I Love Nachos Too Much

Nonetheless

2012-01-17T21:44:00.003-06:00

Turns out the iPhone 4S has a pretty amazing camera in it. This is a shot looking up inside of the government center in downtown Minneapolis. I daresay I won't download music to the iPhone for want of saving space for photos. Probably not a well-rounded use of my phone, but I love it nonetheless. And I love the word nonetheless, because it's three words in one.

A Teardrop on the Face of Eternity

2011-11-22T13:57:00.002-06:00

I found this photo I took as we walked into the Taj Mahal complex earlier this year. I don't know why I didn't notice it sooner, I guess it's because we took over 1,300 images. But I really like this one.

DO it.

2011-09-27T20:59:00.003-05:00

Ok, I'm back. Haven't really been anywhere, just living my life. Haven't really been working this very hard, just living my life. Haven't really lost any pounds, just living my life. I really should do better at living my life. It would be different, I think, if the way I've just been living my life brought me some sort of supreme satisfaction, but it really hasn't. I mean, there are definitely high points, but overall, nothing great. So I'm writing here that I'm re-dedicating myself to this task, to do better and live better.

Egads. Here I go.

Voices Carry

2011-09-11T19:28:00.004-05:00

Whew! I'm just back from a long walk. And before that, a long week of eating and drinking everything that came within ten feet of my head. Why, you don't ask? Well, that's an excellent question that I'm pretending you've inquired about. You're very astute, you. One would think that large enticements of money and the chance to gloat would propel one into a nonstop world of smart eating and daily exercise. But that hasn't exactly been the case. It's been more like "Well, the state fair only comes once a year so I should be able to eat whatever I want because it's just once" followed by "I don't get to spend weekends with my friends/cousins/self very often so I should be able to eat whatever I want." These infamous refrains dovetail nicely with my midweek excuses, such as "I worked a long day and it was stressful so I should be able to eat whatever I want" and "I'm so tired from not sleeping well that I can't possibly be expected to not eat whatever I want." Yes, astute reader, I understand how terribly irrational this all sounds, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit hearing these things from somewhere on some level sometimes. My problem - well, one of my problems - is that I don't challenge the voices in my head.* I don't dig deep to figure out why those voices take precedent over the more reasonable voices that are, admittedly, quieter, but are there nonetheless. I just take the loudest voices at face value and go with them because it's the easiest thing to do at the time. It requires no effort, it requires little time. But, of course, that laziness will ultimately always bite me in the butt, like it did this week at my weigh-in with Aaron. Not only did I not lose any weight, but I gained a couple of pounds. I know, I know, astute reader, you're right. I need to start listening harder to the quieter voices inside. I should know that if the loud mouths in my real life are almost always the complete jackasses, chances are it goes the same in my head.

*Note: I don't actually hear voices in my head. This is for dramatic clarity only.

Failure

2011-08-30T21:25:00.004-05:00

This pig did not help me this week. It was a challenging week, what with a pig roast and the Great Minnesota Get Together - the state fair - on my agenda. I did well in the exercise department but was clearly a failure on the food side of the equation. Aaron and I got on the scale tonight and the numbers didn't move. To be positive, my number didn't go up, but it certainly didn't go down. I wasn't remotely perfect this week, but I thought the good had outweighed the bad a teensy bit. Guess not. Guess I'll have to stretch last week's 8.4 pound loss over a few weeks!

I ate more than I needed to at the pig roast, mostly that guy in the photo above. He was absolutely delicious. And the cole slaw was amazing. The beers, as light as they may have been, were still beers. Too much of anything is too much. Last night at the fair wasn't a big success either. I have trouble getting upset about that, though, since it comes by but once a year. Guess I'll just have to accept that I didn't work it as hard as I could have and get back on that horse, instead of eating like a horse. Hardy har.

A Walk in Time or Finding Time to Walk

2011-08-28T20:36:00.004-05:00

It was another challenging weekend for eating well! Actually, Friday night was easy because Doug made us a super delicious and light creation of his own for dinner, buckwheat soba noodles in a flavorful broth with grape tomatoes sauteed in ginger, garlic and black sesame seeds, seaweed, and crabmeat. He went very light on the oil to help me out and the result was really great. Yup, I'm a lucky lady. On Saturday morning we hit the farmer's market where I fought the urge to buy my usual Indian Spiced Mini Donuts from the Chef Shack. It wasn't easy because those donuts are about the tastiest things on earth. Since the farmer's market is winding down for the season, there's a good chance next weekend I will buy some, but I figured if I could pass them up at the time, I would. They'll be there again next weekend. I picked up some apples (and a couple of bites of Doug's Cinnamon Apple Donut!) along with my usual tomatoes and eggs from the Wisconsin Amish kids. Is it wrong that part of me thinks the Amish kids are faking it? That the girls are wearing those long, heavy dresses and delicate white bonnets over their hair, pulled back in a bun, and the boys their wide-brimmed hats and suspenders and it's not real? It just seems too Witness with Harrison Ford for me. But, as Doug pointed out, they probably are the real thing because the kids can never do the simplest math, even with a calculator. It's weird. After the market, Doug dropped me off so that I could hit the sidewalk for a walk before the weekend festivities began while he ran errands.

I had about a million things to do in a short time so told myself a twenty minute brisk walk was going to have to do, but once out I told myself that another ten minutes wasn't going to put us behind too badly and would also do me a world of good. I was really glad I went the extra ten. Doug and I then got a quick breakfast at the Spring Street, where we go almost every weekend but because of the summer agenda we have not visited in about a month. Usually I choose a fat-laden and totally delicious breakfast like hash browns topped with cheese and eggs, but for once I went with just two eggs over easy and a piece of wheat toast to soak up the yolk. You know what? It wasn't disappointing in the least, and no one could be more surprised to say that than me! I didn't miss the bacon and potatoes as much as I thought I would. I hope I remember this in the future!

Finally, Doug and I got on the road to attend my cousin's wedding reception, a pig roast and camping event in beautiful central Minnesota. It was SO much fun, hanging out with cousins and eating fresh roasted pork and drinking beer. Light beer, that is! It was tough not to eat about forty pork sandwiches with all of the sides and maybe fifty cupcakes, but I was pretty good. Not perfect, but that's not my goal. Perfection is tough. So I held back just enough to not feel deprived. This morning I woke up before most of the others and decided that I would be lucky to go for an hour long walk in this beautiful country location, so I suited up (and by that I mean I put on a sports bra), grabbed my camera bag, and headed out on the main road, rumored to be haunted. Don't worry, I came back alive, the ghost didn't get me this time. I'm especially glad because if she had, I wouldn't have seen the gorgeous horses down the road from the lodge in the photo above. It's nice to be reminded that there are benefits to walking beyond the healthy kind.

I'm Getting Very Sleepy...

2011-08-25T21:00:00.004-05:00

I was so excited to eat healthy food and to add regular exercise to my daily routine because I've read so many stories of folks who've changed their habits for the better and they all express their amazement at how much energy they have now that they're eating right. I couldn't wait to have that sort of energy! So I've been eating apples and peppers and protein as well as biking and walking and for the last week not only do I not have renewed energy, I'm exhausted! I've fallen asleep by 8:00pm several nights in the past week and I've needed my alarm clock to wake me most mornings, not something I'm accustomed to.

Watching as much Mystery Diagnosis as I do, and living with an unhealthy case of cyberchondria (I have every disease I read about on the internet) that has led Doug to forbid me to watch Mystery Diagnosis (which I clearly defy when he's not around), I naturally chalked up my exhaustion to an unusual, obscure, and highly fatal disease. Worried, I told my coworker about my newfound need to constantly sleep and expressed dismay at a regimen I thought was going to bring me boundless energy. This particular coworker knows a thing or two about fitness and health, so I was quite relieved to hear her tell me that it's not uncommon at all for your body to be so tired while it's adjusting to a new lifestyle and that I should probably give it more than a week. Color me impatient! Guess I'll wait it out, most likely under a blanket on the couch.

On a super cool note, Aaron and I had our first week weigh in and we were both superstars. I lost 8.4 pounds and he lost 9.4! No, my pounds probably aren't all (any?) fat, there's some water in there and whatever, but I'll take it! And even though it is my goal to beat Aaron in this contest, I was very happy for him as well, so I kept the gloating to a minimum - this week!

Success.

2011-08-21T20:57:00.003-05:00

I think I did a good job this weekend. It was an amazingly fun girl's day at the race track with lots of opportunity for food and drink but I, for the most part, chose wisely. Oh, there was the occasional small handful of potato chips and dip, but I concentrated most of my eating on turkey, ham, shrimp, and these amazing dates stuffed with savory goat cheese and wrapped in prosciutto that my friend Treva made. Truth be told, I could have eaten fifty of those, but I held back to four or five. For the most part I'm tracking my food daily, but on a day like yesterday I was content to just know I was making wise choices and keeping a mental tick sheet in my head. It was tough not to drink more, but I kept asking myself if that next bottle of beer would be worth it, and most of the time it wasn't. A couple of times it was, but mostly it wasn't. And I still had an awesome time.

The awesome time continued into this morning when we all went to breakfast together and then got back to Minneapolis. Once home, I put everything away and, due to being up a tad late last night, felt like a nap was in order. But it was beautiful outside and I was afraid if I didn't take advantage of the opportunity right there and then, I wouldn't fit in any exercise later. So I donned my comfy clothes and an iPod and off I went for a really great one hour long brisk walk along the river where I saw a barge entering the St. Anthony Falls lock. I love it when I catch that happening. My first weekend is over and it was a good one, I can only look forward to many more of the same.

I Like Food

2011-08-20T07:06:00.004-05:00

I know I'm alone on this one, but I really like food. Ha! My weakness is for sweets, but I like food in general. Oh, I don't like every food, I'm famous (okay, that's overstating it) for my dislike of olives, cucumbers and feta cheese. But in general, I enjoy the sensation of eating and the feelings of warmth and comfort that food provides. I like trying different things and I hate food ruts. Some folks, especially in dieting mode, find success in repeating the same meals over and over, and it really works for them. They put together the same exact lunch or dinner five to seven days a week and find that it's easier to not have to give it more thought than that. I totally understand this on a visceral level, but I get bored easily and would sit in front of my third turkey sandwich and baby carrots lunch in a row and I would be suicidal. I thrive on variety.

Fortunately, I date a fishmonger. I'm telling you, ladies, if you like food, you should find yourself a cute fishmonger. Fish and seafood are notoriously high in protein (fills you up!) and low in fat and calories (slims you down!). There are a million different kinds to eat, so if you don't care for one fish, there's another one waiting to please you. One night this week I decided I wanted sushi, but I certainly didn't want all the work that is involved in making sushi - with its nori wrapping and rice and all. So I settled for an even healthier option - sashimi, just plain old raw fish. I stopped in at Coastal Seafoods and asked Doug to throw together a few samples of whatever was best that day, and I came home with raw redfish, marlin, and scallops that I dipped in a simple mixture of soy sauce and wasabi. Couldn't be faster or easier, or healthier on all levels. Last night my fishmonger Doug offered to make us some dinner and, of course, I got a little nervous because I'm in diet mode and everyone has a different idea of what that means. But I needn't have fretted because Doug put together an amazing and light soup of shrimp, sausage and poached duck egg with fresh herbs that was delicious. He made the broth himself and skimmed every bit of fat he could out of it in deference to my goals. The broth was light and flavorful and while I have a long standing aversion to soup (it acts like it's a meal but it's really just a beverage), this sort of experiment went a long way in changing my mind.

So my challenge for this weekend, food-wise, is that it's a super fun girl's weekend. I love hanging out with groups of my funny and smart women friends for the weekend, but I don't always make the best food decisions! I thought long and hard about what to bring because I don't expect anyone else to provide for me just because I'm trying to drop pounds, nobody else is responsible for my decisions. At first I thought I'd bring a veggie tray with a light dip of some sort, but then I remembered that I love a local fishmonger and should take advantage of that! Plus I like the idea of getting in some protein to fill me up. So Doug picked me up a couple of pounds of unpeeled shrimp and cooked them up simply with some peppercorns and bay leaves. I also got some homemade cocktail sauce from Coastal to serve with the shrimp. Yum. And I'm whipping up an Asian slaw. I love raw cabbage and how it holds its shape with dressing on it for a long time, unlike conventional lettuce that droops after one minute. I've never made this particular Asian dressing, but what can go wrong with tofu, ginger, garlic, soy sauce, honey, lime, and other delicious ingredients? So no matter what other foods are at the table today, I feel confident that I'll have great go-to food that I can enjoy, and so can my friends. Win - win!

