Reading, Discussion, & Book Signing with John Scalzi, who writes The Whatever and is a SF author on the rise*
Saturday, May 5, 2007
1:00pm
Uncle Hugo’s
2864 Chicago Avenue South
Minneapolis, MN 55407
(612) 824-6347
*Event in conjunction with author Tate Hallaway
I visited Pumphouse Creamery, at 48th and Chicago in Minneapolis, soon after it opened, when I was pregnant with Drake. None of the flavors at that time spoke to me. I asked the person behind the counter for a recommendation; he suggested strawberry. I had high hopes of the place, since one of the Twin Cities weird strengths is awesome ice cream with fabulous flavors. (Don’t believe me? I find your lack of faith disturbing; see below*.) Pumphouse, adjacent to longtime local treasure Turtle Bread Co., and using local, organic cream and ingredients, seemed like it would be a slam dunk.
I ate the strawberry ice cream in disappointed disbelief, and raged to my husband G. Grod, “How can this ice cream be disappointing? I love ice cream even when I’m NOT pregnant! It’s local! It’s organic! It’s fresh! What’s wrong?” I ignored Pumphouse for nearly four years in favor of other local ice cream parlors*.
Last night, though, I happened to be at Turtle Bread and decided to give Pumphouse another try. Oh, happy day! Not only did many of the flavors speak to me, but they fairly started an argument over which of them I should try. In the end, I chose a double of Lemon Curd and Blueberry Buttermilk over the Cookies and Cream made with one of my favorite food groups, Newman Os. I can’t speak for what I didn’t choose, but the double scoop was a delight. Sweet blueberry enlivened with the tang of buttermilk, contrasted with the tart, creamy richness of lemon curd.
YUM. Check out Pumphouse.
*My favorite Twin Cities Awesome Independent Ice Cream parlors, and some of my favorite flavors:
Crema Cafe (Cardamom/Black Pepper)
Sebastian Joe’s–this year’s City Pages Best Ice Cream Parlor (Pavarotti: Caramel, Banana and Chocolate; Raspberry Chocolate Chip)
Izzy’s (Oh, the adorable Izzy scoop; it makes choosing both easier and harder. And the Izzy Pops! Tiny scoops of different flavors dipped in B.T. McElrath dark chocolate and put on a stick–so Minnesotan!)
Adele’s Frozen Custard (not technically ice cream, but worth the trip)
I woke Friday morning with a severe spike in my already considerable irritability. It was not long before I was angry and cursing aloud in front of the kids, which I’ve learned is a sign of rising anxiety for me. I sent off a quick email to a retreat center to see if they had any space. We have a babysitter helping us with childcare for now, so I left soon after she arrived, and went first to a yoga class, then to my regularly scheduled therapy appointment. I returned home better, though not feeling calm, and had almost forgotten about my inquiry to the retreat center. When I checked email at home, they’d replied and had a last minute cancellation at the hermitage, their private cabin for a solitary retreat. Figuring that the universe seemed to be answering my request, I said yes, then sent off a few emails and made some calls to alert friends that G. Grod would be on his own for the next 36 hours and could use some help with the boys.
My friend Becca recommended the ARC retreat center to me, and I will thank her forever for it. I’ve now gone twice, and it is a haven. The hermitage cabin has just what it needs and no more. Since I tend to anxious overdoing, I took way too much with me, but sorted things out when I got there.
Once I could think clearly, I realized what I did and didn’t need.
Did need: book, journal, fiction notebook.
Didn’t need: laptop, City Pages, two Entertainment Weekly’s, five books to review for the blog.
I also probably didn’t need any toiletries other than sunscreen, toothpaste and toothbrush. (And I would’ve liked to have fluoride-free toothpaste, since the cabin doesn’t have running water.)
The staff at ARC is wonderfully supportive, and the food they make is vegetarian, hearty, sustaining AND delicious. There was fresh bread at almost every meal, some wonderful gingered beets from a recipe in Sundays at Moosewood. I had a restorative 36 hours. During that time, I tried and succeeded at doing only one thing at a time; I didn’t multitask. I didn’t read while I ate (or in the outhouse). I also tried, and mostly succeeded, at not making a to-do list. I did one thing at a time, and allowed myself just one, “and then”. This worked surprisingly well, probably because I was in a tiny cabin in the woods by myself and chose to limit my options to: eating, sleeping, reading, journalling, novelling, and walking.
I have a huge crush on the book I took with me, that I finished this morning in between my first breakfast (yogurt with strawberry rhubarb sauce and granola, bread and butter, coffee with almond biscotti) and second breakfast (egg scramble with cheddar cheese and hummos). It’s Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.
