That Thing I Love Too Much

It's been awhile since I've written about one of my favorite topics, nachos. That's because generally there's not much to report. There are a lot of monumentally bad nachos stinking up this world, and I usually choose not to report on them because it's so much more fun to talk about the good ones. Too bad they're so few and far between.

Recent events have changed all that. The first was a visit to Acadia Cafe on Cedar and Riverside, kitty-corner from the 400 Bar. Acadia Cafe is definitely a college hangout, super casual and borderline dumpy without going all the way there. They host live music and boast one of the most amazing beer lists around. Last week Doug and I went there for dinner before a beer tasting event at the nearby Cedar Cultural Center. We settled on a grilled cheese with bacon and tomato and an order of the nachos, because we were eating healthy. Ha! Anyway, the chips for the nachos are fried on the premise and it shows in the final result, there's a definite homemade taste to the chips that is quite delightful. As for toppings, they were basic, but generous. Cheese, black beans, tomatoes, with a side of salsa and sour cream. They're not going to win any awards, but they're solid and deserve a chance.

The other nachos I tried recently could win an award, if there were such a contest out there. And if such a contest exists, I beg to be invited to judge. Friday night I celebrated my upcoming birthday with the Hags - my girls, my peeps. Originally I had wanted to go to Bar LaGrassa, but that is not the place you go with a big group on short notice. All of the Twin Cities wants to be there and they make early reservations, which we couldn't. So instead I chose a place where I hadn't been in years but remember enjoying, a place centrally located for all of us in downtown Minneapolis, a place where reservations wouldn't be an issue. Eli's Food & Cocktails is on the periphery downtown, at 13th & Hennepin, but has the most important thing a restaurant downtown could have - a free parking lot adjacent! Love that.

The menu at Eli's is substantial, with great appetizers and entrees and specials that include ingredients like pork belly and duck confit. The atmosphere is laid back, with Ella Fitzgerald and Ray Charles crooning in the background, and the lighting is subtle. We decided to share a few apps to get things started and, thankfully, Maria suggested a half order of nachos with chicken. The menu says they fry their chips at the restaurant but I couldn't tell. Still, these nachos may just be my new favorites in town! Just the half order was a good size, piled high with chips and cheese and spiced chicken and the requisite tomatoes and onions and salsa and sour cream on the side. There wasn't a big pile of dry chips left at the bottom, the sin committed by so many restaurants. I truly didn't want the plate of nachos to end and briefly considered ordering another plate for my dinner entree. But I came to my senses and realized I could actually return to Eli's and enjoy them again. Which I will be doing, soon.

A Beautiful Reminder

Anyone who knows me well understands that I pretty much always want to be anywhere but here. Certainly I am here, but my head is usually in the clouds dreaming of faraway places, countries where I could be working and playing and living and loving. But plans don't always work out the way you thought they would and life moves in mysterious ways. You don't always turn into the next Sebastian Junger or Annie Griffiths, you don't always write the great American novel. There are no guarantees.

But it's certainly not with a heavy heart that I remain here in Minnesota. Yes, I complain bitterly each year as the gales of November come early, yelling "I'm moving!" to anyone within earshot, but I have a million reasons to love living here as well. I love my family, my friends, my sweetie, my gigantic kitty and just the quality of life here in general. Still, I need reminding now and then just why I haven't left my birthplace. This past week I received that reminder, in spades, during a two day vacation on the North Shore (that's local speak for the stretch of shoreline on Lake Superior that runs northeast of Duluth). Even during this cold month, when the leaves have blown away and the grass has faded, the beauty of this area of northern Minnesota cannot be denied. At one point during a drive from the lodge where we stayed in Beaver Bay north to Grand Marais, I couldn't help but think that the beauty was so alarming that people living on the other side of the world could come here and be bowled over by what they saw, by what they were missing back home. That's the reminder I need to take with me, that as beautiful as the rest of the world is - the pyramids and the walls and the mountains and the seas - that same beauty resides right here under my nose, just waiting to be encountered.

Too Much of a Good Thing

Recently Doug had the day off from work and picked me up for lunch. It was beautiful out so, after an unsuccessful attempt to get anyone to acknowledge our presence at Sushi Tango and walking out, we found ourselves sauntering into Uptown Cafeteria & Support Group, the new and oddly named restaurant in Calhoun Square. The Cafeteria has windows that open completely, so even though you're inside it feels like you're outside, which is fantastic until some loser's car alarm goes off ten feet away for twenty minutes. Suddenly you find yourself longing for the dark, cavernous booths of a local burger joint.

Nonetheless, we were happy to be enjoying the late summer warmth and ordered, somewhat foolishly, two bleu cheese menu items - a bleu cheese salad and the bleu cheese nachos. Both came with an (over?)abundance of bleu cheese, something I never thought I could feel. Too much bleu cheese? What? But the salad was covered, absolutely covered, in bleu cheese crumbles, and sometimes more is actually too much. Perhaps if we had only ordered one or the other I'd feel differently, that might have been our mistake, but I'm pretty sure each were overkill nonetheless. The nachos were a fun twist on traditional corn tortilla/cheddar/salsa nachos, with bleu cheese sauce, crumbles, bacon and green onions atop crispy fresh homemade potato chips. The bacon was a fantastic addition, but the chips suffered from an all too common nacho issue - chips drenched in toppings while many others went without any. Still, I'd order them again with just beers and no bleu cheese salad and share them with several other people because a little goes a long way with these.

