19 MarianneSeated at her glass-topped desk, Marianne tucked a paper napkin into the neckline of her tan coatdress, covering the brown wooden buttons that marched down her front.
She carefully lifted the clear plastic lid off the round take-out container she’d had delivered from a Ballard seafood bar. The tantalizing odor of fresh shellfish made her mouth water.
Nine inches in diameter and two inches deep, the black container was packed with deliciousness, each ingredient sharply defined by the tidy arrangement on the slick cardboard liner.
How she liked her food presented, clean and separate, not all mooshed together. This salad chef was a rock star.
To signal that his dish was a cut above the touristy Seattle staple, the chef had used a less common spelling of the name and chosen tiny
