A Restaurant Review...

Let me start this review with the total admission that I ADORE Mexican food!  Fast, slow, china or paper, sit down or walk-about...I am a complete devotee of all that encompasses Mexican food.

Rosa Mexicano in downtown Minneapolis...been there twice...read the hype...here's the skinny.  The conclusions are your own.

Very Vibe-y atmosphere...beautiful people (and beautiful wanna-bes) layered at the bar...all seeking recognition from the Dr Jekyll-Mr Hyde bar staff.  One minute they are very chatty...then they ignore you for the next 15!  No eye contact...smiles are rationed out by popularity...short skirts, big tips and giggling all guarantee attention.  Great...another bar for the immature crowd.  Sigh.

Loud.  Loud.  Loud.  Irritating vibrating disks announce the table is ready....because you cannot hear what your friends are saying, much less the host. But it is the only place to wait unless hovering in the cramp entryway does it for you.

Dining room....very simple...very pinkish...muted  Evocative pool with dozens of suspended diving figurines remind me of the old 1950's "B" movies set down in Acapulco...with the handsome young men fearlessly plunging from the toothsome cliffs into the churning waters.  Tables are very close...actually heard the couple's conversation at the table to my right better than I did my dinner companion.  And not a scintillating conversation at that!

Start by ordering the "Guacamole en Molcajete" made table side.  Yes, I know it is expensive.  Yes, I know the small Mom and Pop cantinas on West 7th might do it better.  Yes, I know Barrio does it better.  But...as the waiter grinds the pestle against the side of the stone mortar...the positively heady release of the peppers, avocados, cilantro and onion fill all your senses causing sensory over-load!  (But in a wonderful way!)  You can control the intensity...both heat and savory...served sufficiently lumpy, yet creamy.  I could have ordered another round and been very happy!  (Well, truthfully, happier if I added dessert!)(And if it wasn't $14. for a one avocado guac!)

I ordered, unwisely as it turned out, the queso fundido (no "fun" there) with chorizo crumbles and smoked peppers.  [Queso is one of my "go-to" appetisers in ANY Mexican restaurants...there is something magical about warm, drippy cheese flavored with chilies en robing a salty, crispy chip.  Aaaah.]  As it was served, the waiter advised me that the cast iron dish was very "hot."  Sadly, neither heat hot or flavor "hot."  The cheese had solidified into one gelatinous lump...impervious to any chip...or axe.  I could have picked it up on my fork and gnawed...but I think my dinner companion would have (and should have) been horrified.  So sad...as the soft, warm corn tortillas deserved better.

Having been to Rosa's prior, my friend asked me to try the pico de Gallo...being a huge fan of Mexican food as I am.  She made no comment as I tried...

...the colorful bowl of tomatoes, onion, and herbs that presented many possibilities.  Should I try it on a crunchy, salt kissed chip?  Add it to the jelled queso?  Roll it in a corn blanket? 

SPIT. SPIT. GACK.  Rosa attempts (NOT successfully!) to preserve/extend the life of their pico by drowning it in vinegar.  NO taste but vinegar....sour nasty "curdle your tongue" vinegar...with bits of overwhelmed goodness as flotsam. 

Both being foodies...it was a telling sign about the future of Rosa's.

I ordered Carne Asade...carnivore all the way!...which arrived as a nicely crisped and sauced skirt steak...MOLDED into its iron skillet by yet more rubberized Chihuahua cheese.  Such a pity...the steak was marvelous once I yanked it out of its cheesy grave.  Served with one of my favorite side dishes...corn esquites....(needs more of this in my opinion)....tooth tender kernels, smoky and charred, dripping in butter.  The chili de arbol salsa was a competent contender with the sweet smoke of roasted tomatillos and the "tree-like" de arbol chilis.  I would order again....just under the stipulation to leave off the cheese paste.

My friend ordered the Budin de Pollo...a much better choice!  Layered corn tortillas with generous chucks of tender chicken, savory salsa, roasted peppers and cheese (amazingly not rubberized!) baked into melty goodness.  The sauce topping the stack was a cool and creamy poblano pepper...sneaky little side notes of zing here...tasty enough to be mopped up with each bite.  The salsa teased my Norwegian/Swedish taste buds with  undercurrents of allspice and cinnamon. 

Dessert was shared...Tres Leche de Zarzamoras.  And "za-za" it was!  Even "hurrah za-za!"  Tres leches means "3 milks"...a fabulous pound cake (had me right there!) soaked in a cooked sauce of evaporated, condensed and heavy cream flavored with lemon and lime zest until no more can be absorbed.  No dry, crumb choking slice here!  Blackberries cozied up in a hibiscus syrup provided the bed for the cake...and a pillow of toasted meringue capped it.  We were only going to "sample" a bite or two and leave the rest.  Sigh.  A bright and brilliant dessert...well worth ordering.

So, to recap:  rude bar staff to be avoided at all cost, go at an "off time" to cut down on noise, have the guac just for the theatrics, ask the wait staff to describe the menu offerings, be prepared for sticker shock...and have the "Tres Leche."

A Blurb

One of my favorite quotes of all time is:

"The only constant is change." Heraclitus

I remind myself often that life is made up of changes: spiritual, little, profound, cosmic, perennial, temporary, permament, joyful,  cataclysmic, senseless, physical and minute. Actually, change reminds ME that it is constant in my life...and how I handle change is what is critical to my nature.

I wish I was a serene woman...who lets change ebb and flow in her life with barely a ripple impacting the surface tension of the current.  But I am not such a woman. 

I can stand face-first...resisting change...resisting the relentless force that reshapes...resisting my natural reactions.  I can bend and sway in the torrents...grabbing a breathe here and there...gripping with my soul at the bedrock beneath my feet.  I can turn my back to change...leaning against the flow...always looking back...a tiresome task indeed.  I can "go with the flow"...as irksome as that wishy-washy thought can be...and unproductive by its definition. 

Or I can study the currents of change and embrace them as the life force that they are...for it is by where I choose to stand in the river that the rushing force of change can give me "lift" by sweeping by one side of me faster than the other side.  The slower side has eddys of rest and breath and time.

I can control the impact change has in my life...by embracing "the only constant is change."

Numb Butts, Unitards, and Being on the Wrong Side of 35…a Restaurant Review.

Now that I have your brain spinning trying to figure out the commonality between those 3 diverse concepts…let me give you a clue…the new “The Inn” restaurant in Downtown Minneapolis.

Weather usually doesn’t affect my choice of a restaurant ….but the relentless frigid temps in Minnesota turn even the hardiest northlander  into a snow bunny coward…so a friend and I changed our reservation from Heartland in St Paul to the across the street convenience of the newly opened The Inn in Minneapolis.  Jack Frost conditions made the Inn seem warm and cozy…but I am finding my thoughts frozen regarding the experience.

I hurtled ice mounds and scuttled for the door…very appreciative of the warmth preserving double entry…and came into an intimate brick walled room that I fondly remember as “Le Peep” from years ago, then Hell’s Kitchen, and just recently as “Subo.”  It was half-full except at the bar…but I like to sit at the bar to get more of the “flavor” of a new restaurant.  Plus, at The Inn, you either sit at tables in the frozen street window section or perch at tall tables (hence the butt and leg numbing as the too tall stools cut off all circulation) opposite the bar…neither of which looked like good options that night.  (Actually, there is a small bland back room…but the people watching is MUCH better out front!)