On the other hand, The Uptown Cafeteria & Support Group has something really wonderful to offer its guests - the best table sauce selection I've seen in awhile! Always at the ready no matter what you order, soy sauce and bright green jalapeno Tobasco sauce share the caddy with Sriracha sauce and a giant, shiny bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's syrup. What more could a diner need?

Thank You, Mother Nature

As regards weather in Minnesota, there is a lot to complain about. Our winters are long and cold and frustrating, we can get some awful heat waves in the summer, tornadoes in the spring and fall can sometimes last about an hour and a half. But this summer and fall have been spectacular, and I must give credit where credit is due. Thank you, Mother Nature, you have been very kind to us (or those of us who don't live in southern Minnesota where everything is underwater).

Doug and I took a road trip a couple of weekends ago, just for the day, to St. Peter. The air was warm but not too warm and the fields were gorgeous as we drove on and on past one after another. Then last weekend we spent in northern Minnesota on a golfing weekend with my best friend and her husband. I was pretty sure the weather would be bad and mentally planned alternative activities that we could do while the rain fell, except that it not only didn't fall, but the skies were the most beautiful shade of blue and dotted with puffy white clouds that reflected off the cold lakes like a mirror. On top of that, the leaves were changing color, from deep greens to vibrant shades of yellow and orange and red that looked like classic paintings. Today we visited the farmer's market and then an apple orchard in Delano, a lovely brisk and sunny drive due west on 55, and once again couldn't believe our good fortune. The sun shone on us the entire day, lifting spirits that can so often be down during overcast Minnesota weather.

Thanks again, Mother Nature. We owe you one.

Debbie Is a Carpenter

For years now, my brother has given me tools for my birthday and Christmas. Hammers and saws, screwdrivers and Leatherman tools. He actually did have to buy me a Leatherman, one of those all-purpose Swiss knife-type things, on two occasions, because I forgot I had one in my purse at the airport in Beijing shortly after September 11. Nobody was fooling around about possible weapons being brought on board and now some nice Chinese family is hopefully getting lots of use out of my first Leatherman.

As of today, I am getting a lot of use out of my power drill! Dave gave it to me last year and, I'll be honest, I never even opened it. While I own an impressive array of tools, a collection that would make any handyman pretty proud, I usually hand them to my dad or brother and let them do the tough stuff. But all that changed when I purchased a roll-out lid holder recently for all of my cooking pot lids. I've always kept the myriad lids precariously perched atop one another in a cupboard next to the stove and every time I went for one, it was pretty much a lid avalanche onto my foot. But small spaces need tremendous organization, so I invested in the lid holder, not really knowing I would need to use a power drill to install it.

Last night I pulled out the drill instructions and then spent a good hour trying to extricate the drill from its plastic prison. Man, they don't make it easy to get stuff out of its plastic packaging! But when I finally did I was very excited to start drilling, until I read even more instructions, this time for the drill itself, only to learn that the drill would have to charge for seventeen hours before I could hope to use it. I was a little concerned that I would never actually do the project, as I'm prone to procrastination when I am not granted immediate gratification, but when I got home from work tonight I found myself picking up the instructions again. Nobody was more surprised than I was.

I was especially shocked when I read that not only would I have to use my cute little power drill to drill in simple screws, but I would also be required to use a 1/8" drill bit to drill a starter hole before that! Yikes. Thankfully, Dave also gave me a pack of drill bits that included a 1/8" bit, or else I would have been out of luck. I pretty much guessed what to do and how to do it, and when I was finished I had used an Allen wrench, a Phillips screwdriver, and a power drill with various attachments to install my lid rack. I would be lying if I said that every screw went in perfectly straight like it does every time on HGTV, but they all went in well enough that the roll-out rack glides with ease from its tiny cupboard space. And I'm no longer in danger of bruising my foot when I open that cupboard to grab a lid! What will my next power tool project be? The sky's the limit! Or else maybe I'll just hang a poster. Either way, I'll be ready.

No Man's Land

Note: I was going through old electronic files tonight looking for some information when I stumbled across this essay I wrote after returning from my first lengthy trip to Ghana, West Africa in 1991. What you're about to read is all completely true, and horrible. I clearly didn't finish writing the tale, because if I did it would have included an account of the angry border agent who threw my and my friend Lisa's luggage out into the rain and my semi-illegal re-entry into Ghana without a proper visa, but still it's an amusing story. Maybe someday I'll expand on it. Hope you enjoy...

I can think of few things less glamorous than being attacked by a fierce colony of swarming black flies as you empty your bladder in a makeshift toilet in West Africa. It happened to us while we loitered impatiently in that stretch of land where one country border meets another, a place literally referred to as No Man’s Land because it belongs to no one, perhaps in the case I refer to here because no one wants it. This particular No Man’s Land is at the border where the western post of coastal Ghana meets the eastern post of Ivory Coast in sub-Saharan Africa. Lisa and I were simply trying to survive the brutally long car trip west from Ghana’s old, boring capital, Accra, to Abidjan, the contemporary capital of Ivory Coast. After several months hanging around provincial, small town Accra, conducting research for our college degrees and at the same time trying to stay healthy, we were excited to visit a city where we’d heard stories of skyscrapers and croissants and nightclubs. To us at that time, Heaven didn’t hold more promise than Abidjan.

