Girl Detective

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing more than once and expecting different results, than I’m not sure why my husband G. Grod and I keep taking our son Drake out to restaurants. Amnesia? Hope? Insanity? The Convention Grill is one of the most kid-friendly restaurants on earth both in menu and atmosphere. It is an old-style grill that primarily serves burgers, fries, shakes/malts, and sundaes. Prices are reasonable, service is matter of fact, and quality is good. Yet even in such a place, our two-year-old Drake will not eat, will not sit still, and does not have the patience to last a few minutes, much less the time it takes for a meal to be ordered and consumed. Other parents assure me that this is normal and will pass, but it saddens me that Drake is so immune to the charms of eating out. I, however, am such a sucker that the temptation of a cheeseburger (american cheese, pickles, lettuce, mayo, mustard and ketchup), those fries (as long as they’re not underdone; I loathe a soggy fry), and a hot fudge sundae with bananas and whipped cream will every time cloud my judgment and make me believe that maybe, just maybe, this time Drake will be OK. He refused his burger and fries, though he mysteriously was able to hang out long enough to partake of the sundae.

In my continued attempt to dine out in these last few weeks before our second child arrives, I made plans with my friend Queenie at Bakery on Grand. Queenie likes duck, and Bakery on Grand was purported to do it well, so off we went.

We started with the pate appetizer. While very good, I might have preferred a warm appetizer on the cold, snowy night. She and I then split two duck entrees. The roast duck was savory in a pan sauce with asparagus and mashed potatoes. The crisped leg was rich and served over a confit and garnished with sausage. Uncharacteristically, I was going to pass on dessert, but Queenie ordered a poached pear in pastry with caramel sauce and warm cream, which I ate most of. It was just too good to abandon. And the duck leftovers made an outstanding lunch the next day.

My family was in town last week, and when I’m on my game as a hostess (which is not always the case during this rather challenging second pregnancy) one of my goals is to make sure my guests eat well of their favorite foods. With my sister, we went out for sushi to Origami. On a weeknight the restaurant wasn’t crowded. Service was attentive and thoughtful. In spite of varied advice on the safety of sushi during pregnancy, I wasn’t feeling brave enough to risk raw fish, so I ordered miso soup, the Encounter (a roll of cooked salmon, scallops, and veggies that is then tempura dipped; yum), a salmon skin roll and futo maki. Never let it be said that pregnant women can’t eat well at a sushi restaurant. My sister had three kinds of tuna, all of which were excellent, a Hawaiian fish special and the sockeye salmon nigiri. My husband had the Hide roll, tuna, yellowtail, and sockeye salmon nigiri. The food was delivered in a timely but not rushed manner, the presentation was beautiful, the amount of wasabi on the nigiri was just right, and the quality of the food and the fish was excellent. My husband and I used to live within walking distance of Origami. While it’s good for us to be farther away on our one-income, soon-to-be-two-kid family budget, I do miss it a lot, and this visit was a reminder of how lovely a restaurant it is.

My father likes to eat frog legs, so when he visited last week, I made plans for Cave Vin, at 55th and Xerxes in South Minneapolis. The restaurant wasn’t full, but a table of ten’s orders slowed the kitchen down quite a lot. Following the advice from this review, we focused on appetizers rather than entrees, and among my dad, my husband and I we tried the mussels, frogs’ legs, steak tartare, calamari, frites, the lamb entree, the beet salad and the spring greens salad. All appetizers were excellent. My dad was well pleased with the battered and sauteed frog legs, the bread and the frites were excellent, and there was plenty of good stuff to dip them in–the aioli from the frites, and the garlic butter with either the mussels or the frog legs. Dad and husband split a very nice, reasonably priced bottle of wine, and we were so full (and dinner took so long) that we skipped dessert. Our server was friendly and helpful, the lighting was low and the noise wasn’t high. Aside from the slow delivery of food, it was a very good experience.

On our way to see a movie last Saturday, my husband G. Grod and I were behind the last car to get into the parking garage. We stared in disbelief at the sign that now read “Full.” Our original plans were to see a twilight matinee, have dinner at an inexpensive restaurant, and be home early to relieve the babysitter. New plans involved a different parking lot (old reliable: the little lot between Hell’s Kitchen and the old location of Big Brain Comics on S. 10th Street–$5 at night and on weekends), eating at the bar in a more expensive restaurant, and a full-price movie at The Heights theater, which features live organ music prior to movie showings on Friday and Saturday evenings.

