expressions were sometimes unsettling as she delivered cheerless lyrics. There was plenty of joy in the show, but I walked away with the inspiring raw human emotion of her songs. I don't need church, I need jazz.

I also need food, though. And the food at Jazz Alley is not something I would recommend. Tasty, albeit, but not exceptional and certainly not affordable. The caesar on the menu cost me 12 bucks and had I wanted chicken or salmon, we're talking $18.50. Julia ordered a mediocre calamari, and the bit of bread I smeared around Chris's creamy, wine-y pesto rotini tasted pretty alright. Oh and we also ordered a decent bottle of syrah. Columbia Valley 2006. The cheapest on the menu but entirely adequate.

The performance left me a little shaken up. I must have been in a sort of emotional (and slightly inebriated) state that left me especially susceptible to the intensity of Bettye's talent. Wanting to lighten things up a bit, I suggested we go to see my cousin Rob's band Fiasco.  The Paragon, Tuesday nights, 10 o'clock. It's loud, fun and friendly. The kitchen there is actually quite good--and they serve fries in a cone. Full from our bank-breaking dinner earlier though, we just ordered a couple more gin and tonics. We shouldered danced in our booth, yelled at each other over the music, people-watched a bit and  called it a night. I think I was home by 11:30...pretty impressive.

Jeff hosted a game night Wednesday night. I showed up early, we shared a kombucha from the farmer's market (less vinegar-y than the store brands), and I snuck out before the hard-core gaming began. I love charades--years of playing with a family of actors has (I like to think) provided me with some expertise but board games...card games..all that...No good. It just bores me...Ooh, I do like Taboo though...anyway. MOSTLY, I don't like playing games. I headed south to Mt. Baker and watched the top 15 perfomances on So You Think You Can Dance (another addiction of mine) with my mom and was ready to call it a night when Rach and Ilana invited me over for a "Mediterranean Feast." "Coming right over, friends."

The meal was great--for the most part. They made yogurt dip (not tzatziki but close), baked fresh pita (thanks, La) and Rach had made her new fav, Foule (Egyptian fava bean chili, believe it or not, that is SOO delicious and way too good for you). When Julia and I arrived, Ilana was in the process giving the falafel some last touches and heating up the oil for fried goodness. Oh man, was this a disaster. One of the best I have encountered in awhile.

An audio recap:
"It needs salt. It needs lemon. It needs chutney. Fine! Let's just fry it. Oh shit, it fell apart and it's all burnt. Make the balls bigger. Add baking powder. Heat up the oil. Cool down the oil. Let's eat it raw. Salmonella packed hummos! Mmm...gross...Shit. Damn. Rats....Motherfucker."

I suggested we bake it. This sort of worked but the result was not nearly as indulgent and had a horrible resemblance to cat vomit. We ate it all in the end, fried bits and falafel throw up cookies all taste the same when smushed into pita with a plethora of other things.

More later.