Culinary troglodyte at City Pages

A couple weeks ago City Pages published a terrific article about supporting family farms by signing up for summer produce.
I learned all about the author/accomplished chef's experitse at sautee-ing things in garlic and olive oil.
Also, she HATES: turnips, collards, squash, and celery root. I had to write to thank her.
A letter to the editor of City Pages:
Dear Editors,
I realize that not everyone can be Dara Moskowitz, but the author of last week's piece was more than a little off the mark. Next time you are looking for someone to write about fresh, locally-grown produce, perhaps you can find a writer who is more 'accomplished' than a culinary troglodyte with the palate of an imbecile. No, wait. That's a bit harsh. I live with a troglodytic imbecile and, unlike your columnist, he likes squash, turnips, and collards. And he's only 3. And he's a CAT.
Whatever the problem your "accomplished chef" has with her own food aversions, it would have been nice if she had kept those to herself and had instead offered some information about fresh greens and vegetables that didn't have to be
drown in oil and garlic.

MIA, but...

I wasn't disappeared! Though the government have legislated themselves
permission to deem undesireables "enemies of the state," and take us
(the undesireables) into custody, I wasn't. Maybe they haven't caught up
to me yet, despite having the NSA read my blog. It must be my secret code
formed entirely out of food terminology. Ha!
I learned something this weekend. There is a direct correlation between Happy Hour(s)
and the amount of money I spend when attending. First, let me say I've never
actually found "Happy Hour" in Minneapolis to be anything more than "Moderately
Pleasant Chunk-o-Wasted Time, Nearly 4 hours in Full." So much for false advertising and my
gullibility. That said, there is a parallel between the Happy Hour(s)/Cash Vacuum and Low Fat or
Sugar Free food/weight gain. See if this example follows the rule:
I go with a friend for sushi. We arrive at 6 o'clock and are told that Happy Hour ends at, hmmm
6! We proceed to look for another establishment in which to partake of the, let's call it, "Irritated and
Willing to Entertain the Possibility of 'Happy Thoughts' Hour."
No such luck. We stop for a beer to kill time before another sushi joint. With still a full hour to the start
of IWEPHT hour, we decide to order some items that will not be featured in the Happy Hour Specials.
Lo and behold, we trounced that wait and Happy Hour arrived just for us to get 2 dollars knocked off
the only item we could still stomache after gorging and throwing down $40 each.
Moral of the story: Eat at home, think about all the money you've saved. This makes me happy.
Should this strategy fail you, as it often does me, check out ThriftyHipster

Raid on Liquor Store

Man alive! I heard about this on the radio and thought, "So good to live in Minneapolis where law and order are a priority." Right? If that sounds like sarcasm, check out the latest exploits of the feds in their vigilance protecting those among us who would flout the law and their "own personal safety" to engage in illegal activity. Oh, c'mon!
After that crack down on the 'spelt' bread (wink, wink) sold over at the French Meadow, it's good to see that not even Surdyk's is above the law.
From what I gather, this is all to protect us from ourselves. After all, there must be a good reason to keep people from
buying and consuming things as they damn well please. $$$$?
Next installment: How this would have gone down Philadelphia.

End of an Era: "The Hermit" edition. (UPDATED)

If I recover from being a shut-in, it will be thanks to that old Minneapolis stand-by Eli's. It's a classic, though it doesn't any longer feature the charms of Angie. You gotta love a surley pregnant girl who takes your order by pulling up a bar stool and moaning, "Christ, what's it you guys want now?" then carrying back a tray of beer balanced on her belly, and presumably on the head of the kid-to-be. That oughtta be a requisite pub feature.
Now, having ventured out to Philly last week, the "grass-is-always-greener" phenomenon struck me. I realise that the best crowd in Philly were displaced
from the old "Northstar Bar" after its closing. Most of them were in attendance at this fabulous wedding I'd been
invited to. So I got to see them assembled like a reunion of the displaced. I was shocked to find that they had scattered to new locations rather than moving en masse to another bar. Right? The closing of both the old Northstar on Popular and China Rice House on Walnut Schtreet means I'll be forced to find new haunts in that city - well, other than my hauntiest: Bonner's.
Going to Bonner's was really just like sitiing in the extra living room I always wanted, only with more beer.
So my suggestion is that Minneapolis bar owners "get their hand off it" already and open a real joint with a horseshoe bar. Then hire a real staff who'll pour my drink before I sit down, insult me, and offer some gossip about shenanigans from
the last night's attempt to close on time.
Oh and a couple of retiree cops who come in at 1:00am with fresh hot pretzels in a paper bag would be nice, too.
UPDATE: A couple weeks ago, I stopped in to
The Bulldog and before I sat myself down on the stool, there was a Jameson with beer chaser on the bar.
Who knew?
I felt like Sally m.f. Fields: "They like me! They really like me!"