Exercise Is Hard. To Fit In.

2011-08-18T22:49:00.007-05:00

My gung-ho exercise attitude waned a little from yesterday. What can you expect? It's been two days! Nobody can expect to be healthy for two whole days in a row! Ha, I kid. But yesterday's bike ride to and from work plus a walk at lunch didn't repeat itself today. I felt dizzy all afternoon today and when I got home I planned to hit the sidewalk but all I could do was take a pain reliever and fall asleep for an hour. I woke up at 7pm, frantic, wondering how I could fit in some exercise and get my errands done, too. So I decided to walk to the grocery store and pick up needed items for my upcoming girl's weekend in a land far, far away called "Shakopee." While not a long walk to the grocery store - it's about ten minutes one way at a brisk pace - it was far better than the alternative, finishing out the evening on the couch never having moved. And it was muggy out, so I did sweat like Olivia Newton-John in her Physical video. Felt like I really did something as a result.

I texted Aaron yesterday and told him I was pretty sure I was winning the contest already. He replied that he had already lost 40 pounds by lopping off his right arm. This competition is on!

It Starts.

2011-08-17T21:43:00.004-05:00

It came to my attention recently, when I looked in the mirror, that I'd let a few pounds ("a few" being a relative concept here) creep on in recent years. Maybe it's been more than just a few years, I'm not sure. Well, I'm kind of sure, but not really. That's because it's just easier to not think about it, to not notice it, to not look in the mirror. But maybe doing the easier thing is what got me here in the first place, and maybe it's time to work.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not full of self-loathing. Fortunately I'm bright enough to know that my weight is not me. There's more to me - to everybody - than that. But like anyone else, or almost everyone else in America these days, I endure mornings when nothing fits right and everything feels wrong. I struggle when looking for special occasion outfits, though that might more have to do with my need for comfort than my feelings of self-worth, jury's out on that one. I purchase my clothes in what I call "uniforms," groups of the same clothes in different colors (but not entirely different colors because I like the dark colors better, or maybe I think they like me better. Again, jury's out on that one).

So what's a girl to do once she's acknowledged the obvious and decided it's really time to do something about it? That's right, she challenges her friend to a weight loss challenge. Aaron and me, a scale, a spreadsheet, and a gentleman's handshake agreeing that the biggest loser by percentage on Valentine's Day wins $200 from the other, who will also hopefully be a big loser. I went to Aaron's house last night where we officially weighed in and groaned at the number on the scale. But you can choose to let it get you down or you can change it. I'm choosing to change it.

Gear Daddies in Duluth

2011-07-17T21:30:00.003-05:00

I've been listening to the Gear Daddies for over twenty years now and still they enchant during every live show. Last night was the quintessential summer evening of music and outdoors and water and beer on the shores of Lake Superior at the Duluth Music & Maritime Festival and Marty Zellar and the boys didn't disappoint. I'm pretty sure Doug got tired of me announcing at the start of each tune that "This is my favorite song!" but he played it cool. Time hasn't hurt the Gear Daddies, and I hope there are many more years of concerts to come.

Spinning

2011-06-28T22:08:00.002-05:00

I love the pure joy of little girls, from all corners of the world, rejoicing in the raucous spin of a hula hoop at a local carnival.

A Summer Dusting

2011-06-12T20:15:00.002-05:00

I love this shot of Doug sprinkling Creole seasoning on the first pile of crawdads, corn, potatoes, garlic, and Andouille sausage that came out of the enormous pot at yesterday's annual crawfish boil party. It makes me feel all kinds of summer-y.

Around the World in a Champagne Flute

2011-04-25T21:34:00.006-05:00

A long time ago, maybe fifteen years or more, I happened to catch an episode of Michael Palin's Around the World in 80 Days. The Monty Python alum had matured into a world traveler, visiting ports far and wide and reporting on them for his television show. In the episode I watched, Michael almost literally washed up on the shores of Hong Kong after an arduous journey by ship on the South China Sea. I didn't know much about Hong Kong at the time, just that it was an exotic, modern city of skyscrapers that either was or wasn't part of China. I'm much clearer on that whole topic now.

In the episode, Michael was picked up by car and whisked away to his friend Basil's apartment high in the sky. Basil was a cute Asian gentleman with nerdy glasses and a pretty wife carrying their newborn baby in her arms when they welcomed Michael in broad daylight to their home. Even though it was maybe lunch time, the first thing Basil offered Michael was a glass of champagne, which he happily accepted and they proceeded to enjoy the bottle on the balcony of the skyscraper apartment. I remember watching that and thinking it was about the most sophisticated thing I'd ever witnessed. I mean, who keeps a chilled bottle of bubbly on hand for visitors who happen to swing by? I was enchanted by the idea of a friend popping by to see me some afternoon and me suggesting we pop a bottle of champagne and sip the afternoon away. I vowed at that moment that I would always keep a chilled bottle of bubbly in my refrigerator, ready should a friend come by during broad daylight. I'd never seen that episode of Around the World in 80 Days again, but I'd thought of it often when I saw the bottle of bubbly keeping cool next to my butter and juice.

And now, more than fifteen years later, I still keep a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, just in case. Of course, I've never had the opportunity to casually pop open a bottle because my friends aren't really the pop-in types and I'm usually at work during the day, but still I keep restocking a new bottle when I inevitably drink the other bottle myself because I don't want it to get too old.

Fast forward to Hong Kong, March 2011. The country is now back in the possession of China after a long stretch under British rule and, more importantly, I'm going to visit for the first time to see my dear friend Lisa and her husband, who moved there a couple of years ago for her job. After ten long, hot, beautiful but challenging days in northern India, my parents and I arrived in Hong Kong where a car picked us up at the airport and whisked us off to Lisa and Kwesi's apartment high in the sky. As we settled into the comfortable leather furniture on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, Kwesi offered to pop open a bottle of champagne. My head started spinning, I had certainly never shared the Michael Palin story with Lisa and Kwesi, yet here I was in Hong Kong, in broad daylight, high up in a skyscraper overlooking Victoria Harbor, drinking a flute of champagne with friends. It was like my life had come full circle and some unintentional self-fulfilling prophecy had come to fruition.

Fast forward again to Minneapolis, April 2011. Upon returning home I shared this story with my sweet boyfriend, Doug. I told him how magical it was to feel like I was walking in the shoes of Michael Palin, going around the world and serendipitously repeating a part of his journey that had meant so much to me. Just recently Doug and I were out for a walk and went past the wine and spirits store in my neighborhood. We ducked in to see what looked good and Doug purchased a really nice bottle of Moet & Chandon champagne, even though I protested that it cost too much. When we returned to my place, Doug placed the bottle of bubbly on the counter and next to it a new DVD copy of Michael Palin's Around the World in 80 Days, so that I could watch the Hong Kong sequence once again after all this time and relive the magic that I had lived in real life just weeks before.

Feel free to stop by some afternoon, the champagne is on ice.

Quantum Leap

2011-04-21T21:39:00.003-05:00

I get just a little bit too excited about winning stuff, even if it's just a can of pop or a balloon or something. So imagine how over the moon I was when tonight I found out I won a cool $60 scale!

I have a blog roll that I follow pretty regularly, all sorts of blogs about food, photography, travel, and anything else that tickles my fancy. From time to time certain bloggers have giveaways but I'm not usually interested in the products. This time, however, I was intrigued when Ex Hot Girl, a photographer and weight loss blogger, posted a giveaway of something called a Quantum Scale. So I left a comment on her blog, which doubled as a drawing entry, and when I visited Ex Hot Girl's blog tonight, I saw my face staring back at me with the announcement that my comment had been randomly chosen as the winner!

But I didn't win just any scale, it's the Quantum Scale and instead of registering your weight, it only registers the amount you've lost (or gained, gulp). When you step on it for the first time, it secretly records your weight and then every time you subsequently step on it, it lets you know how much your weight differs from your starting weight, without reminding you what that actual number was or is. So, in theory, you can just keep track of the amount you're losing without obsessing about your exact triple digits. I know it might just be a mind game, but I'm excited to give it a try - for free! Woo hoo!

What's Being Missed

2011-04-07T20:10:00.004-05:00

Just over one and a half weeks into a month of eating vegan and people are asking quite often what foods I miss most. Honestly, I don't really miss too many foods, partly because it hasn't been that long and partly because I know I can have them again in a few weeks. But that said, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I might be missing chicken, at least a little bit. Everywhere I turn there's chicken. A new cooking show called the Spice Goddess introduced me to a dish of chicken and yogurt and spices that made me swoon just a little, and an article in a work publication today about the expansion of the delicious Portuguese chicken chain Nando's almost pushed me over the edge. Which got me to thinking about the wonderful Amish chicken I had at Cafe 128 the night before this month started (photo above). Oh, that chicken with blue cheese mashed potatoes was good. It's just a few more weeks, right?

The Weekend Vegan

2011-04-05T21:59:00.004-05:00

My first vegan weekend wasn't as bad as I worried it would be. That's probably because I'm not a healthy vegan, but rather I take it as it comes. What I mean is that I don't mind supplementing my healthy, green vegan lifestyle with Puffcorn and vegan chocolate. Hey, life is short.

Friday night Doug and I spent a lovely evening walking to Chipotle for a little din-din. Chipotle has great vegan options, like their black beans, fajita vegetables, rice, salsas, and guacamole. A big salad was in order downed with an undrinkable, skunky Corona beer. Didn't finish that, to be honest. Then we walked to the movie theater in my neighborhood to see Cedar Rapids (funny and local!) and I enjoyed a nice bag of Sour Patch Kids (naturally and accidentally vegan!). Doug got popcorn but poisoned it with butter, or buttery topping. I'm not sure if my local theater does the real thing or not, but I don't like my popcorn with any sort of liquid topping. I'm a salty purist, so it wasn't tempting for me to cheat.

Saturday morning my parents arranged a breakfast out for the whole family, and to accommodate my vegan lifestyle, they chose the Triple Rock Social Club. Yes, the Triple Rock is known for Free Bacon Wednesdays, but they also have tons of vegan menu choices. I opted for a mush of potatoes, fake nacho cheese sauce, scrambled tofu, and toast with vegan butter. Oh, and two delightfully large vegan Screwdrivers. After that we ventured on to a couple of meat raffles. Yes, that's wrong for a vegan, but to be fair, I didn't win any meat. Doug did, and lots of it - ha! But I shan't eat it until next month. Dinner was a delicious Thai vegan curry feast from Sen Yai Sen Lek that I would love to try again because just a little while later it was all gone when I barfed my guts out against my will. Curses! A perfectly fantastic vegan meal - gone!

On Sunday I tried to eat a little, a vegan banana pancake from the Seward Cafe, but while it was absolutely delicious, my stomach wasn't ready for it. Instead I watched Doug down the vegan biscuits with mushroom gravy and vegetables. The color of the gravy, I won't lie, was a bit off-putting, a weird gray hue instead of the usual whitish with peppery flecks. Doug, who was being nice and ordered something vegan, said that it wasn't horrible. He said the gravy lacked a certain depth but he liked the hearty biscuits and the unusual inclusion of vegetables.

The rest of my first vegan weekend was uneventful because no kind of food was good. Barfing makes it much easier to eat vegan because you don't miss food of any kind. Lesson learned.

Please Don't Mock Me

2011-03-31T05:45:00.004-05:00

Eating vegan for three days hasn't provided any insurmountable challenges, it's just that you have to think/talk/dissect food so much! "Is this vegan? Does it contain milk solids or egg whites or honey?" In a way, that's probably a good thing. It's easy to sleepwalk through your food life, eating whatever you want whenever you want - which isn't the healthiest way to go and something I'm very guilty of. Veganism has forced me to consider every bite. It's made easier by having backup options always available - Holy Land brand jalapeno hummus and vegan crackers, plantain chips, peanut butter, Ezekiel brand sprouted grain bread, and fruit are always available to fill the void with little thought. But vegan woman does not live by hummus alone. Sometimes one must branch out and try canned mock duck.

