Port Angeles By Night

The next destination on our Washington itinerary was Olympic National Park, waaaay north just across the bay from Vancouver, Canada. Did I mention I have never been to Canada before? Or seen it, despite living in Northern Wisconsin for 4 years of my life.

My dad assured me it was a good 30 miles away and that I wouldn't be able to see much. He was much more impressed by the giant ferry boat propellers-turned-art installation. And so, rolling into Port Angeles right at 5 when it was too late to do anything else, we got ourselves settled in and made the most of our time by taking a night stroll around town.

Blown glass sea creatures and sidewalk sculptures.

Ferry boats and boardwalks.

Locals ...

... cuisine ...

... and a beautiful town.

Bat in the House!

Bat in the cave! No, that's not code for a booger in your nose, that's a video of an actual, live, wild bat who let himself in when I was housesitting. I tried to capture him on video without screaming, but that was a challenge when he insisted on dive bombing me. Repeatedly.

Yep, that's pretty much the most exciting nightlife I've seen in a while.

Just Jazz

I'll be the first to admit that my alma mater spoiled me with good music. After four years being surrounded by musicians in one of the best jazz programs in the country (at a time when there wasn't even a jazz studies major, per se), you would be, too.

The great thing about being a music dork is that there are always people around giving you the hookup  to the best gigs. So when I was in St. Paul, Mitch's hubby just happened to have a gig at the underground club, Jazz Central Studios in Minneapolis.

This tucked away, basement performance space was created as a co-op for musicians to get together for impromptu jam sessions and collaborating. With a bass, piano, drum set, and a surprise vocalist, this was the perfect venue for an intimate evening of great music.

Though I was literally surrounded by close friends, I am sure anyone there would have felt the same. When musicians have the perfect chemistry, it's only natural for the audience to be drawn into that circle of familiarity.

Like them on Facebook!

At the door, admission is by donation only.

The highlight was hearing Nichola Miller sing a couple torch songs from the deep end of the standard pool- I wish I learned their names, but they were new ones for me.

Her voice= soul, edge, and sass smoothed out with butter. This gal is going places.

As if I needed more incentive to plan my next trip here!

Jucy Lucys

And what exactly is a Jucy Lucy? I'm glad you asked.

It's probably one of the most genius burgers I've encountered in a long time, a specialty of the Twin Cities.

 At Matt's Bar in Minneapolis, hundreds if not thousands of these juicy gems get churned out from a griddle the width of a kitchen sink. Two patties are sealed together around some kind of amazing cheese mixture that melts into a glorious liquid once it's grilled. (The "i" is deliberately omitted, since the veteran employee who posted the sign back in 1950 wasn't the greatest speller, if not in a huge hurry to get back to the griddle.

 Here, my friend's husband dresses his Lucy with the biggest helping of ketchup I've ever seen.

 Mitch enjoys her first, if not slightly painful bite. By the way, we were amazed to immediately get a table, since there's usually a line out the door for these babies.

 I approach mine gingerly so I don't destroy the roof of my mouth. The element of surprise is akin to Chicken Kiev, but it's best to anticipate it so no one gets hurt.

 An interior view of the splendor, adorned with pickles and grilled onions.

 Matt's has a friendly feud with another joint who also claims to have the best Lucy. Mitch is confident that Matt's is the champion.

 I found a recipe for it here, and will definitely be trying to recreate this Midwestern masterpiece when I return home.

Happiest gals in the Midwest? You betcha.

Cider Speakeasy

It's not often that I get to find the super secret drinking spots in the area, but sometimes you're with the right person with the intel. Unfortunately, no names or photos, since my big mouth and I don't want to be the ones to spoil it. But I still have to share in the excitement.

The evening started with dinner at Barley and Hops, where I enjoyed the lovely Le Merle, a Belgian style with tropical fruit notes. Not my usual pick, but I thought I'd go out of the box a bit from my favorite Death and Taxes, which will one day have a post all of its own.

Next was ice skating, and with no falls! I want to say I'm improving on my technique, but I still seem to prioritize going fast over looking graceful. Is it weird that I found satisfaction in skating faster than all the little kids there? Or just a sign that I'm ridiculously competitive?

On to the speakeasy. This secret spot is by invite only, and involves knowing the top secret code to a gated entry (which I hope I never learn because I would immediately shout it from the rooftops so all my friends could go). I was lucky enough to be in the company of one of the invited friends, so we rolled in for a pint as things were winding down.

The owner let us in, poured us some ciders and we chatted with his buddies beside a charming backdrop of fermenting tanks. Ever notice how the problems of the world manage to easily be solved over a few pints? We sat in a heated tent under the stars, debating if we should play Boggle, pool or backgammon. We chose stars.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not fancy, and I'm the last person in the world to keep secrets. But for one night, it was nice to do both.