U-tensils for The-m-asses.

There's a short piece (scroll down to "Evil Tines" in the most recent Smithsonian, May 2006) about forks. Certainly, it's short-
it could not have been an epic tom about forks. Or mightn't it? Says that forks only became commonplace
starting about 200 years ago. Prior to that, some kind of church dictates were in opposition to
"forks." (And again, I say, "Church, FIND A CAUSE.') The article goes on to describe how forks were "a European affectation" not embraced in America until
1820 or so, when Rockefellers, Carnegies and Morgans made them fashionable. -You just know they
wanted to keep the help in thrall and guessing, mh-hmm. Ultimately, there were something like 150 different
varieties of forks included in a single dinner service flatware pattern.
As I see it, the Smithsonian article is not inconsistent with processes described by philosopher Carolyn Korsmeyer, whereby styles and habits of the "elite"
are augmented once the masses aquire them. Korsmeyer describes how pieces of meat in the time
before refrigeration were a luxury, even for royalty. When the common people (the-m-asses) began to include
meat at meals, the well-to-do found it fashionable to dine on aged meat. (Not dried, mind you. This was meat left to sit,
lying around in the summer: rancid-ass, skeevy, measly meat is what they ate!) They could afford to have enough
of it. They didn't have to eat it all at once.*
That'll show them peasants!
So, back to forks: Then, in 1925, Hoover had to go and ruin that separation of fork users from opposable-thumb and prehensile-tail gruel eaters
by citing a silver shrotage and limiting total pieces in any pattern to 55.
(IMHO, that 150 forks-assortment would make for good wedding gift revenge! - You'd be able to pick out the set of four
"Belgium Octagon Screwpine Leaf remover Forks", and though suffering the cost, you'd relish the fact that the happy
couple would need to be lucky enough to receive a set of welder's tongs, masks, and asbestos gloves
among their gifts in order to smelt and make practical use *your* lovely selection. Too bad, if
they didn't have those items listed on the registry.

Couch "potatoes" replaced.

Who doesn't like olives?

My cats probably don't like olives this much, but their party manners are about the same at *the many elegant madcap catered events* I've hosted. One of these idiot cats eats fresh broccoli, tomatoes, and peppers. What a retard. Here's my real problem with this: cats notoriously prefer foul and decaying things - y'know like fetid meat and rotten dairy and stuff. Should I be concerned about the cats' attraction to my seemingly fresh produce? Or should I be suspicious of what the green grocer has done with my veg before he puts it out to sell?

Huh? Vegan Pork Rinds

Cave blogging.
After cowering from my blog as much as I might from, say, a dissertation committee, I found some inspirations. It might just be that I haven't been getting out much: I've figured out why they won't let me bring my cats into restaurants.
Y'think?

Hanging at picnic rock

I just read a post from "the youngest blogger" -11 yrs. Here he describes food machines at his school cafeteria that permit people to select an item that "gets nuked" on its way out the machine. Sounds like dishes at the old Horn and Hardart's automat, only now wrapped in plastic that "melts into the food." I cannot think of a time when I would have been hungry enough to try something like this. Really, only in some desert-crawl, hunger strike, multi-month fast would I entertain something like this.
On the other hand, I've not been in a grade school cafeteria for years. Have they deteriorated this much?

