Oops!

My apologies for my moment of idiocy in the last blog entry. I have Walt Whitman instead of T.S. Eliot saying April is the cruelest month. For some reason, I had it in my brain that that line was from Leaves of Grass, but it's actually from The Waste Land. Man, Erica. Brush up on your poetry before you start spewing in your blog. I am a boob.

Mineral Point

Walt Whitman was wrong: April is not the cruelest month. January is, or it certainly feels like it is. And February's not much better. To escape the winter doldrums, Jason and I spent a few days at the Brewery Creek Inn in Mineral Point the weekend of January 14-16. The inn is a lovely three-story limestone structure built in 1854 as a warehouse. While a warehouse doesn't sound very distinctive, it was a point of civic pride because it represented early statehood prosperity. Over the years, it was used as a cold storage facility, an insulation factory, and a local veterinarian's stable. By the 1970s, the building was in disrepair: The roof and third-floor timbers had rotted away, the beams had collapsed, and the north wall had begun to crumble. When the owners undertook renovations in July 1997, the building lacked heating, plumbing, wiring, interior walls or stairways, doors, and windows. And it had a dirt floor. Yet, they opened in June of the next year, which, to my non-construction-oriented mind, is a feat of great proportions.

The innkeeper forewarned us that our room (#7) was the smallest, but it was perfectly comfortable. The bathroom--with its ceramic tiles, wainscoting, and heavenly whirlpool--was probably my favorite part of the whole place. I was less keen on the breakfast, which was billed as "continental plus." I'm not sure where the "plus" part came in. To me, it was straight-up continental: boxed cereals, store-bought sourdough for toast with butter or jam, yogurt, juice, coffee, hard-boiled eggs, and syrupy-sweet store-bought pastries.

This is supposed to be me faking falling into the mine shaft, but it doesn't really look like that.

After slogging through Madison's Friday evening traffic (made worse by the snowy conditions), we finally made it out of the city. At the inn, we settled in and then ate dinner at the inn's restaurant. I had a gigantor slab of salmon with ginger sauce and sesame seeds. It was pretty good, and it definitely surpassed Jason's cod. For it, they drizzled the gingery sauce over the batterfried fish, leaving a hunk of bland cod in a soggy shell. We also sampled the beer, which is brewed on site. I liked the porter, but the IPA was disappointing for Jason. The description misled in that it said the hops and malt were balanced. Alas, the malt was overbearing, whereas the hops barely made an appearance. (Personally, I liked the IPA, but that's because I despise hoppy beer.) Afterward, we walked around the hilly town.

On Saturday, we hiked around the old Merry Christmas Mine Hill. In the 1830s, copper and tin miners from Cornwall, England fled poverty and hunger to emigrate to Mineral Point, which was experiencing a lead boom. The boom lasted from 1827 to 1849--when California's Gold Rush lured many of the miners away. In the second half of the 19th century, zinc mining predominated.

View of Mineral Point from the mining hill

After hiking, we took refuge from the cold in a local bar. For lunch, I had chicken fingers with barbecue sauce (exotic, I know) and Jason tried the local specialty, the pasty. The Cornish traditional version is a baked half-moon pastry filled with beef, potatoes, onions, and rutabagas or turnips. I tried a bite and found it rather bland and heavy, but I guess they were meant to fill up miners who'd been doing backbreaking labor all day.

According to legend, pasties were originally made for Cornish tin miners who were unable to come to the surface for lunch. To eat it, they would grip the crimped edge to not soil the rest with the dirt (laced with the arsenic often found with tin) that completely covered their bodies. The dirty remainder was then offered to placate the knockers, or spirits thought to inhabit the mine and endanger miners.

Close-up of pasty contents

After lunch, we grabbed coffee at a local bookstore and then headed back to the inn for a nap. That evening, we went to see Feed the Fish at the Mineral Point Opera House. Feed the Fish is a sweet indie film about a children's book writer who tries to overcome his writer's block by accompanying his friend on a trip to northern Wisconsin. Tony Shalhoub, of Monk and Big Night fame--and who's also a Green Bay native--plays the curmudgeonly local sheriff, and Barry Corbin (Maurice on Northern Exposure) plays his sage father. Katie Aselton and Ross Partridge play the romantic leads.

