The Rake Magazine

Month: November 2007

  • The Devil Knows About These People

    WARNING: Plot points revealed below–

    *****************************************************************

    Don’t shoot heroin.
    Don’t screw your brother’s wife.
    Don’t steal from your parents.
    If you do, make sure they won’t be there.

     

    Don’t embezzle from your company.
    Don’t squander your child support on cheap booze.
    Don’t whine, especially if you’re a guy.
    Pay some attention to the company you keep.

     

    Have great sex in Rio, but remember it’s just vacation.
    Don’t expect it to last forever.
    Don’t kill your mother, your brother’s friend’s brother-in-law, or your heroin dealer when you get back.

     

    Remember the IRS is watching.
    Don’t pay former employees and pocket their checks.
    Never trust your brother.
    Watch out when your father has a pillow in his hands.

     

    These are just a few of the lessons I learned watching Sidney Lumet’s Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, in which a shallow, fucked-up, heroin-and-cocaine addicated real estate accountant (Philip Seymour Hoffman) hatches a plot with his spectacularly dumb little brother (played to a T by Ethan Hawke) to rob their parents’ suburan jewelry store.

    Why? Well, there are drugs to buy. Lots of them — dispensed by a gender-indeterminate waif in an apartment with modern furnishings and a view of the Empire State Building. Also, the accountant has a hot wife — Marisa Tomei, who spends a good half the movie topless and jiggling with a pertness that belies her age. Their last great sex was in a hotel room in Rio de Janeiro and he’s got it in his head that all he needs to do in order to repeat the doggie-style feat of manliness is return.

    The cypher, on the other hand, begins boffing his brother’s wife once everyone’s reassembled in New York — though what she sees in him is anyone’s guess. He also has a jaggedly bitchy ex-wife to serve and a spoiled daughter who wants to see The Lion King on Broadway, but tickets are $130 a pop.

    Everyone needs money. No one seems to want to work.

    This is not simply a dysfunctional family, it’s one in which blood flows like a rancorous, rotting, murderous stream. The mother is killed; her husband, the always fantastic Albert Finney, finds out. The brothers disintegrate in predictably biblical style. And justice is meted out: from the hands of the father, a punishment worthy of the crime.

    Sidney Lumet has made some startling, wonderful, tense films in his time, and this one is no exception. It is, however, lacking the fundamental humanity of a movie like Dog Day Afternoon. The latest Lumet begins with an epigraph: "May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you’re dead." In the case of these people, however, I’m sure the devil won’t be fooled when they die. He’s been waiting.

    Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is playing at the Edina Cinema.

  • The Three Pointer: Half Hearted

    Home Game #4: Washington 105, Minnesota 89

    Home Game #5: Washington 100, Minnesota 82

    Season Record: 1-7

     

    1. Swingman Glut Exposes Brewer

    There are a dozen ways to explain how the Minnesota Timberwolves posted their worst six-quarter stretch of the young season this weekend, a trudge of ineptitude that lasted from the second half of the loss to the Wizards on Friday to last night’s thoroughly desultory performance against the Hornets. Like the apocryphal blind men with the elephant, descriptions of all the individual, isolated flaws would be woefully incomplete yet partially accurate, and, if stitched together, would yield of realistic composite of what the thing is. In this case, the thing is a pretty sorry basketball team: Too young, with insufficient talent, comprised of mismatched pieces and not enough pegs.

    Al Jefferson is a peg. You can plant him at power forward and he’ll batten down one-fifth of a quality, perhaps championship-caliber, starting lineup. The rest of the roster? Nobody really knows, including coach Randy Wittman, who may be more confused about his ballclub today than he was at the beginning of the season.

    One of the reasons the Wolves, and by extension personnel guy Kevin McHale, became such a laughing stock was due to the lopsided configuration of position players: Nearly everyone was either an off-guard or a small forward. One of the things lost during the hubbub over the Garnett trade and the boatload of new faces arriving for the cull-and-keep process of rebuilding was that this year’s team likewise is jam-packed with swingmen, scrabbling over each other for minutes like crabs in a bucket.

