Three Girls Bakery
6209 15th Ave. N.W.
420-7613 
Monday - Friday, 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., Saturday - Sunday 8 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Closed Wednesdays

We've heard of farmhouse breakfasts -- stoking the farmhands for a day of hard work on the farms, with their hands. At Three Girls Bakery, they serve farmhouse sandwiches.

Long a fixture in Pike Place Market (since 1917) the historic establishment has opened a Ballard location, baking the bread for the market store and serving the denizens of Northwest Seattle at the same time.

The cute storefront on 15th Avenue Northwest, complete with curtains in the windows, looks homey and inviting. This is one of two companion brick buildings on 15th that still look like the old days, housing businesses downstairs and apartments upstairs. Appropriate for Three Girls, since it's an old fashioned kind of place.

When we first came to Seattle from a small town deep in the Oregon hills, the original Three Girls Bakery beckoned to us from its Pike Place Market Corner. Hearty sandwiches, substantial soups, real bagels and a counter to believe in called us. We had never seen cheese Danishes like this before.

When we ate there, we'd say, "I bet this is what it's like in New York!" And darned New York, once we did visit, wasn't just like Three Girls.

While the Ballard location doesn't have the selection of its market sister (mother?), the bread for both places is being baked here in Ballard, right now. Think of that -- a place that has been serving real food in Seattle for almost 100 years makes their bread on 15th Avenue Northwest.

All the varietals loaves are available, such as Savory Kalamata, sweet Raisin, Hazelnut Currant and the old favorites, including seven types of rye.

This is versatile bread. Not quite as precious as the artisan breads blessing Seattle, these are a bit more working class in style, format, and execution. We'll never forget the first time we had a sandwich on rye at Three Girls in the market more than 30 years ago.

Just as with the previously mentioned Danishes, bread like this was completely different than anything placed in our mouths before. We'd both been raised on Northwest 1950's bread favorites -- Holsum, Williams, Franz, and Langendorf.

Experiences like that first Three Girls rye bread stay bright and shiny in our memories, holding their position while other stupider thoughts drift away, like our first car, or when we first went on a boat.

Certainly those are hallmarks of life, cars and boats, but they dim in import when compared to the rye bread at Three Girls, particularly for hill people like us. Maybe that is what defines the line between hill people and not-hill people: anyone who has had a sandwich at Three Girls Bakery cannot be called a hill person. Not any longer.

Our most recent sandwich, and the first at the Ballard location, featured a marvelous slice of meatloaf, nestled between two pieces of deli rye. Even though we over-condim ented, so often the case with meatloaf sandwiches (why did we order lettuce and tomato? Simply because it was free, at no charge? What were we thinking, why would anyone clutter a meatloaf sandwich with lettuce and tomato?), it took our breath away with the first bite.

Compact and modest, this gem told the entire tale of sandwich desire with solid performance and not much fanfare. This, we agreed, was what a meatloaf sandwich should be. Except for the lettuce and tomato situation.

The baker made our sandwich, comped us a warm and yielding apricot rugelach, and packaged the sandwich up carefully, like he was handling something of value. This was how our grandmothers used to pack up leftovers for our departure from visits, taking great care to place the pay-load into a paper bag, then folding it neatly and turning the top to create a little improvised sack-handle.

And off we'd go, with a kiss, a sandwich, and all the hope that accompanies leaving someplace nice with some good food in a paper bag.

The Ballard Food Police visit all establishments anonymously and pay for all food and drink in full. Know anything we should know? Tell the Ballard Food Police at ballardfoodpolice@gmail.com.