****************************************************

My friend and I had already solicited opinions from friends who had already tried the Inn…both raved about the food….though one did defer that the portions were smaller.  But I am fine with smaller….that means I can try more plates and not feel guilty or over full!  A win/win situation!  (I do avoid going back to restaurants that serve MINISCULE portions….i.e. Piccolo.  But I adore The Sample Room!)

****************************************************

So back to the review:

The menu is small…but covers some unusual ground…just not sure about meeting expectations.  Sigh.

We chose the fresh baked cloverleaf roll with butter and marmalade as one of our starters.  The roll had a joyous yeasty sweetness when I pulled it apart…heaven to the nose!  Memories came flooding back of my Grandmother Ruth’s kitchen when she was baking bread….the alluring tangy scent of yeast baking was discernable from 30 feet outside the house and caused a ravenous horde of children to noisily crowd in looking for “just a sample, Grandma!” Rather a novel appetizer…very appealing to this farm-grounded foodie.  Until………

The marmalade was…colorful at best…and at the worst….runny.  Such a disappointment…we both tried to get it stay on the roll…but I felt more like I was eating that bizarre preserved fruit from fruitcakes.

The second plate was a default…we wanted the fromage on the menu…but it was “no longer in the kitchen.”  Hmmmm.  Did it leave with the fork and the spoon?

So we had the alternative cheese option.  Spanish Mahon grilled cheese mini triangles presented with a sweet/sour dark cherry dry confit and a tousled pile of assorted greens with a glisten of tangy dressing.  A pure winner in my book…each a single bite of melty, buttery goodness off-set by the fruity tang of the confit and the pleasant bitterness of the greens.

I also selected the roasted brussel sprouts…winner, winner, chicken dinner!  Pan roasted in olive oil until darkened and sweet alongside toasted pine nuts and, I believe, green onion.  Didn’t really pause to sort it out…it was THAT good!  (Would have ranked a perfect…except it was weirdly served lukewarm.)

*****************************************************

Now to end the suspense on the second word…unitard.  Remember I said the people watching was best where we were sitting?  At the table directly behind us, sat a bearded gentleman (?) in a full one piece Spandex biking unitard!!!  Including the attached hood…which he kept UP during the entire time!  His dinner companion was Bunyon-esque…flannel shirt, bib overalls, knit cap, and waffle soled hiking boots. 

Only in Minnesota. 

****************************************************

My entrée was the grass fed beef rib eye with Roquefort butter.  I ordered medium rare…it arrived medium…no pink.  The Roquefort butter was butter with a few salty blue cheese (note the distinction) crumbles stirred in…okay flavor…but not the creamy mélange it could have been.  A poor partner to a decent rib eye. 

My friend had the grass fed beef burger without the bun…too many carbs already…but with Swiss cheese melted on top.  There weren’t too many “ummms” on her part…but we both cleaned our plates.  (More due to fortifying ourselves against the slicing wind and painful temps we had to endure to get back to our cars.)

I needed a sweet ending to an otherwise so-so meal…thank heavens the chefs at “The Inn” bow to the superior dessert skill of Michelle Gayer of “The Salty Tart.” (She is a 2010 James Beard Foundation awards "Outstanding Pastry Chef" nominee.) With an eye towards the calories already consumed…we decided to share her decadent “Sticky Toffee Pudding.”  Succulent and warm, the moist crumbs barely held together by a decidedly smooth, well browned toffee sauce with a surprising crunch of sea salt ribboned into it.  Add a smooth scoop of rich vanilla ice cream spreading like river of melted velvet lapping the cake…I am certain I heard harps playing!!   We took forks to this indulgence…slowly at first…and then with avid attention to achieving both toffee and ice cream in each bite. 

*****************************************************

Lastly….being the wrong side of 35.  The majority of the wait staff…including the craftsmen behind the bar…cannot be more than 30.  It shows in their interaction with their clients…and in their over-heard conversations amongst themselves.  We, being in the non-under 35 group…had to initiate conversations regarding the menu…actually saying “Excuse me.  Excuse me,” more often that we should.  But the scantily dressed girls seated to our left received copious amounts of attention from all the servers and the 2 chefs back in the kitchen…DESPITE their miserly shared drinks (really?), single shared appetiser and then another shared drink.  We, on the other hand, were well past the $100 mark …well dressed and recognized by more than one fellow diner…wanting to connect with the restaurant.  But the kicker was when a young man (who all the servers obviously knew…given their greetings) came in and sat to our right.  The open-to-all discussion centered around another professional at the Graves…actually at Craftsman…who was only mixing “popsicle drinks”…and really wasn’t that great…for a full 5 minutes.  Lovely….trashing another professional…within range of all.  Shabby.

I have debated writing this review for several weeks…trying to explain away the inconsistancies…citing the weather…wanting to give The Inn a heartfelt “Yah!”  But, truthfully, I cannot.  Not when there are chefs like Jack at the Dakota, Vincent at Vincent’s and Isaac at 112 Eatery…not when there are friendly waitpersons like those at Mission, Barrio and the Local…

"As dreams are made on"

(Thanks to Shakespeare for the title and thought behind this rambling today.)

As I have related before, I am now masked during sleep...well, one might argue for me being "masked" during my awake hours too...but that is best left for another day.

The Dr. I work with keeps promising me that with my magical air mask...I will sleep better and dream better.  I will be rested and restored to full function the next morning just by strapping on the silicon monster each and every night.  Hah.  That I will become soooo comfortable with the "Mask" that I will be able to get up in the middle of the night, unhook the tubing from the machine, leaving my mask on, and go let my pupper out. (And since he is middle aged...going outside every 5 or 6 hours is good!) Hah. Hah. Claustrophobia...I now understand. I cannot even get through a full night without awakening to my mask breathing merrily on the pillow next to me. Yup.  I am holding the mask in my hand...all intact and buckled...with the machine now breathing for my pillow. 

(And when I related this information to the Dr, she thought perhaps another strap would due the trick.  Only if homicide is now classified as a "trick!" )

So I am having very odd dreams due to this half breathing, half gasping sleep I am now experiencing.  For the first 3 days of the New Year...I was dreaming of a bucolic little farm with goats....and I was making cheese.  Really.  I mean, I get my obsession with cheese...if you know me...you have heard me wax poetic about fromage.  The local cheese mongers know me by name...and they know their till will be wealthier when I walk out their door.  So I get the cheese part of my dream...but the goat and farm aspect?  Not so much.  Farms are hard dirty work...add livestock to the equation and you just put shackles on your life, in addition to the hard work.  I didn't want to dream after 3 nights of goats!

So I tried reading just before I attempted to sleep with my "Zorro!"  A mystery.  So then I dreamed of a murder...that happens...on a goat farm!  Argh!  And the spunky heroine seems to be me with an acquired southern accent.  (Thanks to my co-worker Jules who drawls all day long!) 

The next night I read the new Rick Riordan "Heroes."  All about Roman and Greek gods and goddesses...the whole pantheon....complete with fauns and satyrs...GOATS!  So now, my dreams had talking goats that walked on 2 legs!