We got seats at the bar at Vincent as soon as it opened at 5:30 p.m. The tables in the bar area were all reserved, unsurprising on a Saturday in the holiday shopping season. G. Grod and I shared the appetizer of pan-seared scallops over braised leeks in orange sauce, the Vincent burger, which I’ve praised before, has been most eloquently described by award-winning local food critic Dara Moskowitz:

This burger–and at $11.75 I know you’re already skeptical, but trust me, it’s worth it–this burger is a miracle.

To make it, the chefs at Vincent first braise short ribs overnight in a complicated stew of tomatoes, tamarind, Worcestershire sauce, and lots more. (This is a recipe chef Vincent Francoual picked up when he cooked at former New York City super-important restaurant Lespinasse.) The chefs then pull these short ribs off the bone, make a little patty of that short rib meat, add some smoked gouda to that, build a sirloin burger around it, and then just grill the heck out of it till it tastes like it’s been outside on a fire, when it hasn’t.

This miracle burger then gets tucked into a light, eggy bun that is best described as some meeting point between brioche and a Kaiser roll, a roll further dressed with a thing the restaurant modestly calls French cocktail sauce–a mayonnaise gussied up with more kinds of secret ingredients, including sherry vinegar and minced cornichons. The Vincent burger comes with all the fancy-restaurant accompaniments you hope for: sliced tomatoes that taste like tomatoes, leaf lettuce, wisps of onion.

Every bite of this burger is rich, profoundly meaty, as full of flavor as a symphony is full of sound. Like any great dish, it conquers several dimensions: In terms of flavor, the roasty qualities of beef are accented by the sweetness of the bun and the cocktail sauce, while the salt and smoke of the cheese give meaning to the fresh and light of the toppings. In terms of texture, though, the burger is exceptionally accomplished: The soft and stringy texture of the short ribs plays off the melting texture of the cheese, which teases out the more muscular texture of the burger. You know, it’s not easy for a burger to remain fascinating through every bite, but this one is.

We finished with the chocolate-caramel tart, which was garnished with Earl Grey chocolate sauce, and accompanied by a coffee sabayon, an ethereal foam encased in a chocolate wafer cylinder. The server and we agreed that the sabayon was the best part, and worth saving for last.

Even though we split an appetizer, entree, and dessert, the check, along with parking, a full-price movie, and the babysitter, totalled more than we would have liked. Since our original plans were thwarted, though, I thought we did pretty well.

I travelled to visit family for the holidays for about 18 years. It took that long for me to realize that holiday travel is usually more expensive, and always more stressful, than travel at off-peak times. I enjoy visiting with family a lot more when it happens at my convenience, and not by the national calendar.

The past few years my husband G. Grod and I have sought out other friends who are also on their own in Minnesota. This year, we split the cooking and celebrated with our neighbors from down the street and their two boys. We ate at normal dinner time, allowing the two-year olds their naps. Best of all, when the two-year olds decided they were done at the table, they got down and played with each other, leaving the rest of us to enjoy the dinner.

No one felt strongly about having a turkey, and no one wanted to cook one, so instead I made a Dr. Pepper glazed ham. We also had mashed potatoes, a sweet potato casserole, corn pudding, spinach salad, pumpkin pie, and bittersweet chocolate mousse cake.

Alas, I forgot to take photos before we ate, and my attempts to photograph individual servings later just looked gross and weird, so a verbal description will have to do. Everything turned out well, but the corn pudding (from the latest issue of Cook’s Country), made with cheddar cheese, heavy cream and a hit of cayenne, was particularly nice. The six-year old pronounced the mousse cake “yummy, yummy, yummy”. I’d never made the recipe before (it’s from Cook’s Illustrated), and it involved separating eight eggs, then whipping the egg whites and folding them into chocolate, and baking the cake in a water bath. Folding egg whites has always intimidated me, but the recipe turned out well, and the chocolate was a nice complement to the pumpkin, since of course I had to have both desserts.

The ham not only allowed for leftovers for both families, but I used the scraps and the bone to make my first-ever split pea soup, which turned out nicely plus made for another few meals. This thanksgiving I was grateful for good food, and for friends to share it with. And for not having to leave my house.

