Maybe I should start a coffeehouses-with-mezzanines wiki, because I found another one. On Saturday, when the temperature was in the kajillions, I attempted to spend the whole day in air-conditioned comfort. First I went to the Starbucks on Phinney, then when I needed a change of scenery, I headed to Peet’s in Fremont. I didn’t realize that Peet’s has a little mezzanine level with a great view of both the main floor and the main drag of Fremont, along with a slice of Lake Union. They also sell a Scharffen-Berger mocha, which I didn’t try, because I had a dinner appointment at Brouwer’s; more about this in a moment. Peet’s doesn’t have wi-fi, even paid. I probably would have paid. Are you listening, Peet?

Then, yesterday, when it was still pretty hot, I was going to go to the Starbucks on 15th. When I got there, there were a bunch of people sitting outside but nobody inside. I stepped in, and their AC was broken. I told Laurie about this and she reminded me that it was exactly like when your NYC subway train rolls in and every car is crowded except one, and that’s the one with no AC and a foul stench.

If you’re of the opinion that food critics shouldn’t talk about places where they have a personal connection, shield your eyes, because the chef at Brouwer’s is my brother Ben’s girlfriend, Daysha Fritz. Brouwer’s is an absurd and unlikely place: it looks like a nicely appointed dungeon, and you can get Cantillon Kriek *on tap*. Along with at least sixty other beers, about half of them Belgian. There’s also food, and I had a nice lamb sausage sandwich with chipotle mayo. The fries, which were troublesome when Brouwer’s first opened, have come along way under Daysha’s influence.

I had a good time at Brouwer’s, but it could have been a lot better. This was entirely my fault, because I drove there, so I was limited to one beer while Ben sat there ordering beer after interesting beer. I seriously thought about abandoning my mother’s car in Fremont and taking the bus home.

I think I’ve discovered the worst restaurant slogan ever.

Down the street from me there’s one of those greasy neighborhood pizza places, called Bella Pizza & Pasta. The other day I saw one of their delivery drivers get out of the car, and he was wearing a shirt that had the following printed on the back:

Bella Pizza & Pasta
PIZZA WITH BALLS

I finally got to see the Iron Chef America episode where Seattle uberchef Tom Douglas challenges Morimoto. For one of Morimoto’s dishes, he cooks a salmon fillet in the style of Peking duck, by repeatedly ladling hot oil over the fish. And when I say repeatedly, I mean he stood there ladling for what looked like twenty minutes, burning himself frequently. But you couldn’t argue with the results, a perfectly medium-rare piece of fish with the ultimate in crispy skin.

I was so inspired by this display of iron cheffery that I’ve decided that from now on I’m going to cook everything this way. There will be a wok full of hot peanut oil on the stove at all times. You’ll come into the kitchen and I’ll be holding a steak in one hand and ladling oil on with the other. Just wait until you see my desserts.

Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it would be better if you didn’t come into the kitchen.

One of the pleasures of shopping at the farmers market is learning which products are truly superior to supermarket stuff and which offer only the advantage of good karma. For some reason, although I love kale and fennel, I love supermarket kale and fennel better than any I’ve bought at a market stall.

But many things are just absurdly superior. Carrots. Peppers. Melons. Garlic. The latter shows one of the greatest gaps. Supermarket garlic, even in season (which is summer to early fall), is often sprouted and always hard to peel. (That said, it’s worth checking the organic garlic at the supermarket, which is often in better shape.) But market garlic? Where do you want to start? There are a dozen different kinds, and many of them are hardneck garlic.

You can recognize hardneck garlic by the hard stalk sticking out of the middle of the head. Most varieties have a single layer of large cloves surrounding the stalk, and the skin is usually purple. There would be good reason to use this garlic even if it didn’t taste any better: it’s much easier to peel and it rarely has those annoying useless tiny cloves. But it does taste better. And to seal the deal, it’s much less likely to be sprouted. I read recently that this is because small farmers tend not to chill their garlic, and it’s the chilling and warming cycle that causes garlic to sprout. I don’t know if this is accurate, but I’m passing on the rumor.

The best-known variety of hardneck garlic is Rocambole, and it’s become synonymous with the type, but there are many other varieties. If you do see garlic labeled Rocambole, by all means go for it.

I’m currently reading Michael Ruhlman’s new book, The Reach of a Chef, which would be a great title for a book about sexual harassment in the restaurant kitchen but is actually, well, it’s basically a book about some chefs that Ruhlman likes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. One of the chefs is Melissa Kelly of Primo, in Maine. Kelly is my kind of chef, a real Blood, one who employs a full-time gardener that keeps the place supplied with 60 percent of its produce. Among this produce is hardneck garlic, but this isn’t the term Ruhlman uses. He’s bestowed a different name, one which I will enthusiastically adopt.

He calls it hard-core garlic.

I’m at Tully’s in the U District, and I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that all three of the U District Tully’s locations now have free wi-fi.

The bad news is that they’ve changed the name of their Frappuccino competitor again. The first rendition was the Swirkle. Last summer it was called the Spin. (Possibly there were other intervening names that I don’t remember.) The one I’m currently drinking is called the (gird your loins) Bellaccino. Does anybody think “Bellaccino” is a better name than “Swirkle”? Anybody on Earth?

Also, it’s too sweet, and I have a high tolerance for sweet frozen drinks. This is way sweeter than a Frappuccino. It has a pure sucrose aftertaste. They gave me a drink card where I only have to buy three Bellaccini to get one free, but that seems unlikely.

Because I’m a generous person, I am giving away these frozen drink names that I just made up:

* Freezesso
* Blendoka
* Whizzcaffe
* Coffreeza
* Enchirito