The bartending game at bathtime rolls along unabated. Lately, it goes like this. Hello Kitty, the bartender, is having a promotion where you can taste three seasonal or theme drinks for free, but if you want to drink the whole thing, you have to pay. Unfortunately, the fearsome pirate K. Rool and his minion (whose name is Minion) keep coming into the bar and drinking everything without paying up.

Recent drinks have included:

* The Beach Towel Umbrella
* The Soap
* Sharkwater
* The Swimsuit
* The Coral Reef
* The Wind
* The April Shower
* The Hat
* The Lobster Cooler

If you have any drink ideas, please let me know, because I am seriously running out.

In Sunday’s paper:

[Aroma Therapy](http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/pacificnw07082007/2003775946_pacificptaste08.html)

This was about the most fun I’ve had writing an article. Thanks, [Becky](http://www.seasonalcornucopia.com/)! Thanks, [Dana](http://www.tastingmenu.com/)! During the photo shoot, I did at one point drop a piece of dry ice into the soup. That was cool. Not enough soups are carbonated.

Annie’s Shells and Morels.

Exasperated man, to woman: “Do you want to spend our LAST day in Seattle in a BAKERY?”

Laurie went downtown to shop at Organic Wednesday at Pike Place Market. Iris and I went to a bouncy castle. “What would you like from the market?” Laurie asked.

I had been reading Orangette. “Morels,” I replied. “If they’re, say, $16 a pound or less.”

They were $17.75. Laurie came back with four ounces or so. I will keep her around.

I made that Tuscan-style steak salad for dinner, with arugula and shaved parmesan. I made Orangette’s creamed morels. When dinner was ready, I sawed off a chunk of rustic toast and put a few morels and a piece of steak on it.

“Oh, man,” I said. (“Oh, man” is the highest praise I dole out. I’d like to say it used to be something more grownup like “holy fuck” before we had Iris, but actually I think it’s always been “oh, man.”) I hope this isn’t the very last gasp of morel season, because I need a steak sandwich with morels, stat.

The rest of my toast was hiding under the salad. When I was done with a lot of steak and arugula and cheese, I piled morels on the glistening toast and ate it.

Laurie has claimed in the past not to like morels. So why did the bowl shuttle across the table so many times, and why did I catch her scraping the sheen of morel-flavored cream with her toast after I finished off the mushrooms?

(Iris claims not to like morels. I gave her a piece and she threw it. We’ll see what happens next time. They get their hooks in.)