Dr. Pepper Glazed Ham
from Cook’s Country, Dec/Jan 2006

1/2 c. Dr. Pepper
3/4 c. light brown sugar
2 Tbl. fresh orange juice
2 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 spiral-sliced, bone-in half ham, 7 to 10 lbs., pref. shank end

1. Bring Dr. Pepper, sugar, orange juice, and mustard to a boil in medium saucepan. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until mixture is syrupy and measures 3/4 cup, about 8 minutes. (Glaze can be refrigerated for up to 2 days; reheat when needed.)
2. Remove ham from packaging and discard plastic disk that covers bone. Place ham in plastic oven bag, tie bag shut, and trim excess plastic. Set ham cut side down in 13 by 9 inch baking disch and cut 4 slits in top of bag. Let stand at room temperature for 1 1/2 hours.
3. Adjust oven rack to lowest position and heat oven to 250 degrees F. Bake ham until center registers about 100 degress in instant-read thermometer, 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 hours, about 14 minutes per pound.
4. Remove ham from oven and roll back sides of bag to expose ham. Brush ham liberally with glaze and return to oven briefly until glaze becomes sticky, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven, brush entire ham again with glaze, loosely cover with foil, and let rest for 30 to 40 minutes before serving.

Savory Corn Pudding
from Cook’s Country, Dec/Jan 2006

1 Tbl. unsalted butter, softened for greasing casserole dish
6 c. frozen corn
1 1/2 c. heavy cream
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1 Tbl. sugar
1/4 tsp. cayenne
3 Tbl. chopped fresh basil

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 quart casserole dish with butter. Bring large kettle of water to boil for water bath. Bring 2 qts. water to boil in large saucepan for corn.
2. Add 1 Tbl. salt and corn to boiling water and cook for 1 minute. Drain in colander and dry with paper towels. Pulse 4 c. corn in food precessor until rough puree forms, about ten 1-second pulses. Transfer to large bowl and stir in remaining whole corn, 1 tsp. salt, cream, eggs, cheese, sugar, cayenne, and basil until combined.
3. Pour corn mixture into casserole and transfer dish to roasting pan. Pour boiling water from kettle into roasting pan until it comes halfway up sides of casserole dish. Place roasting pan in oven and bake until pudding is set and a few brown spots appear around edges, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove casserold from water bath, transfer to wire rack and let set for 5 to 10 minutes before serving.

To make ahead: Corn can be cooked, processed, and mixed with the whole corn, salt, cream, cheese, sugar and cayenne up to 2 days in advance. Refrigerate until ready, then stir in eggs and basil when ready to cook.

Bittersweet Chocolate Mousse Cake
from Cook’s Illustrated 11/2002

Because it is available in most supermarkets and has scored highly in past tastings, Hershey’s Special Dark is the chocolate of choice in this recipe. Other bittersweet chocolates will work, but because amounts of sugar and cocoa butter differ from brand to brand, they will produce cakes with slightly different textures and flavors. When crumbling the brown sugar to remove lumps, make sure that your fingers are clean and grease-free; any residual fat from butter or chocolate might hinder the whipping of the whites. If you like, dust the cake with confectioners’ sugar just before serving or top slices with a dollop of lightly sweetened whipped cream.

Makes one 9-inch cake, serving 12 to 16
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), cut into 12 pieces
1 teaspoon unsalted butter , softened, for greasing pan
unbleached all-purpose flour for dusting pan
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate (such as Hershey’s Special Dark), chopped
1 ounce unsweetened chocolate , chopped
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
8 large eggs , seperated
1/8 teaspoon table salt
2/3 cup packed light brown sugar (4 1/2 ounces), crumbled with fingers to remove lumps (see note)

1. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Butter sides of 9-inch springform pan; flour sides and tap out excess. Line bottom of pan with parchment or waxed paper round. Wrap bottom and sides of pan with large sheet of foil.

2. Melt 12 tablespoons butter and chocolates in large bowl over large saucepan containing about 2 quarts barely simmering water, stirring occasionally, until chocolate mixture is smooth. Cool mixture slightly, then whisk in vanilla and egg yolks. Set chocolate mixture aside, reserving hot water, covered, in saucepan.

3. In clean bowl of standing mixer fitted with whisk attachment, beat egg whites and salt at medium speed until frothy, about 30 seconds; add half of crumbled brown sugar, beat at high speed until combined, about 30 seconds, then add remaining brown sugar and continue to beat at high speed until soft peaks form when whisk is lifted (see photo, below), about 2 minutes longer. Using whisk, stir about one-third of beaten egg whites into chocolate mixture to lighten it, then fold in remaining egg whites in 2 additions using whisk. Gently scrape batter into prepared springform pan, set springform pan in large roasting pan, then pour hot water from saucepan to depth of 1 inch. Carefully slide roasting pan into oven; bake until cake has risen, is firm around edges, center has just set, and instant-read thermometer inserted into center registers about 170 degrees, 45 to 55 minutes.

