The Rake Magazine

Month: November 2007

  • Polpettone di Maiale

     

    Like “Le lasange”, meatballs vary from region to region. In Campania the
    secret is in the pine nuts and raisins. Buone
    feste!

    Ingredients:

    • 1 pound ground pork
    • 1/2 to 3/4 cup plain bread crumbs
    • 2 to 4 eggs
    • 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, finely grated
    • 6 tablespoons pine nuts
    • 2 tablespoons raisins, diced
    • 1/2 cup Italian parsley, finely cut
    • 1/4 cup olive oil
    • dash of salt and pepper
    • 1 to 2 cups red wine
    • 1 quart tomato sauce

    Method:
    After beating
    2 eggs, add cheese, ½ cup of bread crumbs, a dash of salt and pepper, and
    parsley. Mix well. Add mixture to ground pork. Use your hands to mix the
    ingredients well. When the mixture has the correct consistency, add pine nuts
    and raisins. Form meatballs either round or in the shape of an egg.

    Note: when preparing meatballs, it is important to obtain the correct
    texture. You don’t want them too wet or dry. If they are too wet, add some more
    bread crumbs. If they are too dry, add an egg white.

    Add olive oil to a
    pan and heat. When oil is hot, place meatballs in the pan and cook on one side
    until a crust is formed. Then, very slowly turn the meatballs from side to side
    so the entire ball has formed a hard crust. Add red wine to the pan and let it
    evaporate.

    When all the wine has been cooked off, add tomato sauce,
    cover, and bring to a boil. Leave at a boil for a couple of minutes and then
    reduce heat to low. Keep loosely covered and simmer for an hour.

    Serve
    with pasta or crusty Italian bread.

     

    Alycia’s Southern Italian Tours
    Alycia’s Southern Italian Tours
    3

  • H&M/Roberto Cavalli: They Hate Us

    Snubbed again, dammit! I just called the H&M store at the
    Mall of America to double-check, but it looks like the retailer has decided to
    skip Minneapolis (yet again) when it launches its massclusive line of Roberto
    Cavalli     for H&M next week. Not that the line is covetable in the first
    place. (I mean, leopard prints on the cheap? Puhleeze.) But here’s what goads me: Minneapolitans
    might not have invented massclusivity, but we certainly popularized the notion
    of affordable design (our very own Target Corporation did, in any case). Don’t we at least deserve to see and touch the clothes? Alas, if a Twin Citian finds
    herself dying for a leopard print satin camisole with black, lacy trim, she’ll
    just have to trek to H&M on Michigan
    Avenue    . Of course, the clothes will be on eBay by
    November 9 (where Lagerfeld and Stella McCartney’s lines for H&M are still everpresent).

  • Baked Butternut Squash

     

    Ingredients:

    • 2 butternut squashes, peeled and de-seeded
    • 1 4-ounce package Boursin cheese
    • 8 ounces heavy cream
    • 1 whole egg
    • 3 ounces mozzarella cheese
    • salt and pepper to taste

    Method:
    Mix
    cheeses, cream, and egg. Ladle just enough cream mixture to lightly coat bottom
    of pan. Layer peeled squash on mixture. Repeat this step, layering cream mixture
    and squash until gone. Season each layer with salt and pepper. Sprinkle top with
    mozzarella and bake at 350 degrees for 25-35 min. until tender. Cool for at
    least 10 minutes before serving.

    Serves 4 to 6

     

    Afton House Inn
    Afton House Inn
    3

  • Love Tore Him Apart

    Control is now playing at the Uptown Theatre.

    There is a wonderful moment the amazing bio-pic Control where Ian Curtis, lead singer of Joy Division, walks to work from his parents home in suburban Manchester.
    He has a job at a government employment agency, trying to help people
    get on their feet. As he trudges through his quiet neighborhood, the
    camera follows him, slowly, revealing Ian to be wearing a jacket with
    the word "Hate" in white tape on his back. Curtis is young, so young,
    barely 18 and already married, a child on the way and a three-ring
    binder full of lyrics that would shake the world. But, the director,
    Anton Corbijn has no use for the usual hysterics that would accompany
    such a scene: Curtis is not gaped at as he walks around with Hate on
    his coat, nor is he frowned upon by old biddies and squares who can’t
    understand the raging poet. No, he nods hello to people, walks into
    work, takes his coat off and begins. This is simply another day, with
    real people, the same mundane reality that we all slog through, and the
    one that inspired, and perhaps undid Ian Curtis.

    Control is not a story of a young man raging against a society that does not understand him. If Control is to be believed (and I believe it wholeheartedly) Curtis does not hate the world, in spite of what his jacket says. Hate and frustration and an elusive loneliness grip him. But he cannot bring himself to loathe those kind people in his life. Perhaps, then he will have to hate himself.