What is SPELT and where can I score some?//Meadow du Francais

I knew I couldn't trust those people at the French Meadow Bakery. The MN Daily had announced years ago that there was something suspcious
about a "French" cafe that prohibited smoking. And that was long before the city-wide smoking ban most recently implemented.
Now, I don't so much mind about the smoking ban, as I don't ...(smoke, for now). Still, in Philly, I used to enjoy the crowd smoking at tables and the clever pigeons who'd sneaked in from the platform to the food area of the 30th Street Train Station. It was something other than quaint; it was as if Philly was the last bastion of free public space in the US. Well, then some Amtrak policeman shot a homeless guy who picked up a chair and backed against a wall. Then they just had to crack down on the people who were hanging out at the station I walked through on my way to and from work. The number of smokers started to dissapate last year.
That said, I guess I'm over the "no Galloise" policy at the French Meadow. There's enough 'else-wise' to annoy me about that establishment.
Any time I'm just passing by the place I begin mumbling to myself a string of under-my-breath, cartoon-character-expletives: "Ratzen frazzen fricka smack-em, arrrgh, I'm a pirate! -and I hate those guys and their four dollars for a coffee!"
And then, the other day, TV trucks arrived in front to film something. Imagine how exciting: news on Lyndale. Something about the F-****' Meadow! Could it be a RAID, like the one they needed back when that drug front barely posing as Small Engine City and the Olypmia Gym (which actually was the front of a dealer's operation) were there?
No such luck. Just a little FDA action to impound 30,000 loaves of SPELT. My people call it 'bread'. ~(Land'o....)
Well, in truth, 's-p-e-l-t' it was. I figure most of us are about as familiar with the spelling as we are with the botanical taxonomical specification - or hagiography, for that matter, - of this grain.
So the Feds tell us spelt is a primitive form of wheat, and therefore "wheat-free" cannot be labelled on the bread like the way F-****' Meadow does it.
"They did that, f'real? Aww, pfssss, that is so ass! SHUT 'EM DOWN! They should pay squillions for such a heinous crime."
It should be obvious that I would be the last in line to stage a defense of the French Meadow, but in the war against false advertising, I'd be first up to beg the FDA to get a cause.

Who is this guy and who did he kill?

Check back for the full details!

Deliveries and Calumnies (annotated)

Having lived nearly 10 years on the east coast, I spent a lot of time defending the reputation of
the Twin Cities.
-"No, it's not really a backwater." (1)
-"They have skyscrapers and public (uhhm, cough) transportation and everything!"(2)
-"The Cities are teaming with theaters, museums, nightlife, and fine dining establishments."
-"Huge diverse neighborhoods spiral in every direction due to the great immigrant groups settling there."
-"Yes, Minnesota elected a former pro wrestler to the Govenor's seat, but the people are generally sophisticated." (3)
But now I have moved back to Minneapolis and I've begun to worry. Maybe I need to send postcard apologies to
all those I deceived about the "metropolitan" nature of MSP.
A first concern: where's all the restaurant delivery?
In Philly, New York, and Balitmore any self-respecting city dweller holds 15 - 20 take-out menus from neighborhood joints who'll dispatch a carrier by bike or car. Here, other than pizza and liquor store deliveries, I'd be hard pressed to think of any place whose people will show up at my door with a dinner order. Pizza and beer is only part of the food ziggurat (4) for me.
Is it the nature of the purveyors or have they already discovered that people here hold their pocketbooks too tightly, ergo no tips? Is it some nobly persistent Scando-germanic notion of stoicism that we scions of vikings must abide hunting and gathering, even if delivery is available? Or is it a fear that whatever might arrive at the door will resemble (in appearance and taste) some kind of glorified dog food reposited in Styrofoam?
Look, my old neighborhood allowed me opportunity to ring up for (in addition to bi bim bop, strombolis, hoagies, and a vindaloo) sandwiches from the Korean Kosher Deli.(5) Kimchi sides with pastrami on rye might not catch on in Minneapolis, but I bet they would if you could have someone bring it to your house.
Okay, this is not so much 'sqwout' as it is 'snaqwout,' but what exactly is "up" with delivery in Minneapolis/St. Paul?

Notes:1) "At least we're not a 'Backwater' like Minneapolis" was part of the obloquy in a CityPaper article attempting to
describe the music scene here!
2) The last few years I proudly suggested, "Yeah, they got trains and everything." Until,
I saw the "light-rail."
3) After Ventura was elected, most people stopped asking about milking cows and chewing on
hayseed. He gave MN a little notariety, though when speaking,
his accent did make us seem exotic, and not in a good way.
4) A terraced pyramid
5) The Kosher Deli sold to a Korean Family who augmented but didn't change the staples on the
menu.

original test

One line to see what this is all about.
Philly.