The journey to the Promised Land was a rough one at best. Our overstuffed hired vehicle raced down roads impossibly laced with deep holes, like a highway made from Swiss cheese and dirt. Every few miles our car was stopped in the rain by military police men looking for something to break up the monotony and, if it was a good day, a bribe as well. As we sped past villages comprised of mud huts and an occasional lonely tree, we ran hard over a fleeing chicken. Normally something like that would have been devastating to me, but after three months of being rudely awakened at four in the morning by the roosters outside my window in Accra, it felt like some sort of karmic justice. That was the first animal ever hit in a car I was in, but in Africa, sadly, it wouldn’t be the last.

By the time we reached the border to Ivory Coast six hours after leaving Accra, both Lisa and I were more than ready to use the facilities. There at No Man’s Land, a local (of which country I wasn’t sure) pointed a bony black finger towards a cement structure free of the usual dust that permeated most buildings on this part of the continent. The old man proudly declared that the toilets there were new and very nice. Delightful! We ambled down the rain-soaked path to the new concrete box that would certainly compete with the bathrooms at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the nicest bathrooms I had ever seen. Perhaps my expectations were too high. Inside the box were smaller, door-less boxes and in each box a single hole in the ground and a box of crumpled-up newspapers. Ouch. We each entered a stall and commenced doing what you do when you’re in a small concrete box with a hole in the ground in West Africa. Seconds later there was a roar coming from somewhere nearby, a sound unlike anything either of us had ever heard before. I thought it sounded like a train careening down the tracks and said as much to Lisa. Since there were no doors in the structure, just walls, she was able to hear me, but just barely over the roar. Before I even had the opportunity to consider that there were no trains in that part of the continent, the source of the noise became only too clear. Giant black flies came shrieking out of the cement holes, obviously disturbed by our presence and bent on revenge. Without any discussion, Lisa and I adjusted our clothing and ran screaming from the nice new toilets, trailed by flies the size of gold finches. Filthy, disgusting, disease-ridden gold finches.

Ginger the Bear Cub Potato

I hate starting each new post with an apology for not having written sooner, so I won't. Instead, I present you with this peace offering - a potato that looks just like a bear cub! See, you feel better already.

This potato, which I named Ginger because of her uncanny resemblance to a nice big knob of ginger, came out of the ground in Byron, Minnesota, on the farm of the Hanson family. I didn't notice it till I got home, but the second I took her out of the sack of potatoes, I couldn't believe my eyes. Much how you might be feeling right now.

Because potatoes don't last forever, I had some professional shots done of Ginger. You know, just in case the Letterman Show calls. So far, not so much.

Puff the Magic Pastry

I'm in love. With puff pastry. But not just any ordinary puff pastry, I'm in love with Dufour Pastry Kitchen's All-Butter Puff Pastry Dough. Once you go Dufour, you never go back. I haven't made a ton of things out of puff pastry, just enough to know that while widely available Pepperidge Farms' puff pastry sheets will do the job, they won't deliver the flavor that Dufour will. This is one of those cases where the higher priced product, in this case much higher, is worth its weight in gold.

Last week I made these Blueberry & Cream Tarts from Sprouted Kitchen, a gorgeous website filled with food prepared locally and organically whenever possible. The tarts, while a little putzy to make, were certainly not difficult and I feel they were worth the effort. Then today I caught an episode of What Would Brian Boitano Make? on Food Network (yes, ice skater Brian Boitano has a cooking show, and it's really funny! Who knew?) and he made Bourbon Bacon Apple Tarts using Dufour puff pastry dough, and my mouth watered as he cooked the diced apple in the bourbon and bacon and spooned it into the prepared puff pastry shells and garnished them with bourbon whipped cream and a small piece of bacon. Is there anything that puff pastry can't do? I doubt it.

His Name in Lights

When I just checked my last post here on this blog and saw the date was Thursday, August 5, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'm not as far behind in posting as I believed, I thought to myself. Thursday was only a few days ago, after all. And then I thought a little bit more about it and remembered that since we celebrated my dad's 70th birthday on Friday, and his birthday is on August 13, it's actually been more than a week since I posted last. Dang. What's up with that?

Well, while we're on the topic, let me assure you that we celebrated my dad's big decade marker in style, with a cocktail at Sapor with his family and old friends from high school and then with a Twins game at the gorgeous new Target Field in downtown Minneapolis. It was hot and humid when we started out, just like it has been for the last two weeks, but within a short time of the game starting, the sun went down and everything cooled off to a perfect temperature. It couldn't have been a more perfect evening to enjoy the Twins beating the Oakland A's while shoveling Kramarczuk's Polish sausages and nachos down our gullets.

While we happily noshed on our stadium grub, we anticipated the coming of the fifth inning when our "Twins O-Gram" birthday message for my dad would appear on the jumbotron for everyone to read. And then we kept anticipating, kept anticipating, and anticipated some more as messages of all sorts were flashed up on the big screen for seemingly every person in the stadium. Finally we saw ours, excitedly pointing it out to Gordo while I took a photo of his name in lights. It was pretty neat, and the celebration continued with a fireworks show after the game for a delighted crowd. Not that the fireworks were actually meant for my dad, but he likes to think so. Happy birthday, Dad!!