    Control is a meditation on a singer who you might say felt too much. Ian Curtis looked out his window at skies that were endlessly gray, at a wife who slept next to him and baffled him, and at a lover who inflamed him and left him equally baffled and was moved to write songs. Great songs. He was able to momentarily bat away the angst of youth onstage. Curtis worked at an employment agency and helped, really helped those poor souls who came to him feeling broken down by unemployment. He admired his parents, and wished he could get away. But when faced with that opportunity, he killed himself.

    Directed by Anton Corbijn, who photographed Joy Division all those years ago (they thrived from 1976-1980, when Curtis committed suicide), Control reflects Corbijn’s deep respect for his subject. It perfectly examines the life that inspired the lyrics, and it respects the fact that we will never quite know the artist nor where he dug his inspiration from. We are given the big moments that fans of Joy Division fans long for: the marriage, the first studio session, the contract–literally signed in blood–with Factory Records that would make them stars, at least in England. We see the concerts, with Curtis dancing like a machine and gripping the mic for dear life. And we are given the small details that make one feel the torment that gripped Curtis and enriched the music he wrote: listening to David Bowie in his bedroom with the dim light from yet another cloudy day; a pint with his friends at the bar, or getting blitzed on stolen prescription drugs and wondering if that will be the sum of your days; dinner with the family you love but want to scream at for failing you in ways you can barely define yourself.

    Why did Ian Curtis commit suicide on the eve of Joy Division’s American tour? Did he wish he could stay married and have a mistress on the side? Did his epileptic fits give him a terror of his own body? Or did he hear his own music and come to the conclusion that perhaps he just didn’t have much more to say. When we see where New Order, the band that emerged from the wreckage of Joy Division after Curtis’ death, we see that maybe the latter would have achieved great fame and success had they pulled of their U.S. tour. Perhaps as he closed in on success, Curtis realized success was not what he wanted. I don’t know what he wanted, Corbijn doesn’t know what he wanted, and probably this is due to the fact that Curtis himself didn’t know what he wanted from his art. "I exist as best I can," he said. In the end, existence wasn’t enough.

     

  • Spring Ginger Mussels

     

    Ingredients:

    • 1 1/2 pounds fresh black mussels, cleaned
    • 1 ounce ginger, diced
    • 1 1/2 ounces garlic, chopped
    • 1 1/2 ounces shallots chopped
    • 1 ounce tamari soy sauce
    • 2 ounces vegetable oil
    • 1 ounce chives, chopped
    • 2 ounces unsalted butter
    • 3 ounces seedless cucumber, diced
    • 1 ounce quality sake
    • salt and pepper to taste

    Method:
    Warm a
    large sauté pan or skillet to medium heat. Add ginger, garlic, shallots,
    vegetable oil, and cucumbers. Sauté for 1 minute. Add mussels. Deglaze pan with
    sake. Add butter and tamari soy sauce. Cover until mussels are open. Toss chives
    and serve in a big bowl.

    Serves 4

     

    Afton House Inn

     
    Afton House Inn

    3

  • Truffle Hunt

    Which camp are you in?

    A: Truffles are earthy little pungent gifts from the ground that should be prized and savored in a meaningful and creative dish.

    B: Truffles are overrated bits of hype that chefs use to glam their menus while hiding their technical failings.

    Honestly, sometimes I’m in both camps at the same time. I remember my first truffle dish: it was a creamy and soft celery root soup with a black truffle shaving that I had at Gramercy Tavern. Beautiful and subtle, the flavors were never ostentatious or showy. On the other side of the spectrum, I later ate truffle and foie gras ravioli at Ca L’Isidre in Spain. It is one of those taste-memories that I carry with me and is recalled everytime I even smell truffle oil. Lucky me.

    But I do recognize the trend of using truffle oil and truffle butter as being a little too easy. Yes, it brings the flavor to the home cook without all the fuss, of that I am glad. I just can’t abide certain chefs who think that it should be a feature in every dish, found on the menu of a recent restaurant visit at least twelve times. It looks foolish and amature.

    Anyhoo.

    Today and tomorrow you will be able to buy authentic Italian tuffles sourced by the Urbani family. Friday from Noon to 6pm at Byerly’s in Edina and Saturday from 9am to 3pm at Byerly’s in St. Louis Park. The gems will be sold in .03 pound increments at market price.

    I might just grab a cup of coffee and go to watch the bum rush … if it happens.

  • Pssst….