Canned mock duck, available at Asian grocery stores like United Noodles, sounds disgusting. Truth be told, it looks disgusting, too. The producers add that duck-like skin texture to the mock duck that is both intriguing and creepy at the same time. Doug has used canned mock duck in the past and though he warned that it can have a canned flavor, he volunteered to make us a mock duck lemongrass soup from a vegan website that I had found. He released the mock duck from its tin environment and marinated it in shallots and soy sauce and ginger and other delicious things and then finely julienned red peppers and onions and created a plate of toppings that included fresh mint and cilantro. Meanwhile, organic vegetable broth from an aseptic package simmered on the stove with fresh ingredients that Doug had added. At dinner time he put them all together with rice noodles and made a pretty nice bowl of soup. To be honest, the vegetable broth left something to be desired, now we know this particular brand wasn't anything to write home about. But the rest of the meal was quite delicious, including the mock duck. I was surprised, but I liked it. Doug separated the remaining mock duck from the soup when we were done and I think it will make a great salad with all the same fixings, just not the broth.

So, while I would love a big Buffalo chicken sandwich, the alternatives are not so bad. Canned mock duck - who knew?

I Guess Camel Meat Is Out

2011-03-26T13:30:00.003-05:00

I work in a creative workplace where food ideas are constantly being bounced around and dissected and reworked, so I shouldn't be surprised when I open my big yapper and end up agreeing to eat vegan for a month!

Recently my coworkers and I were having an important (ha!) discussion about our favorite TV show, Top Chef. Our favorite chef on our favorite show, Richard Blais, had returned to the all-star edition looking much thinner than he did during his season of the show. There was an article about him in one of our work magazines and he explained that he kick-started his weight loss by eating vegan for one month in order to sort of detoxify his body and get back to the basics. Without much thought, I innocently volunteered that we should try that, but I don't think I really meant it at the time. However, Lizzie, ever the willing subject when it comes to food experiments, leapt at the idea and said "Let's do it!"

Still cautious about enlisting myself for this silliness, I suggested we really figure out what it means to eat vegan. Most importantly, could we still drink alcohol? Turns out we can, and so the decision to do it became that much easier! There are alcoholic beverages that are not vegan, but most are, so even if eating vegan sucks, we can drown our sorrows in booze to forget the pain. We tried to encourage our coworkers to join, but after a few false starts, only three of us are in. Chickens.

We agreed to start on Monday, March 28 so that I would have one week after returning from a whirlwind three week trip around the world (Amsterdam, India, Hong Kong and Borneo) to eat all my favorite meats and cheeses that I had dearly missed while traveling. We will continue through the end of April. Before agreeing I totally forgot that Easter falls in the month of April this year. No Easter ham, no deviled eggs, none of my mom's sweet bread, no seven layer salad, no buttery mashed potatoes. I could go on and on. As I am usually in charge of preparing some of the desserts, I have already researched one vegan dessert to make (lemon coconut bundt cake!) so that I can have something, and will have to make some side dishes as well! I will happily make non-vegan food, I just won't be able to eat it. Phooey.

I'll Be Back

2011-01-04T22:07:00.003-06:00

Remember me? Me neither. It's been awhile, I've missed you. I wish I had a good explanation as to where I've been, but I would be lying. I'm just here now.

I'm not much for resolutions, which is the thing people say right before they announce their soon-to-be-failed resolutions, but I'm really going to try to get back into this blogging thing. Not sure why, as the digital world has already heralded the death of the blog. Guess blogs are too wordy, if we can't express ourselves in 140 characters or less, we don't have the patience. But I want to buck that trend, to keep my little wordy corner of the world alive regardless of what social media gurus have to say.

So while I don't have time to post a real entry right now, I am posting something - anything - to show that I mean it. I'm back. And to prove it, here's a photo I took in a market in Cuernavaca that I manipulated in ColorSplash on my new iPad. Too much fun.

Please stop by again soon, I'll be back.

That Thing I Love Too Much

2010-11-14T19:39:00.005-06:00

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

2010-11-04T19:47:00.006-05:00

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

2010-10-17T19:29:00.005-05:00

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

2010-10-03T21:18:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-20T22:33:00.005-05:00

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

2010-09-16T22:23:00.007-05:00

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

2010-09-06T18:24:00.002-05:00

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

2010-08-22T21:26:00.004-05:00

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

2010-08-15T22:17:00.002-05:00

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!

2010-08-05T19:43:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-29T22:31:00.011-05:00

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

2010-07-16T20:59:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-08T22:12:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-02T20:46:00.005-05:00

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

2010-06-23T22:00:00.004-05:00

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

2010-06-20T19:18:00.004-05:00

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!

2010-06-15T21:15:00.002-05:00

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

2010-06-08T20:57:00.003-05:00

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

2010-06-05T13:42:00.002-05:00

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?

2010-06-01T21:57:00.003-05:00

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

2010-05-31T20:59:00.004-05:00

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

2010-05-25T21:34:00.009-05:00

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

2010-05-18T20:27:00.004-05:00

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

2010-05-16T19:42:00.004-05:00

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.

Target Field Nachos: A Review

2010-05-09T20:46:00.003-05:00

I made my first visit to the brand spankin' new Target Field for my first ever outdoors Twins game this weekend, and what did I eat? Why, nachos, of course! Not that there aren't a million other snacks I could have sampled, the new stadium is working hard to bring the fans locally produced food and, from the looks of it, in generous portions. But since I love nachos just a wee too much, I knew what had to be done.

It was too cold for me to search high and low for different options, so the only nachos I am currently aware of are from the Tacos, Burritos and Empanadas stand that never really had much of a line. There were two choices, a $4.50 model that I'm going to assume was simply chips and cheese, and the Grande Nachos, which I purchased for a hefty $8.50. Honestly, though, I think they were worth it. Yes, they are stadium nachos, not restaurant nachos, but the portion was generous and the salsa even had a little heat. For your $8.50, you get a bowl of warm chips layered with cheese sauce, tomatoes, onions, ground taco beef, lettuce, salsa, shredded cheese and sour cream. Many of the Grande Nachos were made a little while ahead of time, sitting there waiting for someone to buy them, but they were still pretty good. While not a huge fan of the cheese sauce, it's necessary in the ballpark where shredded cheese would coagulate in minutes and be almost instantly inedible.

So, overall I would recommend the Grande Nachos at Target Field. They're not life-changing, but they're decent. I also tried my dad's Tony Oliva Cuban Sandwich and it was pretty darn good. But the best part of the whole new stadium is the experience itself. It's so beautiful and so perfectly placed downtown and the details so well-thought out (yea for fireworks when there's a home run!) that it's not going to take me much to make me a baseball fan. I can't even believe that I just wrote that.

A Shower of Petals

2010-05-02T22:19:00.002-05:00

The annual flowering of the snow crab trees outside my door came a few weeks early this year. The landscapers pruned them back quite a bit last fall, and I was pretty concerned they wouldn't be as beautiful, but I had nothing to worry about. Sure, I miss the large branches surrounding my little brick and metal facade, but as long as I still get a heavy sprinkling of lavender petals all over my sidewalk, I'm happy. Check out the fat cat on the stoop, he's pretty happy, too.

Everything Stays the Same

2010-04-28T21:53:00.005-05:00

Six weeks have passed since I last visited the care center, and in such a small time everything seems to have changed, yet everything still seems the same. The same four tables, the same yellow walls, the same three nurses, the same sea of gray metal walkers. But something was definitely not the same and I struggled for a few moments to figure out what it was.

Some health issues, thankfully now resolved, kept me away for the past month and a half and after seriously considering not returning, I ultimately figured out I couldn't not go back. I missed the old, confused folks who are sometimes the only thing that remind me just why we have to live our lives to the fullest now, even if I don't always do such a good job at it. I still can always use the weekly reminder. I made my usual rounds, saying hello to everyone, telling them how pretty they looked, or how much I liked their sweaters, or asking if they were hungry for dinner. A few of my friends on the outside asked me earlier this week if I thought any of the residents would remember me, and I had to admit I didn't think so. Sure enough, I don't think they did, though I did get a military salute from Don like he always does. Alma greeted me by telling me how beautiful I looked and wondering aloud if I've gone out to Hollywood yet to make it big with my beauty. I love Alma. I caught up with Bernice and Lorraine and noticed a couple of new faces. I also noticed a couple of missing faces, namely Mary and John.

Mary has been my main charge for over a year now, half of the Gudrun - Mary duo that has dominated my Wednesday dinners for so long. I've been feeding Mary one hundred percent of her dinner because of her inability to do so. Not her physical inability, but her emotional inability. Her brain just wouldn't allow her hands to work they way they should anymore. Mary spent most meals repeating nonsensical phrases, her favorite being Lawrence Welk's "a one and a two and a three." By the last weeks I saw her in March, she couldn't even lift her head and I literally had to gingerly maneuver a spoon full of pureed something-or-other into her mouth as it rested partially on the laminate table top. I knew she wasn't well, but people last for years unwell so I didn't think too much of it. So when I didn't see Mary right away tonight at her regular spot where her wheelchair fit between Rosalie and Gudrun, I had to ask Kollie the nurse. He told me sadly in his thick Liberian accent that she had died. Honestly, I couldn't even be sad. As cliche as it may be, she is definitely in a better place than she was. I told Kollie that it was probably about time and he agreed. The other missing face tonight belonged to John, a fellow of no more than seventy years, tops, that had joined the dementia unit only about six or eight months prior, but whom I really liked because of his sweet face and demeanor. While he sometimes had an absent look in his eyes, he still said things that made sense and he was cute. His wife visited from time to time, including at the Christmas party in December. I remember watching her hold his hand and sing carols next to him and I wondered what her life was like. Not seeing John at his regular table with Doris and Barbara tonight, I couldn't help but hope he had simply moved to a different unit. But Kollie told me that John had also died. In my two years there, I don't think more than four or five people have died, and in the five dinners I missed two have gone. Again, I'm not so much sad for John as I am for the people who loved him and at least had his physical being there when they needed to see him. John and Mary will be missed.

With Mary gone, it was time for me to take on a new challenge tonight, and a challenge it was. I've written about Melvin before, he's the tall man-child that once peed all over the dining room floor during dinner service and routinely screams in his muppet-like voice about all things indecipherable. Tonight I actually asked Kollie if he ever understands anything Melvin says and, to my relief, he told me no. So it isn't just me. Melvin was rambunctious and talkative as I prodded him to swallow bite after bite of his cheeseburger and fries. He actually did a very good job until he knocked over his full glass of milk which totally upset Alma but had no effect on Gudrun whatsoever. I had to convince Melvin throughout the meal to concentrate on eating and to forget about putting his hand down the front of his sweatpants while bald Lorraine cried like a baby to anyone that would listen that nothing was fair and she didn't like her food.

I'm back at it and, like I said, everything has changed and everything still seems the same.

The Rabidity of Fans

2010-04-26T20:57:00.002-05:00

Look at this photo I took at the State Theater Friday night. See the decorative chandeliers and ornately painted walls? See the old fashioned stage? Oh, and see Anthony Bourdain? That's him in the middle of the shot, on the stage, next to the lectern. Squint your eyes really tightly and imagine a dark, tall drink of water pacing the stage, ranting about TV chefs and food and travel and maybe you can picture him, because this photo will be no help to you.

Purchasing the cheap seats for Anthony Bourdain's lecture was not a problem, there was no reason to be up close, but it was amusing how tiny this tall man looked. My friend Angie and I made a night of it, starting with delicious small plates and cocktails at Bradstreet Crafthouse and ending surrounded by Bourdain's rabid Twin Cities fan base. I am a fan of Tony Bourdain, so much so that I call him "Tony," but unlike so many others in attendance at his show Friday night, I'm okay with disagreeing with him. To be fair, Bourdain is a polarizing figure and attracts a certain type. But I couldn't help but be amused every time he launched into a new topic about a certain well-known chef like, say, Bobby Flay, and the audience broke out in unappreciative hisses (I imagine they feel Flay has sold out or is overexposed or something like that), until Tony talked about how much he likes Flay. Suddenly the rabid fans were all cheering Bobby Flay like he's the second coming of Christ. The cadence of the audience response to Bourdain's topics was fascinating, as if they waited with bated breath to be told by Master Bourdain who to like and who to hate, exhaling with relief if they guessed the proper response.

I love Anthony Bourdain. I think he's quick and funny, I think he expresses himself well, I think he's handsome. But, unlike so many folks at the State Theater Friday night, I also think for myself. I believe Tony would like it that way.