So last night I grabbed a guaranteed snoozer of a book...The Illustrated Guide to Victorian Sterling Silver.  I was safe...no goats...no cheese. 

Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhh!

Did you know that the wealthy Victorians had GOATS harnessed to little chariots for their children to ride around in?  And that there were actually sterling silver bells that went on the small harnesses?  Or that the Victorians (I am beginning to dislike these people!) had sterling silver utensils made just to serve and eat certain types of cheeses?  A Stilton scoop, anyone?

So I dreamt of goats wearing leather (hmmmm) with bells attached chasing down rolling wheels of cheese...all at the same bucolic farm.  And how they held the cheese scoops with their hooves...I don't know.

Shakespeare's line "as dreams are made on"...in my case...would be silicon contoured, CPAP infused, click buckled, breathing machine ventilated foundations that somehow inspire (curse) me to have dreams again....but just of the goaty variety!  Wonder if another strap would help?!?!

So when next you see me...just quietly pull the straw from my hair...and accept a gift of farm fresh cheese!  Oh, and watch out for the goats...they like to butt!

I am Back....Welcome to my 2011!

Today is January 1^st, 2011…which by the new calendar on my wall…gives weight to the IMPORTANCE of the date…January 1^st..  A new start…a fresh, un-besmirched page…a new leaf. 

The weird thing is I started my New Year with repeated dreams of….goats and cheese!  I understand the cheese part…I AM FIXATED on cheese!  Hard, creamy, tangy, coy, aged, fresh…you name the cheese…the odds are great that I know it.  But goats?????  Am I destined to become an artisan cheese maker?  But goats?  Milking goats?  Mucking goats?  Gah….gack!  Sheep….maybe.  Crazy, eh?

Well, first I must address the last year…2010…and my thoughts about what has passed.

Losses…they have occurred this year…in my life…in the lives of friends…in the world of humankind.  But the impact is so greatly felt in the personal sphere.  My cousin Mike, a larger than life man with a booming laugh, a quick wit, a gentle bear, the anchor of his siblings…and sad to say…I knew him only on the periphery.  I did not know him as the Renaissance man he was…  My aunt Jean, Mike’s Mom also left this year.  She was a gracious, warm woman with a throaty voice who held the threads of her family together like a weaver.  She wove strength, practicality, un-conditional love, generosity, and, in the last years profound personal sadness (from the death of my Uncle Andy and her son Kurt.) into the life fabric of her family.  My great Uncle Marvin left life on his terms this fall…swiftly with his children surrounding him.  A man of many words and stories…a man of deep faith…a proud veteran…a child of the earth…which he tended with his beloved 1952 tractor.  The last of his generation.  As the “keeper” of my family history…the obits are much more grievous now than 20 years ago…then the obits were just dry facts carved in stone…they now have human faces.

Losses…friends have gone too soon…friends have lost spouses, significant others, parents and children.  I can only say my heart aches for each loss…I would like to say that it gets better…in truth…I can say it gets easier… to remember without falling apart...to put one foot in front of the other and stand upright.  “Better” is a condition that implies the world is the same…which it never is…since each loss creates a new reality.  And yes, in the new reality, there is joy, love, laughter…it is just tempered to a new edge…one that makes you feel keenly the loss.  I still “talk” to my father daily…remembered bits of conversation apply themselves to situations...spontaneous thoughts of “Dad would love this!” burst unbidden into my brain…and I can smile as I visualize his face and crooked grin. 

Toss-ups…there are many…which given my moods can be viewed as either a win or a loss. 

Toss-up:  my career.  I passionately LOVE what I do.  To create pride of ownership and desire, to connect moments in a life, to educate, to celebrate joy…that is what I do on a daily basis.  To match to each client… the right treasure…the perfect jewel… for their moments…for their reasons.  The problem is… decisions have to be made…I have enough regrets in my life…I do not want to sacrifice my avocation.

Toss-up:  I am NOT a good house keeper!  I would rather clean grease traps in diners than clean house.  So I do the minimum.  Note…no dropping by Kimberley’s!  But I will meet you anywhere with coffee and a hug!

Wins, thankfully are numerous this past year!

Win:  I had a major health scare…it started with a simple phone call on a Thursday in October.  My doctor called.  She requested an appointment…I having known her 20 years…said “tell me!’  “Kim…I am so sorry…you have cancer.”  I forgot how to breathe.  Surgery followed 5 days later…after I tried to negotiate putting it off until January…sanity had temporarily deserted me.  Thankfully, I have good friends and a loving family that held me up and sent prayers to God.  (And believe me, I was praying too!)

I woke up with my doctor next to me…I remember her smiling…it was contained and the sentinel biopsies were clear.  Thank you, God!  All checkups since have been good… a true win.

Win:  hand in hand with the above…I was diagnosed with severe sleep apnea.  Apparently during surgery…they had a hard time keeping me breathing.  The “sleep” doctor met with me in the hospital…and in no uncertain terms told me exactly how my life expectancy was decreasing each day.  With my weird sense of humor…all I thought was “Funny…isn’t that expected?  Life is terminal.”  He wasn’t amused. So now I am masked like Zorro!

Win:  I have started blogging.  Well…better late than…later.  It is random…often sporadic (can they be used together?)…semi foodie…but as I see it.  I am at Blogspot.com … http://open-faced-sandwich.blogspot.com  come visit once in a while! If curious to see my thoughts…follow me. 

Win:  (at least I think so).  Relationships…lack of or otherwise.  Some days yes…some days…no.  Those who have known me since college…you were all witness to the devastation of my ended relationship with Andrew.  And the years that followed were shackled by doubts as to “what happened” and “what did I do wrong?”  So, I protected myself with a siege wall…that I never let any one through.  Well, God smacked me upside the head this year!  And His tool was…wait for it…the INTERNET!  I had been aware for some time that a person with a weird email had been searching for me and my postings…so I back-trailed.  It was Andrew.  And from his posting…I realized that I had very little to do with how the relationship ended or even why it ended.  Enough said.  So yes…relationships are possible…but not the only thing to be desired.  So…hopefully you can see the humor in the following blog:

“Attracting the Wrong Attention....Again.

I don't often laze in the swing...however, sun was inducing somnolence...waiting for city water guy...when I realized I was being watched. Cute dark eyes (intent), silver gray hair (a bit messy), and conservatively dressed, plus moving well under his own power.  Hmmmm. The possibilities...

If only it wasn't a SQUIRREL! He was under my apple tree checking out the windfalls, running his little paws over each one searching for the PERFECT apple to squirrel away! (No chance I'd miss that one!) Apparently I was in his territory...and his scolding chatter was deafening!    "Leave! Leave!", "MINE!  ALL MINE!", "First here! I get!", and "Go Away!  I need ALL!"

Oh, well...at least he's a better possibility than the guy in the aisle at Byerly's.”

And that’s the truth of my life...humor.  A gift from God…to be found in the “dailies” of life…it can be cynical…subtle…dry…spontaneous…mercurial…quiet…bubbling…”in your face”…random. 

May the year of 2011 bring you joy and humor.  May there be joy amongst the tears…and humor God-gifted to you daily.



