I’m All Lost In, #84: Falafel food truck; Midnight Safeway; 1975 drummer wanted ad.
I’m All Lost In…
the three things I’m obsessing about THIS week
#84
1) Falafel Salam Food Truck
On Tuesday evening, by happenstance, XDX and I discovered the best falafel in Seattle. After making the mile-and-a-half jaunt to 13th and Jefferson to hang out at Peloton Cafe (XDX had never been) we were met with a “closed” sign; it said Power Outage Closed Until Further Notice : (.
So we started the mile-long shamble to our old favorite standby, Kanom Sai Cafe on 23rd and Spring for some taro pastries. We eventually made it there, but not before following my impulse pivot to Chuck’s Hop Shop at 20th and Union. I had a craving for their veggie dog (like the one I had there on New Year’s Eve). They’ve since taken that off the menu, so I got in line at the falafel truck parked out front by the plastic tables under the tented lot. Falafel Salam’s long white truck seemed as if it was reclining there on its own BarcaLounger, beckoning.
Falafel Salam sets up outside Chuck’s Hop Shop at 20th and Union, 5/20/25
Their prominently displayed vegan option—it’s listed first on the menu— was stuffed with onions, cucumbers, cabbage, lettuce, and cilantro induced, green-on-the-inside falafel balls that were nearly as fluffy as the thick pita bread; I had to hold the messy dinner like I was eating a McDonald’s Big Mac. Falafel Salam’s special sauce? An unwieldy helping of mouth watering creamy tahini and, the key, hot turmeric.
(Unbeknownst to me, Falafel Salam has been around since 2009. You can find them at Chuck’s in the Central District on Tuesdays, in South Lake Union by Amazon on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and at the Ballard Farmer’s Market on Sundays. They’ve also got a brick and mortar spot in West Seattle.)
We rounded out our urban hike three blocks over at Kanom Sai, where we got the Shakespearean update from the solo kitchen staffer/baker/counter worker (she’s also the owner) before stopping at the 22nd and Madison Safeway where XDX, arrested by a window display, made an impulse buy of her own: two 12-packs of Waterloo Seltzer, which we attempted to stuff in her orange backpack.
2) Tipsy at the Safeway
Speaking of jumping into Safeway: The descent into my own sylvan green neighborhood from Capitol Hill’s properly lit nightlife district is marked by a Safeway at the corner of 15th and John. Fortuitously, it’s open late (until 12 am). Fortuitous because I often find myself ambling back from The Drag late in the evening longing for a Dagwood Sandwich.
My version of this comforting cartoonish sandwich: A colorful assortment of veggies dressed with herbs, spices, chili oil, and a dash of mustard or vinegar, packed into a refrigerated soft spinach tortilla or lovingly set on two tears of sourdough baguette with garlic hummus or pine nut and spinach pesto spread on each slice.
Swaying through Safeway’s quiet produce section while the sprinklers cycle on and off and the dégagé night staff unpack boxes, I dreamily track down my chosen salad sandwich ingredients like a post-apocalyptic traveler happening upon an army surplus store.
On the list (for fine dicing and, in the case of carrots, shredding): purple cabbage, red peppers, hot peppers, onions, tomatoes, black olives, baby spinach, banana peppers, capers, broccoli, and those bright carrots.
I won’t lie, there are a few other things on my spur-of-the-moment list for these heady late-night Safeway excursions: a tub of hummus; maybe some super processed Tofurky slices or vegan cheese; and definitely a box of Cheez-Its.
Drunk at Safeway, 5/21/25
I ran into another late night Safeway shopper on Wednesday night; she too was cavorting in the cookies and cracker aisle at this strange hour. And she too hailed from D.C. We reminisced about Dupont Circle’s legendary “Soviet Safeway” before she disappeared cradling her box of Oreos on the way toward the sole check out lane that was still open.
I surveyed my Cheez-Its options—Italian four cheese, buffalo wing, cheddar jack, smoked gouda—went with original and floated off to the self-check out where other post-apocalyptic revelers were swiping and bagging.
Late night snack courtesy of the late night Safeway with Cheez-Its on the side, 5/21 into 22/25
3) “Freak Energy”
I have never felt so seen.
On Saturday morning, as we sat down at the coffee shop for an overdue hangout, Valium Tom slid a freshly folded black T-shirt across the table: I got you a present.
Last month, in the wake of Blondie drummer Clem Burke’s recent death (RIP), former Blondie guitarist Chris Stein went searching for and successfully unearthed a treasure from the band’s pretend-we’re-already-superstars origin story. What he found may be the perfect expression of the droll post-hippie (but kinda still hippie), indigent glamour that characterized the wily, bohemian aesthetic of Lower Manhattan’s mid-1970s emergent punk and new wave music scenes.
Stein posted his historic find on Instagram: It was the drummer wanted ad that he and Debbie Harry and the rest of the yearning band put in the Village Voice in March 1975.
This number is not in service anymore.
I’d seen Stein’s post; I’m a devout Blondie fan and had started following him around the time I read his flailing memoir, which, thanks to his inept storytelling, failed to divine staglfation New York’s countercultural heyday. (I lovingly panned his book here.) He’s made up for it with this eloquent artifact, though.
Valium Tom saw Stein’s post too, and he put the slovenly elegant ad on a T for me.
With my new Blondie T-shirt, 5/17/25