READ THIS BOOK. It’s funny, sad, honest and intelligent and it’s got some GREAT stuff on religion and spirituality. Gilbert is instantly accessible and empathetic. My only quibble (oh, I always have one, don’t I?) is Gilbert’s overuse of male pronouns for God. A little equal opportunity time for goddesses would have been lovely.
I came back this morning rested and with some little reserve that helped me to handle the boys screaming and poking and crying that has sporadically filled the day. I really needed to get away, and I’m so thankful and fortunate that I could do so. Thanks, G. Grod. Thanks, friends who helped G. Grod. Thanks again, Becca. Thanks, ARC staff. Thanks, whoever cancelled your hermitage reservation. Thanks, Liz Gilbert for writing an awesome spiritual memoir. Everybody rocks.
I completed an outpatient hospital program last Friday for post-partum depression and anxiety. It was a brief, intense program designed to help those in a recovery rut who don’t need full-time hospitalization. There are two partial programs in the Twin Cities. The more well known is at Abbott, but they didn’t have space, and the one at Fairview did. I had an excellent experience at Fairview. The combination of group therapy, individual checks, and patient education led me to a variety of insights. I had time and space to learn and think, far more than I’d been able to fit into the brief interstices of full-time care for two small children. My last day I felt full of optimism, and brimming with possibility.
The happy mood passed over the weekend as 14M Guppy became sick and clingy, spiked a fever, and then kept us all up between 1:30 and 4:30 am today. Lots of screaming and little sleep wreak havoc with my anxiety-prone nerves. Additionally, one of my coping strategies, ear plugs, backfired and I got an ear infection. So not only can I not use the ear plugs, but I have to take ear drops. Instead of making a peaceful and leisurely entry into the new week, I had to spend time at the doctor’s office and the pharmacy.
On one hand, it feels like I’m being unfairly punished for the time I took to attend the program at Fairview, and curtailed from following up on the aftercare plans I’d begun. On the other, I have enough perspective to know that all things, good and bad, pass. A friend once joked that they may pass like a kidney stone, but they’re gonna pass. I also know, all too well, that I plan and the universe laughs, and that life sometimes is unfair and difficult. So I’m trying hard not to take the recent setbacks personally and to muster what humor and energy I can to have another go tomorrow.
One of the things I enjoyed most about being at Fairview was its proximity to the North Country grocery cooperative. They had a great selection of deli and takeout food and drink. I tried something new nearly every day. Walking to the coop allowed me both fresh air and exercise. I had spinch/feta, lemon/leek, and mushroom/keff boughatsa and baklava from Gardens of Salonica. I tried the Flex, Radiant, Calm, and Focus flavors of the Airforce Nutrisodas. I made a huge mess when I shook my Kombucha too hard. Both the Gingerade and the Trilogy flavors were very good. From Sushi Express, I had a veggie maki combo. I enjoyed the avocado spring roll so much I got it twice. I also got a slice of tater tot pizza from the Seward Cafe, as well as their Goddess Bar and Ranger cookie. I don’t know where the Key Lime and Sweet Potato Pie tartlets came from, but those were also excellent. The good food and friendly staff at the North Country made my time at Fairview go all the more quickly and pleasantly.
My husband G. Grod and I went out Saturday night, and a babysitter stayed with the boys. Since we often find dinner AND a movie rushed and stressful, we opted for just dinner, since life lately has been so busy and loud that we would welcome the chance to talk. We went to Midori’s Floating World, which is a lovely oasis of a Japanese restaurant in South Minneapolis. I go there when I’m feeling depleted; its menu is full of restorative gems. I drank the genmaicha green tea from their extensive tea menu, then I had the tempura rice balls, the green forest salad with kombu onigiri (sea vegetable rice ball), and green-tea over rice garnished with emerald flakes of nori. G. had a few nigiri rolls, the tempura California roll, and udon noodles with fried tofu.
After dinner we were well and truly full. Since we needed a little time before dessert, we browsed for watches at Uptown’s Lava Lounge, which is a way-more-hip store than either of us pretends to. But they do carry some fun watches. G. Grod liked this Vestal, the Nixon Graduate with blue face and black band, and the Nixon Banks with orange face. I liked the orange Chalet, and the girlishly impractical crystal Elle, which worked better worn a little large on my wrist.
We stopped next at Crema Cafe, home to Sonny’s ice cream. G. Grod had their signature flavor, Crema, which is espresso infused cream. After sampling the citrus/chili/kaffir lime sorbet, I went with the chocolate fudge ice cream; its slightly dry texture highlighted a good punch of chocolate.