Happy Birthday to My Best Furry Buddy!

Fourteen years ago the world welcomed the friendliest, furriest, fattest feline ever, and his name is Hakeem Wallace Ellis. Tomorrow is his birthday and while he's old now, and slow and sleepy most of the time, he's still the furry love of my life and makes me laugh all of the time. He's with me every moment that I'm home, and I think about him constantly when I'm not. I'm very lucky that he came into my life so many years ago, despite all of the fur on the couch, the occasional pile of puke, and the never ending job of cleaning his litter box. He's worth every tape roller I've purchased, every ounce of prescription cat food I've bought, and I don't even care that he's the world's worst mouser. He's an amazing kitty, and I wish him the happiest fourteenth birthday ever!

Weekend in the City

By mistake, Doug got an extra Saturday off this month so we decided to make something special of it. Our first instinct was to go away somewhere for the weekend, perhaps a getaway to some tourist town outstate. After some investigation, we determined a weekend trip too expensive and decided to make a weekend of it right here in the twin towns. We decided we'd throw in one night at a hotel downtown, having my parents take care of Hakeem so we'd have no reason to stop at my place for a full twenty-four hour period. And we decided to throw in some things that we wouldn't normally do around town, pretending we were tourists in our own hometown.

First stop Friday night was dinner at Sea Change. Not a new experience for us, but a good one. We sat at the raw bar and Doug waited patiently for the sparkling wine to kick in and wipe away my busy day. He's really great about that! Doug knows the chef from his work so we chatted with him briefly and he sent out an order of delicious oysters for us. In addition, we ordered a variety of small plates - albacore, langostinos, octopus, and a main dish of fish, pork, egg and ramen in a too salty broth. For me to say that something is too salty, it has to be pretty bad. However, I still really enjoy Sea Change and know that any dish can have a bad day. It won't deter me from returning, if for no other reason than the wonderful location on the main level of the Guthrie Theater. After dinner, we took the world's longest escalator up to the Endless Bridge, the cantilever that juts out over the River Road and provides spectacular views of the Stone Arch Bridge and the Mississippi. It was a perfect Minneapolis night and we continued on outside, walking around the gorgeous lofts that line Mill City and calling it a night.

On Saturday morning we got up early to hit the Mill City Farmer's Market before the crowds got too bad. That's the secret to enjoying the experience of the whole thing, arrive during the 8:00am hour to avoid the annoying crowds that inevitably gather later in the morning. We met up with my parents and enjoyed softshell crab sandwiches, deep fried and slathered in homemade tarter sauce, from the Chef Shack, plus my absolute favorite Indian-spiced mini donuts from the same vendor. We sauntered around, buying Green Zebra tomatoes from the Amish booth where the men all wear wide-brimmed hats and I can't help but wonder if they're costumes or they really dress like that. We walked around some more and Doug introduced me to Brenda Langton, the owner of Spoonriver and the former venerable Cafe Brenda, who now also runs a crepe stand at the farmer's market that doles out both savory and sweet crepes with ingredients like homemade Nutella and cheese and fresh fruit. I love those crepes. Brenda could not have been sweeter, it's no wonder she's one of Doug's favorite customers at Coastal Seafoods.

On our way back to my place from the market, we stopped in the downtown Minneapolis main post office. This is an historical building, an Art Deco masterpiece on the river that supposedly has the longest fluorescent light fixture in the world, and I've never been inside it, at least not to my memory. The building was as beautiful as I'd heard, with long, marble-filled halls and brass cage windows where stamps are sold and parcels mailed. Doug and I marveled about the wonders of general delivery, mailing letters to people in care of the local post office without benefit of address - like in the case where someone is backpacking across the country and has nowhere to receive mail - as we scoped out the fancy post office boxes and that super long light fixture. It's fun to see something new in your hometown, right under your nose!

Once home we hopped on our bikes and headed towards the river, passing through Nicollet Island and over to the west side so that I could show Doug my favorite hidden little bridge that hides away in a little pocket just across from Boom Island. It's off the bike and walking paths, but not difficult to get to, and once there you stand on one little footbridge while looking at another, usually without other people around. In the distance across the river you can see the riverboats and the lighthouse of Boom Island and everything is very beautiful and hidden and nice. We continued on to the store Clay Squared to Infinity, a handmade tile store located in the keg house of the former Grain Belt Brewery. Just cycling around the Grain Belt Brewery is fun, but to go inside where they make the crusts for Punch Pizza and to see the amazing tiles being produced at Clay Squared is a quintessential Minneapolis experience. I purchased a number of little tiles to make a picture frame and then tried to figure out how to carry them on my bike. Once that was done, we rode on down Marshall to Psycho Suzi's, where we sat outside on the wonderful patio on a warm, sunny day and drank Caribbean beers and ate pickle dogs. Nothing makes me happier than drinking in the middle of the afternoon, because it means I have absolutely nowhere to be for at least another day! The feeling of freedom runs through my bones as a sip my cold beer and laugh happily in the sun.

