In Seattle, we’ve long made fun of Tacoma, treating our sister city to the south like some kind of scruffy Jeb “Please Clap” Bush, no, maybe Billy Carter, if you’re old enough to remember him, no, that’s not right either. Maybe Tiffany? The one no one pays attention to? All of this is unfair, and snarky, and consistent with our big sister city status, so forgive us, Tacoma, you don’t deserve it.
Early on in my Seattle days I used to buzz down to Tacoma to go thrifting, to visit the museums, to wander around aimlessly in new-to-me urban neighborhoods, to ponder what kind of housing I could afford were I to move a mere 35 miles south. Tacoma got light rail before Seattle, and with the addition of the University of Washington campus and the continually improving museum district, it’s very much worth a day trip, at least. Plus, for this Seattleite, at least, it still has character. It’s not all gone to shiny high-rises or those Lego style houses with the rooftop patios; it still feels like a place where an artist could find a live/work space, and not some “live/work space” only highly paid tech bros can afford to live in while they don’t actually work there at all. I imagine you can still make coffee or sell art supplies or whatever and still have a decent life in Tacoma, whereas in Seattle, that’s off the cards.
I’m probably not going to sell my West Seattle house and move south but I have found myself in Tacoma more often recently. Here’s a short list of things I like there, and yes, I will totally take you for a Waffle-rito when you come to town. I won’t drink because I’m driving, but you should. Speaking of which:
Dirty Oscar’s Annex: I *love* a dive bar with a full breakfast menu, even if I’m not breakfast drinking. This place makes righteous diner style breakfast chow, but it’s better than that because, well, the breakfast burrito is wrapped inside a waffle. Let me say that again. No inadequate mass produced tortilla for you, no sir, you will get your scrambles with chorizo wrapped in a waffle. The English muffins that come with your eggs bennie are not actual English muffins, they’re more like pancakes made with English muffin batter. The Bloody Mary is fierce and spicy, the mimosas are not quite bottomless, but more than you can drink because you get the whole bottle, and oh, I wish I was on the way there right now. It’s 21 and over only, be still my aging childless hipster heart.
Legendary Donuts: The donuts here are huge, complicated, just utterly ridiculous. They make something called a doughsant, which I guess is their way of telling the cronut to eff off. The Snickers doughsant is my favorite, they’re layered and come with chocolate and peanut butter frosting, and are sprinkled with peanuts, and I’m vibrating from a sugar high just writing about them. My biggest issue with Legendary is more about me — I often arrive full up from Dirty Oscar’s and I’m not hungry enough to go crazy on their offerings. But I always get a box to take home, and they are great the next day, too, great. Not good, great. Go get donuts, do it.
Honey at Alma Mater: Alma Mater is a super cool performance/exhibit/maker space just up the hill from the museum district. Honey is the cafe/restaurant off the lobby and it’s also super cool, the kind of place where I’m not sure I’m cool enough to be on a Saturday morning. It’s packed, and rightfully so, and worth the wait, because their breakfast is perfect. Everything is super fresh and the menu is interesting — they had wild boar scrambles when I was there. They serve serious coffee, they’re serious about local sourcing, and also, the space is nice. There’s a huge covered patio with giant picnic tables if there’s no room inside (and they’re might not be because it’s good). It’s not a cheap breakfast and it’s totally worth it.
America’s Car Museum: Full disclosure, the only reason I had planned to go here was that I’d been offered free passes. I didn’t think it was my thing, but hey, I’m up for whatever, especially if it’s free. There was a snafu with that and my friend and I went anyway (there’s a AAA discount, FYI). We both enjoyed it tremendously. The collection is glorious — and includes some delightfully weird things — but it’s not just the objects themselves. I think there’s something oh so American about cars, about the role they play in our identity, we’ve all got stories about cars even if we’re not “car people” per se. So that 57 Cadillac isn’t just a 57 Cadillac, it’s also my friend’s bachelor party, for which I rented a 57 Cadillac and we ran around San Francisco bar hopping. It was pink, and the limo version, and the girls hated that car, they wanted a moon roof. But I loved it, and everywhere were stopped heads would turn, which was kind of the point, and oh, you get it. I think there’s a fair bit of American memory to be released by looking at these cars, and that’s fun.