    Well, the biggest secret today is clearly our new website. Be sure to check it and enjoy our new features. No more buried content! You’ll find a much airier feel all around — I hope. Hell, forget about going out. Just spend the weekend digging through the archives and emailing articles to your friends. I’m joking, of course — but there are indeed some great articles back there.

    Ok. Onward. There are, after all, some great events this weekend.

    ART
    From Zinnia Seeds to Zinnia Still-Lifes — Art Attack

    The Northrup King business is currently just one facet of a global conglomerate, but the massive complex of ten buildings in Northeast Minneapolis retained the name of the seed company founded over a hundred years ago. Now, of course, those buildings all crank out art and crafts. With more than 125 creative tenants, there’s no shortage of goods to peruse, but everything’s concentrated in one location, which is a boon for those of us who are getting on in years, or who are just plain lazy (we’re both). If you find Art-a-Whirl overwhelming, this is the art fair you want. Look for a special exhibit in NKB’s group room marking the fair’s tenth anniversary, with historical displays about the seed company as well as art inspired by present-day activities in the complex. —Julie Caniglia

    Friday from 5 to 10 p.m., Saturday 12 – 8 p.m., Sunday 12 – 5 p.m.); Northrup King Building,1500 Jackson St. N.E., Minneapolis; 612-363-5612.

    Naked Wonder: Mark Dion, Christine Baeumler, and Eleanor McGough

    Colleen Sheehy, curator at the Weisman, put together a nature-themed
    show with this Bob Dylan epigraph: “The sky cracked its poems in naked
    wonder.” She chose Mark Dion’s candid deer portraits, Eleanor McGough’s
    paintings of natural subjects subsumed into lushly decorative patterns,
    and Christine Baeumler’s paintings from her recent trip to the
    Galapagos and the Great Barrier Reef. Sheehy chose “curator artists”:
    Dion has always been interested in what museums do to their subjects,
    the animals or art that end up in them; McGough seizes flowers,
    branches, cells, and proliferates their patterns, creating a decorative
    context that acts much like a museum in deracinating the subjects.
    Baeumler seems better able to stand back—in the past, her paintings
    often contained such patterns and grids, but these new ones seem to
    find rather than seek. —Ann Klefstad

    Opening reception on Saturday from to 9 p.m., Gallery Co., 400 First Ave. N., Suite 210, Minneapolis; 612-332-5252.

    MUSIC
    Lovely Leila

    She’s one of those classical music babes—a twenty-something player who, on account on her good looks, packs no small amount of marketing punch. But the peripatetic violinist Leila Josefowicz also has serious chops. She performed with such top-ten orchestras as Cleveland and Philadelphia while still in her teens, for heaven’s sake, and has since managed to forge a successful solo career. She has a passion for new music; she is known, in particular, for playing the works of contemporary composer John Adams. (As for Adams, he is perhaps best known for his operas Nixon In China and Doctor Atomic.) This weekend Josefowicz plays solo on an Adams violin concerto (written in 1993/4) with the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra. —Christy DeSmith

    Friday at 10:30 a.m. and 8 p.m., Saturday at 8 p.m., Ordway Center, 345 Washington St., St. Paul; 651-291-1144; $11-$59.

    And, of course, if you’re looking for some fabulous old-school rock, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are playing at the Xcel Energy Center this evening, Friday, at 7:30 p.m. Yes, the tickets are steep ($67-$97), but Sprinsteen is always worth the cost of admission.

    FILM
    American Gangster Finally Opens

    Between the Coens’ new shoot-’em-up and American Gangster, this year’s Oscar contenders will probably be slam-bang pieces of entertainment. In Gangster, Denzel Washington plays African-American mob boss Frank Lucas,
    who ruled ’70s Harlem by making his product—heroin—better and cheaper
    than his rivals’, while simultaneously becoming one of the city’s great
    civic leaders. Opposing him is one Russell Crowe,
    an “outcast cop,” who is equally possessed of a solid moral ethic
    amongst a corrupt force. These two men will meet, bullets will fly, and
    all the while we’ll be treated to some awesome ’70s imagery, great
    music, and two of the sexiest leading men to go head to head in a movie
    since Heat. —Peter Schilling

    Opens today at area theaters.

     

     

  • We Do This Every Three Years

    If you are reading this, you are at The Rake’s new web site. And you are looking at the result of a lot of work by Cristina Córdova, our web editor, Matt Bartel, our web geek, Brad Richter of Codewarp, and Erika Stenrick and Ronan Dowling of Gorton Studios. Kraig Larson of Ciceron did the design heavy lifting. I’d be remiss, too, if I neglected to mention FAMFAMFAM for their creative commons icons.

    I won’t go into too much detail except to say that writing the Oxford English Dictionary probably was easier than integrating our old inflexible content management system into a new one.