We rode back to my place and spent some time deciding what to do next. We settled on trekking over to St. Paul to share a juicy lucy from The Nook on Randolph and Hamline. Despite heavy traffic to the capital city because of the crowds heading to the Red Bull Flugtag at Harriet Island and because of the closure of 94 east, Doug's knowledge of backroad routes got us there in no time. The Nook was packed, so we headed toward its sister bar, Shamrock's on West 7th. We sat right down and ordered up the Juicy Nookie, two hamburger patties squished together lovingly with American cheese in the middle, which oozes out like molten lava when you bite into it. Incredible, and worth the drive. After lunch, we gathered our things back at my place and went downtown to check into the Aloft on Washington, our destination for the night. We stayed there for a few hours, enjoying the views of Gold Medal Park and some much needed rest before continuing on with our weekend in the city.

Dinner Saturday night was across the street at Sanctuary, a French restaurant with Asian and Latin influences that I had wanted to check out for some time. We ate outside on what might have been the most perfect weather of the year, and it was divine. The food was just fine, Angus filet and striped sea bass, tuna and a cheese plate, but my pear vodka cocktail and our shared bottle of pinot noir were incredible. I don't need to go back to Sanctuary for a full meal, but I'd be happy to go for drinks or appetizers. It's a gorgeous little place with a bar that I'd love to check out sometime. After dinner we walked across Washington and down to the Guthrie, just under the cantilever, where we sat down along with half of the Twin Cities to enjoy the unbelievable Aquatennial fireworks. These are the best of the year, better than July Fourth or the state fair, and seeing them on the river is a wonderful city treat. It was especially nice, after the show was over, walking just a block to our hotel, rather than fighting traffic home.

Sunday morning we moved slowly, since we had no place to be, until we finally got moving and walked across the street to Spoonriver for brunch. We sat outside in the hot sun and ordered a screwdriver and a Bloody Mary, which we enjoyed with our eggs without hurry. After brunch we killed a little time and then went to Boom Island and boarded the Minneapolis Queen riverboat for a one and a half hour ride on the Mississippi, through the very first lock on the river and down to the new 35W bridge and back up all the way to see the progress on the new Lowry Avenue bridge. While nothing on the river trip was new, it was all from a new perspective and it was really fun doing something we wouldn't normally do in the city.

Our last destination for our weekend in the city was to have a beer on the patio at the Bedlam Theater in the Cedar-Riverside neighborhood. I really didn't know anything about the place until recently, but heard they had good views of the city skyline and would be closing in about a week to make way for a parking lot. They are located off the beaten path, right on the Cedar-Riverside stop of the light rail, in a neighborhood known mostly for its heavy Somali population. We were pretty much the only ones on the patio for a while since it was late afternoon on a Sunday, which was the perfect end to a perfect weekend. We tried new places, enjoyed some old favorites, visited both cities, and fell in love with our hometown all over again. This will not be our last weekend in the city.

Special Delivery

Both of my admin work peeps, who help make each day at the office a fun place to be, were on vacation today, leaving me alone and busy! I wasn't busy necessarily because they were gone, but because large projects were due all at once. Since they were gone and I was crazy, lunch should have been tough to deal with. But because of my sweet honey Doug, it was the easiest thing ever. He prepared and sent over a gourmet lunch for me, packed in ice so it would be cold and delicious upon arrival.

In the bag he sent a traditional Hawaiian poke with the freshest raw ahi tuna, Hawaiian seaweed that looks like cute little trees or cartoonish frog feet and adds a wonderful crunch, white onion, Tapatio hot sauce, sesame oil, Hawaiian red salt, and some garlic. It was divine and my coworkers loved it, too. Doug also made a wonderful salad dressing and sent over some fresh crab meat and salad greens. Who's the luckiest gal in the world? Yup, that's me.

Freedom Isn't Free

Say what you will about pit bulls, I probably won't disagree with you. But I couldn't help but giggle last weekend at our annual giant family gathering in Wisconsin when I noticed Freedom, a family friend's pit bull, locked up inside a camper, gazing with sad eyes out the window, longing for his owner to free him.

Summer in the City

I've discussed my love for Sea Salt Eatery before, this is nothing new. But it can't be understated just how wonderful a summer evening in Minneapolis can be when you have fried squid, beer, music, friends and family, and a waterfall. This week Doug and I enjoyed some of the best calamari around, a Mexican seafood cocktail that was just okay, and a delicious crawfish po' boy with spicy mayo, along with a few cold ones, and then settled in the grass to listen to my coworker's band perform at the Minnehaha Falls pavilion. As the water audibly rushed over the rocky wall nearby, the Melvilles sang and kids licked ice cream cones and danced around soap bubbles floating listlessly about the crowd. It's no wonder Minnesotans go so crazy for summer – it's really short, but intensely beautiful.

Dinner and Jayhawks

The Jayhawks, one of my all-time favorite bands that just happens to hail from the Twin Cities, reunited this past weekend for three shows at First Avenue. I couldn't have been more excited to see them, until I heard that Romantica was opening for their Monday night show! Two of my favorites in one night, what could be better? I'll tell you what could be better, taking the next morning off from work to truly enjoy the fun!