It was at last year's Wisconsin Film Festival in Madison and has been touring the state. I couldn't get tickets then because it was very popular, so I was excited to finally see it. (Note: Netflix won't purchase it until a certain number of people add it to their queues, so take a moment to add it.) Plus, it was a treat to see a film  set and filmed in Wisconsin, and one of the producers answered questions afterward.

The next day, we headed home and extended our relaxing weekend by having brunch at La Brioche and seeing the Coen Brothers' True Grit. I was pleasantly surprised, especially by newcomer Hailee Steinfeld's performance.  

Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On

I still listen to old-school radio in my car. I don't have satellite radio, I rarely listen to music on my iPod or iPhone (too much fussing with playlists and such, especially in high mitten season) in the car, and a tape deck in all of its 1982 glory stands where a CD player should rightfully reside. While tooling around town, I shuttle back and forth between about four stations, but sometimes the dial lands on a vintage country song.

These songs totally evoke my past. When I was little, my dad was a bartender, so you'd find me hanging out at Dan's Bar. (Our apartment was right up the street.) I'd beg for quarters so I could play tunes on the jukebox, and sometimes, I even danced in front of the jukebox, which is kinda hilarious. As research, I looked up a few of these songs, and I've included a selection below for your listening and viewing pleasure.

I remember I loved to wash glasses in the Bar Maid (a contraption that, to a kid, looks like it's constructed of massive pipe cleaners) behind the bar, even though I had to use all of my concentration to hold onto the swirling, slippery glasses with my small hands. I also cleared beer bottles from the tables and entered sales into the cash register--with ample help from my dad--when business was slow. I know that sounds wacky, but when you're little, being allowed to help out fills you with pride.

• Harper Valley P.T.A. by Jeannie C. Riley
• Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On by Mel McDaniel
• Keep Your Hands to Yourself by Georgia Satellites
• Fishin' in the Dark by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
• Tight Fittin' Jeans by Conway Twitty
• Luckenbach, Texas by Waylon Jennings (I believe I heard this first on my Urban Chipmunk album. Its title was a parody of Urban Cowboy, which had come out a year earlier. And it featured country singers with...you guessed it....the Chipmunks.)
• Swingin' by John Anderson

SantaLand Diaries

On December 11, we braved the snowstorm to see a stage adaptation of David Sedaris' SantaLand Diaries, which details Sedaris' stint as an elf at Macy's SantaLand. It was an o.k. performance. Just o.k. It made me laugh, and I was thrilled to support local theater. But I'm so accustomed to Sedaris' delivery from This American Life that nothing else measures up. His cadence and tone are so distinctive. They're snarky, yet deadpan; sarcastic, yet insightful. 

My favorite part is the scene where a child is throwing a tantrum at SantaLand. His mother informs him that if he doesn't behave, Santa will bring him coal for Christmas. The child's tantrum continues, unabated, and the mother asks Crumpet (Sedaris' elf alter ego) to support her in her coal argument. But Crumpet has had enough. He tells the child that Santa no longer traffics in coal. Instead, St. Nick is going to invade the child's home and strip it of all worldly possessions. Crumpet tells him: He'll take your TV and all other major appliances. He'll steal your furniture and your food. You'll be left shivering in an empty, cold house all alone.

Because of the storm, everyone in our party headed home after the play ended. Jason and I weren't ready for bed, though, so--after I'd made my requisite annual snow angel--we walked along the lake. The lake was cloaked in fog, and it, along with the icy variations on gray and white, made me feel like I was caught in a Victorian novel.

We looped around and somehow ended up at the Harmony's doorstep. (How'd that happen? :)) Our faces and clothes were crusted with snow, so upon entering, we After I'd repaired my running mascara a bit with some napkins from the bar, we settled in for a drink. We had the bar nearly to ourselves, excepting 5 or 6 people who lived within walking distance of the joint. Because it was so empty, we got to chat with the bartender about travel and a whole host of other things. We left after a few because everyone else had filtered out, and we didn't want to keep the bartender there just for us.

