Out and About: Mister Car Wash

Out and About" is a an ongoing project I throw out there to document some of the unique, quirky and/or totally fabulous aspects of living in the fair city of Bermtopia.

Oh. And I should mention I don't get paid to write about these joints. (Does this blog look like we get paid to write about anything?

It's just me, sharing my profoundly deep knowledge of all things Bermtopian with the world.

Some day, you'll thank me.

I am a total car wash geek. There. I've said  it. I love car washes.

As a kid, the high point of my 6-year-old day was when my mom took me with her to get her blue Nash Rambler washed at the local self-serve. I loved the physics-defying (in my mind) metal track and pulley that hauled vehicles through the watery gauntlet of jumbo brushes and mops. I loved watching the car wash soap sea-foam across the car windows, filling all the mysterious nooks and crannies of windshield and hood. And I loved the car's subtle shudder -- akin to someone giving me a gentle shove to wake up -- when the steaming, lazer-like streams of rinse water hit the sides of our car.

Things haven't changed much in 53 years. I just can't help myself. I love car washes.

I'm sure there's medical explanation for it.

And speaking of car washes. . . the best car wash, the Xanadu of car washes, the Valhalla of car washes, the Machu Pichu of all car washes, is Bermtopia's own Mister Car Wash perched between Division-Ruby Street couplet just a wash rag's throw from the South Hill.

Here are the top 10 reasons why Mister Car Wash is bombest of the bomb in my books:

10. Khaki and polo shirts: Winter, spring, summer, fall you'll find Mister Car Wash attendants decked out in jaunty Mister Car Wash polos and khakis. It's sort of like pulling into a country club for dirty cars.

9. FREE pop corn.

8. Drive-through or full-serve? Unless I am in a bodacious hurry, which I generally try to avoid at all cost, I use full-serve.

Have you lost sight of that fine Corinthian leather in the haze of dog hair and Egg McMuffin crumbs you call the interior of your car? Gone with a wave of a Mister Car Wash power vac.

Do small birds stick to your windshield because of the pitch you've accumulated thanks to the 100-foot pine tree growing right next to your driveway? The small army of Mister Car Wash car dry-ers and polishers who swarm your car as it emerges from the wash can take care of the majority of deposits -- and recommend product for the stubborn ones that remain.

7. Free POP corn.

6. Greeting cards: Why stop at the pine-scented air freshener shaped like a Christmas tree? Pick up a few Christmas cards as well at the Mister Car Wash gift shop while you're at it. Boo-yah!

5. Free pop CORN.

Note the Mister Car Wash T-shirt. That's the Summer Look.

4. Professionalism: Don't worry about the messy state of your car. Mister Car Wash attendants are unflappable. They have seen everything. Well, almost everything.

3. FrEe PoP cOrN.

2. And, oh, have I mentioned Mister Car Wash provides FREE POP CORN?

1. But the number-one reason why Mister Car Wash is bomb-est of the bomb? They sell ART -- in the restrooms to boot. Don't know about you, but I'm always on the look-out for eye-catching etchings when I'm in the loo. The concept is nothing short of genius.

No wait.

Mister Car Wash is nothing short of genius.

Out and About: The Kon Tiki car show

"Out and About" is a an ongoing project I throw out there now and then to document some of the unique, quirky and/or totally fabulous aspects of living in the fair city of Bermtopia.

Oh. And I should mention I don't get paid to write about these joints. (Does this blog look like it gets paid to write about anything?)

It's just me, sharing my profoundly deep knowledge of all things Bermtopian with the world.

You're welcome.

The Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show was about the last place on earth I thought I'd be at 10:45 a.m. on a Saturday morning in August. . . the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki being one of Bermtopia's more celebrated strip clubs. I will spare you the link. If you're really curious, there's always Google.

But hey. We were in the neighborhood.

REALLY.

You see, my great niece (my, how that makes one sound ancient) had an 8 a.m. soccer game in the Valley and my co-worker, The Videographer's, band, The BBBBandits, had an 11 a.m. set at the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show at State Line, a evocative no-man's-land of dive bars on the Idaho side of the Washington-Idaho border. Anytime I can catch the BBBBandits surf rock sound on the south side of 6 p.m. -- my bedtime -- I'm all over it.

There was this kind of red thing going on.

Back in the 70s, when we were in college, the Kon Tiki, El Patio, Saddle Sore Saloon and Last Chance Tavern (we didn't know there was a First Chance) were dive bars dance clubs where the drinking age was a shade more generous than Washington (19 vs. 21) and you could actually dance to live bands. Good times, good times.

