IN THE SUMMER OF 2003, my friends and I often took jaunts up to Seattle’s International District – it was a colorful escape from the humdrum suburb where we grew up, and had an indefineable grittiness that I was fascinated by. Walking the streets brought a range of unfamiliar sights: Roasted ducks hanging by their necks in restaurant windows. A shop selling candy and cigarettes – nothing else. Leering elderly Chinese men. A bamboo garden, perched atop a hill on the edge of the neighborhood, where we would sit and while away the afternoon in the sun.
The area has captured the affection of many Seattlites, and the way to their hearts has often been through their stomachs. In a recent article for The Stranger, Angela Garbes tells of her romance with the neighborhood and its eateries, including cockroaches and all. While I can’t necessarily vouch for her restaurant picks (she covers a lot of territory I left unexplored), her story of dining solo in the ID is definitely worth a read.
Photo: international district at night, by P.J.S.