One of the more amusing places I’ve discovered since coming to Seattle is a place called Pioneer Square Pizza. It’s right on the edge of the square for which it is named, and it’s a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that boasts “authentic Italian pizza” despite being run entirely by Koreans. This is not to say that, perhaps, they stole the recipe from an authentic Italian, but it is owned and operated by a very nice Korean woman and her family.
I’ve started eating lunch there quite frequently because, authentic or not, the pizza is really fucking good. Seattle ain’t much for pizza, but it’s great that I can find some good stuff in a little dive in the middle of Bumtown.
At any rate, a week or so ago I was reading on a bench in the square when I noticed people running around for no reason. This is not an unusual occurrence in Pioneer Square, home to lunatics and tourist children alike, but these particular runners were odd—they were running from a van illegally parked on 1st Avenue to, as I traced their movement, Pioneer Square Pizza.
What were they doing? Dragging new, colorful, nice-looking menu boards and advertisement signs from the van to the restaurant.
“Good for them,” I thought and went back to the book.
Today, I had lunch there again. I got into line behind a bunch of tourists, and I overheard a woman say to her husband, “What is ‘remonade’?”
“‘Remonade’?” I thought, then followed her confused gaze to the new menu board. She was correct: written on the menu of the Korean-owned pizza place were the words “Fresh Remonade.” That, in itself, was funny enough, but what made it funnier was the utter confusion that befell the tourists.
I tried very hard to not laugh, because the owners are nice people, but I inevitably failed. Of course, it was all the tourist lady’s fault because, rather than realizing that maybe it was some sort of typographical error, she asked one of the counter workers, “What is this ‘remonade’?”
The counter worker explained to the confused woman that it was just normal lemonade, and that she could either have Minute Maid from the soda fountain or buy a bottle of Nantucket Nectar.
The lady sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll just have a medium-sized remonade.”
At this point, I lost it. The lady looked at me like was a crazy hobo, possibly based on the fact that I didn’t shave today, haven’t had a haircut since I got here, and was wearing a goofy oversized rain poncho. Fortunately, the counter was so busy that none of the workers noticed me laughing at the tourist.