    Let’s get specific. By dint of his 33-point explosion in the Wolves sole win last week versus Sacramento, Rashad McCants laid a pretty sizable claim on the off-guard spot. If Minnesota is to win, or even avoid being blown out against the better teams in the league, they need a legit perimeter scoring threat to complement Jefferson down in the low block; especially if that guy can also get to the rim and draw fouls off the dribble. McCant is far and away the most obvious candidate to fill that niche.

    But then there is also Corey Brewer, whose perimeter scoring is, to put it kindly, suspect, but who dogs people on defense, scrambles for loose balls, hits the glass with a daredevil’s impetuous focus, and is a coachable, mentally mature kid almost certain to improve dramatically with experience. Brewer, too, is a swingman. At 6-9, it’s reasonable to assume his best position will be small forward someday, but at 185 pounds, someday is not today, or tomorrow, or most any other time this season. Only one player on the entire Wolves roster is lighter than Brewer; Sebastian Telfair, spots him ten pounds–but is nine inches shorter. McCants is 25 pounds heavier than Brewer. Ryan Gomes, who is currently splitting the small forward spot with Brewer, is 65 pounds heavier.

    It’s reasonable to expect Brewer to bulk up at least a little over the next year or two. Looking strictly at the current roster and telescoping a likely 2009 starting lineup would put McCants at the 2 and Brewer at the 3. Consequently, Wittman is force-feeding Brewer at the 3 despite the fact that Brewer’s legs look like popsicle sticks from the knees down and he lacks the upper body to compensate. The alternative is to rob minutes from McCants, or steady vet Greg Buckner (Gerald Green is already a casualty). And when Randy Foye returns, he’ll bump Marko Jaric into the 2-and-3 fray in addition to claiming a few off-guard minutes himself.

    That’s the long-winded explanation for why Corey Brewer found himself a boy among men while trying to guard small forwards Caron Butler (6-7, 228) and Peja Stojakovic (6-10, 229) over the weekend. Butler scorched Brewer for 18 points (6-7 FG, 6-8 FT) in the 22:51 Brewer was trying to guard him. By contrast, Butler had a respectable but hardly dominant 11 points (5-9 FG, 1-1 3pts, 0-0 FT) in the 23:22 Gomes played him. When it was mentioned to Witt after the game that Butler might have been a bit much for the rook to handle, the coach wouldn’t hear it, noting Butler is averaging better than 20 points per game. "He’s been doing that to everybody," Wittman claimed. Uh, not 85% shooting from the field and more than 16 free throw attempts per 48 minutes (his totals against Brewer) en route to a season-high 29 points.

    The next night, with Theo Ratliff out with a troublesome, sore right knee, Wittman upped the ante. Against the tall and rangy New Orleans front line, he could have started banger Michael Doleac on Tyson Chandler, kept Jefferson at the power forward to go against David West, and set Gomes on Peja. Nope. Jefferson slid over to the pivot opposite Chandler, Antoine Walker was tossed in against West, and Brewer started over Gomes versus Peja.

    Well, all things considered, Jefferson and ‘Toine held their own. But at the end of the first quarter, Peja had 15 points, boosting the Hornets to a 25-21 lead. For the game, Peja finished with 20 points (8-13 FG, 4-6 3pt) in 21:50 against Brewer, and 2 points (1-3 FG) in 6:51 against Gomes. And although Brewer did chip in 6 rebounds and 3 assists, he was scoreless for the game (Gomes had 12 in 26:10).

    Is playing Brewer against large veteran small forwards the best strategy? I don’t know, and neither does Wittman. But with McCants showing flashes of explosiveness and Gomes surprisingly tepid the past three or four games, I understand the impulse. Wittman has faith that Brewer is mentally tough enough to endure these whuppings and profit from the NBA court time. I don’t recommend Brewer start at the 3 for the Wolves next game, however. The opponent has a small forward, first name LeBron.