To start off an evening of wonderful music, it never hurts to have wonderful food. We chose to eat tapas at Solera, only because I had a gift certificate. We both felt a little reluctant because while Solera is gorgeous, it hasn't really kept up with the times. The decor hasn't changed a bit in many years and, except for the perfect rooftop, people don't talk much about the place anymore. But they should. We chose to eat in the bar where we had four tapas and drinks and enjoyed them with the company of a good bartender who gave us a generous sample of some sherry and a fun size Kit Kat Bar. We ate my absolute favorite thing at Solera, the chorizo-stuffed dates with smoked bacon, and they were as good as ever. We also enjoyed some perfectly grilled asparagus with a thin slice of cured pork loin and a mahon cheese sauce. There was also a required pork belly small plate because pork belly is about as good as it gets, and finally a beautiful octopus ceviche dressed up in a terrine and sliced thinly to resemble stained glass. Everything went very well with my sangria, which is something I could drink every day all summer, but probably shouldn't. For dessert we shared the unbelievably delicate cinnamon-sugar churros (donut sticks) dipped in a thick hot chocolate called champurrado. Big fan here.

After dinner we headed over to First Avenue and met up with Sweet D and her friend Michelle and loved the snot out of Romantica and the Jayhawks. Romantica performed all of their usual songs that I adore, and then the Jayhawks took us back in time, singing tunes I hadn't heard in fifteen years but found I still knew all the words to. There were songs I missed that I wish they had sung, but overall I have no complaints because they performed great, unexpected covers as well as People in This Place on Every Side, the song that sucked me in to the Jayhawks in the first place so many years ago. After the show we had a final beer in the new bar owned by First Avenue just next door called the Depot Tavern, and we loved it. With a large, open garage door that provides airy patio drinking under cover, and a menu that includes Belgian fries that I'm dying to try, the place is the perfect little spot for pre- and post-show gatherings. It's the kind of place, and it was the kind of night, that really makes you appreciate all the beauty and fun that Minneapolis has to offer.

My First Crayfish Boil

I'll never complain about cracking crab legs again. My love for crab knows no bounds, but once in awhile one can tire of the constant work, cracking and pulling and scraping meat from inside the salty red shells. But at least you are occasionally rewarded with large pieces of succulent crab flesh. Not so much with crayfish, but there's still so much to enjoy.

Doug and his friends threw their annual crayfish boil this weekend, using crustaceans from Oregon (I know you were wondering if they were from the Gulf - nope) combined with corn, onions, potatoes, garlic, Andouille sausage and shrimp, and seasoned with Zatarains spices. A giant metal pot of liquid bubbled and foamed and roiled on a propane-fueled fire while the guys dumped pound after pound of live green-gray crayfish into the spicy water, where they quickly turned bright red and shortly thereafter, delicious. When done, the seafood and vegetables were strained out of the broth and turned out onto a newspaper-covered table top in the backyard where someone then liberally powdered the food with a Creole seasoning. Then the hordes descended, grabbing crayfish that looked exactly like tiny lobsters, and twisting the tails from the bodies. They broke the tail shell and extracted the meat, a delicious small chunk of soft meat that mimicked the flavor of crab or lobster. Then folks sucked the innards from the body cavity, at least some of them did, and finally broke off the cute little claws and used their teeth to break the claws in half, where, if they were lucky, a perfectly formed claw of meat broke free for the eating.

Alongside the crayfish were boiled potatoes and hunks of corn on the cob, now seasoned with a tasty, hot Creole spice. The whole garlic heads, cut in half, produced perfectly softened garlic cloves that were easily squeezed from their wet paper and were as mild as a beautifully roasted head of garlic. Perfect eaten with otherwise bland potatoes. But the Andouille sausages really brought the heat to the party. Already hot on their own, now dusted with Creole seasoning, the sausages caught our mouths on fire, producing a heat that wasn't easily quenched, but was still really enjoyable. But the best part of the crayfish boil, beyond the delicious food, was the communal style of the party, where everyone stands around a table messily eating various parts of these sea insects, licking their fingers and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

A Big, Wet Thank You!

Last week was a blur of preparations for the MS150, which is my weak explanation for having not posted in seven days. But I really was busy, I swear. You have to plan quite a bit for a rainy weekend of cycling from Duluth to the Twin Cities, considering things like second, dry outfits for after each ride, warm sleeping gear for unseasonably cold June temperatures, and your water bottles. Oh, wait, I forgot that last part. I didn't bring any water bottles. Thankfully, Maria got her hands on a bottle for me, which I promptly lost on day two. I'm cool that way.

Day one started out miserably wet and muddy. Friends Scott and Katie generously shared their pop-up camper with Maria and me (and a few extra friends on Friday night due to the savage weather!) and we woke up to fog as thick as pea soup and a light drizzle. We slogged through the muddy parking lot of a Catholic church in Proctor, Minnesota, where we had set up camp for the night, and got to the start line. As we waited for the okay to take off, we were frightened by the sudden explosion of what we thought was a starter gun, but turned out to be a bike tire right next to us! Bummer of a way for someone to start out the day. While I was concerned about riding in the thick fog, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise because it made it impossible to see when hills were coming up. Emotionally, I never dreaded a hill for the first hour or so, which was quite a relief. Not long into it, Katie got the first of two flats (the first is pictured above), but thankfully she actually knows how to fix one, unlike me. I carry the spare tube, the tools, and the like, but not the knowledge to do the work. I depend on the kindness of strangers, which may not be my best move.