4. Remove springform pan from water bath, discard foil, and cool on wire rack 10 minutes. Run thin-bladed paring knife between sides of pan and cake to loosen; cool cake in springform pan on wire rack until barely warm, about 3 hours, then wrap pan in plastic wrap and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, at least 8 hours. (Cake can be refrigerated for up to 2 days.)

5. To unmold cake, remove sides of pan. Slide thin metal spatula between cake and pan bottom to loosen, then invert cake onto large plate, peel off parchment, and re-invert onto serving platter. To serve, use sharp, thin-bladed knife, dipping knife in pitcher of hot water and wiping blade before each cut.

A few years ago my husband G. Grod and I subscribed for two seasons to the most well-known local theater. We saw some good shows, but two seasons was enough for me. In the end, all the plays seemed the same; the creative director had homogenized them to the point of blandness. This put me off theater for quite some time. Recently, though, I was seized with an urge for Shakespeare. With a baby due in less than three months, I will not soon have three hour chunks of time to do with as I wish. I was lucky in that I could choose between an all-male production of Measure for Measure at the aforementioned theater, or an all-female production of The Tempest at Theatre Unbound. The latter seemed an obvious choice.

The program for the production noted something else obvious, though it hadn’t occurred to me. Even though theater no longer insists that all its players be male, the number of roles for women is still quite small. Staging an all-female production gives more women the opportunity to play more Shakespeare.

The room was small, and the staging consisted only of a small number of props and some versatile drapes. This was a wise choice, as it let the audience focus on both the play itself and its gender-bending production. It was also a brave one, since The Tempest is a play with so many supernatural elements that it would be easy to justify an extravagant staging.

As with many productions some performances were forgettable, while others were striking. Caliban was played with such ferocious intensity that s/he was painful to watch, while Ariel was played with such humor and physical grace that s/he drew all eyes when on stage. The performance that most made me think, though, was that of Prospero. The actor was skilled, but her manly suit could not mask a motherly mien. To have the meddling father of Prospero embodied in a mother’s physique made me realize that the meddling is creepy no matter which parent is doing it.

Another upside to seeing The Tempest is that it is a short play. It is not one that is usually edited, so that when you see the production you are usually seeing the entire text enacted. I re-read the play for the performance, which was #88 in my book challenge for the year. A good and learned friend recommended the individual Arden editions to me years ago; they have since been my volumes of choice. My husband G. Grod prefers his Penguin omnibus, but I like one play at a time, even with scads of footnotes to a page, even when those footnotes are politely vague:

Act IV, Scene I, line 236. Now is the jerkin under the line…Malone records a suggestion that the jest is less decent than any of these conjectures.

My favorite line from the play has never been a famous one. It is spoken by the drunk:

I am not Stephano, but a cramp. (Act V, Scene I, line 286)

It was a particularly apt one, since the next morning my uterus decided to express outrage over who knows what, and began a series of painful but ultimately non-harmful cramps that landed me in the hospital on monitors for five hours. I’ve been resting and hydrating since, and all cramps have abated. Like the characters in The Tempest, I seem to have weathered this particular storm.

Good Music; Bad Fashion At the urging of a local music critic, I went to see Mary Gauthier and Eliza Gilkyson at the Cedar Cultural Center last month. I’d heard both of them on The Current, but had not listened to either of them in depth. My friend Queenie and I left the kids with the husbands and had a moms night out. I’d forgotten what a civilized venue the Cedar is. It’s open seating, but we arrived within half an hour of the show and still had great seats near the stage. (My strategy for movie seating worked well–buck traffic and go to the sides. Everyone goes up the center.) It was strange being 37 at a concert and still among the younger members of the audience. I saw my future as a middle-aged Minnesotan. It was politically liberal, earnest, and having a good time, but not particularly well-dressed.

Two of the worst glamour don’ts were on the stage, though. Gauthier had on a pair of nice, well-fitting leather pants but her floral jacket had a large skull and Native American headdress on the back. Gilkyson, in her fifties, nonetheless has the arms to be able to go sleeveless without shame, but her tank was over a floaty skirt that was over a pair of tie-dyed pants. Fortunately, both women could sing and play guitar so well that their dubious fashion choices were not distracting for long.