Chicago in Spring, Part Deux

2010-04-22T19:40:00.005-05:00

Sunday in Chicago was the kind of day more days should emulate. Sunny and clear. Sleeping in, no hurry to be anywhere, walking and driving around new neighborhoods, several cocktails, and lots of Spanish. We took the opportunity to use several open hours to explore the city by car, getting to know the streets and neighborhoods and not being concerned about getting lost. Then we checked out Chicago's "Little Mexico" neighborhood, Pilsen, where we visited a Mexican grocery and bought oranges and Mexican soda. We stopped into a local tortilleria and just enjoyed translating all of the Spanish signs. Then we moved toward our late afternoon plan in Wicker Park to meet up with Paul and Mary at Paul's newest restaurant, Big Star.

We had an hour to kill so we stopped at a little bar/restaurant where we enjoyed $3 mimosas and $2 PBRs. Perfect. At one point the chef came out of the kitchen and asked us, "Do you like pork?" There's only one answer to that question, and we were rewarded for answering it correctly with his new version of pork belly sliders, crisp and tender pork belly burgers with a Sriracha sauce. Very nice. Then it was time to hit one of the hottest spots in Chicago, Big Star tacos. Paul and Mary had a table outside in the sun (much easier for the owner to get such a table on a beautiful day than for us!) and we proceeded to order a good portion of the menu, including several different tacos, guacamole, and one spectacular salad. Mary recommended the salad, which is usually difficult to get excited about, but this salad was different. It had so much life and flavor, it was one of the best salads I've ever had. I also had their version of my favorite cocktail, the Paloma, and it was quite delicious. It was fantastic to just sit out in the sun, chat, eat, drink and forget about my real life for awhile. When we were done there and one young couple had stopped Paul (like so many people do) to thank him for his previous advice that they get engaged (!), we stepped across the street for more drinks at the Violet Hour. The Violet Hour is styled like an old time speakeasy, nestled inside a building without a sign and with a door almost invisible. Only if you know where the place is could you find it. We sidled up to the dark, cool bar for expertly made cocktails, like those served here at the Bradstreet Crafthouse, with lots of pomp and circumstance. It's the sort of place I'm not cool enough to be in, but I love it nonetheless. I ordered the Violet Hour version of the Pisco Sour and loved that while they put their own spin on it, they topped it off very authentically with bitters, just like in Peru. The four of us continued to talk and drink until it was time to go and we parted ways.

As we said our good-byes and walked to the car, Doug broke into a shiver and full-on teeth chattering! He was suddenly very ill so all we could do was get him back to the hotel and wrap him in blankets while I found the closest 24-hour Walgreen's (luckily, there is a Walgreen's every three giant steps in Chicago) and a thermometer and Tylenol. With a temperature of 102.5, Doug spent the rest of the night in a delirious shiver while I looked on helplessly. Luckily, we both slept well and by morning he felt a little better. We didn't get to do all of the things we'd set out to do in the Windy City, but we got to do all of the best things. And now we have things to look forward to on a future trip, which there will no doubt be. Man, I love Chicago.

Chicago in Spring, Part Un

2010-04-20T21:29:00.007-05:00

Spring time in Chicago is spectacular. The city is one of this country's finest, offering up beautiful parks and friendly people and fantastic restaurants. Doug and I drove there this weekend in search of all three and were not disappointed in the least.

I found a fabulous deal at the Palmer House Hilton, a gorgeously renovated hotel that showcases all that is beautiful and historic in Chicago. As luck would have it, we were able to upgrade our room for a small fee and ended up unknowingly getting a room with two bathrooms! That is probably the only reason we are still together now. Ha! Doug is friends with Paul Kahan, a well-known chef in Chicago who owns several restaurant hotspots like Avec, the Publican, Big Star Taqueria and Blackbird, President Obama's favorite Chicago restaurant. Paul was nice enough to arrange the best seats in the house for Doug and I for dinner at Avec one night and it was spectacular. We sat at the bar, not near anyone else, directly across from the chef who was plying his craft for the entire restaurant on a small six burner stove. It was fascinating to watch him do a hundred things at once and do them all well, except when he accidentally burned his arm. Ouch. The chef was really friendly and was actually a native of Minneapolis. The other Avec staffers were equally charming, never allowing our wine glasses to become empty and bringing us plate after plate of amazing food.

From English pea crostini with mint salad, roasted spring onion vinaigrette and pecorino (pictured above) that was so good it nearly changed my life, to chorizo-stuffed Medjool dates with smoked bacon and piquillo pepper-tomato sauce, to prosciutto with honeycomb, orange zest, marcona almonds and black peppercorn vinaigrette (pictured below) that despite my dislike for black pepper almost made me cry, all of these dishes and more made my heart sing and my tongue want for more. And beyond the unbelievable food was the wow factor of this beautiful restaurant. The chef-owner, Paul Kahan, who could not have been nicer when he and his lovely wife, Mary, joined us after our meal for drinks, was a judge on one of my favorite TV shows of all time, Top Chef. His executive chef, Koren, who was also at Avec that night, was also a judge on a quickfire challenge on Top Chef (I knew I recognized her when I saw her!), as well as being a finalist for a James Beard award. President Obama's White House chef, Sam Kass, was there eating, himself a former chef at Avec, and I was introduced to Blackbird chef Mike Sheerin, one of Food & Wine magazine's 2010 best new chefs. It was pretty heady stuff for a little food dork like me!

Between a wonderful meal, a handsome companion, and fascinating conversation with all sorts of people, it was a marvelous introduction to a different side of a city that I already loved, but now love just a little more.

Grain Belt Nordeast

2010-04-13T21:46:00.002-05:00

On April 7 my mom had a birthday. But that was widely ignored because that also happened to be the day that the Schell Brewery in New Ulm released an ode to Northeast Minneapolis in the form of Grain Belt Nordeast beer. For one day the only place in the universe one could get their hands on this fine barley pop was Northeast Minneapolis, home of the former Grain Belt brewery where the name became famous. Nordeast flew off the shelves at all of the Northeast Minneapolis liquor stores and bars all over our quadrant of the city ran out of their supply before nightfall. My own happy hour visit to Grumpy's in Northeast on April 7 for my first Nordeast on tap was super fun, but for a limited amount of time. Pretty soon the nonstop view of human butts was more than I could take and though I was thrilled that the whole town was banding together to celebrate my hardworking hometown, I had to break free.

Welcome to the world, Grain Belt Nordeast, you are a welcome and proud addition to our liquor store shelves and barroom taps.

Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba

2010-04-11T20:34:00.005-05:00

Last night I had the great fortune to attend a show at the Cedar Cultural Center that was a part of the West Africa West Bank series there. Bassekou Kouyate and his ensemble, Ngoni Ba, performed a concert that blew me away. During my two wonderful, lengthy stays in West Africa I often heard it said that people visit East Africa for the animals and West Africa for the people and the music. I know firsthand this is true.

Bassekou Kouyate was born forty-three years ago in Mali, a landlocked country home to the fabled city of Timbuktu, and has developed over time an enormous following there and in many parts of the world because of his mastery of the ngoni, an ancient instrument that looks like a simple, carved guitar. The music Bassekou Kouyate makes with his ngoni is, however, anything but simple. His band, Ngoni Ba, consists of four ngonis, plus percussion, and his singer wife, Amy Sacko, a gorgeous Malian woman with a voice to match. She is known as the Tina Turner of Mali. Together they are able to bring the house down with their infectious energy and obvious love for the music they are bringing to the world.

Bassekou Kouyate has played with some of the most famous musicians on the planet, a tribute to the respect they have for his ability with the ngoni. Here's a video of Mr. Kouyate performing in 2005 with the late Ali Farka Toure, another amazing Malian musician who uses his guitar to bring the blues to a whole new level. Notice just how much music Bassekou Kouyate can make come out of that little boat-shaped instrument with simple strings. It's pretty magical.

Geeking Out

2010-04-06T14:55:00.001-05:00

Look at the excitement in my eyes as I paw my coworker's new iPad. She took it away from me shortly after this picture was taken. Probably for the best.

A Captive Audience

2010-04-02T20:46:00.004-05:00

Bath time is almost more fun for a certain portly feline than it is for his owner. While I look forward to catching up on magazines, filling in maybe one or two words in the National Geographic crossword (it's hard!), listening to the radio, and just generally relaxing, Hakeem Wallace sees an opportunity for a captive audience to pet him for a good half hour. As you can see, he doesn't leave a lot of room on the bath mat for a gal to dry off!

How Not to Cook an Octopus

2010-03-28T20:46:00.005-05:00

The guys who own the fabulous Sea Salt Eatery at Minnehaha Falls, which opens this coming week after their winter hiatus, threw their annual Ribfest party at the restaurant last night, inviting folks to enter their best ribs for all to taste and judge. Fourteen different entries were tested, along with sides and desserts, and lots of beer consumed. Money was also raised for St. Jude's Research Hospital, the Danny Thomas charity (as I think of it). But mostly, lots of beer was consumed, Surly and Fulton and Summit, and a poor octopus met a sad fate at the hands of fellows (not the Sea Salt fellows!) not in any condition to take good care of him.

I'm not a chef so I'm not dispensing cooking advice, but I would advise against drinking many beers and then throwing an unseasoned octopus on a hot grill and calling it a meal. I think this photo of the last moments of this poor guy's existence says it all.

Enter the Fishmonger

2010-03-18T21:39:00.003-05:00

Dating a fishmonger with a love for cooking has its ups and downs. On the downside, less time to post on my blog. On the upside, an impromptu dinner of mackerel, oysters and asparagus prepared for me tonight after a long day at work. A gal could get used to this.

Best. Weekend. Ever.

2010-03-15T17:34:00.008-05:00

I scored the coveted four day weekend and took full advantage of practically every minute, filling them with friends and food and drink and fun. Just the way it should be.

Friday night included an art opening, then a stunning nighttime view from the Guthrie's famed Endless Bridge, a place I consider to be one of the most beautiful places to visit in the city and do so often, and finally dinner for the first time at Sea Change, Tim McKee's sustainable seafood restaurant inside the Guthrie along the river. While I drank cocktails with odd combinations of ingredients like Sambuca and muddled basil that somehow worked perfectly together, the chef sent out a number of small plates of his choosing. Oysters with roasted jalapeno mignonette, impossibly thin cut albacore tuna with lardo, soffrito crudo and apple cider vinegar, langostines with hot olive oil, chili and rosemary, and my favorite, a sous vide and grilled octopus with a texture that evoked beef rather than the usual octopus mouth feel. It was spectacular. There were lots of other plates and cocktails, but the details are blurry after so much of everything. Suffice it to say it was all some kind of wonderful.

Wonderful seafood continued into Saturday night when I had my gals, The Hags, over for copious amounts of seafood and drinks and music while my friend Doug prepared course after course of glorious, mostly Japanese food for all of us. The menu included oysters on the half shell with a traditional shallot mignonette, soup with Dungeness crab and crab claws, soba noodles with dipping sauce, Kobe beef with smoked sea salt, eel rolls with jewel-like red fish roe, freshly made Korean kimchi, seared tuna with a citrus/pepper/sesame crust, and lots of sashimi - salmon, yellowtail, hamachi, and albacore. I didn't think I appreciated large oysters, but that has all changed and I could have them every day with a simple mignonette and never get sick of them. The same goes for my friends, except not with the mignonette. What a great evening.

Along came Sunday and Joe Henry was singing at the Dakota Jazz Club downtown. I am no Joe Henry expert and have subsisted mostly on his earlier alt-country music, not as much his more current stuff that's closer to jazz and Tom Waits, but I loved almost everything he did last night. He told a funny story about collaborating with his sister-in-law Madonna (yes, that Madonna) on a song that they agreed to each publish their own versions of. Joe said he turned his version into a tango and she turned hers into a hit: Don't Tell Me. His version was beautiful. Just like this weekend.