After we got home, we ordered pizza and watched The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942 with Ann Sheridan, Bette Davis, Monty Woolley, Jimmy Durante) until we finally dozed off.

Sin Cities

The first weekend in December, I visited friends in Minneapolis. I took the Amtrak train Friday evening, and while a view of the landscape was eclipsed by the dark, some of the cities were quite pretty. Red Wing, with its stone buildings lit by a combination of slow-falling snow and glowing street lights, was particularly stunning. I rolled into St. Paul at about 10:30pm, so after making our way back from the station through the snow, we chatted a bit and then went to bed.

On Saturday, we went to a craft fair at the Midtown Global Market and ate massive falafel sandwiches at Holy Land. The sandwiches were seriously large, containing about 5 or 6 balls of falafel, a generous amount of well-executed hummus, and shredded romaine. I adored the contrast between the spiced, crispy falafel, the fresh romaine, and the creamy hummus. Next time you're in the Sin Cities, I highly recommend trying it. Not only does Holy Land have amazing food, but a friend who lives there told me that they also contribute to their community in various ways. For instance, they reclaimed an entire city block that was in bad repair.

Check out the size of that falafel sandwich. And that was after I'd attacked it a bit. The expression on the guy in the background who was inadvertently included in our photo op. is classic.

Later, we met for dinner at Pad Thai on Grand Avenue. I had green curry rice noodles with veggies and fresh tofu. Mara had green curry with fresh tofu. Em had green curry with chicken. Naomi had the eponymous pad thai, but laced with sriracha and more vegetables than normal. Sriracha transforms pad thai from a bland, dowdy noodle dish into something fabulous. Who knew?

At dinner, somehow the conversation meandered onto the hideous Twilight series. Em brought up the very good point that it would seem rather improbable that Bella could be pregnant in the next movie, being that she's relying on what we termed "undead semen." This made us descend into crazy laughter. Needless to say, a few glasses of wine were consumed at dinner.

Also, at the end of the evening, I had an exchange with an older gentleman who was donning his galoshes at the door. (I was waiting for people to return from the bathroom.) He said his wife makes fun of him for wearing them, but that they work really well in Minneapolis. So to those of you--and you know who you are--who are embarrassed to wear your galoshes, you should just buck up and don them proudly.

Later that evening, we went to a holiday party at Darren's house. Funky ice luminaries lined the walkway, but I didn't capture a photo because it was too cold to tarry outside. Inside, we were met with a pretty Christmas tree decorated in silver and blue and a yummy buffet table graced with various delectable items. Among them were tortilla pinwheels containing cream cheese, pickles, and lord-knows-what-else; pretzel rods; and corn chips with a devilishly yummy amalgam of Velveeta, turkey, and salsa. I didn't need to know how delicious that latter one is. Now I must plan a trip to the grocery store to search out this bizarre-o "food product," if only to verify that it is segregated from the regular dairy products and does not need to be refrigerated. Someone at the party gave me this little tidbit, and I must confirm it. Someone else said they are no longer allowed to even employ the word cheese, even when paired with the word product, on the package. Fascinating. Simply fascinating.

And I can't allow the miniature kale Christmas tree centerpiece constructed by Mister Mike (at Darren's bidding) to go unnoticed. The boughs were kale leaves affixed to a styrofoam base. Cherry tomato "ornaments" were staked onto it with toothpicks. It was Mikey at his Martha Stewart best.

The highlight of Sunday was visiting the Como Conservancy with Mara and Rachel and then having another Thanksgiving dinner at Naomi's house. Thanks to Naomi for a marvelous dinner! I might add homemade creamed corn with leeks to my Turkey Day menu. It was heavenly.

And the next day, I boarded the train early to head back home.

Gluttony, Pheasant Branch Conservancy, and Fake Thanksgiving

It's catch-up time again, dear readers.