Home again, we stayed up late to watch three episodes from the previous Thursday’s Toby-hosted, HR-nightmares Office marathon. I love the Office. It makes me laugh, though sometimes simulataneously while cringing.
It was a lovely night, but it felt a bit like payback when both boys woke at 4:30 a.m. demanding alternating attention, so each got a short nap later that morning, but neither G. Grod nor I did. We were very grouchy on Sunday.
After this recent column on olives by City Pages food critic Dara Moskowitz, I went haring off for some to go with my other current food fixation, cheese. I’ve long been a fan of the picholines from Surdyk’s mentioned in the article. My current favorite pizza from Punch is a margherita with mushrooms and picholines. Kalamatas have long been a staple in our house and cooking. I always get ones with pits; those without are mushier and less flavorful. I don’t mind pitting olives. I put the ends of the olive between my forefinger and thumbtips, then squeeze. The olive opens like a coin purse and gives up the pit.
Over the weekend I went with friends to The Glass Menagerie at the Guthrie Theater. While reviews have been good, my friends thought it was terrible. I’m not familiar with the play (more on that below), but it had some of the hallmarks that made me stop going to the Guthrie a while back–it felt homogenized, and overfull of sitcom-ish laughs. The Guthrie production was most effective in its use of one character at two ages, played by two actors, the elder of which is the narrator. These scenes were poignant. My friends liked the set, a small box of an apartment surrounded by dirty and decayed-looking scaffolds and cheap neon signs. I, on the other hand, longed for a more abstract set. I don’t go to a play for realism; if I want that I see a film.
As for the new theater itself, the views from the lobby are spectacular, but I don’t like that the lobby is not on the ground floor. This is counterintuitive, and makes “meet me in the lobby” ambiguous. I found the red interior of the proscenium stage a little too reminiscent of Target.
Embarrassing admission: When my friend told me we were seeing The Glass Menagerie, I thought I’d seen a television production before. I was mistaken–what I’d seen was A Doll’s House by Ibsen. I’d neither seen nor read anything by Williams before–yet another gap in my so-called liberal arts education that I’ll address on my own. So take my opinions for what they’re worth–I’m hardly part of the theater cognoscenti.
At our lovely dinner last weekend, my husband G. Grod and I opted for the 5-course, rather than the 7-course tasting menu. The cheese entry in the 7-course menu featured Brillat-Savarin cheese. Earlier that day, I’d intercepted R., the cheese man at our grocery cooperative, as he put out freshly cut wedges of Brillat Savarin. I bought some medjool dates to go with the cheese, so thought the extra course at the restaurant would be redundant. Yes, I may spend too much on cheese. But it’s really good cheese.
To celebrate both our birthdays and his recent bonus, my husband G. Grod made surprise plans for a babysitter and dinner out at La Belle Vie. Earlier that day, we took baby Guppy to the doctor. He’d had a cold, then spiked a fever, so we feared an ear infection. The doctor allayed our fears and said it was just a virus. We also worried about the impending winter storm, but decided to venture forth in spite of it all.
It was well worth it. We chose the five course tasting menu, and supplemented with
the foie gras first course and an additional dessert. La Belle Vie has food that is both delicious and well-presented. Each dish has numerous ingredients, yet none are superfluous, and all are complementary. From the amuse bouche of tuna tartare, to the post-check plate of petit-fours, everything was exquisite. The foie gras, with its caramelized exterior and melting interior, nearly brought tears to our eyes. That was G. Grod’s favorite, but I couldn’t decide between the Moroccan spices of the quail and the perfectly done char. It was a stunning meal, and its memory lingers long into the mundane reality of this week.
Truffle-Poached Florida Pink Shrimp with Tangerine Reduction
Sautéed Arctic Char with Razor Clams, Salt-Cod Stuffed Squid Ink Ravioli and Bibb Lettuce
Caramelized Foie Gras with Porcini Mushrooms, Sweet Potato-Chestnut Gnocchi, and Marsala
Pan Roasted Quail with Carrot Fondant and Moroccan Spices
Roasted Lamb Ribeye with Black Trumpet Mushrooms, Salsify and Red Wine
Lemon-Scented Financier With Blood Orange Curd, Mascarpone Sorbet and Candied Kumquats
Chocolate Custard Cake with Coconut Sorbet and Sweet Curry Foam
Every week, my husband G. Grod rues the day I befriended the cheese guy at our grocery cooperative. Because every week, I bring home new and different snacking cheeses, and every week G. Grod reminds me that normal people don’t spend close to $20 a week on cheese.
