Yesterday I accompanied my friend Mary of Hammerhead Coffee (local Bellingham roasting by her and her lumbering awesome husband, Scott) to Nimbus‘ happy hour. On the 14th floor we peered over our little city and went a little nuts on the happy hour menu… we couldn’t very well resist anything since it was all about $5 per dish. Several of her friends came as well, and between us all we had ourselves a veritable feast of happy hour specialties. Since I’m kind of a moron I didn’t think to bring my camera, but luckily it gave me an excuse to practice my terribly unskilled cell phone camera picture-taking.
I ordered the pork belly steam buns with Sriracha aioli, hoisin, and picked daikon radish with a mandarin vodka and lime-infused cocktail.
Mary’s pal got the baked cambazola with figs, microgreens, and balsamic.
Mary opted for the pecorino, bechamel, cherry tomato and marjoram mac and cheese.
Scott got these awesome steamed clams in a smoked tomato and white wine broth.
Then the host brought us out this plate to test for an upcoming menu and we each took our forks and slaughtered the thing in approximately 14 seconds. Apparently its an egg roulade with Bourgogne cheese, braised greens, chanterelle, and a truffle and sherry cream. Though when he said all that it was in French and I was overwhelmed by the looks of that truffle sauce and I was all, HEY GUYS I HAVE A FOOD BLOG AND I’M TOTALLY UNILINGUAL SO COULD YOU WRITE THAT DOWN FOR ME PLEASE!? And the lovely server was like, um, sure… but then I felt compelled to explain why I was taking photos with a cell phone and not a proper camera and she was probably really bored but did a good job pretending that I’m not a complete idiot. There was actually even more food and I have one more horrendous cell phone picture I could share, but I failed at writing down the other dish so, well… fuck it. Here it is anyway.
Yeah, I have no idea what this is. I see a fig. I think it was a fig-tart-ice cream thing. Whatever it was, I wanted it in my mouth and was a little dejected that I had to limit myself to one dish and one drink. OH WELL. I HAD OTHER PLANS AFTERWARD ANYWAY, SUCKERS. I was planning on visiting a friend’s art show but got distracted by the stale fried food smell wafting out of the Beaver Inn’s doors. One whiff of that festering popcorn and air hockey table air and I get homesick for whiskey and the surrogate living room that the vinyl seats provide. So while I waited for C to meet me I got an extra tall whiskey, talked with a few friends, and then whisked myself next door to the Copper Hog. Because let’s be honest… is it possible for me to resist $6.50 meatloaf Mondays? With mashed potatoes!? AND GARLIC GREEN BEANS!?!? Oh hell no, I can’t, I just can’t do it. So I went there and rambled to C about my work day for approximately way past it was interesting, bopped around town for a little while longer, then pedaled home. I failed miserably at attending my friend’s art show. MISERABLY. But I’m getting used to being a total social fuck up if it means I get to foster my possibly unhealthy food and beverage obsessions.
HEY GUYS IF YOU’RE READING THIS: I’M SORRY AND I LOVE YOU. PLEASE COME OVER FOR DINNER, OK!?