Ain't Nothin' but a Donut Party

Any of you who read the comments on the last post have possibly been in the grip of a mild case of suspense: WOULD THE MARMOT leave her burrow to venture to a private donut store celebration? WAS THE PARTY actually a RUSE to tar and feather the mouthy marmot?

In brief, yes, and no.

I arrived solo at the purported party at approximately 10:00 PM, fashionably late and late enough to avoid undue attention. (I had just had two PBRs down at Atlas Foods with MSH and his buddy, who went straight to the airport and embarked for NYC.) The place was hoppin'--a mixed crowd of kids, hipsters, golden oldies; hippies, yuppies, and beautiful people. I saw the owner (I think I saw his picture in an old Seattle Times article online) gladhanding and looking sharp in a black suit and blue shirt, no tie as I recall.

The grub: mini old-fashioneds with plenty-o frosting (a cherished aspect of the To* *ot doughnut for me,) and mini-maple bars. Yummy. There were other hors d'oeuvres, but I demurred in favor of a beer. Beer and doughnuts. Homer Simpson would have felt at home.

The building: Omigod it is *gorgeous.* Especially the terrazzo floors! I don't know what a terrazzo is, but the floors are lovely. The lighting inside and outside under the portico, if you will, consists of fifties retro fixtures, kind of cone shaped, with pinholes in the sides that cast starry rays across the ceilings. There's a fifties feel throughout--v. cute clock in particular. When you walk in, the bar is straight ahead; to your right, the donut production facilities and the restrooms; to your left, a large room, which will normally be filled with chairs and tables, I suppose. There are three large windows in this room and the walls are floor to ceiling bookshelves made of warm-toned wood, and stocked with books such as the Children's Encyclopedia (or similar,) The Hardy Boys mysteries, and The Big Book of Trains. I was charmed.

The interaction: Minimal. I'm not cut out to be an investigative journalist. I tried to make eye contact, appear approachable...no dice. I finally made overtures to the least threatening group within eyeshot, three young male skaters, who turned out to be the least consequential people, the most removed from the proprietors/operators, besides myself. They were there for the beer, and Dave, the one I talked to the longest, insisted that I was, too--since I didn't reveal the real impetus behind my visit. He had on a sweatshirt that said "the Droors" a la the Doors. Turns out he lives around the corner from me, and has lived here all his life. He kept recognizing parents of elementary school classmates at the party. Understandably, this freaked him out. His two friends made themselves scarce, possibly in order not to spoil his "play."

According to my mystery commenter, the grand opening of To* *ot Wedgwood is tomorrow! I'm getting off work early so I will come down and see what there is to see. (And, you know. Eat...what there is to eat.)

***UPDATED TO ADD***

Running errands for work, I passed the TP--there are some super cute retro patio umbrellas out front, white with strips of red and blue, I cannot find a photo on the internet in five minutes of searching, but they're made of metal strips, like you'd see on an old fashioned lemonade or snow-cone cart. They've also put in concrete plugs to keep the drive-through cars away from the front entrance--yes, there's a drive-through!! That's going to give GB a run for their money, not to mention SB down the street!