Kimberley

Brussels Sprouts...Woot...Woot!

I have always been challenged by the little green cabbage heads...Brussels Sprouts that is!  How to make them tasty, succulent, and crave worthy.  Well...bring on the celebration....I have achieved "Brussels Sprout Nirvana!"

I took the following recipe to my family Thanksgiving celebration...a little worried...a tough audience...given my relations' cooking skills.  My cousin's husband owns the titles for "Turkey...Not Your Mother's Bird," and "Classic Stuffing," my brother is king of "American Traditional Desserts with a Twist," and my sister rules for "Recipes Remade to Be Healthy and Still Taste Great."  I have held the titles of "Best Salad,"and "American Regional Dessert." (My artfully arranged and carefully selected cheeses with savory nibbles apparently don"t count since I do not MAKE the cheese!  Pah.)  The senior generation still holds several crowns...having grudgingly surrendered others.  A tough crowd to impress...

Here's the grocery list:

3 to 4 lbs Brussels sprouts, rinsed and cut in half through stem
1 lb mushrooms, chanterelles, cremini or oyster, cut into large rough pieces
2 shallots, sliced very thinly
4 oz. pine nuts
1/2 cup chicken broth
1 cup heavy cream
olive oil....please use the good stuff!
sea salt

Heat oven to 450 degrees.

Put Brussels sprouts on large rimmed sheet...drizzle about 3 to 4 Tbsp olive oil over and toss to coat.  Sprinkle with sea salt.  Bake in oven for 10 minutes...stir sprouts...bake another 10 to 12 minutes.  Remove from oven.

While cooking the Brussels sprouts...prepare the mushrooms.  In a large skillet over med high heat...place 2 Tbsp olive oil to coat pan.  Add mushrooms and let them brown...stirring occasionally.  They will get juicy...you want to slowly cook the juices away.  Remove from pan after about 6 to 8 minutes.  Wipe out pan.

Put 2 to 3 Tbsp of olive oil in the pan...add the thinly sliced shallots and the pine nuts.  Saute until onions are limp and the nuts golden.  Pour in the chicken broth and cook until liquid reduced by half.  Add the sprouts and mushrooms and stir to mix.  Pour the cream over the top, turn the heat down to medium low and gently cook until thickened...stir often...about 4 to 5 minutes.  Season with a little more sea salt.

I served in a large enameled Dru pan that I pre-warmed in the oven to keep everything nice and hot on the buffet.

I nervously eyed the table...strong competition...a cold wild rice, squash and dried cherry dish, acorn squash with kale and pecans...a corn souffle with mushrooms, red peppers and olives...a pear, pecan, blue cheese and endive salad.  Yup.  The veggies were a tough crowd.  The mashed potatoes and marshmallow sweet potatoes did NOT count!

The younger group bypassed my dish...noooooo...but they skipped over most of the vegetables except the mashed potatoes and gravy.  The semi-pro judges were next.  "Eh...whose dish is the yellow cast iron one?  What's in it?"  When I told them it was Brussels Sprouts...it was scrutinized with narrowed eyes.  But they were taking a spoonful.  OK...so far.  Last came the real cooks...my cousin and her husband...my brother and sister...

They all hesitated...looking at the table's bounty.  And started spooning from each offering (a rule...in order to vote...you must try every dish...unless sadly...deadly allergic!) My cousin and I were last in line...when...

...two of the seniors came back at the table sheepishly putting their plates out "for a bit more of that Brussels Sprout stuff."  A third came up with his wife's plate (who could tell?), with the same intentions.  I looked down at the table...my dish was EMPTY except for a stray mushroom, some leaves and a puddle of cream!  And that was disappearing rapidly since my cousin was sopping it up with a slice of bread.  She mumbled something about "sampling it" when it was warming.  My dish was clean!  A slam-dunk title for me!!!!!

Good thing I had (like all good chefs) sampled my recipe before putting on the table.  Yup. A winner.  But maybe I'll tweak on it for next year with a bit of added Gruyere!

No sense in resting on my newly won laurels until next year...the family reunion is in July.  Just the thought of the picnic has me thinking about a blue cornmeal cornbread recipe.  Wonder how my farm relatives feel about smoked chilis?  And could I make a poundcake that tastes like peach melba!?  With fresh raspberries on the side?

I'll keep you posted...of course!

Slip Sliding Away...Doesn't Even Begin to Describe the Day

Mother Nature, along with Boreas Rex and Jack Frost, decided to lavish my lovely Minnesota with 1/2 inch of clear ice, freezing rain, and 28 degrees late last night and into this morning.  And then after all their labor...I believe they sat back to watch us mere mortals cope with the gift!

I listened in the dark to the rare car slowly creeping through the intersection outside my snug little house.  Big or little, no one was going anywhere fast!  One small bug tried to start from the stop sign and just spun in a circle...like a dog chasing its tail.  A couple of vehicles thought my sidewalk was a good alternative to the street...a decision made after the fact!  But, surprisingly not a single fender-bender to be heard.  (At least in my corner of the world.  TV showed a far different outcome in other areas of town.)

Morning came...very quiet...I couldn't see any traffic from my windows.  It being Sunday...I don't have to be anywhere early...and having a dog with pleading eyes...I did the only thing a Jeep owner could.  I decided to go to the park and walk my boy.  Yup...officially crazy...I just didn't know it yet.

My first step, if you could call it that, was a wild ride.  The leading boot tentatively touched the top step and  felt secure, so I stepped out.  I remember clutching the screen door and being suddenly 3 steps lower than where I started.  Whoa.  My dog, with his built in traction control, fared no better. I grabbed whatever I could when I saw him skid past me...trying to 1. slow him down, 2. keep him upright, and 3. prevent him from crashing into my big planter.  Sorry about your tail, Watson.

I did the "Minnesota Shuffle"down the sidewalk...never lifting my feet...just pushing one forward, anchoring it, and scarily moving the other foot.  All the while, constantly checking my inner balance.  "Full Alert!"  "Danger! Danger!"

The Jeep was covered in a complete sheet...that should have been my second sign of bad idea!  But being a native-born Minnesotan...I carefully slid in and defrosted, well 10 minutes later, the windows.  Pulling out of my level driveway, I planned on turning left.  Planned.  The roadway and the Jeep decided the opposing snowbank was the true destination.  Sigh...did I mention that I am stubborn?  By gad, I wanted to go to the park...and was going to do just that.

Going straight wasn't bad...until I hit the top of the steep hill past the middle school.  Wheeeeeee...I think I felt what it was like to be a bob sledder!  A novice bob sledder in the middle of a big PANIC!  Thankfully, no traffic coming towards me...since the Jeep seemingly couldn't decide which side of the street was better.

By crawling at a sedate 10 miles per hour...we made the park...my fingers in a death grip on the wheel...and Watson's eyes the size of the proverbial saucers.

I parked by the trees, thinking the ice wouldn't be quite as bad as in the open areas.  Sounded feasible.  Actually was true for 15 to 20 steps.  But only....

The play by play was ugly:

"This aging competitor bravely steps out...a clean start...her confidence grows.  Oh no!  Can't believe what we just saw!  Thompson threw in a crossover that isn't in her program...her leading foot lifted...she propelled herself forward grabbing a sapling...kicking her back foot out too late...Ouch.  That was a landing she'll not forget for a long time...and the sapling needs a moment of silent remembrance!"