Maple sweet potato pie at Pie Palooza

Two weekends ago, we feasted on a gluttonous level. On Friday, a group of us went to the Avenue on East Wash for a traditional fish fry. The wood paneling, the beehives, the assemblage of homogenous Wiscoheads: I was transported back my small-town upbringing. Some were enamored with the traditional surroundings, but the kitsch eluded me, perhaps because it was ubiquitous where I learned to tie my shoes.

Saturday held hiking at Pheasant Branch Conservancy, followed by beer and my beloved nachos at the Great Dane. Walking around afterward to banish the overwhelmingly large platter of nachos from our system, we stopped into the recently re-opened Argus. (I used to meet there for a drink with my Madison City Channel-12 colleagues occasionally, so it has a nostalgic charm.)

This is from our hiking trip to Indian Lake, not Pheasant Branch Conservancy, but I neglected to post it when I wrote about Indian Lake. And we didn't take pics at Pheasant Branch. So just deal with it. :)

We ended the weekend on a resounding note with Pie Palooza. Benefiting the REAP Food Group (http://www.reapfoodgroup.org/), this year's event was held at the Goodman Community Center. Between us, we tried two slices of country cheese pie with prosciutto, a maple sweet potato pie, and a mushroom spinach quiche. The maple syrup and sweet potato did make a lovely combination, but the crumble on top added too much sweetness.

A snapshot of our pies--and deliciously creamy vanilla ice cream and coffee and salad--at Pie Palooza

Last weekend, we attended S. and N.'s Fake Thanksgiving. I made Brussels sprouts sauteed with prosciutto and Parmesan. I don't have a recipe, but basically, I halve the Brussels sprouts, coat them with olive oil, and roast for about 15 minutes. Then I remove them from the oven, slice them, and saute them with onions and garlic. Once the onions are translucent, add the prosciutto and cook until crispy. (And don't be stingy with the prosciutto!) Plate the hot sprouts and top with slivers of parmesan. I also made pureed, gingered sweet potatoes with orange-infused Craisins. Here's my bastardized version of the recipe:


Gingered Sweet Potato Puree with Craisins
-5-6 organic sweet potatoes (I specify organic because I'm more inclined to leave the skin on with organic root vegetables. The skin holds nutrients, but I think it can also be a depository--or perhaps a filter--for pesticides. If they're traditional ones, I'd scoop out the cooked insides and discard the skins.)
-1 large onion
-6 cloves of garlic
-2-3 Tbsp. grated or finely chopped ginger
-2 Tbsp. butter
-drizzle of milk, rice milk, almond milk, or soy milk
-handful of Craisins

Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Pierce whole sweet potatoes with a fork and bake for 1 hour or until soft. Saute onions, garlic, and ginger with a few drops of olive oil. Once the sweet potatoes are done, plunk them into a food processor with the onions, garlic, and ginger mixture, the butter, and the milk. Process until smooth. Top with Craisins.

Trick or Treat?

On Tuesday night, I looked at a Sherman Terrace condo. It was cute, but a bit small and rough around the edges. And I need to assess if I can afford it and if I want to own something right now.

When I got home, I watched Glee and made braised bok choy with glazed tofu. It turned out very well, although I had to employ the fan to dispel the greasy scent filling my abode after the glazing. Here's the recipe:

Glazed Tofu over Braised Bok Choy
1 14-oz. package firm tofu (cut into 1/2-inch slices)
spray of olive oil
2 heads bok choy (~ 6 c. cut into 1-inch pieces)
3 garlic cloves (1 thinly sliced, 2 minced)
1 14-oz. can vegetable broth
1 1-inch piece ginger, peeled and grated
2 tsp. fish sauce or tamari
1/4 c. soy sauce
4 tsp. dark brown sugar
2 tsp. toasted sesame oil
2 Tbsp. cornstarch

Dry tofu with towels. (Wrap the tofu with the towels and press it with some heavy cans to extract a bit more moisture.) Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Saute bok choy and garlic in oil for about 4 mins. Add 1 1/2 c. of broth and simmer until reduced by half. Meanwhile, combine minced garlic, ginger, fish and soy sauces, brown sugar, and sesame oil. Heat oil in another skillet over high heat. Add tofu and brown, ~ 3 mins. per side. Add the soy mixture to coat the tofu. Simmer, uncovered, until the sauce is syrupy, ~ 4 mins. Stir the cornstarch into the reserved broth; add to the bok choy. Stir gently until thickened, ~ 2 mins. Divide the bok choy onto 4 plates and top with glazed tofu.