Away From Her

2010-03-10T22:06:00.003-06:00

Everything changes when I miss a week on the Memory Care Unit. Last week's contagious cold left me thinking a visit was not in anyone's best interest, so I opted out and slept instead. Meanwhile, one of my very favorite gals, Leola, moved to another unit. Like other times, I had the uncomfortable task of asking where Leola was tonight, uncomfortable because I always fear the worst. Thankfully, she is still alive, but sadly, she has been moved to a unit for people who need to be assisted physically more than on my ward. I always thought Leola was one of the physical oxen on 2-South, but I guess strength is in the eye of the beholder because she's gone. I'll never forget the day she called out my full name from at least seven feet away, something that hasn't happened before or since on the Memory Care Unit. "Hey, Deb Ellis, I like your outfit," she let me know. It took me a second to realize she was reading my little name tag, and without glasses! I guess her eyes were strong but her limbs weak. I'm going to miss Leola.

It was a tough night on the unit, almost as if it were a full moon or something weird like that. Both Gudrun and Mary couldn't keep their eyes open and Mary wasn't wearing her teeth so her chin stuck out like a witch's and I spilled her protein shake down the front of her bright red track suit while trying to feed her with her head lolling backwards. When the nurse came around to record how much each resident had eaten, I told him he was going to fire me as a volunteer because I'd failed so miserably to feed my charges. He assured me it was okay, that they don't always eat much, but I couldn't help but feel guilty about my already too-skinny elderly friends. At least Bernice was having a good night, taking my good natured kidding in stride and giving it right back.

There's a new woman on the unit, her name is Karen. She's the youngest, prettiest gal I've seen there and I wanted to cry when she showed up at the dinner table with a man who I would guess is her husband from the kiss goodbye he gave her. Karen doesn't look a day over sixty, and she might be younger, but there she was on the dementia unit. Her husband left her there to eat and she sat next to Anita, the only spot available at the time. Karen looked uncomfortable and scared and like she'd rather be anywhere but there. You'd think everyone looks like that there, but they don't. They're either beyond being able to feel the tangible discomfort of life on a Memory Care Unit anymore or they've resigned themselves to their fate, only complaining infrequently that they want to go home. But Karen looked like a little girl at her first sleepover, frightened and shy and wanting her mommy. She reminded me of Julie Christie in the Oscar-winning movie, "Away From Her." In the movie, Christie's character is a victim of early-onset Alzheimer's and struggles between wanting to stay home with her husband and knowing she's a hazard there to him and to herself. She looks lost at the nursing home she chooses to go to, just like Karen did tonight. It's heartbreaking. I hope Karen settles in sooner than later and can relinquish some of the fear that fills her eyes.

Dad's Night Out

2010-03-07T21:31:00.003-06:00

You know you have a cool dad when you find yourself enjoying a cold 24-ounce Red Stripe beer with him at the sold out Avett Brothers show at First Avenue, right after sharing polenta fries and foie gras torchon at the Bradstreet Crafthouse. Awesome.

Blog Update and Turkey Hat

2010-02-28T11:45:00.004-06:00

Two things guarantee my absolute productivity. Number one: sporting a roasted turkey hat at the office. Number two: telling myself I have to clean my house.

Today I did the latter, and that means I have added a pretty awesome update to my blog and cleaned absolutely nothing in my home. Because I didn't say telling myself to clean my house makes me productive at cleaning the house, it actually makes me productive at anything but. Check out the "Labels" gadget to the right of the screen. I've now added labels to my posts so that, if you're so inclined, you can read back over posts that specifically refer to Mexico, or to the nursing home, or to restaurants. I'll probably add more in time, this was as much time as I was willing to commit to today. Because there is cleaning to be done and roasted turkey hats to be worn.

Basket Case

2010-02-23T21:10:00.004-06:00

My best furry buddy had another tough night last night, but he made sure everyone else was suffering right along with him. He did not suffer alone nor in silence.

I noticed that one of Hakeem's fangs was sticking into his lip last night, and although that didn't hinder his love for food (nothing ever does), he did seem preoccupied with his mouth and he took to sleeping in a spot his never has before, which is one of those things cats do that bums me out because it usually means they're not feeling well. I made a quick call to Dr. Hedges who made room for him late last night at his office. On the way there, we picked up Hakeem's Grandma Judy, who is always very helpful when it comes to transporting the 25 pound beast to the place he feels deserves a special little place in Hell. Packed in his purple laundry basket with a purple towel underneath him and one on top of him, he entered the vet's office with the loudest, longest hiss in feline history. I told the vet tech it was just Hakeem's way of saying hello. She didn't buy it.

In the exam room, Hakeem kept up his defenses and, really, never let them down. I always spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince the doc and the tech that he's the most awesome cat of all time and Grandma Judy usually slips in the story about the time we brought him to the nursing home and all the residents loved him because he was so nice, but I could tell the vet tech didn't believe us by the way she wanly asked, "Really?" I couldn't help but notice that as she held him down, wearing the elbow-length leather falcon handler gloves that kept Hakeem from killing her, she seemed rather skeptical.

Hakeem was screaming so much that the vet had no trouble spotting the bad fang, he just looked inside his mouth during one of my kitty's ten second-long screeches. Then the doc grabbed a medical pliers and simply yanked the entire loose fang from Hakeem's lower jaw, much to Hakeem's surprise. He said oftentimes in older cats the teeth will simply fall out when the root rots (yum!), which Hakeem's was trying to do, and he wouldn't even need any antibiotics. All fixed! Well, almost. Hakeem has that pesky anal sac issue I've mentioned before and, as long as I was paying for an office visit, I had the vet and tech express them. Yes, I'm talking about the anal sacs. All I'm going to tell you is that at one point, while they tag teamed my boy in his purple basket and the doc had Hakeem in - shall we say - a compromising position, Dr. Hedges suddenly yelled "Look out!" to the vet tech. I won't tell you why, I'll leave that to your imagination. Not that the tech could hear the vet's yelling over Hakeem's, I'm pretty sure all of New Brighton could hear him. But, the important thing is that my boy was back to his regular self the second he got back into the car in his purple laundry basket after his awful ordeal.

All's well that ends well. My boy has been purring for twenty-four hours straight and drooling where the fang is now missing. My dad said he's a feline hillbilly now. I'm afraid he might be right.

If She Had a Boat

2010-02-20T21:27:00.005-06:00

On Wednesday night when I stopped by Bernice's table at the Memory Care Unit to tease her about eating too little and to challenge her to a clean plate contest, she said something about probably not finishing her dinner because she had to get to the boat. I didn't think much of it, out-of-left-field statements being par for the course on Wednesday nights. But when I finished feeding Mary and Gudrun and I had received my first ever hug from Mattie, bestowed upon me as if she were greeting a long lost relative, I stopped in front of Clara as I put on my coat. Clara told me, as she pointed her finger down the long, ornately carpeted hall toward Bernice, that she was going to go see her sister, Christine. I told her that wasn't Christine, she was pointing at Bernice. She insisted I was wrong and continued to tell me that she was going to go spend some time with Christine. She got up and walked away as I took a couple of minutes to say goodbye to Leola and Lorraine.

When I finally made my way down the long hall, I turned the corner and found Clara pushing Bernice in her wheelchair, away from Bernice's room. I asked Clara what they were doing and she told me, very matter-of-factly, that she was taking her sister Christine for a walk. Worried that she wasn't fully on board with this plan, I asked Bernice what she was doing, and if she wanted to go back to her room. She looked up at me from her wheelchair and tears started pouring from her eyes as she said, "I need to get to the boat, I'm going to miss the boat." I'd never heard Bernice sound so much like someone with dementia, as weird as that might sound considering where I was. But Bernice always seemed to me that she was on the wrong ward. I sometimes thought that maybe she just forgot to turn off the stove once in awhile, or maybe she had trouble remembering where she set down her keys from time to time. This was the first time I really saw that her brain was not doing what it was supposed to do. "Please, take me to the boat," she pleaded, as Clara insisted they keep moving to her room where she and her sister Christine could talk.

"Hey, Clara, why don't you turn around and head toward Bernice's room, she's not feeling well," I asked Clara. "No, Christine and I are just going to go talk for awhile, I'll take care of her," she responded. I was finally able to persuade Clara to allow Bernice to push herself to her room, but Clara followed closely behind, promising she'd talk to Christine and be with her to make her feel better. As we got to the narrow doorway of Bernice's room, she refused to go in. "Bernice, you'll feel better if you go into your room and get some rest," I offered. But Bernice wouldn't have it, she cried harder and said, "That's not my room." I assured her it was, telling her there was a picture of her in there and her green Care Bear and the calendar I gave her last week. But she just cried harder that she was going to miss the boat, that she had to get to the boat. Kollie the nurse came into the room and tried to calm her down, but it was difficult because Clara was there, insisting that Christine should calm down and they could talk, which only confused Bernice more. I left, having nothing to offer in the way of helping, knowing Kollie could handle it much better than I ever could.

I sure would like it if Clara's sister Christine could actually be there with her, and I wish Bernice could really tell everyone to kiss her ass, she bought a boat, she's going out to sea.

I Love to Torture My Parents

2010-02-16T22:19:00.004-06:00

Well, this answers a lot of my questions. I came across this old family photo tonight as I searched for inspiration to write, and for the first time I noticed something beyond how truly 1970's this is. Forget my mom's Carol Brady shag haircut, disregard my dad's Cheech & Chong mustache, don't even think about my brother's "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt and old school Coca-Cola glass, and brush past the fact that I pretty much look like a boy in my flared jeans. Concentrate instead on what's really going on in this picture. Notice my parents as they gaze, if not downright adore, my brother. It's like I'm not even there. They are so in love with their firstborn that they can't even be trusted to pose properly for a family photo. His very existence is a magnet for them, while I pose alone, lost in a sea of just me and the camera lens, barely a blip on my parents' radar.

And so it goes.

Dinner in the Chapel

2010-02-10T20:07:00.003-06:00

When I walked onto the Memory Care Unit on the second floor tonight, I could smell fresh paint and I noticed new signs with the residents' names on them outside each door. As I rounded the corner down the long hall decorated with outdated carpeting, I came upon an empty dining room. Not a soul was around and there was none of the usual noise that fills the air at the home. It was incredibly eery. I walked back down to the lobby where the disinterested front desk girl was barely able to waste her time telling me that the folks were eating in the chapel tonight as she pointed down the opposite hall.

When I turned the corner past the "chapel" sign and the floor-to-ceiling bird cage housing six colorful finches, I saw a set of double doors and entered. Indeed, dinner was being served in the chapel. The room was quite large, with folding plastic banquet tables strewn about haphazardly on carpeted floors. I couldn't help but wonder how the food would come out of the carpet. Everyone was seated in different groups than usual, next to stained glass windows depicting various biblical characters and cheap prints of Jesus Christ. Nobody seemed aware that they were in a chapel, despite the bible quotes on the walls and the bibles along the shelves. I made my usual rounds, saying hello to everyone, gently rubbing their backs, challenging them to eat every last bite on their plates. When I came to Katherine, the meanest woman I've ever met, I asked her, apprehensively, how she was doing. "Shut up," she responded. It was an improvement over last week when, out of the blue, she called me a bitch. I couldn't help but think she was warming up to me.

I took a seat next to Mary, which also happened to put me next to John. Usually John is at the next table and I love to look over at him because he's really cute and smiley. He's gregarious and talkative, but nothing he says ever really goes anywhere. It always sounds as though he's going to say something normal but then it trails off along with his gaze. You can almost see the words extinguished in the air while his brow furrows. But he always recovers quickly. Every time I asked Mary a question, "Mary, do you want to drink some juice?" John would answer. Every time. I loved it. His wife visited him last year during the Christmas party and my heart broke in half for her, watching as she held John's hand while they sang carols with the group. I couldn't help but wonder while she was making sure John was well cared for, who was taking care of her?

When I finished feeding Mary mashed potatoes with gravy and pureed carrots, while completely avoiding giving her the ham that I knew wasn't pureed finely enough and would cause Mary to chew and chew and chew forever, I got up to say goodbye to everyone. Bernice sat crying gently over her still-full plate but assured me she was okay. I waved over at the new lady, Ethel, rather than going over to talk to her because, frankly, she scares me. She's terribly skinny with thin hair and skin so translucent you can see all of the veins in her forehead and face. She looks like one of those fish, so popular in children's aquariums, that are clear so you can see all of their internal organs. Last week when I said goodbye to her, she took my hand and asked me if I was going to call her husband. She went on to tell me that he lives at 3424 Dupont Avenue South and that she wanted to talk to him so could I call him? Her eyes pleaded with me. I said I would try and then Nurse Kollie added, "Ethel, I told you I tried to call him but he didn't answer. I'll try again later." I don't even know if her husband is alive or if Kollie really tried or if he told her that to calm her down.