Personally, I was thinking it must have looked like a bizarre DWTS dance step...a devilish dervish with an extended arm position followed by a partner-less dip!  Well not quite, the sapling did give partnership its all.

Thank God...I don't think there were any witnesses!! 

However, I laid there for several breaths...until Watson's nose hovered over my face...anxiously "huffing" to check me out.  Yah...I saved his butt earlier...he didn't return the favor...thanks, Pupper.

The lessons offered by the school of hard knocks finally sink in...I was going home to hunker down and wait the weather out...but first, I had to get back to the Jeep.  The knees of my jeans will never be the same...but I have a new appreciation what the snow covered ground looks like from the height of a crawling middle aged woman.

I didn't even stop for coffee ...can't tempt Mother Nature and her minions too many times.  But I'll bet they had a good howler over my antics...probably even had a twinge of sympathy for me...but I'd place no bets.

Long Johns...Disappointed at the Pastry Case

Long Johns are just not what I remember.  

Well, to clarify, neither type of “Long Johns” that I recall (one with fondness, one not.) vaguely resemble my cherished memories.  One disappoints, one happily exceeds.  (Think heavy itchy wet wool...vs. today's light weight miracle fabrics.)

My memories of “Long Johns” always centers around the bakery shop (not shoppe!) on Main Street in Appleton, MN.  If my grandmother was too busy with her gardening, chickens, Sunday School lessons, harvest/ planting, washing, ironing, mending, canning, rendering, butchering,  or she had a houseful of family…she would go to the bakery (after grocery shopping) to pick up some “sweets” for the table.  She made breakfast, mid morning coffee, lunch, mid afternoon coffee, and supper every day of her life.  The only differences came in the amount of food she prepared, which depended on 2 things:  the number of people she was feeding and the weather.  Cold weather, more food.  Warm weather, less food.  No one went away hungry…or ill prepared to return to the fields.   

So, on these occasions, we were allowed to visit the BAKERY and help (?) select.  And if we were very good and helpful, we could choose our very own goodie to have later! 

A huge, sparkling glass window beckoned us…like a hypnotic eye…to peer in and see the gleaming glass cases filled with baked goods.  There was a wide, old fashioned screen door you pulled to open…and as a child I never remembered in my excitement...to “catch” the door so it did not slam.  And when you left, the screen door had a fancy metal and enamel embossed “Thank You” plate where you pushed.  All the cases inside were clear glass…several with fingerprints made while “pointing” out the exact sweet selected.

The fancy items, wedding and birthday cakes, were closest to the window, like beautiful sirens, tempting one to enter.  Then multitudes of cookies and bars, marching like soldiers in perfect formation on the flat trays, followed by doughnuts (not donuts),  other fried goods and sweet rolls.  Crullers, cake (plain or glazed), raised (we called them Polish and they were always glazed), chocolate with frosting and sprinkles, spiced with cinnamon/sugar dusting, bismarks with assorted fillings of cream, custard, jam or jelly, fried cinnamon rolls and frosted Long Johns were present on a daily basis.  (Sometimes the baker got creative and made PUMPKIN doughnuts with coconut frosting.) 

Breads and rolls were across the far end; the bread orderly on the wall with signs as to their genre.  Rolls were in the low case:  parker house, split tops, clover-leafs, horns, hamburger and current.  Seasonal specialties were reserved for the front window:  stolen, lebkucken, peppernuts, divinity, spritz, date bread, sour cream sugar cookies, Russian Tea cakes, etc.  A show piece wedding cake took majestic center stage…drawing admiration for the lifelike quality of the flowers cascading down…and the height it achieved.

Long Johns then:  magical, guaranteed to make your mouth water and the car ride home endless.  A golden brown outside protected the yeasty sweetness inside.  Real maple frosting…still glossy from being swirled on by the baker’s knife covered the top.  And freshly chopped, crunchy peanuts packed the top…melding into the frosting’s sweetness…delivering a sweet and salty morsel in each bite.   

The pastry Long John of 2010 is a tasteless rectangle of oily cardboard with beige frosting (it tastes BEIGE too!), and crumbles of peanuts resembling floor sweepings.  Not the tender pastry that I lusted for as a child.  Today’s version of a maple frosted Long John with peanuts is greasy, doughy and under done.  A commercial frosting overloaded with “maple” flavoring tastes as if made in a chemical lab.  And the peanut topping?...usually not crisp…at worst, rancid.  Even if the bakery is a “good” one.

So, in this case, you can’t go home again.  But a girl can dream…..

Cheese....Glorious Cheese!

Serious and funny thoughts about cheese....

There's nothing quite like a piece of cheese
to nibble upon for pleasure and ease.
No matter the time or state of mind
greater joy than cheese you'll never find.
Served on a cracker or a soft piece of bread
a morceau de fromage will please your head.
Roquefort, camembert, brie or blue
served with fruit or in fondue
God gave us cheese- a bit of heaven on earth
to lift our burdens, providing sweet mirth.
And after all our daily work is done
we enjoy simple cheese just for fun.
But remember the ancient custom of the house
leave behind a kernel for the nocturnal mouse.

C Jim Sitterly

Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese -- toasted, mostly.  Robert Louis Stevenson

Cheese! Why won't it stop flirting with me?  Joss Whedon

                ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My favorite contribution to the Thanksgiving table is cheese...I plot and plan which marvelous varieties will be displayed on the board...which morsels deserve to be added...what condiments will reside in my antique cut glass...do I include a homemade pate' or not?  It goes without saying that I will have 2 types of crackers and a bread tucked cosily into a basket.

So as I am pondering this year's tantalizing board...I thought to share a very small bit of the relationship between cheese and me!

My wonderful niece belongs to a "Cheese Society" at her college.  After each meeting she posts her comments and ratings of the cheeses.  The following is a response of mine to one of her posts.

"Which Iowa Bleu? Maytag is the stalwart go-to bleu. There is about 7 or 8 cheese makers in Iowa that produce a bleu. I personally like Golden Ridge's (an Amish coop) Schwarz und Weiss (literally Black and White) a wonderful, full-flavored snappy tangy bleu. But I also love St Pete's Bleu from good old Faribault, MN. A must try with garden tomatoes, crisp bacon crumbles and diced red onion as a chop-chop salad. (of course, you can throw some green leafy stuff in there too!) Oh, and I can't forget Rogue Creamery's Bleu. Hmmmmm.

St Andre Triple Creme Brie...I have served that often enough to you at family events. Can't go wrong there...any cheese that has pure thick cream stirred in during the aging process has to be good! Any of Uncle Mark's jams with this on a baguette makes the world's BEST breakfast!  (Of course with a steaming cup of coffee from the French press!)

Tasmanian Heritage Camembert ... frankly not a typical fan of Camembert since it often served too aged and runny for me. Too young is chalky and not pleasant. A middle aged is okay. Rather earthy or mushroomy on the palate ... not bad. But needs strong foods to stand with it...balsamic marinated baby onions and Smithfield ham slivers on warm biscuits.  Or a great salami with cornichons on a baguette.

