Jeff has these very old neighbors that introduced him to mushrooming. I tagged along for a hunt back in the fall. Peter is Polish and well over 80 years old. His knowledge of and interest in mushrooming is rooted in his country days as a child in Poland---From what I've gathered from his wife Arlene (who due to her vertigo sits in the car eating Ritz crackers and reading while we forage) he'll basically try to eat EVERY thing he finds. Luckily, Jeff has enrolled in a mushroom class and will be protecting Peter from himself on future trips.
In the meantime, Peter and Arlene have requested fairly regular get-togethers with Jeff and myself. They had us over for a meal of mushrooms, kraut and sausage a few months ago. I'd like to say this whole thing is an entirely wholesome activity--driving out to Burien with Jeff, having nice conversation with old people, eating home cooked meals....it's not. Peter's goal from the moment we step into his house is to get us hammered. "Shall we drink now or later?" "How about both, yes!?"
Peter brings out his various sports trophies, whether we've seen them before or not. We (Peter and Jeff) talk about tennis and we (mostly just me) kick back gin and tonics. I offered to cook for them a few months ago, sensing it was a lot to take on for Arlene these days. I was all set to go with a pork roast when I came upon Dom Polksi on Yelp.
The Polish Home Association opens as restaurant on Friday nights. We went and picked them up this Friday and drove them back to Capitol Hill. Our meal was good, not great. The highlight being the dark strong Polish beers the bartender served up. The pierogi was outstanding and someone in that kitchen pounded and breaded up an incredibly tasty wiener schnitzel--listed on the menu as "breaded pork chop." The cabbage rolls were a bit bland, the kraut was cold. Bummer. Peter wanted dessert off the menu but I (in only a slightly self-serving manner) convinced them to let me drive everybody over to Dick's for hot fudge sundaes. If you haven't tried the hot fudge at Dick's and are continuing to spend oodles of money down the street at Dilettante's, you are a failed Seattleite in my book. (I do like Dilletantes, though, take me there any time).
Peter made a couple goofy comments about my German car and I think was maybe a little perturbed that I was driving and not Jeff. We've explained plenty of times that we aren't a couple, and yet when collecting my contact information on a post-it from Arlene's handbag, Peter still asked "Do you have your own email or do you use Jeff's?"
When we got back to Burien, Peter and Arlene insisted we come in---more liquor was served of course, trophies were displayed proudly and tennis talk continued. My absolute favorite moment of the evening came when Peter brought out a handwritten short story he'd written at Seattle U several decades ago. Titled "The Gypsy" it read like the beginning of one of those pornographic romance novels written exclusively for bored suburban housewives. "The young soldier's eyes followed the wild gypsy girl as she ran along the road beside her caravan... " Oofta.
I really really like all my friends, but there's something to be said of trying something COMPLETELY different on a Friday night.