Tonight when I saw Ethel sitting in the creepy, white PVC wheelchair, it looked like she had bloody stitches all around her mouth. Thankfully, it turned out to be chocolate, but I already had that image in my head from the Shutter Island movie previews and I was totally freaking out on the inside. But since I embarked on this whole experience to face my fears in the first place, I decided to say a personal goodbye to Ethel and walked over to her chair. She repeatedly beseeched me to open the little gate on her odd wheelchair that kept her from falling forward to the floor. I tried to change the subject but she kept asking me to open the little gate. Finally she said something I couldn't understand and I nodded my head in agreement, hoping to appease her in some way, and she seemed to calm down and sat back down in the square chair and allowed me to finally walk away. I have no idea what I agreed to. Chances are Ethel doesn't, either.

Chicken Wing Fear

2010-02-07T19:30:00.003-06:00

I have never prepared chicken wings. There, I said it. I've been busy, who has time? Actually, I just am so enamored of the Buffalo wings at our own downtown Minneapolis' watering hole, Runyon's, that it doesn't seem necessary to try this at home. But yesterday that all changed when I picked up my Steamy Kitchen cookbook and read the recipe for Baked Garlic Chilli Wings. Baked, huh? Ok, that was tempting. I just don't need another deep fried food in my life, I have plenty that I already love, thanks.

Job one: buy chicken wings. I didn't want to go the frozen route, so I drove over to Northeast Minneapolis' favorite butcher shop, Ready Meats, and tried to casually ask for two pounds of chicken wings after I noticed they were whole wings, not just the cute little drummettes I'm accustomed to. Once home, I immediately accessed the Internet to find out how to break down the huge chicken wing clusters in my possession. I had an idea of how to do it, but I needed a little encouragement. I found it in the form of a southern gentleman making wings in a two minute video. Thank you, kind gentleman. The whole experience was pretty easy, I just wasn't prepared for the thick folds of chicken skin webbing the drummette and the wingette, nor was I ready to find tiny little feathers. Yes, I understand the chicken once had feathers, I just didn't realize I was going to possibly eat them. Unless it's baked super crispy, I don't even like poultry skin, so this was a bit much for me. But I persevered, cut the pieces up, and threw them in a Chinese marinade for a few hours. Then I baked them up and did a quick stir fry of them in a wok filled with aromatics like garlic, green onions and ginger. Voila.

The result? Nice looking, good flavor, but I still struggle with the rubbery skin that results most of the time when you don't want to deep fry your bird. My friend Maria really liked the wings, so it was a success as far as I'm concerned, but I think I need to try again.

Astoria

2010-01-31T13:29:00.004-06:00

A second visit to the theater to see Crazy Heart this morning brought me straight back to my short time spent living and working in New York City twenty years ago, and it's proof positive that the sense of smell is the sense most closely tied to memory.

About thirty minutes into the movie today, a guy came in and sat down two or three rows ahead of us. I didn't think anything of it, so engrossed in Jeff Bridges' performance as Bad Blake I was. But suddenly, without warning, the foulest human stench wafted across my face, so thick and tangible I could almost feel it touching me. Not certain where it was coming from and hoping it would pass quickly, I buried my nose in my scarf and tried to enjoy the movie but the odor didn't abate. We had no choice but to move mid-film.

That smell immediately made me think of the time I was living in Astoria, Queens, at the last stop of the train at Ditmars, where the subway was above ground like in The French Connection but without the speeding car. I was meeting a friend for drinks in Manhattan so I walked to the train platform and entered the car while it waited to move. Oftentimes the trains just sat there since it was the end of the line. It was late enough in the evening to be dark out so I chose the first car where there would be a conductor in the little aluminum box up front. I couldn't see him, but I assumed he was there. I was alone in the train car, or so I thought, just waiting to leave the station, when all of the sudden, just like today at the theater, a stench stung my nostrils, leaving them begging for mercy. The doors were open on the car, warm enough out to allow this, and I wondered from where the smell emanated. Just then, the conductor entered the train from the platform and was visibly struck by the smell permeating the subway car. Obviously seeing something I couldn't, he walked over to one of the seats and woke a sleeping passenger that wasn't visible to me. When the man sat up, with a struggle, I could see he was just barely in human condition. He looked like Mickey Rourke in almost any movie he's made recently. He had crusted blood on his face, obviously not new, and tattered clothes. His hair was matted and he looked like life had gotten the best of him, and smelled worse. The conductor politely demanded the man exit the train, I'm certain it would have been nearly impossible for him to do his job with that stench in the air. The conductor asked me if I was okay, if the man had been bothering me. I told him I was fine and thanked him for checking on me.

I have no idea what ever happened to that man at the Ditmars station, but I'd be shocked if he were still alive today. To be able to get to that level of filth and degradation means nothing is going right in your life and hasn't been for awhile. I wonder about the man at the theater today, about how long he'll be around and what brought him to the point that not even basic hygiene is a part of his reality. As usual, I have many questions and not a single answer.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2010-01-27T21:27:00.003-06:00

I'm too tired from reading seemingly thousands of resumes for days and days at work to tell you how tonight at the Memory Care Center, Bald Lorraine, who is tiny and white and lacking in hair on her round, shiny head called the tall, black nurse "Mommy." I'm much too exhausted to mention how when I was feeding Mary and asked her "Are you thirsty, Mary?" she answered "I'm everything." I'm unable to relate to you how I showed a book full of photos of residents of the unit, many of them in the photos sitting just feet away from Mattie, and she couldn't name one of them even though she lives with them every single day. She tried to fake it, but I could tell she had no clue who was in those photos. I'm lacking the energy to tell you how Melvin poured his baked beans all over his hands and pants and then his head dropped to his chest and he fell fast asleep at the dinner table. I don't have the strength to talk about how Bernice blushed and smiled coyly and drooled slightly when I showed her a photo of herself at the Christmas party and told her how beautifully she photographs and that she's practically a supermodel.

Fortunately, I'm not too tired to post this photograph of my mom and me, taken a couple of (hundred) years ago. See, there are beautiful things in this life. My mom's dress just isn't one of them.

You Are the Man That Ruined the World

2010-01-25T21:47:00.007-06:00

I know I posted the trailer from Crazy Heart previously, but here's the Golden Globe-winning song from the film, The Weary Kind, in its entirety as sung by its writer, Ryan Bingham. I saw the movie today and loved it every bit as much as I thought I would, and it didn't hurt that Mr. Bingham has a minor role in it. It's not a perfect film, but it's damn good. And I can't believe how much I'm still in love with Jeff Bridges. I remember seeing him in Starman in 1984 like it was yesterday. I was on a first date and I was so nervous but I forgot all about it watching Jeff Bridges play an alien pretending to be a dead man that night. Whenever I watch him, I always forget it's him, which is the biggest compliment I can give an actor. Go see Crazy Heart.

Fried Prosciutto Will Save the World

2010-01-23T15:57:00.003-06:00

Recently invited to attend a four course dinner cooking class at Kitchen Window where we prepared everything from beef Wellington to cashew brittle, I found something that makes me swoon in a way that usually only Hook & Ladder Pinot Noir and Seth Rogen can. That thing is fried prosciutto. Notice the reddish blob on top of the salad that looks like a sun-dried tomato. That is actually an achingly thin slice of Italian bacon, called prosciutto, that has been dropped into a deep fryer for just seconds until it becomes a crisp, salty beacon of hope for all that is good and positive in this world. I will not have it again any time soon because I have a strict no deep frying policy in my home (which is, sadly, not because of the health aspect but rather because of the odor), but I can still dream about it.

Seth Rogen

2010-01-20T21:38:00.003-06:00

I love this man and I don't care who knows it.

The First Harvest

2010-01-19T20:01:00.003-06:00

Check out those huge basil leaves! The plants grew so tall I had to raise the lamp arm so they wouldn't burn. The large basil leaves on top were actually blocking the light from the lower leaves so today I was forced to harvest my first herbs from the Aerogarden that I started on December 14. I took several large basil leaves and cut them into a nice little chiffonade which I then added to scrambled eggs, along with some diced tomato and shredded Parmesan cheese. Simple, delicious and, best of all, homegrown.

Next up: mushrooms with homegrown thyme.

I Still Hate Winter

2010-01-18T21:26:00.001-06:00

Don't get me wrong, I don't care for winter. But every once in a while even a cold, snowy day can be pretty.

Flip-It!

2010-01-14T19:11:00.003-06:00

Apparently I live quite a sheltered life because last weekend at one of the two meat raffles I attended (wait, I guess I don't live a sheltered life!), I learned to play a dice game I've never heard of. Do you know about Flip-It? I tried to google it, but really didn't find anything in five seconds so I gave up (what can I say? I'm of the MTV generation). Essentially it's a hexagon with the numbers 1 through 10 on tiles each of up to six players can flip over. Without going into all of the details, it's a very simple, fast moving game of strategy. It moves along at a good clip and is much improved if one is drinking alcoholic beverages as they play. Here we are in this photo playing the game Friday night, drinking our cocktails, just as recommended.

It's a Jungle in Here

2010-01-11T22:04:00.004-06:00

Hello? Is that you out there? I'm having a hard time seeing you through the thicket of herbs overtaking my home! The chives are as high as an elephant's eye (if that elephant stands just about four inches tall) and the thyme is expanding sideways and the basil, well, the basil almost grows before my very eyes. Things are getting good.

When Bad Things Happen to Good Fingers

2010-01-10T19:56:00.003-06:00

I am a big baby and I don't handle injuries well. So imagine my horror when, while taking out the garbage, I caught my index finger in the heavy duty gate latch that surrounds the dumpster. I was stunned, both sides of my finger gouged and bleeding, as I tried to figure out what to do next. If I stayed at home to tend to my wound, I'd be late for meeting my friends. Also, my car was running in the parking lot illegally while I was loading it up for a weekend out of town. Oh, the conundrum. Picturing myself running it under the tap made my skin crawl (no pun intended, since it looked like it really was crawling), so I did the only thing I could think of in my state and wrapped it in a washcloth and drove to my friends' house. The entire way, like a big baby, I tried to think happy thoughts but would suddenly be jolted back to reality by a sharp pain in my damaged finger. I actually moaned out loud several times during the drive, trying to keep it elevated the entire way and wondering if any other drivers thought I was giving them the finger. Really I was only giving myself the finger for being in a hurry in the first place and allowing it to happen.

When I got to Tom and Karen's, they ushered me to the sink where I rinsed the new gaping flaps in my finger under the tepid water. No fun. Then Dr. Tom and Nurse Karen went to work, wrapping it in gauze and tape and shoving me in the truck so that we could get to the bar and I could enjoy some "medicine." It's really not that bad of a wound, but being a baby, I am appreciative that my peeps could help me out in my time of need. I think I'll play the piano after all. Once I learn to, that is.

In Dreams

2010-01-07T22:39:00.002-06:00

Subzero temperatures for days, maybe even weeks, force my mind to wander to places warmer and sunnier where yellow limes and coarse salt pair together to make a sweaty beer an even more powerful experience. Watching the gentle ocean waves, I can almost taste the cold, sweet liquid as it cools my throat, and I move quickly to finish it before the napkin it's wrapped in is soaked. It's okay to drink your beer fast, there's always more where that came from...

The Best Camera is the One That's With You

2010-01-05T21:15:00.004-06:00

I've been practicing manipulating photos taken on my iPhone using the Best Camera app. It's based on the saying that the best camera is the one that's with you. So true. While it's lovely to have super nice equipment, you can't always have it with you. So in the end you should enjoy using whatever camera you have with you, even if it's only your cell phone.

Just look how Best Camera can make a super cute American kitty look like a sophisticated Parisian kitty!

Crazy Heart

2010-01-04T20:11:00.007-06:00

Sometimes it's all a person can do to get from one day to the next. People need something to motivate themselves to keep going on, to have a reason to get up in the morning and to keep doing what they have to do to make this life into something real. For me, currently, that motivating something is the upcoming film Crazy Heart, starring Jeff Bridges and Maggie Gyllenhaal. While it has opened in the important cities on the coastal fringes of our great nation, flyover country will have to wait till January 15. It's less than two weeks away but feels like a million.