Today, well, let's just say, State Line is a shadow of its former self. As we all are.

But the Kon (REAL Show Girls!) Tiki car show was nothing short of A.W.E.S.O.M.E. It was just as advertised: Beer, Burgers, Babes and Bands. Not to mention some sweet rides, colorful characters and wonderfully weird vignettes.

No matter WHAT you read on the Internet, the mullet is
alive and well in North Idaho.

A public apology to the Number 1 and 2 Sons:
I'm sorry we didn't have an airbrushed family portrait on the
back of the mini-van when you were growing up.
Please don't be scarred for life.
Love,
Mom.

There were many Manly Men. And, oh, how the Manly Men love their cars -- polishing and buffing  bumpers and hood ornaments till they couldn't shine any more brightly, beaming like proud school boys when asked about their restoration projects.

Chrome, steel and burnished leather shimmered like hot jewels in the late morning sun.

And finally, The REAL Show Girls! made their appearance, slowly ambling into the crowd, posing next to cars and chatting up spectators and exibitors. I didn't take any pictures, but I can report they wear glasses for nearsightedness and suffer from the condition known as Muffin Top just like the rest of us mere mortals. . . except with a few more tattoos.

Thirty minutes later, as the final chords of The BBBBandits riffed across the black topped parking lot, we turned to go. Sadly, we would miss the The REAL Show Girls! Twister game and wet T-shirt contest, but other equally sybaritic pursuits called to us -- making plum jam, the Olympics and PGA Championship. 

The Videographer better have a full report at work on Monday -- with charts and graphs.

Out and about: Cassano's Italian Market

"Out and About" is an occasional feature documenting some of the unique, quirky and/or totally fabulous aspects of living in the fair city of Bermtopia.


I have been a total slug when it comes to "Out and About" over the last few months. Don't worry. I haven't been curled up in a fetal position in the darkest corner of the Nine-One-Four waiting for winter to pass. Okay. Maybe a little. But basically: I just haven't been organized enough to write about my "out-and-about-ings."

That ended last week with a stop at Cassano's, Bermtopia's iconic, yes iconic (and truth be told, only) Old School Italian Deli. At least as I imagine one. Let's face it, we take 'em as we get 'em here out here on The Palouse. . . . because, whoa! THIS may come as a surprise to you, we are not exactly New York City here in Bermtopia.

Don't worry. I myself am constantly taken aback by this small, ironic fact of existence.

But I think Cassano's comes close to fitting the bill. . . It may be scaled down Old School Italian Deli, but its history and heritage are humbling, and a shopping run there never disappoints.

Cassano's opened in 1922 here in Bermtopia, a locus for our the city's strong, lively and still colorful Italian-American community. It's changed hands over the years, but always among visionary, family-centric Italian-American entrepreneurs who have loved and cultivated Cassano's comforting Old (and Other) Worldly atmosphere while continuing to stock its shelves with a fantastic carnival of imported olive oils, pasta, tomato product, anchovies, capers, peppers and other staples critical to Italian cuisine and culture.

Cassano's amaretti are addictive. They have been banned from the Nine-One-Four.

There is an entire aisle -- left to right --
dedicated to dried pastas.

And you can always find fresh-baked bread, homemade sausage, zip-lock bags bulging with hand-made ravioli and tortellini, and our personal favorite, take-and-bake lasagna ("Italian mac n' cheese" in Cassano Speak). Frankly, I stopped making lasagna once I discovered this little pan of pasta perfection.

Montegrappa. Scamorza. Fontina Val Dosta. Casatica buffulo. Capocallo. Sopresseta.

The names of meats and cheeses in the deli case are lyrical -- they are delicious too.

I love watching the deli gal slowly and methodically shave off my order of meat on a slicer the size of the Titanic (probably of the same generation as well). And back in the day, when co-owner Carl used to man the deli counter, you might even get a taste of torrone, a heavenly nougat confection dotted with sliced almonds traditionally ordered for the holidays. But that's only if the stars were in perfect alignment.

So this is Cassano's.

I try to stop by at least once a week under the pretext of needing a certain type of pasta or a quarter-pound of pancetta, but secretly, I'm happy just walking up and down the aisles, exploring their colorful contents, sharing its remarkable past . . . and savoring a secret world where a tiny shop, run by charming people, can make a go of it for 90 years.

Meat! Cheese! Wine!
I bow in awe of the Holy Trinity.