     

    2. McCants–Best When Selfish?

    In the comments section of the last trey, readers and I had a good scrum about whether the emergence of McCants might get in the way of Jefferson’s alpha-dog status in the offense and thus simultaneously deter from the Wolves’ stated "score in the paint" philosophy and smudge the pecking order enough to hurt team chemistry. Over the weekend, McCants generally put those fears to rest by often looking to get his teammates off in the half court sets. In both games, he and Jeff executed the sort of nifty, rapid-fire pick-and-roll that barely waits for the switch–Jefferson slammed home the stuff on both occasions.

    But much more frequently, McCants’ passing gambits were unwise. He committed 8 fat turnovers versus the Wizards on Friday (only two of them charges or travels), and, given that Jefferson misfired from point-blank range in the paint at least a half-dozen times while finishing a miserable 5-16 FG, probably should have called his own number more often. Against New Orleans, McCants joined the general dolor infecting the entire Wolves roster, hitting just 2-10 FG while committing another three turnovers. Yet those 10 shots in 27:04 again indicate the Shaddy was hardly ball-hoggin’. The more intriguing question now becomes, does he need to go for his own to maximize his scoring prowess?

    Wolves’ fans should cross their fingers and hope the answer is no. Instead, let’s offer two more reassuring explanations. First, McCants is neither a point guard nor should be expected to play like one. With the likes of Telfair and especially Jaric, however, he increasingly finds himself compelled to "set something up" out on the wing (hat tip to Garwood Jones for the original insight). Now at the rate things are going, Wolves fans are going to expect the return of Randy Foye to cure cancer–it certainly has been to go-to answer for every other thing ailing the Wolves and humanity. But in this instance, the return of Foye should be of great service to Shaddy, in part because Foye’s penetration and (hopefully) kick-out will provide McCants with a bevy of open looks from the perimeter, and in part because McCants will be freed to operate in shoot-first mode more often when he gets
    the rock. It will be Foye’s job to foster ball movement.

    The second explanation is that, after nailing so many sweet jumpers versus Sac, McCants forgot that scoring in the paint off the dribble is an important–and vital to his good standing with Wittman–part of his game. Just one of Shaddy’s seven baskets (in 16 attempts) was a layup against the Wizards. Versus the Hornets the next night, he simply didn’t score from the perimeter, registering his only points on a reverse slam in the first period and a spectacular left-handed jam over Tyson Chandler in the third (he egregiously traveled on the play, but no whistle so no harm).

    In short, by dishing to Jefferson in the first 85 seconds of play on Friday and looking for his teammates most of the weekend, McCants showed he wants to operate within the context of the club’s offensive schemes. And when Foye finally returns and McCants does the up-fake and go more often as a play off his jumper, the turnovers will diminish and the field goal percentage will rise. Maybe.

     

    3. Silver Linings

    It’s a shame the Friday night tilt versus Washington wasn’t televised, for the Wolves put forth a much better effort than the dog-like performance on Saturday. The key was the performance of the bench in the second quarter, with Telfair, Brewer, Buckner, and Walker joining Jefferson for a smallish quintet that swung the ball with verve and then moved after the pass to foster more ball-movement opportunities; rotated crisply on defense, especially doubling-down on passes into the paint, and generally played with a sense of fun, purpose and electric energy perhaps not seen since the opening quarter of the season opener against Denver.

    The quiet leader by example in all of this was once again Antoine Walker, reprising his role from the previous game versus Sacramento. Watching Walker’s on-court intelligence makes one wince in recognition of how clueless almost all of his teammates are by comparison. (No disrespect intended, but when ‘Toine is the brains of your outfit, your team is in very deep shit.) For example, knowing the multi-misfiring Jefferson was starting to swat at the mosquitoes buzzing his psyche, Walker fed Jeff in traffic for an easy layup he could have converted solo. Little things like that go a long way toward demolishing Walker’s checkered reputation.