I bide my time waiting by watching the Crazy Heart movie trailer endlessly. The theme song, The Weary Kind, was written by none other than Mr. Ryan Bingham, whom I last wrote about in July after his show with the Dead Horses at the Varsity, and co-written by the well-known T-Bone Burnett. I hope after this movie comes out and Ryan wins any number of awards for the song including, I predict, an Oscar, Ryan won't be selling his own t-shirts to his fans like he did at First Ave not that long ago and, instead, will be well-known in his own right.

Romantica and Carrie Rodriguez, Part Three

2010-01-03T11:43:00.003-06:00

Another fantastic Romantica show for the books. Friday night they appeared at the Dakota Jazz Club downtown, a venue that I visited for the first time in its twenty-five year existence this week. It's a really nice club with good cocktails and a fine-looking menu, but with too many "smooth jazz" acts for my taste. However, now that I've been there, I will endeavor to return. The sound system is top notch, even if the table service during the music is distracting.

Romantica appeared there with another favorite of mine, Austin, Texas' powerhouse voice in a cute, teensy body, Carrie Rodriguez. She brought her fiddle and her highest declaration of love and respect for the Romantica boys and together they made our subzero temperatures seem like just a distant bad memory. Each act did separate sets and, like in concerts past, they did some songs together. The song I always wait for is a gorgeous ballad called Big Kiss that Carrie sings solo on her record, Seven Angels on a Bicycle. It's an amazing song sung individually, but it's kicked up a notch when she and Ben Kyle perform it as a duet. And they ended the show in style with a cover of Merle Haggard's Today I Started Loving You Again that made all of my dark thoughts about the winter chill fade away.

My cousin Megan and I have seen these two perform together at the Varsity in Dinkytown and again at tiny Steve's Guitars in Carbondale, Colorado, and now at the Dakota. I don't tire of hearing them, how could you ever tire of beautifully crafted songs sung in perfect voices?

The Herbs Are Still Alive

2010-01-02T23:37:00.002-06:00

I haven't managed to kill them yet. I had my doubts, and it's only been three weeks so anything can happen, but so far the basil, chives and thyme are all thriving. "Thriving" might be overstating what's going on with the chives, I don't envision a bright future for them based on the small bowl size and what I've read on the Internet, but the thyme might be okay and the basil, currently the smallest of the three, stands to be the king of the herbs. If that works out, I'll be excited to order some other basil varieties and simply grow them. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Yes, that's all I've got today. It's too cold outside to be clever.

Making Christmas Memories

2009-12-30T22:32:00.003-06:00

This year's Christmas party on the Memory Care Unit was an extravaganza of Santa, presents, food and music. My parents, Jude and Gord, came along and even agreed to wear Santa hats and reindeer antlers to help make the second floor south feel more like the North Pole.

It started out with volunteers passing out lefse and julekage, sweet treats from Scandinavia that probably meant more to Gudrun (above) from Sweden than to Rosalie from New Orleans. The residents that can't tolerate solid foods enjoyed chocolate Snack Pack pudding instead. Nobody seemed disappointed by this, no matter what I might have thought. After snacks, the lyrics to several well-known Christmas songs were passed out to everyone and I'm pretty sure not one of them was used. Folks either sang from memory or they didn't. Lorraine, one of my favorites, knew the words to every song and happily sung along, her tiny little mouth ringed with chocolate pudding and shaped into a huge smile. I've never seen Lorraine so happy and just that alone made the whole party worth the effort. Singing Christmas carols while using the lyric sheet always reminds me how few of the words I actually know to the classic tunes. Lorraine had it all over me there.

When the three carols had been sung, suddenly a very feminine Santa showed up, much to the delight of the residents who didn't seem to know Santa wasn't a dude. I knew there had been trouble finding a Santa, I think in the end they had to use a female employee. But it was neat because she knew sign language so she was able to communicate with Inez. I never see anyone communicate with Inez, who is deaf and mute, so that made for a nice Christmas itself. Santa brought two gifts for everyone and we assisted residents in opening them and then labeling their new stuff so that they would be sent to the proper room. Presents ranged from new shirts and track suits to socks and boxes of fancy shortbread cookies. Don, below, was thrilled with his fancy new pen and notebook and immediately wrote his name in an old man scrawl on the first blank page. Don already sports quite a fine pen collection in his shirt pocket that I comment on every time I see him. You can't say too many things about a four-color pen!

Today someone asked me if it's sad for me to visit the nursing home every week. I really had to think about it because, in a way, it certainly is. It would be nice if the folks could still be in the homes they loved, near the people that adore them, and it is sad that this is no longer a possibility. But since that's not reality and as sad as it is that the Memory Care Unit is home now, I think it would be even sadder to think of nobody visiting them at all.

Instant Christmas Classics

2009-12-27T19:09:00.003-06:00

On a whim, I whipped up this Almond Puff Pastry on Christmas Eve day, for no more reason than I had all the ingredients on hand and I love to bake. Who knew it would turn out to be the most delicious almond pastry of all time? Decadently infused with crispy and doughy and buttery layers of goodness and topped off with a sweet, almond icing, this dessert was off the charts.

On Christmas day, when my family traditionally gets together with a group of friends at someone's house, this year we opted to meet at a local Northeast Minneapolis bar. The 1029 was the scene of Christmas, at least a barfly sort of Christmas, and it was spectacular. While the weather outside was frightful, inside all of us shared some Christmas cheer and hoisted more than a few lagers, then headed over to the 331 Club for some more. These are the sort of Christmas traditions to warm your heart, indeed.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2009-12-26T21:08:00.004-06:00

The chives are growing like crazy, if "crazy" means "two inches tall and not even remotely useful yet." Still, I'm excited every day to see the progress of my lush herb garden. I thought the grow light, which is quite bright and stays on for seventeen hours per day, would drive me nuts since in such a small home it's pretty much visible from everywhere, but I've come to enjoy the light and how it brightens up the dining corner of my living space. Now if I could just come to enjoy waiting for my herbs to grow to fruition!

Sweet Lorraine

2009-12-24T10:57:00.005-06:00

Last night at the home an exciting, glamorous lady joined the folks on the Memory Care Unit. While I complimented Alma on her new red Target bag that I watched her open at the Christmas party and she replied, "Thank you, I received it for my birthday," the folks ate and complained as usual that they don't get enough sugar. I thought it was going to be a regular old night, void of much Christmas cheer, even with the strains of Nat 'King' Cole serenading us about chestnuts on an open fire, but then the new Lorraine showed up late to dinner.

I was sitting between Gudrun and Mary, making sure each ingested enough calories to keep them healthy and alive, when a woman I'd never seen before entered the dining room. She wore only a hospital gown but she had fire-red hair, reminiscent of Lucille Ball's iconic mop, except that it was jutting out in crazy puffs all over her head, the victim of a rough afternoon of sleep. She sat down at the table with the most able residents and began talking right away. She bellowed out to anyone that would listen, "Who is singing this song?" When nobody answered, she asked again until I called across the room, "It's Nat 'King' Cole!" "That's right," she replied, "I love Nat 'King' Cole! He sings my song, Sweet Lorraine!" That's when I learned her name really is Lorraine, which makes her the third Lorraine on the unit, and she even shares the same last name as another Lorraine there! It's a small Lorraine world.

But this Lorraine was different than the others. My original Lorraine is quiet and nice as pie, rarely complaining and always smiling anytime her head isn't lying on the table top while she naps before dinner. The second Lorraine suffers from male pattern baldness and whines a lot about not wanting to eat her dinner. She's tougher to love, but looks so much like a sick child that you can't help it. But this new Lorraine was like a hurricane whirling through the unit! Her fiery hair and tongue hide the symptoms of dementia, at least so far. She just seemed like a kooky, fun old lady. Throughout the meal the firehead Lorraine talked and talked and talked and I strained to hear everything she was saying because so much of it was amusing. But Gudrun had a lot of Swedish to speak to me, or to anyone really, and she had some singing to do, so I couldn't hear it all.

When folks were finishing their meals and the nurses were making the rounds, recording how much food each resident had eaten, like they do after every single meal, Kollie stopped at the new Lorraine's table. My ears perked up when I heard Lorraine ask demure, shy Barbara over and over, "How old are you? How old are you? You can't be sixty, you look too old to be sixty. Maybe seventy? How old are you?" Barbara wouldn't answer, she rarely does more than smile in response to anything said to her, but Lorraine wouldn't have it. She turned to Kollie who was standing there with his clipboard and she asked him, "How old is this lady? She won't say anything!" I looked at Kollie with an uncomfortable grin and he lifted his eyebrows as if to say, "How did I get into this?" But he calmly replied to Lorraine, "I don't know how old Barbara is, you have to ask her." Lorraine, clearly exasperated, barked, "But she won't tell me! I've asked!" Kollie, quick as a wink, then said, "Maybe she doesn't want to tell you. How old are you, Lorraine?" To which Lorraine snapped back loudly, "That's none of your damned business!"

I think I'm going to like Sweet Lorraine.

Bradstreet Crafthouse

2009-12-22T22:02:00.005-06:00

When a restaurant goes above and beyond the call of duty both in service and in quality of food and beverage, it deserves to be celebrated. Today I celebrate Bradstreet Crafthouse at the Graves 601 Hotel in downtown Minneapolis, across from the Target Center. Seriously, this place blew me away.

My coworkers, Becky and Liz, and I decided that rather than exchange unnecessary Christmas gifts this year, we'd go out together for dinner and drinks. After lots of discussion, we settled on Bradstreet Crafthouse because of its intriguing cocktail menu and because none of us had been there before. The place is sophisticated and sleek, modern but not cold, with lighting that could make Ed Gein look vaguely attractive. There are three main dining areas, with large comfortable tables in the bar area, kitchen seating where you can watch the chefs prepare the food, and a lounge area that is dark and cozy with music you can listen to without shouting for conversation. We chose the lounge and settled into our low table with comfortable banquette seating and table tops especially designed to complement the cocktails. Yes, the cocktails.

Bradstreet Crafthouse is all about the mixology. That's fancy talk for slinging drinks. But the drinks slung here are at a whole other level than most people are accustomed to. Bradstreet makes eight of their own bitters, fresh squeezes their juices, and includes crazy things like elderflower liqueur and Zwack in their drinks. I don't even know what Zwack is, but it makes me feel pretty cool to be around it. When we asked a few simple questions about our cocktail choices, decisions that were tough to make due to the number of delicious-sounding concoctions, our server Jesse presented us with three brown apothecary bottles filled with bitters. He invited us to stretch out our hands and he proceeded to add a couple of drops to our palms, then instructed us to rub our hands together and smell them. The difference in scent between the three bitters was amazing, I never knew that bitters had such depth. One smelled earthy and gingery while another presented a Christmas-y spiciness. Who knew? I just thought there was one kind of bitters. Jesse taught me that my least favorite alcohol of all time, Campari, is a form of bitters. He also told us about the "ice program" at Bradstreet, the fact that they offer five different forms of ice in their drinks, including a perfect ice sphere about the size of a tennis ball that takes four minutes to create each one. I'm telling you, the entire evening was one fascinating lesson after another, presented in a fun and informative way.

The whole experience started with a liquid amuse bouche, a small cocktail that the mixologists create each day that are presented to each diner. Ours was called Merry Christmas Kermit (for the green color) and though I don't know what was in it, I could easily have downed several. After that I enjoyed two different full cocktails, the Lima Sour and the Moscow Mule. The first is a potent mixture of Pisco (Peruvian brandy), fresh lemon juice, egg white, pineapple and bitters. I drank many of these in Peru a few years back and this one really brought me back. The Moscow Mule, on the other hand, made me yearn for the tropics with its organic vodka, fresh lime juice and ginger syrup. Yum. Beyond the drinks we shared the hot, tasty, toasty house bread and a delightfully simple cheese plate. For entrees, all under $10, we shared duck confit quesadillas, beef sliders with house made ketchup, and a BLT made with crispy, melty fried pork belly, chard, tomato jam and a fried egg. Every dish was better than the last and the portions were perfectly sized to allow you to enjoy your drinks and your dinner without feeling overly full. Not large portions, but just right on, especially for the price. For larger appetites, there are plenty of options to fill you up.

All three of us have pledged to return to Bradstreet Crafthouse and to bring friends with us. I'm very excited to spread the word. Don't miss it.