Moving along throughout the day, it never really rained during the ride, but the combination of the early morning moisture and the sweat generated by my rain jacket, which I call my portable sweat lodge, kept my clothes wet and therefore me cold all day long. Teammate Kelly took a spill four miles out of Finlayson, saving harm to her bike by using her face to brake the fall. She's got quite the facial road rash for her effort. Ouch, I would have quit but she kept going! By the time we reached Hinckley, where it started pouring rain, I was frozen. A delicious hot dog and several brownies, provided by friends of 100 Monkeys, plus a warm shirt and a massage made everything considerably better. Still, I was ready for bed by 9:00pm, though sleep would elude me, replaced by a stupid obsession with having to pee, which meant maybe waking everyone in the camper up and going outside to either pee in the rain or in a well-lit RV park. Neither option was all that great. Why me?

Sunday came early and my quads were burning. But four Advil and a warm pancake can do wonders psychologically as well as physically, and off we went. I was definitely feeling my lack of training this year, feeling exhausted sooner than I should have but not having the cajones to give up. The day was a blur of long stretches of road, potholes, and a disappointing show in the grub department. We've always had hot pizza at about the halfway point on day two and this year not only was there not pizza, all they had left was tortilla wraps lightly filled with tomato, cucumber and spinach. I hate to complain because the volunteers work so hard on this event, but somebody really dropped the ball to run out of protein for lunch by 10:30am. Fortunately, one of our teammates' wives was riding along the route in her car and had a bunch of protein bars that she shared with everyone. With that we powered on to the finish line, with one slight glitch along the way. The final few miles had a few hills that didn't feel so hot after 150 miles, and as we turned the corner at the final half mile, I saw that hill again. Not since the first MS150 I did five years ago had we finished at Century College, and I had forgotten about the nasty hill right before the finish line. As we finished a set of hills, I was losing my will to live, and when I saw that final, giant hill, even though the end was near, I wasn't sure I could do it. Thank god one of my teammates' tires blew! While it would cost us some time, more importantly it would give my tired legs a chance to rest. When we mounted our bikes again, we didn't have much momentum and just for one second during the hill climb I was concerned that I'd have to stop and walk it, which would be terribly embarrassing, but I poured it on (definitely not in speed, but in muscle) and crossed the finish line, never more glad to be done. Well, probably just as glad to be done as each of the five years, actually. Doug was at the finish line, ready with towels in case I was wet, a blanket in case I was cold, and an ice cold can of Coca-Cola. Suddenly, everything was better.

I can't thank everyone enough who supported me, both financially and emotionally, sometimes it was just knowing that folks had been so generous that kept me going. Seriously, those were the sorts of thoughts I had to evoke in order to forge ahead at times. So thank you for supporting the MS Society. They are a great organization doing great things for great people. Like you.

Obento-Ya

There's a little storefront gem not far from here in the University of Minnesota neighborhood that serves up some tasty Japanese vittles that you might like to try. Obento-Ya is located at the corner of 15th Avenue SE and Como, very near Van Cleve Park, and you'll be surprised when you walk into the place, nestled between some nondescript storefronts and across the street from an actual old-fashioned hardware store and a Crescent Moon pizza shop that I didn't know existed. I know about the Northeast Crescent Moon, but it looks like they may have branched out, which is neat.

Obento-Ya is small, but uses its space well to fit in a good amount of diners without feeling crowded, and I just learned they have an outdoor patio in the back as well. Their large menu showcases a number of sushi options as well as tempura, bento boxes, noodles and plenty of small plates, hot and cold. Last night there I met my new favorite food in the world, a Japanese small plate that is apparently eaten often in the streets of Tokyo after bar close. No wonder, so easy to eat and bursting with different flavors. Okonomiyaki, as prepared at Obento-Ya, is a pan-fried batter cake (I sensed lots of egg, which I loved) with ginger, cabbage, scallions, bacon and asparagus. It's like a thick, crispy-edged pancake sprinkled with dried bonito flakes (flakes of dried, smoked bonito fish), Japanese Kewpie mayonnaise and some sort of teriyaki sauce. All the tastes and textures come together and explode in the mouth in a symphony of flavor that I wouldn't mind experiencing every single day of my life. Health-wise, that may not be my best option, but happiness-wise, it is. Besides the okonomiyaki, we had the ginger pork ramen special, a large bowl of good quality ramen noodles in a spicy broth with generous bites of perfectly cooked pork and vegetables. We also shared a sushi bento box, which last night was just okay, but sometimes is very, very good. The best part, and this is weird for me to say because of my staunch anti-soup stand, was the simple miso soup starter, with tender cubes of tofu and minced scallion bobbing along the steaming surface. I'm no expert at Japanese food, but I like to think I know what tastes good, and Obento-Ya tastes good. Go try the okonomiyaki and try to deny its tremendous power over you.

My 15 Minutes

My job, by definition, is very much on the administrative side of things. But once in a while the fine people at the agency throw me a bone and allow me to flex my creative muscles. Based on my very public declaration of the burning love for nachos I possess, a coworker recently asked me if I would come up with some ideas for different ways to serve up nachos. A client has a product that allows consumers to build a simple plate of nachos on the go, an easy item to bring to a party for folks who don't so much enjoy cooking or don't have time. I did some brainstorming and came up with about ten ideas for easy additions to a basic plate of nachos that would make them a little bit special. I never expected my work to go anywhere, so imagine my surprise when I heard the client had a tasting of several of my ideas and chose their favorite four, which are now published on the back of the product and sold at grocery stores around the country! I doubt Tom Colicchio will be inviting me to compete or judge on Top Chef anytime soon, these are extremely simple little "recipes," but I'm excited nonetheless. I'm finally published! Next up, Mastering the Art of Nacho Cooking...

