Mise en Place: An Introduction

Today we introduce John Idstrom as Exit133’s newest columnist. With Daniel Blue focusing on Motopony and David Boe having completed his 52 column obligation, we’re about to grow the regular contributor ranks once again. John comes to us with many community connections, a propensity for writing, and a fashion sense unlike anybody else at Suite133. We’ll see where this goes …

It occurred to me the other day that I have now moved to Tacoma a total of three times since 1990. As an adult, over the age of 30. With no military service involved. While I’m sure that’s not a record, surely it must come with some designation. Three strikes and you’re IN?

Then again, they say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result. You make the call.

Moving three times to Tacoma means I’ve also moved away twice. In the spirit of full disclosure, those weren’t moves made on a whim. Both departures were deliberate, a purposeful effort to find that elusive “better place.” Call it discontent, wanderlust or whatever, I just figured I could do better.

Events of the last couple of weeks reinforce the feeling that I might not have been all wrong about those greener pastures. You know you have issues when you can’t keep a company with 75 years of roots and a historic landmark is neglected unto demolition.

Before I go off on a full-blown rant of all that’s wrong with Tacoma, let’s just say that when it comes to this town I have an undeniable love/hate thing going on. Of course, as with any this/that relationship one side feeds off the other. Balancing each side of the slash is the trick.

It’s easy for me to think about Tacoma in terms of numbers and how we stack up, which often isn’t very good. In fact, some of our numbers get downright depressing. Our schools get called drop-out factories with test scores and college graduation below the mean. Downtown is a glass more half empty than full and getting emptier by the day it seems. We struggle to develop business, and one big one we have bids us adieu without so much as a press conference. Our air-quality is an asthma attack waiting to happen. Culturally, there are days I’m sure we have more in common with Coos Bay than our big sister to the north.

I need to stop here and take a breath before a lengthy list morphs into full-blown rant. Nobody, my cardiologist included, wants that.

Still, there are lies, damn lies and statistics. I was reminded of this recently when my family hosted old friends from back in Minnesota for a few days, my college roommate and his family. As visits go, this one was splendid…we gobbled grilled albacore, sipped sauvignon blanc and laughed in the backyard until long after dark, catching up on some twenty years gone by.

On the way to the airport, my pal’s wife Annie reflected on the twenty years since we left Minnesota, reminding me that we had announced our first move to Tacoma at Don’s 30th birthday party. That was a forgotten memory for me, but her recollection of the detail was telling. Then she added “we miss you guys a lot, but I have to admit, you sure have made a nice life for yourselves out here.”
That simple statement stopped me short and has stayed with me for the intervening days. I’ve concluded that her observational skills are keen indeed. Though Tacoma leaves no shortage of issues upon which one can work up a rant of epic proportions, it’s also very, very true that one can fashion a very pleasing life, even on these mean, pot-holed streets. Take those poor-performing schools I mentioned. Sure, a Johns Hopkins study called them drop-out factories. But my experience is that they are also populated with dozens and dozens of committed and outstanding educators, among them fourth grade teacher Sam Allegro. This is a guy who can get excited about an egg salad sandwich and who sees opportunities to learn in everything. As you can imagine, his enthusiasm rubs off on his students in a big way. Crime-riddled streets are in the process of being taken back block-by-block by committed community activists who have decided they will not knuckle under to the hoodlums. In Point Defiance we have perhaps the finest urban park in America, even though urbanized raccoons appear to have the run of the place.

It doesn’t stop there. When your three year old accidentally swallows a key, we have a splendid children’s hospital in Mary Bridge where you can get a precautionary x-ray and professional assurance that this too shall, uh, pass. Because my weight tends to bounce, I’ve had the personal need to have my dress trousers let out and taken in (and let out and taken in) a job performed admirably by a real Italian tailor, Franco, a man of impeccable style. That empty glass downtown is home to Pacific Grill, a joint so swanky it would easily hold its own in San Francisco.

I could go on and on. Handmade Green River sodas pair perfectly with a sea kayak rentals at Don’s Ruston Market. At Northern Fish, I purchase uber-fresh seafood on an actual dock over the water. Saturday morning finds me selecting fresh produce at the Proctor farmers market. Later, I can see great indie movies, foreign films or documentaries on a big screen at the Grand Cinema. My friend Bill the Wine Merchant sells expertly selected exotic wines at bargain prices. The blackberry shake at Frisko Freeze always hits the spot. At Cheney Stadium, you can see the next Alex Rodriguez or Felix Hernandez for just $6. My four mile jog on Ruston Way features views of the Olympics on the way out and Mt. Rainier on the return.

So, it ain’t all bad. Slurping a frosty fume blanc with a silvery slab of salmon on the grill (served simply with chili lime basil butter), I’m inclined to agree with my friend Annie. Tacoma is far from perfect, as any numerical analysis will reveal. Still, not everything that counts can be counted. Nobody hands you your life. If my psychic backyard is full of metaphoric clunker El Caminos, that’s ultimately my responsibility. I agree that it takes a village, but I also believe my yard is mine to mow.

Maybe the best thing to say about Tacoma is that it is a place where one can in fact fashion a pleasant and pleasing enough life. You may have to expend a little energy looking for it, but a good life is out there. I’ll admit a little financial wherewithal helps in this regard, but I’m often enough astounded by the cool stuff we have at our fingertips that’s free or nearly so. Not exactly the stuff that marketing slogans are made of, but then again, who needs a marketing slogan when ours would be some variation on “Tacoma: Doesn’t Stink as Bad as You Think”.

Livin’ the Good Life in Tacoma Coho Salmon with Chili-Lime-Basil Butter
Filet or steak of coho salmon
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper

Chili-lime-basil butter
1 stick unsalted butter, room temp
Minced garlic (3-5 cloves, depending on personal garlic tolerance)
2 tsp chili powder
Juice of 1 lime
10-20 basil leaves, stacked, rolled and thinly sliced on the bias
Combine all ingredients and mix well.

Brush salmon with EVO and season with salt and pepper. Grill over hot coals or pre-heated gas grill until just done in the middle. Serve hot with liberal dollop of compound butter. Pairs with virtually any wine, but I recommend a Pinot Noir.