On Glee, they featured Rocky Horror Picture Show, which made me want to be one of the characters from it for Halloween. (It's now recorded on my list of potential costumes.)

My favorite article on NPR this week noted that Tom DeLay's trial starts in Austin on Monday. I hope they nail the bugger for illegally financing Texas state legislature races.

On Friday night, I hauled my exhausted bum to a Halloween costume party on the west side. I went as Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman's character from Pulp Fiction), and my accomplice played a garden gnome. It was a fun evening filled with tons of creative costumes. In attendance were bumblebees; several Pirates of the Caribbean-inspired pirates; Willy Wonka--the new Johnny Depp interpretation, not Gene Wilder's original version; Princess Leia; Snooky; The Situation; Cat Woman; Batman; crazy clowns; Go-Go girls; witches; and a simply marvelous man posed as a female sailor. Honestly, he nailed female mannerisms--casually brushing his blond locks away from his face, the coquettish side stance, and the entire party envied his up-to-there legs. The evening also included fun Halloween-themed food and drinks, a bonfire, and a few new acquaintances.

Prairie Home

Fall has arrived, and it's marvelous. I love the smell of decay in the air--the fallen leaves breaking down, the grass turning brown, the flowers dying back. When I walk by the small patch of prairie by the First Street railroad tracks, the smell of the prairie transitioning into winter mode reminds me of home. Rain has stripped some of the trees bare, but others still have leaves, often in more muted or wine-colored shades. (The notable exception being the bright yellow gingko outside of my office window, valiantly clinging to its leaves against wind and rain.) Drab skies have descended over the past few days, but I don't mind...yet. (Talk to me in February when it's been cold for ages and the landscape is nothing but endless brown and gray.)

We went hiking at Indian Lake a few weeks ago on a gorgeous, bright day. After tromping around for a few hours, we ate apples and granola bars and drank leftover coffee on the back bumper before heading back to the city. I'd definitely like to make a return trip.

And today was a lovely little Saturday. It included a little paper-reading, coffee, and a bacon biscuit from Batch Bakery, and then picking up a few more items for my Halloween costume (Mia Wallace, Uma Thurman's character in Pulp Fiction) from Mallat's Pharmacy.

In the evening, I cleaned my house, did laundry, and fell in love with Two Fat Ladies...and Bitchin' Kitchen... and Nigella Lawson and those crazy guys from Food Jammers. The Cooking Channel kicks ass! I may never leave my house again.

A couch! A couch! My kingdom for a couch!

Just a quick note before I go to bed. I need to get back into the groove of writing regularly here. This week has been a bit of a whirlwind. Last Saturday morning, Mike was nice enough to help me pick up and move a Crate and Barrel couch that I was purchasing from a couple through Craigslist. When we tried to move it into the apartment, we discovered that my stature put us at a unique disadvantage for maneuvering the piece into the house (it entailed either lifting the whole thing about a foot over my head to hoist it over a balcony or creative twisting and turning to accommodate narrow doorways). Luckily for me, other tallish friends left the football game early because they were broiling in the hot sun, so they finished the job. So now when y'all come over, you won't have to feel like you're perching on uncomfortable parlor chairs circa 1902.

Work is v. busy as we prepare for an upcoming conference. And I subbed for three different yoga classes this past week, so on Monday and Tuesday, I didn't get home until 8pm. Dexter says he's beginning to forget what I look like. (He's sitting next to me, silently pleading for a lick from my ramekin of java chip ice cream.)