Both had arresting voices, moving songs, and great guitar skills. Each also was accompanied by a different talented guy on guitar. The crowd kept to their seats except to demand encores of both performers. I’m abashed that a small quiet show is now the kind I enjoy, but it was so nice just to sit and listen to some really good singer/songwriter/musicians.

I have a friend who lives in Eagan, a Twin Cities suburb. I never envied her locale. It takes me a few highways to get there, and I have to travel at off-peak times, or I’d be stuck in traffic. Plus it’s a normal suburb: there’s not much to walk to and it’s full of chain stores and restaurants. When I read a review of Brianno’s, though, some envy began to nip at my brain. And when I tried it with my friend, the envy emerged full blown. Brianno’s is a gem to have close by. I took a closer look at the neighborhood I’m in, and there’s nothing to compare. I’ve got a family restaurant that’s sometimes good, a friendly coffee shop, a bad new pizza place, and a couple good Indian places that are not too far. What I do not have is a kick-ass Italian grocery and deli, with to-die-for sandwiches, which I will refer to as hoagies, because I moved here from Philly*.

I browsed Brianno’s shelves and freezers. They had every kind of dried pasta shape imaginable (my food coop doesn’t even carry farfalle) and cases full of pre-made foods: ravioli, lasagna, soups, and more. I restrained myself to the takeout order I’d come for, a full-size eggplant parmigiana hoagie, a half of a classic Italian hoagie, and a small size Caesar salad.

I imagined that I’d eat a quarter of the Italian hoagie, a quarter of the eggplant, the half salad, then split leftovers with my husband for lunch the next day. I was barely able to leave a bit of the Italian hoagie undevoured. It was a perfect blend of Italian meats and cheeses, with a vinaigrette on a great bun. The dressing on the salad was unexceptional, but the croutons were crisp and flavorful. The eggplant parmigiana was enveloped in a rich, meat-full sauce. Unfortunately for my husband, who took it to lunch the next day, the eggplant hoagie didn’t keep as well as my sliver of Italian hoagie did.

When I lived in Philly, I had a hard time finding a good hoagie. I lived in a little town just outside the city and there was nothing close. The best hoagies I had were from a place called The White House in Atlantic City, a trip that was both far and usually involved gambling. The trip to Eagan is shorter, and casino-free. I’d still give a lot to live closer to a really good hoagie shop.

*For your edification, here is the note about sandwich terminology from http://dictionary.com, excerpted from The American Heritage Dictionary, Fourth Edition.

Regional Note: The long sandwich featuring layers of meat and cheese on a crusty Italian roll or French bread goes by a variety of names. These names are not distributed in a pattern similar to that of other regional words because their use depends on the business and marketing enterprise of the people who create the sandwiches and sell them. Submarine and sub are widespread terms, not assignable to any particular region. Many of the localized terms are clustered in the northeast United States, where the greatest numbers of Italian Americans live. In Maine, it is called an Italian sandwich, befitting its heritage. Elsewhere in New England and in Sacramento, California, it is often called a grinder. New York City knows it as a hero. In the Delaware Valley, including Philadelphia and southern New Jersey, the sandwich is called a hoagie. Speakers in Miami use the name Cuban sandwich. Along the Gulf Coast the same sandwich is often called a poor boy. In New Orleans, a poor boy is likely to be offered in a version featuring fried oysters.

The cold snuck up on me this year. I live in Minnesota, so you might think cold wouldn’t be surprising. Yet in the seven and a half years I’ve lived here, I haven’t found Minnesota to be the daunting tundra that so many believe it to be. Yeah, it gets a little colder for a little longer in winter, and it’s a little less hot in summer, but the climate is not much different from the other two places I lived the longest, Philadelphia and central Ohio, the latter of which had a MUCH worse winter last year than we did here. In fact, last year Minnesota had a very late first snowfall. So when the weather people began predicting snow this week, I thought, I’ll believe it when I see it. Sure enough, on Tuesday it was wet and cold, but the temp stayed in the mid-thirties F. and never dropped to freezing. Wednesday, though, was something else.

The change in weather wouldn’t have been a problem, except that I was unprepared for the last minute preparations to clear out our yard; today is the last collection day for yard waste by our trash service. My husband G. Grod, as is his habit, left all the leaves till last weekend. Unfortunately, he was only able to clean up the front yard, not the back and sides. Tuesday I went outside in the snizzle with Drake, who was miraculously open to playing in the yard while I hauled ten bundles of hydrangea stalks out to the trash, and raked the back yard. I put off bagging the leaves, though, and they sat out that night. The bad news is they got covered with a thin layer of ice and snow. The good news is that it formed a protective coating so my leaf piles didn’t blow away in the gales of wind.