Portuguese Chicken, How Do I Love Thee?

I wish I could explain my love for chicken. So many people consider it sort of a throw-away protein, bland, boring, white. But I find it exciting and mysterious and lovely. It takes on such an assortment of flavors without getting in the way of them. It accepts them in with the love of a mother and disperses them with the generosity of a Mother Theresa.

I've written before of swooning before the rotisserie chicken joints in Mexico City, but I wasn't prepared for something even better than that ever could have been. Nothing could have prepared me for this. In Chicago this weekend, Doug's friend Paul served up this magical chicken prepared with a Portuguese marinade that would have converted even the most staunch Foghorn Leghorn hater. Nobody could have resisted it. I asked Paul how he prepared it and he said it like it was all simple and stuff, that he got his organic chickens from a small farm in Michigan, butterflied them, then marinated them for two days in Portuguese spices, lemon and olive oil. Then he explained that he was going to "burn the shit out of them" on the grill. I wish I had taken an "after" photo, but my fingers were too constantly messy with Portuguese spices after the chicken cooked to take any more pictures. The chickens were cooked perfectly, with blackened skin and spices that broke off crisply into my mouth and then melted quickly, like butter in a sizzling hot pan. I couldn't have been happier the next morning when there was leftover cold chicken in the fridge to eat before hitting the road. I will never forget you, Portuguese chicken.

According to Paul's wife, Mary, this very chicken is occasionally on the menu at one of Paul's restaurants, The Publican. Even if this chicken isn't available, you'll find something else to love. Next time you're in Chicago, go.

Kukla and Loo

When you are eating the best organic chicken in the world, Portuguese-spiced with lemon and oil, marinated for two days prior to grilling, you can expect folks to be envious. You just don't expect those folks to be so furry. I was eating this remarkable chicken this weekend at a party in Chicago and made fast friends with Kukla and Loo, two characters who didn't leave my side till I threw that leg bone away.

More stories to come. Too tired from watching Doug drive the whole way home to write anymore tonight.

Help Me Go the Extra 150 Miles

I've been lax, I admit it. My blog posts have decreased a lot lately, especially in comparison to the great "Post Every Day Experiment of 2008." Remember that? I posted something on my blog, usually with some substance even, almost every single day in 2008 because I created a goal and put my mind to it. No, sadly you cannot view most of those posts because they resided on another server that no longer holds them. But believe me, I really did it.

You know what else I've managed to accomplish in the past when I put my mind to it? I've completed the MS150 Bike Tour four times. That's 150 miles of cycling over two days, all to raise money for a great organization, the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, Minnesota Chapter, devoted to ending this disease. My Grandma Ellis lived with MS and though I was pretty young when she passed away, I always think of her when I do the MS150, which I will be participating in again next month for the fifth time. It's a lot of work, especially this year because for the first time since I started doing it I'm not also training for a triathlon, which is code for "I'm not at all ready." But in the end it's always worth it both physically and emotionally, knowing that I've done something, no matter how small, to fight a disease that should have been cured by now.

You can have that same sense of satisfaction without all of the awful physical pain (I'm referring to my butt after 150 miles on a tiny bicycle seat) by donating to my effort. I'm trying to raise $1000 again this year, and your tax-deductible donation of any size (I don't judge, I'm as happy with $5 as $500) will help someone, and there's a lot to be said for that. Please consider donating to my effort by clicking here (or on the "PLEASE SUPPORT ME!!" link on the right side of this page), and help me to accomplish this. Who knows? Maybe I'll put my mind to it and start posting more frequently here on my blog. Maybe.

The Impossibility of Everything

Doug and I had my soon-to-be-married friends DeAnn and Del over to my place for dinner recently. Doug did all the food preparation and it was amazing - raw ahi tuna in basil oil with a daikon radish and julienned basil garnish, halibut stuffed with crab, brie and apples, plus asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. DeAnn and Del brought a delicious dessert, strawberries macerated in Cointreau over almond biscuits with whipped cream. Everything was so incredibly delicious and I was entrusted with pretty much just one job - to open the wine. Big mistake because this is one skill I do not possess. Just look at where the cork ended up. Seriously, why is this so difficult for me?!

La Punalada Trapera

Another great show at the beautiful Varsity Theater in Dinkytown, Minnesota last week. Carrie Rodriguez, whom I've had the pleasure to see perform many times, delivered once again to a room full of fans and some amateur concert goers who did everything from talk through every song to rearrange furniture. Strange but true.

Carrie was touring to support her new record released last month, Love and Circumstance, and I'm already certain this is my favorite CD to date of hers. This is a compilation of somewhat obscure covers, from Townes Van Zandt to Ry Cooder, from Nick Lowe to Lucinda Williams. Carrie brings a new voice to Hank Williams' classic I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry and can nearly bring you to tears on her rendition of Merle Haggard's I Started Loving You Again. But she really shines when she sings a Spanish song once recorded by her great aunt called La Punalada Trapera, which loosely translates to "a terrible back stabbing." So it's not a happy song, but it is gorgeous, even if you don't understand the words. Take a chance on this record, you won't regret it.