Try Cowgirl Creamery's Mt Tam or Red Hawk. They are worth the money ... just be sure they are not too ripe as they taste ammoniated. (A very ghastly taste on the tongue...not to mention the ensuing paralysis to the nostrils!)"
   
                 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For this Thanksgiving, I am leaning towards:

French Aged Mimolette - broken into shards
Neal's Yard Berkswell - rich, sweet and nutty
Shepherds Way Big Woods Blue - complex, open textured
Donnay Dairy Chevre - mounded with drizzled single source honey and sprinkled chopped pistachios
Cowgirl Mt. Tam
Cave Aged Gruyere - cubed
St Andre Brie - soooooo rich and creamy

Well, at least that is the plan for now.  I still have 3 days before the decision!

Moscow on the Hill...the Gem of Selby and Western.

Wow...wow...wow.  A marvelous leisurely dinner at Moscow on the Hill in St Paul with good friends...again.  Russian food...both peasant and royal...served attentively and warmly. Personally...Moscow ranks as one of my top 5 favorite restaurants in the Twin Cities.  And yet...it consistently is ignored by MSP Mag and the Strib critics. Are they such snobs that they think the only "great" kitchen has a chef with a "name?"

Grab a group of friends...pick those who LIKE to converse and talk while leisurely dining...not those in a marathon to be out the door in 1/2 an hour...pick those who LIKE to share...and go to Moscow.  Enjoy a true Russian meal...

We started the evening as the Russians do...hot and cold appetisers to awaken your appetite.

Assorted savory platter to start (chef changes it daily):  A mounded beet salad perfectly tops a piece of their dark bread.  Chicken liver pate...here I have to take my friends' description..."luxuriously silken on the tongue."  Crisp/crunchy sweet pickles.  Russian style herring (not Grandma's chewy stuff from the jar!) melts in your mouth.  Chicken blini filled with chopped braised chicken, herbs and a tart cheese topped by a sour cream that is reminiscent of creme fraiche, not Old Home.  Pickled vegetables were unusual...piquant, sweet and refreshing.  And of course we have to order a separate side of my favorite, Mushrooms Julienne (rich and creamy, herby with plenteous bubbly cheese) on the side.  And the basket of bread slices to soak up all the juices!

I had Chicken Kolobok...tender breast of chicken stuffed with wild rice, fruits and nuts. The size of a softball ... skin crispy and brown...glazed by a sauce of fruit, honey and herbs (do I taste figs?)... enough to sop each tender morsel of chicken.  Roasted veggies.

I was treated to a couple bites of Beef Stroganoff...and after my girl friend's husband saw my covetous glaze...he slowly slid his plate away from my reach!  Really...I did contemplate a fork war with him...the stroganoff was that GOOD.  Generous strips of tender, simmered beef, rich mushroom gravy/sauce on wide noodles.  Tangy sour cream and herbs dressed the serving...which WAS big enough to share!

Dessert was the homemade chocolate truffles...sigh. Two, each the size of a large marshmallow, on a Belgian chocolate drizzled and dusted plate...I can't do them justice!

Okay, I am going to try to describe the truffles.  The merest molecule ... once in your mouth ... has EVERY taste bud screaming and fighting to experience all the truffle they can.  They are rich, calorie laden ... and I DO NOT CARE!  The density is incredible, not waxen, slow to melt, pure Belgian chocolate.  You have to fight yourself to eat slowly, wanting to inhale greedily, yet desiring the moment to last!  What is a girl to do?

And for a leisurely end...piping hot Russian style tea served in glasses with holders and a bowl of homemade jam.  You take a small bit of jam in the bowl of your spoon...lower it into the steaming tea...let it melt...scoop up a little tea with the now melted jam...bring to your lips and slurp! 

Moscow on the Hill...honest Russian food to share...good friends to enjoy...it doesn't get better.

Na Zdorovie!

Note to Self...Do Not Break Personal Foodie Rules...With Good Reason!

When I started this blog, my sister asked me if, when I reviewed restaurants, would I "talk about the bad as well as the good?"  I think the following answers that question. 

It's a sad, but true tale I have to relate to my foodie friends...I broke my cardinal rule...I bought takeout at place I'd never been before...and I paid the price. I was rushing home to my pup...who had been alone all day...so I thought "Hmmmm, I've seen a busy parking lot at Asia (on Central in Columbia Hgts) several times. How bad can it be?" All those cars can't be wrong! 

Where do I start?

Limp, grease sodden, more cabbage than the stated "pork and shrimp" egg roll...think akin to generic canned dog food! Cream cheese puffs...chewy, tepid and blah at best...gummy, old oil tasting at worst. And the Sweet & Sour Pork...pork, pah! Mystery meat.  Army C rations would be preferable.  The sauce (?) had pale pink lumps masquerading as tomatoes...bullet-like green peppers and 3 canned pineapple bits in neon pink paste. Yum.

The pork fried rice was the color of scorched earth after a fire...randomly deep brown with unknown additions. Shudder. I'm not guessing. The compost pile will have a workout the next few days. So, I've learned my lesson. And hopefully saved my friends! At ALL cost...avoid "Asia" on Central. You have been warned!

Note:  Asia's parking lot is still busy on a regular basis when I drive by.  I'm beginning to think it is over-flow lot for Walgreens across the street.  That many people cannot be willingly eating (?) at Asia...really.

Veterans Day 2010...Remembrance

Normally, this was a day on the calendar I would barely be aware if not for the papers telling me what is open/closed...and if the downtown meters are free.

Veteran's Day...my Dad was a vet...as were most of his brothers...but not much was ever talked about regarding their service.  My uncle Don Gaard, a pilot in WWII who was shot down over Russia and spent time in a prison camp...again, it was not discussed in the family.  But I never really thought about what Veteran's Day meant...until today.

Marvin Guy Smith was buried today...the US flag draped over the bronzed coffin...his faded WWII uniform and hat honored in the front of the country church.  Photos in the hall showed a proud young man in a sharply creased uniform posed in front of an American flag; a tired, suddenly aged man at an un-named location in the Pacific theater; a somber world weary man in uniform with his radiant bride by his side; and finally a photo of a group of elderly gents at the American Legion.  Most outfitted by Fleet Farm:  khakis, plaid shirts and windbreakers...but all holding themselves at formation...canes, walkers and wheelchairs not withstanding.

Marvin Guy Smith joined the Army in 1939...spent 5 1/2 years in with 4 years in the Pacific.  He was a "cookie"...the guy who tried his best to keep the weary and hungry GI's fed...in crappy, dangerous conditions...with supplies that barely resembled food...and it was the proudest time in his life because he was serving "His Country".

Marvin Guy Smith was 93; my Mother's last remaining Uncle.  The last of 12 siblings.  My last connection to the generation whose parents were born in the late 1880's.  My last link to the pioneering lineage that settled in Fairfield Township, MN in the early 1870's.   A carpenter and farmer who was married for 60 years to "Lady Lucille", and had 2 girls and 3 grandchildren that were the light of his life.  A man who loved his 1952 John Deere "B" tractor and was given the precious gift of spending his remaining days on his beloved land.  And yet, he defined himself as a "Veteran".