In my defense, the total cheese bill is not only for the snacking, or recreational, cheeses, but also for sandwich and dinner-ingredient cheeses. Also in my defense is that G. Grod, Drake, and I all enjoy the cheeses, so it’s not like I’m cheesing alone. And now that Guppy is a year old, he’s trying the cheeses, too.
I believe there are lots of things in defense of the $20 weekly cheese bill: demand for a variety of cheese produces a supply of varied cheese; money goes to a local, member-owned grocery cooperative; it’s gotta be better for us than Easy Cheese, right? (more, from Wired); many of the cheeses are from local farmers, so we’re supporting local agriculture. Trust me, I can go on from here. I have many failings, but rationalization isn’t one of them.
A recent week’s selection included a goat havarti from Natural Valley in Wisconsin; a cranberry and black walnut sharp cheddar from Prairie Hollow Farm in Dover, MN; and Big Woods Blue, from Shepherd’s Way Farms. Some past favorites have been Bucherone, a soft, brie-like goat cheese that turned up on the cheese plate at a recent dinner out; Mobay, a lovely looking sheep and goat milk combo; and Pleasant Ridge Reserve from Uplands Cheese Company.
While my cheese purchasing has yet to make our life unmanageable, there are some signs I may need to rein things in. I’ve already mentioned G. Grod’s weekly complaints. The other week as I approached the cheese case, R. the cheese man said, “I have something for you,” and disappeared into the back. He came back brandishing a cheese slicer. “I got an extra one of these from one of our suppliers,” R. said. “I figured if anyone deserved it, you did.”
I could feel guilty for buying too much cheese. Instead, I’ve used the slicer in good health and taught Drake how to use it, too.
I was researching an upcoming post on cheese, when I found the disturbing news that one of my favorite local cheese makers, Shepherd’s Way Farms, recently experienced a pair of suspicious fires, and hundreds of their sheep died.
There’s information about a relief fund on their site, but you can also support them by going out and buying their cheese. Our family enjoys both the Shepherd’s Way Friesago and Big Woods Blue. According to their website, you can find their cheeses “at most Minneapolis/St. Paul natural food stores and co-ops, Bylerly’s and Lund’s, and at specialty cheeses shops. You can also find our cheeses nationally at select stores and restaurants in California, Chicago, Washington, D.C. area, Iowa, and the Boston area.”
Bad news courtesy of Neil Gaiman: Dreamhaven Books, the independently owned book/comic/ephemera shop in Minneapolis, was burgled and trashed last weekend. Visit their site, buy a book and help them out.
My husband G. Grod has enjoyed these books lately:
The Android’s Dream by John Scalzi
Dzur by Steven Brust
the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can; Emma, Jane Austen
It’s very cold here in MN. We woke and it was -13. It’s a good day to stay at home and keep all under shelter that we can. The boys are sick again, and the nights have been interrupted. I may need to get out to combat cabin fever, but all non-critical errands are postponed until temperatures are more friendly to humans–say, above ten degrees F.
I’m writing in our basement, where the temp hovers in the mid-fifties. I have on a coat, scarf, warm socks, slippers. I put on gloves when the cold impairs my typing; I take them off when their bulk does same. Why type in the cold basement? The light is bright, even augmented by a few windows. There are fewer distractions. And it is two floors down from the napping boys, so I am less likely to wake them if I move around.
Sadly, Drake is having one of his ever-more common non-napping days, and baby Guppy did not get the memo that afternoon naps should last over an hour. Since I believe strongly in 2-hour naps, we’re having some conflict. It would seem I’m cold down here for nothing.
“It is the greatest absurdity–Actually snowing at this moment!–The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home–and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it;–and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can;– here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;–four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”
Mister John Knightley, a voice of reason, in Austen’s Emma. I am intrigued by his argument that we should attend to nature’s suggestion, and stay home when it is cold. On one hand, we Minnesotans would be housebound a lot. On the other, getting myself and the kids bundled up and out the door and into a vehicle is considerable work. It makes me long to curl up on the couch with books. And what if we went to bed earlier, and got up later during winter? Modern life doesn’t encourage this kind of adjustment to our environment. But what if it did?
Our little family continues to be laid low by viruses. My husband and I were supposed to go out with friends on Saturday. Guppy had vomited, but then went to sleep peacefully, so we thought the babysitter would be OK. (Or maybe we weren’t sure, but it had been so long since we’d had grown-up company that we were willing to believe it might be.) But when the babysitter called to say that Drake had also vomited, we turned the car around. Clearly, we were not meant to have a night out.