By yesterday, it was below freezing (hovering just below 20 F during the day, with a wind chill of about 1. Yes, one.) and there was both snow and ice. I began my morning like a responsible home owner, by shovelling and sweeping my steps and walks. I followed this with a scattering of salt for the ice. Drake was not nearly so amenable to staying put while I did this as he’d been the day before (funny, how being fenced in can make watching him SO much easier), though, so imagine a pregnant woman running half a block down icy sidewalks after her toddler, several times, as punctuation to the shoveling/salting. Good times.

During Drake’s nap, I attended to my frozen leaf piles, and filled six bags by hand. I then turned my zeal on the hostas, and cut them back using a small hand clipper, which I don’t recommend. (Last year, G. Grod tried the weed whacker and it didn’t work, so if anyone has a recommended method/tool for cutting down hostas, I’d love to know for next year.) The hostas took up two more bags, and I decided to be done. Everything else will have to wait for a spring clean up.

Oh, lovely food, we said. Then we gobbled it down. (With a nod to Mrs. Wishy-Washy.)

Last night a friend watched our son Drake so my husband G. Grod and I could go to dinner. We tried again at 112 Eatery, which was fully committed on our anniversary last month. Last night we got there early and were seated immediately. 112 is a small space with only a few reservations to be had. One must either take a reservation at an off time (5 pm and 10 pm were available when I called), book far in advance, or take one’s luck on walk-in seating. Yesterday’s early arrival was key to our success, because by 6:15 every seat was taken.

I have eaten at 112 several times already, but G. Grod had never been. Based on portions, I suggested we share an appetizer, each get an entree, and split a dessert. The appetizer I’ve gotten before and enjoyed was the romaine salad with roquefort dressing garnished with breadcrumbs. Because there’s some disagreement on the safety of blue cheeses during pregnancy, I decided to try something different, so we got the lardon/foie gras salad, which was just as unhealthily oxymoronic as it sounds. Lardons, like thick chunks of bacon, are fried, then tossed with frisee greens and rice wine vinegar and served next to sauteed foie gras. G. Grod defied me to remind him of anything we’d eaten that had ever tasted better. I thought of two things (one, “duck three ways” from a tasting menu at Cosmos restaurant in Minneapolis, and another from a tasting menu at a restaurant in the Black Forest in Germany). Both also involved foie gras, so I think I see a trend in what we favor.

As per my usual, I ordered the small portion of the stringozzi pasta with lamb sugo sauce. This is a red sauce with lamb simmered until it’s soft, then shredded, served over thick, squiggly, house-made noodles. Each time I’ve ordered it, I think, “Oh, the bowl’s too small” until I can barely finish it, and then I’m amazed that I’ve just consumed something that’s so delicious, so savory, so filling, and that only cost $8.

G. Grod got the deceptively plain sounding “French cheeseburger”, which is a half pound of ground beef and onions topped with a slab of soft brie on an English muffin. He also got the french fries, served in a cone, perfectly done, and accompanied by a lovely aioli that caused us to completely ignore the ketchup. He couldn’t finish the burger, though he tried, which left me on my own for dessert.

In the past I’ve ordered the chocolate pot de creme, which has been rich, smooth and with a satisfying punch of chocolate. I wavered between the new version on the menu which is “spicy”, and the pumpkin flan. Our server, who had an enthusiastic knowledge of the menu that he communicated very well, swayed me to the new version of the pot de creme. As he’d promised, the heat of the spices was subtle, but built, and was an especially good complement to the chocolate now that the weather is cooler and autumnal. The texture, though, was no longer smooth like a pudding, but thick and more like a ganache than a custard. I preferred the new flavor but the old texture, which lent a heaviness to the end of an already quite rich meal. I could finish barely half of it.

I’ve gone back to 112 Eatery because it has excellent quality food and menu choices, as well as friendly and knowledgeable staff. While it’s possible to spend a lot there, it’s also possible to eat grandly and spend little. My only quibble is how difficult it can be to get in, yet I don’t blame the owners, who are a husband and wife. They’ve got a small, excellent restaurant, with a small menu that they execute nearly flawlessly. It deserves all the accolades and crowds that it draws. I hope it’s around for a long, long time, so I can keep going when I have the chance.