However, I did manage to go to dinner with Jim and Jason at the Weary on Wednesday. As usual, I had the west of the Andes sandwich on tuna (http://bit.ly/9bbmpD). Mmm. Pico de gallo and chipotle mayonnaise on a marvelous tuna steak with a generous swathe of avocado: It just doesn't get any better than that. Jim and Jason both had the Hungarian goulash

Last month, a bunch of us saw Wicked at the Overture. I enjoyed it, although the experience was somewhat tempered by a major case of vertigo. Also, I wish I could've been closer to really see the costumes and appreciate the choreography.

Beforehand, we went to Fresco, the rooftop restaurant about the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art, for dinner. And that was phenomenal. I had the chicken Fresco, which was yummy. But I think my favorite part of the meal was dessert. Abby B. suggested (well, it was more of a directive ;)) we order the buttermilk beignets. Masquerading as simple round donuts, they are equipped with a milk chocolate center and vanilla creme anglaise. Thanks, Ms. A., for introducing me to the beignet!  

Last month was also my birthday, and my favorite birthday wish came from Ms. Lisa. With music from Bizet's Carmen playing in the background, her electronic card read: "Celebrate like a gypsy slut." Hilarious. Cracked me up. (Yeah, yeah. I know: The correct term is Roma, but it was still pretty damn funny.)

Valley of the Sun

Hola! I am not dead! Sorry for the gap in writing, dear readers. It's been a whirlwind lately. In this post, I'll detail the highlights of my last trip to Phoenix (in late August and early September), and I've got a few other posts up my sleeve.

So: Phoenix. This trip centered largely on shoving food in my face, which suits me. We hit Tortas el Rey. We meant to go to Los Reyes de la Torta because it was featured on Man vs. Food, but our sub-par Spanish tripped us up. Anyway, it doesn't matter because we got essentially the same thing: a big-ass sandwich. The king version contains: breaded beef, pork, ham, chorizo, cheese, avocado, beans, tomatoes, onions, jalapeno, and an omelet--all on a telera (a Mexican type of bread) bun. We each ate half and probably consumed more calories than we normally eat in about three days.

We also had burgers at 25 Degrees. This joint's hilarious tagline is "bordello meets burger bar," so I guess their decor is supposed to remind you of your favorite brothel. I had the number 2, which was topped with prosciutto, roasted tomato, burrata (a fresh Italian cheese, made from mozzarella and cream...had to look that one up), and pesto. Matt chose the number 3 with mezzo secco jack, green chili, chipotle, and avocado. Here's the menu if you ever happen to find yourself in the Valley of the Sun with a hankering for a delicious slab of beef.

After eating gigantor tortas, we ventured over to the swanky Phoenician for a farewell party of one of Matt's friends. I hung out in one of the pools for a bit, but then I took refuge from the sun in the shaded outdoor bar.

And we returned to Postino for their unusual bruschetta and wine. This time, we chose the warm artichoke spread, the albacore tuna with gaeta olives,smoked salmon with capers and pesto, and prosciutto with figs and marscapone. Amazing!

For the Labor Day holiday, we had a few people over to grill out and hang by the pool. All in all, it was a brief visit, but a good one.

Crustless Rainbow Chard and Cheese Quiche

I just pulled a crustless rainbow chard and cheese quiche out of the oven. (This is what I did in lieu of going to the gym tonight. Well, that and wrestle with Sprint over a new phone and plan.) It's beautifully browned on the top and smells heavenly. You can find the recipe here: http://collardgreenblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/crustless-rainbow-chard-quiche.html.

Last week, I tried carrot tops in soup, and it was unpleasant. They tasted...well, how you'd imagine carrot tops to taste: grassy and bitter and like something that you'd only eat if the rest of your crops had been destroyed in a plague of locusts or you live in a cold, god-forsaken part of the world (Mount Horeb in February?) or the fief of the feudal estate you call home demanded more of your meager agricultural output, pushing you and your family to the edge of starvation. Yeah. That's how they taste.