I’m doing all the right things for us: periodic fresh air and sun, vitamins, rest, fluids, healthful and sustaining foods, staying in. Yet the sniffling, barfing, coughing, and excessive pooping continues into its FOURTH MONTH.
Please forgive the lack of posts. And think healthful thoughts in our direction. I’m convinced it’s because we haven’t had a proper freeze, and the weather keeps bouncing up into unseasonably warm. I don’t want warm. I live in MN. Bring on the cold, already.
How thrilled was I to find this at my grocery coop today? It’s local; it’s delicious. And now it’s easy to buy. I have thus far managed not to eat it straight, with a spoon. I don’t think I’ll be able to resist much longer.
The trouble with buying food as decoration is that eventually it must be used or tossed. I am strangely and strongly opposed to throwing food away, so this usually means coming up with a wacky recipe on the fly to use up as much food as quickly as possible, or cooking several things in a row. For Thanksgiving, I bought organic and mostly local produce: apples, pomegranates, a Fuyu persimmon, a Meyer lemon, a blue hubbard squash, and a red kabocha squash. Yesterday it was clear that the apples, persimmon, and pomegranate couldn’t go one more moment. I cut and steamed the apples, then pureed them in the food mill, forgetting to save a few slices to freeze as teething treats for baby Guppy. The persimmon was so ripe that I simply cut it in half and put it through the food mill. It made a brilliant orange puree. The pomegranate was a giant pain, but I did finally extract all the ruby seeds. This morning I drizzled the persimmon over a bowl of sheep milk yogurt, then sprinkled the pomegranate seeds on top. It was gorgeous, and delicious. It reminded me of food I made for baby Guppy recently. I pureed asparagus, which was a rich, bright green, alongside a Liberty apple with deep red skin that produced a brilliant pink applesauce. Yes, it’s more of a pain to make food from scratch, but the look of of these foods enhances the flavors even further.
After three false starts, my writing group says I’m on the right track with my latest draft. Attempt #1 was my draft from NaNoWriMo ‘04, #2 was modifying that to a single character, #3 was making that a four-person narrative, and now attempt #4 at novel #2 is something completely different. The three previous attempts are shelved, perhaps permanently. If I’m lucky, some stuff may work its way into this manuscript, or a future one.
I attended a panel discussion on writing at the Minneapolis Central library earlier this week. Sandra Benitez said she’d once written 50 pages that she’d had to junk. I’m fairly chagrined at the 200+ pages I have to junk, but it’s a huge relief to feel I’m finally on the right track.
The other writers on the panel were Judith Guest, her daughter-in-law Patricia Weaver Francisco, and Kate DiCamillo. Absent was Allison McGhee. All are part of a ten-person writing group, though they claim not to talk about writing, ever.
“We drink,” quipped DiCamillo, who also subverted her children’s book author persona by reading from an adult short story.
“_Adult_ adult?” asked Guest, in mock horror.
DiCamillo denied it, but the excerpt she read contained not only profanity (”I used ‘asshole’ so you know I mean business,” she joked) but a 60-foot tall sculpture of a knight that she described as “erect.” The suggestive adjective was one that Charlotte Bronte used several times in Jane Eyre, a book DiCamillo also evoked in her Newbery-award book The Tale of Despereaux, with her direct addresses to the reader.
The panel was fun, though superficial, and the few things I took away were only implied: writing is easier without kids, or when kids are older. Minnesota is a good place for a transplanted writer to live. And a late start isn’t a barrier to writing success.
From “Let’s review the roadkill from Tuesday’s election”
Nick Coleman, Star Tribune
Spoiling to be Spoilers: The Independence Party has begun to give “good government” a bad name. The party called itself “Team Minnesota” but forgot there is no “I” in “team.” Peter Hutchinson got an embarrassing 6 percent of the votes in the governor’s race, and his statewide total of 141,800 was close to the total received by the LOSING candidate for Hennepin County sheriff, despite the fact many Minnesotans embraced his party’s platform. Ol’ Hutch can chisel “Finished a Distant Third” on his tombstone, but had no effect on the 2006 election. Except for the spoiler part. The Independence Party is supposed to care about what’s best for Minnesota. If so, Hutchinson might have said, “Only one person can win, and it’s not me. Please vote for the viable candidate who most favors my platform, Mike Hatch.” If just 22,523 Hutchinson voters (16 percent of his total) had voted for Hatch, Hutchinson would be in line for a post in the Hatch administration. Some folks are just too smart for their own good.