    The only thing harder than actually doing it, was thinking of all the things we wanted to do. For that, I’m going to give yet one more prop to Cristina Córdova.

    And, of course, a big one to all the talented writers and artists and editors who’ve contributed their wonderful thoughts to The Rake for almost six years now. (One of the neat features of the new site is the author index. Click on any story byline and see what happens.)

    We hope the new format will provide a better experience for you.

    We know it’s better for us. It will be even better for us when the memory of the birthing pains subsides.

    So, tonight we’re having a couple of drinks.

    Thanks for reading rakemag.com.

    Tom Bartel

  • The Finish Line: The Black Bus With The Tinted Windows Is Waiting

    Trust me, even when I go away, I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’m always around, a lurker in my own life.

    The end of the baseball season is always a painful thing for an obsessive/compulsive man who is a complete slave to routine yet has very few habits –with the exception of bad habits– that would qualify as routines.

    Baseball was invented for people like me, and when the carnival shuts down for the winter and the boxscores disappear from the morning newspaper, I’m left with…I’m left with…um…I’m honestly not sure. Extreme malnutrition, dodgy hygiene, darkness, and increasingly long stretches of paralysis. I likely won’t turn on the television again until April.

    Was it a good season? I guess I’m not sure. It certainly wasn’t a particularly great year to be a Twins fan. In the next couple months, I suppose, some highlights and happy memories will surface through the murk, but mostly what I remember now is that sense of frustration and futility that seemed to get cranked tighter and tighter as the season dragged along to what in hindsight seems like its inevitable conclusion.

    I began the season in a state of extreme denial. I always begin the season in a state of extreme denial. I was as grouchy as the next guy when the Twins hauled Sidney Ponson and Ramon Ortiz north in April, but I honestly believed a team with Johan Santana, Joe Mauer, Justin Morneau, Joe Nathan, and Torii Hunter would be able to play with anybody in the AL Central.

    I was wrong, of course. I had a pretty good idea that Ponson and Ortiz would suck, and I had a pretty good idea that Nick Punto was probably not a perfect-world everyday second baseman. But I had no idea Joe Mauer was going to spend most of the year either injured or doing a sort of Brian Harper impersonation. I had no idea Justin Morneau’s power numbers would disappear in the second half. And I had no idea the contract status of Hunter and Santana would become such a lingering and maddening sideshow.

    The truth, though, is that you never have a really good idea about much of anything. Baseball proves that virtually every year.

    The postseason was both frustrating and oddly satisfying, starting right ouf of the blocks with the one-game Rockies/Padres playoff. I liked every one of the match-ups, but it was a shame to see so many quick series. The World Series pitted two very different teams that were both fun to watch and, more importantly, seened to genuinely enjoy playing the game.

    The Red Sox were just scary, scary on so many levels, and every indication is that this is an organization –and a team– that is determined and capable of being scary good for years to come.

    Now what?

    No idea, really. The whole Hot Stove League thing has become little more than commentary and speculation surrounding the incredulous –and often horrifying– free agent cash scramble.

    I think I’ll probably try to write about baseball books, or baseball and comic books, or baseball movies, or great names in baseball history –or just strange historical arcana related to the game.

    I’ll try to write about something, even while I lurch along aboard the Black Bus, and squint hopefully through the tinted windshield for the first sign of spring sunlight on the horizon.

    And I’ll remind myself of the words I speak aloud every year when the last out of the World Series is recorded: God help us all. May I still be sitting here come April.

     

  • Gaviidae Commons: Where The Boys Are

    It’s nearly impossible to find a decent men’s jacket these
    days. Last weekend’s hunt yielded fashionable versions from Neiman Marcus (the
    $1,200 one by Etro, for example) and comparatively affordable options from Off
    Fifth     (a Valentino clearanced at $600). But alas, I am not paying for what boyfriend wears to
    little brother’s wedding this weekend (I bought my dress in July), so we
    pressed on in a hunt for bargain-basement prices. Next stop: The new Len
    Druskin     Man-Boy store which was full of hoodies, sneaks, and faux-vintage tees. Also at Gaviidae:
    Kuhlman, which is a fine, affordable place but not necessarily in alignment with
    boyfriend’s fratboy-hippie tastes.

     

    Funny thing is: Gaviidae ALMOST had its own haberdashery. The
    concept was being spearheaded by a veteran salesman of the Dayton’s/Marshall Field’s men’s department as
    well as another prominent local boutique owner. (Can you guess who?) But word
    has it that Gaviidae nixed the idea—and, along with that, an already-signed
    lease—once the folks at Len Druskin got sight of the store’s vendor list.