Marvin Guy Smith was the uncle who told stories...and stories...and stories.  His memory was infallible...every detail...past news...current news...local...world.  The forgivable fault of Marvin's (in his late years) was that the stories looped over and over, wrapping the listener.  My much more grievous fault...I did not actively listen with my heart to the man behind the stories...his pride...his faith ...his patriotism.

Marvin Guy Smith was buried today...Veterans Day.  A day set aside by our government to honor those who have served their country.  "Served" as in stood up, said "here I am" and did the job to the best of one's ability...not as in "just doing the time," and the attitude of "I'm here...but don't expect much."  Served as in willingly defending your country, served as in doing your duty even under the most terrifying of situations, served as in the awareness that one could lose a life serving country.  And did it anyway.

Today's military personnel...thank you.

Marvin Guy Smith...THANK YOU.

Food Memories...or How I Felt 12 Again!

This review was from 6 months ago...but the pizza stays memorable!  And it is still true...I feel like I am 12 again and waiting for a molten slice of pizza from Mom's oven each and every time I walk into Village Pizza.  Gotta love those food memories! 

Enjoy this brief review...(hey when it's right...it doesn't need to be long!)

Honestly...last night I had one of the best pizzas...not at "HOT" spot touted by Andrew or MSP Mag!  But at a simple Mom/Pop on 7th Ave E in N St Paul, called Village Pizza.  It looks like a small town joint from 40 years ago...linoleum floors and formica booths...mis-matched metal chairs with naugahyde...and a decidedly casual ordering system.  Someone might come out and inquire as to what you'd like...but you'll get your pizza quicker if you go to the tiny counter in the back and order.  (I always take advantage here to order mine "crispy"!) 

But WOW! The "special" large was perfection. Crunchy, toasty, hand formed crust, bubbling molten normal cheese in strands that burn your lips, spicy sweet bites of sausage and a perfect smear of red sauce. MMMMM. That and a frothy sweet root beer made me feel 12 again!

Snow Cankles....Who Knew!

Who knew that dogs could get cankles?  Well, to be accurate...SNOW cankles.  Not me.  But apparently, as my dog Watson experienced this morning in the first snow (and it's a blizzard too!) of the season, they can.  And like pantyhose cankles, they are not attractive.  Think white bloomers...

Unfortunately they are also a bit more of a bother to make go away.  No tugging at thin nylon to smooth out.  The poor pupper repeatedly flopped down and worked the snow boulders out of the hair on each leg using his teeth.  He'd tug and tease each one, flinging the hair encrusted snowball to the side before going after the next.  Made for many stops and starts to our walk this morning.

However, all was not bad.  The stops and starts caused the 2 of us to slow down...Watson to de-cankle...and me to breathe in the glory of the woods this morning.

The deep silence magnified every moan of the weighted branches as they stretched down to the earth.  Released by the insistent wind...they sprang up from their burdens...dropping snow making soft thuds onto the blanketed ground below. 

I could hear the chickadees and juncos chittering and twee-tweeting under the shelter of bowed grasses.  If I walked too close to the sheltering weeds...they exploded out...flying to the nearest branch...and immediately began to scold me for disturbing them.

Lovely heavy wet flakes were blowing sideways...sticking burr-like to the first obstacle encountered.  The fence posts each wore a jaunty cap...several qualified as raffish!  And the rough tree barks were smoothed even like an application of makeup.  Except they were far more stunning...Au natural.

I heard each footfall I took...my steps sounded like I was making snowballs.  Packing the snow firm and hard...silent evidence to be left that Watson and I had passed through.

So...despite dog cankles and all...I am grateful for His reminder to slow down...breathe...and give thanks for each gift a day brings.  Especially when gift wrapped in glittery, fragile beauty.

Soup's On!

Soups are a particular favorite of mine:...easy to make...rich tasting...stretchable!...and simple to alter.  They also have that immense comfort factor...the tantalizing tease of what's for dinner when you walk in the house...the sense of well-being as your warm hands wrap around the bowl....the curl of fragrant steam from your spoon.  So I pass on a special winter recipe to you...one I made for my late father...at the little bungalow up north.

My description and recipe follows:

The Vidalias are sliced parchment thin and slowly carmelizing in butter...the Stilton is crumbled...the beef stock is ready...the parmesan rinds are waiting...2 sprigs of thyme...a bit of real apple cider and a bit more of butter for the stock pot....VOILA! Just an hour away from homemade French Onion soup! With melty, bubbling Gruyere cheese on... garlicky big croutons! I'm saying yummy already!

The Soup Recipe
4 Vidalias sliced thin and separated
1/2 stick butter
3 to 4 quarts good beef stock (depending if you like brothy or substance)
4 Parmesan rinds, from your local cheese shop
2 generous sprigs thyme, rinsed
4 ounces Stilton cheese, crumbled
1 to 2 cups real apple cider
2 cups shredded Gruyere

The Crouton Recipe
1 french narrow baguette, sliced lengthwise.
3 T of good olive oil with 1 clove of smashed garlic in it
2 cups shredded Gruyere

In a large stock pot, slowly carmelize the onions in the butter.  (At this point, I usually stop and make the croutons.)  Once carmelized (about 20 minutes),  add the stock, the rinds and the thyme.  Heat to a bare simmer uncovered for 20 minutes; then stir in the crumbled Stilton, smashing any bigger pieces against the side of the pot.  Pour in the apple juice.  Reduce heat until ready to serve.

For the croutons:  split baguette lengthwise, and toast cut side up under broiler until lightly toasted.  Remove from oven and brush tops with garlicky olive oil.  Evenly place shredded Gruyere on top of each long half.  Gently press on cheese to adhere.  Cut each half into 4 inch section, place on broiler pan and put back under broiler to gently melt. No need to brown during this step.

To assemble, Pick out and discard parmesan rinds and sprigs of thyme!  Then put hot soup in oven proof bowls; equally dividing the onions.  Don't worry if you seem to have too much broth to use...see below.  Set crouton on top each bowl and top with the remaining shredded Gruyere.  Pop in the broiler until the cheese bubbles and browns.  Remove carefully from oven....very hot.  Serve and enjoy! 

And if you ever have extra of this soup....either freeze as is or puree and freeze.  I freeze my puree in small snack bags...about a 1/2 cup or so in each.  Add to any gravy...it will raise it to the sublime!

Enjoy.

Meet My New Hero...Zorro.

It is rather ironic that I talk about random streams of conciousness....since according to the sleep specialists I am nearer to dead than conscious when I am sleeping. 

I was motivated by my Dr. to attend a sleep clinic last night....I thought sure, "why not?"  I have always slept soundly...and can "pop" off to sleep just about anywhere....much to the dismay of my traveling companions.  (well, part of their justified dismay was also do the fact that when I "pop", I snore!)  So, I blithely drove up to the clinic last night...fully expecting to amaze them with my "ability" to sleep. 

