The first decision was whether to take the dogs or not. They’d be cooler in the house, but a half-day outing would keep them awake and thus increase the chances that my hairy little alarm clock (Phillip) would let me eke out a few minutes of sleep past 6 a.m. the next day. Done – we grabbed their leashes, slathered on the sunscreen, and set out on what I think was our warmest day of the year to date – 80 degrees.
Destination: Fremont – Center of the Universe (according to its denizens), which lucky for us is just 1.5 miles to the south of our Seattle B&B. In my crusade to finish the day’s work early, I had missed both breakfast and lunch, so food was the first order of business. A tiny Caribbean restaurant, Paseo, is supposedly home to the world’s best sandwich, which we had never tried. It was time. Even if we had to wait in line, as you almost always do at this place. But we had entertainment, in the form of Terrance and Phillip, by now comfortably ensconced in their stroller. Yeah, they have a stroller. And I’m not going to make any excuses for it.
After a 20- to 30-minute wait, we had sandwiches in hand and searched for a place to picnic. A few blocks south of Paseo at 41st and Fremont, we found a shaded stone wall on which we could perch. Messy sandwiches, but well worth the mess. Mike had the “fish of the day” creation, while I went with the Paseo Press – roasted pork, banana peppers, smoked ham, swiss cheese, and carmelized onions, all melted together. Mmmmmmmmm. On par, but different of course, with the best Philly Cheesesteaks I’ve ever had. Phillip feasted on the juices and other droppings that escaped our takeout wrappers.
Southward we continued down Fremont Avenue, eventually veering off to wander the streets and shops of this funky little neighborhood, as well as posing the dogs with some of the public art. We skimmed the waterfront, glimpsing Mount Rainier through the supports of the Aurora Avenue Bridge and getting an eyeful of boats on Lake Union, as it’s Seafair weekend and everyone is out.
Eventually we got parched, and just in time found another shady spot conveniently beckoning us to “enjoy happy hour on our charming patio.” The 35th Street Bistro serves brunch on the weekend, dinner the rest of the week (not Monday), and happy hour every day. We parked the stroller outside the patio fence and snagged a table just on the other side of it. Quick refreshers of a Gimlet (for me) and Sazerac (for Mike) fortified us for the hike back up the hill. My hope was that the combination of pushing the stroller and walking most of the afternoon had gone a long way toward burning off the Caribbean sandwich that was so filling we wouldn’t need dinner.