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i have a unique breed of friends that like me, are planners, and thus book out abnormally far ahead.  as a result, simple things like getting together for dinner end up being more of a three-month plan.  such was the case that led us to claw our way into the reservation log of the book bindery.  located on the cusp of slu, fremont, and queen anne, the book bindery is tucked away in what looks like an unassuming warehouse, one that is easily passed (i drove by it twice on accident) and shared with their sibling winery almquist family vintners (make sure to check out their manifesto, evidently grapes “tell you what they want to be…”)  but i digress, and what the fuck do i know about wine anyway. so there i was, ruminating over some of the sexy cocktails on the bindery’s list, one of which was the lusty lady, borne from gin, lime, cranberry, lavender bitters,  and egg white.  let me say now, i am a sucker for fizzes, flips, anything with the body of a rubenesque woman.  a few sips in, and i was forced to refocus on the food menu, at which point, the glass shattered.  out of two pages full of apps and entrées, i couldn’t find one fucking thing i wanted.  how was that possible?  how did i wait three months and weather two reschedules for an uninspired menu full of foie gras foam and top scallop?  <aside: i will say that slow roasted hen egg was worth coveting from my friend.>  things got worse when i went bartender’s choice for my next round and received something that tasted like an old man’s bottom dresser drawer.  i ended up trading my cocktail for my friend’s glass of grape-talking red (yeah, it was that bad).  some things simply aren’t worth waiting for.

bound and gagged

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