Well...it takes 1.5 HOURS to "wire" (meaning GLUE to!) my body:  hair, face, neck, heart, and legs.  All of which includes 3 straps around your torso, a pulse reader on your index finger, and 2 little fixtures in my nose.  Added up, that pretty much guarantees that I will not sleep...worrying about:  1. pulling out any of the little wires, 2. strangling myself, 3. the nose thingys that shift and prod as you try to get comfortable on the "pillow rocks" that are supplied, and 4. the full awareness that not only I am I being video'd....there is a person watching me all night!!!  And she can hear me...how embarrassing.  Just glad I didn't eat beans for supper.. :)

After flopping around the bed for about 3 hours....the tech came in and said "We have decided to put an CPAP mask on you to help you sleep."  Okay....one more thing strapped to my body...but she took out the 2 little nose thingys!  Wheee. 

Fortunately, she had fitted me for the mask before I went to sleep....so it was just a matter of tightening it on.  Yup.  I am now cinched up like a B rated movie's Freddy Krueger!

The machine is rather hypnotic...think "snake", "basket", "flute", and gentle whispers of "You are growing sleepy.  Very sleepy."  The next thing I knew, it was morning and I had survived!

I thought I had "done" (it is not a test in that sense of the word, girl!) well.  I prepared to tell the therapist that I only slept poorly because of the wires, glues, straps, nose thingys, rock pillows, etc..  In my cocoon at home...I am a first class sleeper!

The first words out of her mouth stopped me.  "You stop breathing, on average, 71 times a hour."  No exclamation points, no drama.  Just precise, matter of fact words slapped on the table.  "Stop breathing" as in one step closer to the angels.  "Stop breathing" as in white light/long tunnel.  "Stop breathing" as in gone from this world.  Wow....not much argument left there.

She walked me through the read-out..I saw where my throat collapsed, my heart rate plummeted, my oxygen dropped below 75% saturation, and where my lungs and heart spasmed from the frantic brain messages "Breathe! Breathe!"  I could not imagine my heart and brain going through this once, much less 71 times an hour.  Gulp.

The read-out also showed the severity of my unconscious distress when the tech decided to wake me up and "mask" me.  I immediately fell into Stage 3 sleep and then into a long period of REM.  Which is the most restful and rejunvenating sleep...the kind I evidently never achieve.  Hmmm...perhaps I have been missing out on all that beauty sleep!  Could explain much :)

So, I am now "masked."  Hence my CPAP headgear has been dubbed "Zorro."  A life saver that does its heroics under the cover of darkness.

There just remains 2 thoughts:  "How am I going to get my poor timid dog used to the machine," (since he runs from the electric toothbrush)....and "Well, one more nail in the relationship coffin." 

Go figure...there is humor in it somewhere.

Attracting the Wrong Attention....Again.

I don't often laze in the swing...however, sun was inducing somnolence...waiting for city water guy...when I realized I was being watched. Cute dark eyes (intent), silver gray hair (a bit messy), conservatively dressed, moving well under his own power.  Hmmmm. The possibilities...

If only it wasn't a SQUIRREL! He was under my apple tree checking out the windfalls, running his little paws over each one searching for the PERFECT apple to squirrel away! (No chance I'd miss that one!) Apparently I was in his territory...and his scolding chatter was deafening!    "Leave! Leave!", "These are MINE!", "First here! I get!", and "Go Away!  I need ALL!"

Oh, well...at least he's a better possibility than the guy in the aisle at Byerly's.

A Random...Yet Plaguing...Question for the Universe.

What is it about elderly drivers in ginormous old cars the color of sun-baked putty, and the inability to drive in one lane or the other!?! Nooooooooo....they straddle the middle of the road, steering their barges S...L...O...W...L...Y down the road, creeping up to every corner to accelerate to the next.  And I am ALWAYS the person caught behind them! 

Bar La Grassa...reservations are necessary...for good reason!

I wrote the following review early last spring after a wonderful evening with friends at Bar La Grassa.  I have since returned several times...mostly with great joy and satisfied expectations.  Please go and experience for yourself...

Bar La Grassa...go. GO NOW...but select carefully. The Pappardelle with Veal Ragu was divine. Fresh noodles softly tumbled like heavy satin hair ribbons with a glazing of sauce hugging their wide shoulders. Veal, tender and succulent, reaches for your fork! No wonder pappardelle means "to gobble up!" Braised kale......my favorite winter vegetable...al dente...tossed with crisplets of meat and crumbles of ricotta!

La Grassa has Bagna Cauda! A peasant's dish of cauliflower, sliced in slabs, bathed in a redolent mixture of hot olive oil, garlic cloves & salt dried anchovy filets (at least that is how I know it). Then finished in a hot oven until smoky and golden! Someone was channeling Craig Claiborne from the 1960's! I am ecstatic to have a chef in this town who "gets" the simplicity and honesty of peasant food. Thank you.

The cons of Bar La Grassa....salt. The penne with shrimp was incredibly salty, as was the crab ravioli. Which was a pity since I'm sure the light sauces (minus the salt) would have been marvelous. Gratefully, the waitstaff kept the water glasses full.

I'm definitely keeping La Grassa on my recommend list...with just a few caveats. I plan on going back to try the Beet with Avocado and Citrus, and the Silk Handkerchiefs with Pesto! It goes with out saying the the Bagna Cauda will be on the table!

(An amusing aside, "La Grassa" means "the fat" in Italian...so Bar La Grassa means "The Fat Bar"!)

The Dakota...it is more than just great jazz

I have decided to start my blog with a few of my past restaurant reviews from my Facebook account that my friends found helpfully "tasty"! Hope you will enjoy the same experience.

We have a world-class chef in Jack Riebel at the Dakota Jazz. His menu intrigues, tempts and satisfies the soul. I had a beguiling dinner there last Thursday with a friend. I am normally rather loquacious ... his artistry deserves my silence ... broken by my mmmms. Jalapeno poppers, Walleye cakes, Caribbean Spiced Prime Rib of Pork and a heavenly Smoked Dark Chocolate Cake.

Jalapeno poppers...one thinks of breaded grease & slimy limp peppers stuffed with?? Well...Jack's are smoky, intense morsels roasted & stuffed with creamy Fontina, wrapped in crisps of Speck ham, drizzled with zippy chipolte cream in counterpoint to his perfectly fresh pico de gallo. The faint fire of the jalapeno plays a marvelous bottom note to the smoke of the ham & the tang of the sauces. Worth the trip alone!

Walleye cakes...I've had them elsewhere...and my first impulse was to avoid. But I decided to try...wished I had been eating at home so I could have cleaned the plate! 3 little cakes...not fishy...glossed with ancho chili tartar sauce and colorful tortilla slaw. Firm, not pasty. Jack handles fish with a deft and gentle touch! A little fire...big on taste!

Caribbean Spiced Prime Rib of Pork---WOW! Smoky, meaty pork served with a light black bean rice cake frosted by habenero banana salsa. (Highly addictive!) The plate is decorated by dabs of diabolo sauce around the edges; allowing the diner to pull in as much intesity as they desire. (This is a big serving...the guys should love it! No "why bother" small bites here!)

Finally...dessert. Smoked Dark Chocolate Cake. A dark, not sweet, intense cake with an interior more akin to a moist pudding. The cake has a fragrant froth/foam of Earl Grey and whipped cream along side. Crunchy, salty pecan praline bits beg to be eaten alone...but all together it is heaven on a fork! All floating on a port reduction. Thank you..thank you ... thank you. Head to the Dakota .... I highly recommend it.