The Power of Doing Nothing

2009-12-21T00:18:00.004-06:00

Well, I guess Martha Stewart will be calling me anytime now. Turns out I'm quite the gardener and, after just one week, my Aerogarden is sprouting some pretty impressive thyme plants. There's so much thyme coming off this thing that I'm practically sick of it! Ok, not quite, the plants are miniscule, but good things come to those who wait! It helps that with the Aerogarden, I don't do anything for weeks at a time and stuff just happens. It's how I live my life, but with vastly different results. Sigh.

Santa Socks

2009-12-17T23:11:00.004-06:00

Christmas came a little early to the Memory Care Unit today when Santa (played by a girl who knew sign language) showed up to shower the residents with fun gifts plus treats and music. Here is one of my very favorite gals, Bernice, showing off her new Gold Toe socks. She thought they were pretty cool. I think she's pretty cool.

The Aerogarden Saga Begins

2009-12-14T22:29:00.003-06:00

Come along for the ride as we follow the progress of my new Aerogarden 3, a particularly awesome gift from my brother and family! In just weeks, if everything goes as planned, I will be enjoying fresh hydroponic basil, thyme and chives infused with my morning eggs. I don't really have a green thumb, currently there is not a living plant in my house and there is good reason for that. But with a grow light that stays on for 17 hours per day, perhaps this Aerogarden stands a ghost of a chance.

Tonight I set up the little operation, added water and the "seed pods," plus a nutrient pill into the water. That was it, really. Oh, I guess I put those little plastic domes on each seed pod as well. But that was really it. Every two weeks I add water when it prompts me, as well as a new nutrient pill. Should be pretty cut and dried (herb pun intended), no?

Stay tuned for periodic updates!

Garage Gougeres

2009-12-13T17:46:00.002-06:00

Football parties are an opportunity for me to see friends, taste a myriad potluck items, and most importantly, to try to cook or bake something new. Notice I didn't mention anything to do with actually watching the football game.

Short on time, I needed something quick and easy to make for today's garage party, so named because once per year I have friends who enjoy watching the Vikings on a TV inside the garage, without benefit of heaters and other such frilly modern inventions. I don't know why this is fun, standing there shivering in snowmobile suits and Sorels, but they like it. I like to see everyone, but I tend to make it a short visit. So this morning I thought about a recipe I had read about recently that took the usually complicated pate a choux dough and simplified it for the every day cook, like me. It seemed like a good, basic recipe to have in one's repertoire, a versatile recipe that could go from sweet to savory in no time flat and could be made increasingly indulgent with any number of add-ins. I chose to go simple today with just gruyere cheese so that the little cheesy puffs, called gougeres, could be served alongside chili or other soups.

Easy doesn't begin to cover this recipe. I simply simmered some water with butter, added flour and cooked and stirred the mixture for a couple of minutes. Then I placed the dough into my KitchenAid and mixed in the cheese, eggs and salt. Final step was piping the dough onto cookie sheets and baking. Easy peasy, and the result was divine. Friends seemed to love them and now I am determined to turn them into some sort of dessert. And I'm not waiting for a dumb ol' football game to do it.

Portrait of the Artist

2009-12-10T22:10:00.003-06:00

This week, this month really, is getting away from me. Something going on every night, super busy at work every day. December is always a crazy time. It's even tougher for great artists, like myself, who create in order to express their innermost thoughts and feelings. When great artists, like me, produce great art, it takes time and can be exhausting. Case in point, my Christmas ornament made from sour gummi worms and circus peanuts. Great art like this doesn't make itself, it needs to be nurtured and encouraged so that it may become a life force unto itself. And that's exactly what happened when I got a hot glue gun and an idea to incorporate my company's logo into an ornament. You can practically smell the life force, can't you?

Bundt or Backhand?

2009-12-06T18:25:00.001-06:00

Today I made this banana bundt cake and I took my first tennis lesson. Let's just say I should probably stick to baking. My bundt is better than my backhand!

Christmas Came Early

2009-12-04T20:18:00.003-06:00

At my place of business, anything can happen if one lives dangerously and walks away from their office. I went to lunch one day this week and returned to almost everything on my desk covered in red Christmas bows. Even my stickie notes.

My Cat Is An Animal

2009-12-02T22:10:00.003-06:00

My boy Hakeem received a clean bill of physical health from the vet the other night (woo hoo!!), but I'm not so sure how the doc feels about his mental health. Nobody who knows my big guy, who has spent any time with him around my house, who has seen this cat visit patients at a nursing home, would ever believe he's anything but a big, fat, sweet kitty. But the folks at the veterinary hospital probably feel differently. Hakeem's nothing but an animal there.

It Must Be Love

2009-11-30T17:17:00.004-06:00

When I set up an appointment for Hakeem Wallace, my best furry buddy, to visit the vet, they asked if I could possibly collect a urine sample to bring in. Good question, I thought to myself, can a person collect a urine sample from a cat? How on earth?

Hakeem Wallace has never been much of a water drinker, at least not from his bowl. In his younger years he spent the better part of his days in the tub, drinking water straight from the faucet. Because of that I never really knew how much water he consumed on a daily basis. But he was healthy and young and I wasn't really worried about it. Then as he got older and fatter I switched him over to wet food at the veterinarian's suggestion, for the higher protein content that would help him drop pounds. It worked, but it also provided him with the moisture that his body needed so he really didn't drink that much noticeable water still. After the recent surgical assault on his mouth that left him with three fewer teeth than he began with, I thought I'd reintroduce dry food to ensure that he was using his teeth to crush the crunchy pellets. So now, at the age of thirteen, he is drinking water all of the time. Maybe it's nothing to worry about, just a response to the dry food, but with an older, larger animal you don't fool around and wait to find out. You have him checked out to make sure his kidneys are functioning properly and he hasn't developed diabetes. This is where the whole heretofore preposterous notion of collecting a cat urine sample came to life.

The vet tech told me over the phone that sometimes if you clean the litter box out completely, wash it up and everything, the cat will still relieve himself in it. I did not believe this for one second and haven't talked to a cat owner yet who believes it either. Cats, unless they're sick or angry, don't like to pee without benefit of some sort of matter they can cover their output with. This is a lovely topic, isn't it? Anyway, I did the real suffering, you can survive the retelling. The vet told me if I wasn't able to collect a sample, they could do it, but it would be unpleasant for the feline. This is all I needed to know. I consulted my friend Google who let me know that sometimes plastic straws will do the trick. If you cut up a bunch of plastic straws (two boxes of Food Club brand, in my case) and line the clean litter box with them as if it were sand, that might just be enough for the cat to accept and do his duty. And so I cleaned up his old maroon litter box, which still has its old original label that proclaims it to be Super-Giant in four languages. If there were a bigger size, like Super Duper Extra Ginormous, I would buy it, but Hakeem's is the largest I've ever seen, and he just fits. Then I lined the bottom with a layer of cut up flexible straws and put it back in its regular spot. I really didn't have high hopes, but sure enough, Hakeem got up off the couch for the first time in hours and had a bite to eat and some water, then walked over to the box and did exactly what he needed to do. He didn't seem to mind walking on the straws until he had to jump out of the box. I think they were slippery and he didn't care for that. But he did what he had to, I poured the urine out of his box, unfettered by absorbent litter, and collected it in a small Gladware container. I'm not sure this is what the fine folks at Glad had in mind for their fine products, but too bad. I wasn't going to use a reusable container!

So now it's all over but the shrieking. Specifically, Hakeem's feline shrieking when he gets to the vet's office tonight and smells all those awful dogs and cats and hears them barking and meowing. It's really his worst nightmare. So I guess, today at least, he and I are even.

Twice as Nice

2009-11-29T08:34:00.005-06:00

Having a birthday on Thanksgiving like I did this week brings something quite delightful – twice the usual desserts! In addition to the pecan pie, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cream cheese swirl pie, and coconut bundt cake (what can I say, I have a giant family and my Cousin Megan and I love to bake!), there were two birthday cakes. One was the beloved DQ ice cream cake that the kids all happily devoured in about two seconds, and then there was the Wuollet's cake (pictured below) that shows me doing what I love, riding my bike with Hakeem. You can tell it's me because of my thin, athletic frame and flat chest. You can tell it's Hakeem because he's orange and very active. Could it be any cuter or more delicious? No, it could not. As for the pumpkin cream cheese swirl pie, this is the first time I've made it but it will now be the standard bearer for pumpkin pies in my household. It's really quite easy and it breaks up the solid mass of pumpkin custard that I actually love but some people find to be too much for them.

If you think my birthday celebration is over, think again. This morning will be the family get-together (Thanksgiving didn't count because we have to get together for that!) at Maria's Cafe for Cachapas Venezolanas with Cotija Cheese – giant Venezuelan sweet corn pancakes with a salty, powdery cheese on top plus maple syrup, and this week Brasa for dinner with my Hags. I'll never understand why people want to deny their birthdays, it doesn't get any better than this!

Jive Turkey

2009-11-22T15:11:00.003-06:00

Last Wednesday night at the nursing home, Alma was perusing a catalog of old time music. I asked her what kind of music she enjoyed listening to and she seemed confused, so I pointed to the Elvis CD for sale in the catalog and asked her if she liked to listen to Elvis Presley. "Oh yes, I like Elvis," she told me. Rosalie overheard our conversation and commented that she, too, liked Elvis. I asked Rosalie if she knew any Elvis songs and she suddenly broke into the King's hit Are You Lonesome Tonight? I sang along with her, helping her along at parts she had forgotten. The nurses on the floor laughed, saying they'd never heard Rosalie break into song like that. As Rosalie continued singing, alternating between Are You Lonesome Tonight? and O Holy Night, and sometimes singing both interwoven as the same song, I told Mary that she wasn't eating enough and I wanted her to eat more. Rosalie, hearing this, announced that we at our table were all "jive turkeys." Laughing on the inside, I asked her why she was calling us all jive turkeys. She answered that it was because nobody at the table was eating. She said whoever is eating is not a jive turkey. I looked at her plate, still full of ham and potatoes because she was too busy singing to eat, and said, "Then you must be a jive turkey, Rosalie, because you're not eating!" Rosalie couldn't believe she was having her super cool term, jive turkey, thrown right back at her and didn't know what to say. Mattie, who was clearly sick of listening to Rosalie belt out Elvis tunes, laughed and said to Rosalie, "She got you!"

Today I picked up an Elvis CD to bring to the nursing home next week. It should be interesting!

A River Runs Through It

2009-11-21T16:13:00.003-06:00

It isn't often in this state that you can go for a leisurely walk along the river without freezing your ass off. So today I made especially sure to enjoy these waning days of Autumn on the Mississippi and it didn't disappoint. In the distance the river water sprayed up off of the falls and the sun cast long shadows off of the bare elms. I'm going to miss this during the next six months of winter. Ah, Minnesota.

Gordo Rides Hakeem's Tail to Stardom

2009-11-18T21:15:00.003-06:00

Boy howdy, this fat cat of mine regularly makes the news, and he takes my dad along with him for the ride! First it was MSNBC.com, then the venerable BBC, and now The Kitty City Gazette! The Kitty City Gazette is an online compendium of fabricated news stories that star cats from around the blogosphere. I was introduced to it by my friend Debbie on her blog, Glogirly, who recommended that I send in a photo of my Hakeem. So check it out, you'll find Hakeem and Gordo in the story New California Law Cracks Down on Sale of Energy-Gobbling Cats. No autographs, please.

Waiting for Guittard

2009-11-17T20:39:00.005-06:00

Sorry I've been absent for so long, but I've been consumed for the last week by thoughts of the new mochas being served up at Caribou Coffee. The new mochas are made with your choice of white, milk, or dark Guittard chocolate, steamed and left all melty at the bottom of your cup of sweet nectar. Most coffee shops use powdered chocolate or syrup, so this is a fairly major departure in the coffee world.

I am not a coffee drinker, unless it's fattened up nicely with chocolate and sugar and I didn't sleep particularly well the night before. I don't indulge in them often, but I really enjoy them when I do. And the place I usually enjoy them is Starbucks, so this development from Caribou is really out of left field for me.

The biggest problem, of course, is that I am in the waning days of my Month Without Sugar experiment. I'm just taking a month, along with some coworkers, to avoid candy, desserts, and other sweets such as fetching, chocolate-y mochas. So all I can do until next Wednesday is daydream about a Guittard mocha, and daydream I will. Again, I apologize that it's been so long since I've posted. But now I think you can totally understand why. It's the mocha.