Twin Citians, did you go? I did, and had a great time. I attended a morning talk by Siri Hustvedt, in which she read from her new book of essays on art. She talked about Goya and Giorgione. Both her book and her discussion were intelligent yet accessible, even for this art novice. I am nearly finished reading her novel What I Loved, and will have more to say about it when I do. (I try not to talk about a book until I’m done, but I’m really enjoying it.)

I was late to the talk by Audrey Niffenegger, the author of the huge bestseller The Time Traveler’s Wife. She was discussing her new work, which is actually an old work begun before her successful novel, an “illustrated novel” called The Three Incestuous Sisters. The art looked lovely, and the process to produce the book sounded daunting, but I left the talk unconvinced that I would enjoy either of her works that she discussed.

Finally, I attended a dual talk with Alison McGhee and Pete Hautman, two authors who write both for adults and teens. McGhee has also written picture books and a middle grade novel, and is currently collaborating with another author on what she called a Frog-and_Toad-type chapter book. Both said they resist labels such as “young-adult” or “Minnesota” author. McGhee clarified, though, that Minnesota is a great writing community. Both agreed that getting paid in advance for a book can be a disincentive to finish it. McGhee encouraged writers to practice their craft in preparation for trying to publish, rather than sending off a rough manuscript. Both were well-spoken, intelligent, and the excerpts they read from their new teen novels were quite good.

This is the second year I’ve attended, and I was even more impressed this year. If you missed it, and you’re a reader or writer in the Twin Cities, keep it in mind for next year. This was a great event, and I think it exemplifies why Minnesota is such a good reading and writing community.

#74 in my book challenge for the year, Was It Beautiful? by Minnesotan writer Alison McGhee, was, in fact, startlingly beautiful. I put off reading this book for a long time because I was afraid it was too sad. I based this on my readings of her two previous books, Rainlight and Shadow Baby, both of which were wildly lovely and terrifically sad. This one was supposed to be even more sad, and I wasn’t sure I could cope. I should have trusted the writer.

Was It Beautiful? is the story of William T. Jones, a formerly happy man who has lost his son, his wife, and his cat to various forces in a short time. Unsurprisingly, William T. is no longer happy. But how he copes and how his story unfolds is mesmerizing. In the end his suffering, and that of those around him, is redeemed. Crystal, a chararacter from Rainlight, gets an increasingly significant role in this book, and I was pleased that Crystal got her share of redemption as well. McGhee’s characters are so good it’s almost scary. They’re like warm tapestries that I want to draw around me and snuggle into on a cold night.

Heads up to all readers and writers in the twin cities that the Twin Cities Book Festival is Saturday, October 15. It features well known writers both from Minnesota and beyond. I look forward to seeing local writers Alison McGhee and Pete Hautman, who write both adult and young adult novels.

I’m not sure the State Fair visit number 2 was a good idea. I left with a stomachache, probably having sampled one food too many (honey/sunflower-seed ice cream, I’m lookin’ at you.)

Unsurprisingly, the fair is much easier to manage with 2 parents to each child, rather than on mom-to-man defense. Drake had his first pronto pup, the Minnesotan version of a hot dog on a stick, dipped in batter and deep fried. Apparently, corn dogs are an Iowa thing, according to our friends. We also had fried cheese curds (I miss them already), Puff Daddy on a Stick–thai sausage wrapped in puff pastry on a stick drizzled with a peanut sauce (Sausage Sister & Me does badly named but delicious fair food. We also enjoyed their Little Sistazz, finger-food sausage slices in puff pastry), then root beer, a breakfast burrito with guac from Tejas (free coffee!), roasted sweet corn, mini-donuts, Cinnie Smith’s mini cinnamon rolls, and finished with a cider freezie for Drake and the regrettable ice cream for me, which has lost its place on the list. G. Grod got to see a butter sculpture of one of the princess candidates being carved, so he felt his mission to the fair had not been in vain. I see the butter sculptures like most regional oddities–once is perhaps more than enough. Then again, G. Grod only feels the need to go to the fair once a year, as opposed to me, who wants to go as many times as it takes to try all the food that I fancy.

My must-have fair treats list is now honed to cheese curds, Sister & Me sausage, World’s Best french fries, roast corn, Sweet Martha’s chocolate chip cookies, mini donuts, 1919 root beer, and Cinnie Smith’s mini cinnamon rolls.

