If you can’t bring the girl to Armenia

…bring Armenian food to the girl.

Seattle is a long way from Armenia but, in early fall, my heart is there. I long for a warm evening, a sidewalk cafe, and a slice of lahmajun with a glass of tahn on the side. So on a warm night in late September, we laid out an assortment of small plates on our deck.  I freely admit it’s not the real Armenian deal. Pita took the place of lavash, Loukanika (Thank you Olympic Provisions!) stood in for sujuk, and none of my favorites–like Spas (yogurt soup), kufteh (stuffed meat balls) or lahmajun (pizza)–graced our table.

But in the spirit of Armenia, we dined. I closed my eyes and–for a moment–tried to imagine we had just returned from an evening stroll, where we walked up the to the top of the Cascade, and gazed down upon all of Yerevan with Mt. Ararat looming on the horizon, instead of sitting beside the Cascade Mountains under the shadow of  Mt. Rainier.

Take the road less traveled, Beth