Ready for takeoff.

A few days ago, a pair of friends and I landed ourselves at Vessel for a Recession Proof Mixology event featuring Aviation Gin. All three of us could recall a time when any of us were hesitant to drink anything other than a beverage containing vodka and juice from concentrate; thank Heavens for the many good bartenders who have played a role in steering us away from such amateur beverages, transforming us into "Cocktail Geeks," for better or for worse. (I like to think for the better.) On our gin-induced flight to Shangri-La, we were in good company, also present in our cabin were several of the Emerald City's first-class bartenders, away from their Capitol Hill cockpits, as well as other industry folks and media notability.

We sampled several bright and uplifting cocktails; I, of course, went for all the froufrou looking drinks in the sunset spectrum of pink and apricot. My palate was much pleased as was my field of vision. The order of truffle chips was a tasty touch, but whetted our appetite so much we only sat through a few round of drinks before departing for more substantial forage (I'm sure, due to our early departure, we missed some really good in-flight entertainment.)

The three of us descended our way down to the Harbor Steps to check out a restaurant that had recently opened. The place looked nice, the menu looked decent, and we had a friend's recommendation, but somehow the venue didn't seem to set off our radar, so we changed course and headed up into the Market.

Oddly, the early evening weather was warm and dense, the air being heavy and humid as if we were deep within an equatorial jungle. The sky began to take on a copper-colored hue, glazing the once familiar Emerald City skyline 'neath a rosy haze and heightening our anticipation of something marvelous awaiting us around the corner.

Then, a golden idea came to me and I led us through an alley, beyond the infamous "gum wall," up a hidden staircase, past Rachel (the pig) and out on a tiny terrace until we reached my desired destination with a smooth landing, Place Pigalle.

Place Pigalle is a special place. Small, comfortable, and peppered with just the right amount of class. (Perhaps it's the French influences that permeate the place?) It's perched location offers spectacular, unobstructed views of Puget Sound, who's dark blue waters began to glimmer with a bronze glint by the time we were seated at our white-linen-covered table.

Following our entrance, a pair of fishmongers navigated their way to the slender bar. Also present in the intimate, softly lit dining room were several seasoned couples, as well as a table of executives still formally buttoned-up in their well-tailored suits.

Shortly after the three of us each ordered a glass of wine--rosé for me, of course, Malbec for the Mademoiselle and Tributary for the Monsieur, a trio of Europeans entered the establishment, and instantly were recognized by the neighboring table of executives, who all rose to exchange handshakes before the Continental threesome were seated at their own, separate table.

Following a few bites of fresh-baked sourdough and the creamiest of butters, our starter courses came our way consisting of a hearty lentil and house-made sausage soup; and a light, though flavorful, halibut seviche, all of which was rather delectable.

When it came to our entrées, we could not contain our crooning as we each kept taking nibbles from one another's plate: fresh marlin medallions, lightly seared, served alongside tenderly roasted potatoes and autumn vegetables; al dente fettuccine submerged in a savory lamb Bolognese; and chipotle veal shortribs that effortlessly slid right of their bones and truly melted in one's mouth. Between the wine, the food, and the company, that night it felt as if we truly were coasting above the clouds on a decadent, culinary pleasure cruise.