The food critic for the Star Tribune, Rick Nelson, listed these at the not-to-miss foods that debuted this year. Of them, I only tried the cinnamon rolls and Puff Daddy, but both were so excellent that I will add the other items to next year’s list to try. Of course, next year’s fair visit will be more challenging, since it’s likely I’ll be herding both Drake and his little sibling. Perhaps I’ll need to make three trips to try it all.

- Frozen Mocha on a Stick (Minnesota Farmers Union Coffee Shop, Dan Patch Avenue at Cosgrove Street).
- Mini cinnamon rolls (Cinni Smiths, Murphy Avenue at Cooper Street).
- Sorbet in hollowed-out fruit (Key Lime Pie Bar, Cooper Street at the Skyride).
- Spiral Chips (Sonny’s Spiral Chips & Sandwiches, Food Building).
- Puff Daddy on a Stick (Sausage Sister & Me, Food Building).
- Smoked salmon wrap (Giggles’ Campfire Grill, Cooper Street at Lee Avenue).

I took two-year-old Drake to the Minnesota State Fair this morning with another mom and her son, and I’m happy to say he had a better time than he did last year. The State Fair is one of my favorite events of the summer. I don’t care about rides, or attractions, or displays. I go for the food. Last year, Drake hardly ate a thing. This year, he was much more engaged.

We started with breakfast burritos at Tejas in the food building, then ran out to get a cup of 1919 root beer and a small basket of World’s Best french fries to watch local television personalities Chef Andrew and M.A. Roscoe do a guacomole-making demonstration. Drake didn’t want either the burrito or the excellent guacamole, but he tackled both the root beer and french fries with enthusiasm. Our next stop was my friend’s priority, the roasted corn stand by the grandstand. The boys ran up and down, always coming back for a bite of the roasted, buttered corn. Next was Sweet Martha’s for a cone of chocolate-chip cookies and a cup of milk. Drake and his toddler friend started dancing to the music coming out of the arcade next door. We continued on to the baby animal barn, which has the somewhat concerning name “Miracle of Birth” building. I’ve given birth, and miraculous wouldn’t be the first adjective I’d choose. Messy fits better, I think. We saw a baby horse, baby turkeys, baby sheep and a new calf, but I had to leave before we went further. The crowds were too much for a small building, and Drake was screaming and kicking in my arms. He was soon appeased, though, by a cider freezie from the agriculture building. As we made out way back to the parking lot, I tried a new treat with an unfortunate name, the Fudge Puppy, which is a piece of Belgian waffle on a stick covered in chocolate and topped with whipped cream. My friend and I agreed that it was good, but no different than a chocolate covered fried doughnut. Much more impressive were the mini cinnamon buns at Cinnie Smith’s, new this year to the fair. The little buns were airy and not greasy, hot but not scalding, and had just the right amount of cinnamon-spiced goo. The frosting was a good complement, but only in moderation. I regretted a too-enthusiastic dunk of one of my last minis.

There were a few of my favorite foods that time and toddlers did not permit me to sample: fried cheese curds, mini-donuts, sausage, honey-sunflower-seed ice cream and a lemon shake. Luckily, we have another fair trip planned for the weekend, so I will have one more opportunity to indulge my annual craving for delicious and spectaculary unhealthy foods.

2002 State Fair entry

My husband G. Grod and I moved to Minnesota seven years ago when he got a job here. We were open to moving, and the best offer was here, so we moved. I had never been here before, but had heard good things about it from friends and thought it auspicious that a number of authors whose books and comic books I admired lived here, such as Neil Gaiman, Steven Brust, Lois McMaster Bujold, and Zander Cannon. A few years ago we bought a condo, then last year we sold that and bought a house, so I think that we’ll be staying.

We’ve received a fair amount of grief from family and friends over our choice. They complain that it’s an expensive, long trip (though most of them have made the expensive, long trip far fewer times than we have made it in reverse). But over time, Minnesota in general, and the Twin Cities in particular, have inveigled their way into our good graces. For many reasons large and small, we like it here. I’m beginning a new category in which I can wax rhapsodic about things Minnesotan that particularly charm me.

Today, for example, I got the reminder in the mail that a local charity will be picking up at the end of next week. I will go through the house, collecting clothing, books and toys that we no longer need, then place them in a bag by the curb in front of our house next week. When it is picked up, we will get a receipt for taxes dropped in our mail slot.

Curbside charity with an advance reminder. It’s one more reason to love living here.