    He also has a knack for a maneuver that I haven’t seen a Timberwolf do well since Fred Hoiberg enabled KG: Caught in a double-team, Garnett would dump it to Hoiberg. Freddie would wait just half a beat, perhaps make a feint like he was going to the hoop, then immediately zip it back to Garnett, now facing only one defender and no longer stuck on his pivot foot. Walker executed a similar "get it, wait a sec, give it back" twice with Jefferson to perfect effect (that is, if Jefferson could have hit any shots on Friday). And on offense, ‘Toine had the perfect mix of quick-release treys, and up-fake dribble penetration plus quick snap passes. Bottom line, he had 11 points and sparked a 16-2 Wolves run in the first 6:10 of the second quarter.

    The other Wolves’ player who boosted his internal standing over the weekend was Telfair. The differences between Bassy and Marko at the point, particularly with respect to pace in transition and probing in the half-court, were obvious. Two cavaets: On both Friday and Saturday, Telfair’s first stints in action much more productive than his second stints. And Telfair’s fabled defense was not in evidence on Saturday when New Orleans blew open the game in the second half. Neither Telfair nor any other self-respecting point should let the likes of Jannero Pargo waltz down to the foul line before seriously picking him up. That laxity was typical of the entire Wolves defense, which generated a mere 4 turnovers despite the absence of Chris Paul from New Orleans’s lineup. In any case, it is hard to lavish too much praise on any point who helps enable Pargo to go off for 15 points and 7 assists with just a single turnover.

    Nevertheless, Telfair had his best back-to-back outings of the season, and, if he maintains the momentum, should receive the bulk of the backup minutes when Foye returns. He also has a special chemistry with Brewer on the court–they find each other, and feed off the other’s energy–which made Wittman’s decision to start Brewer and not include Telfair on Saturday all the more perplexing.

  • Nature Porn

    Here’s a lil’ sumpin for you nature lovers. Urbanolas. Gore Gurls. Whatever you call yourself.

    A roll between the bouldersUntil this year, all Jeep vehicles were "trail-rated". This has required all vehicles to finish the Rubicon Trail–the most muderous off-road route on the planet (see image). From a design perspective this requires a ladder frame and a solid rear axle (among other things). While this technology is dated, it still has not been surpassed for off-road travel.

    That makes a vehicle like the new SRT-8 Grand Cherokee positively obscene, with 425 horses on tap. As if that were not enough, when surgically-enhanced by Hennessy Motorsports, the Cherokee SRT-8 becomes the fastest production SUV ever made.

    You can thank me now for telling you this. While there are better ways to experience nature, what else could feel this dirty?


     

  • Trash Can Turkey With White Wine

    It’s been my experience that people under stress generally respond in one of two ways: they either shut down, sleep more, become lethargic and gain weight; or they become frantic, insomniac, impossible to calm and they lose.

    I’m a loser.

    When my first husband left our family — out of frustration and addiction and through little fault of his own — I was in my last year of grad school and I found myself, suddenly, the single, unemployed mother of three. Nights were particularly scary; I lay awake and panicked. Mealtimes made my stomach clench. So I paced and pushed the food around on my plate and ran miles each day in an attempt to burn away the fear.

    I dropped 20 pounds in less than 8 weeks. About half my hair fell out, I failed a bone scan, there was a long sore on my back from where my bones poked through my skin. It pains me to tell you that women would stop me on the street to tell me I looked fabulous and ask me how I’d managed to lose the weight. The men I knew, by and large, asked if I was OK and plied me with food. I suspect it is no coincidence that my son, Maxwell — a caretaker even at 10 — became a great cook that year.

    On Sunday mornings, he made authentic Irish scones, which he served with tea and cream. Evenings, it was vegetarian Thai curry, pasta stuffed with pumpkin, and once, an authentic Cuban meal of black beans, peppers, hot sausage, and rice. Max got so good, friends of mine would hire him to make appetizers or desserts for their dinner parties. He watched the Food Network and talked about his plan to attend either Johnson & Wales or the CIA.

    At Thanksgiving that year, it was just the four of us. I had no idea how to roast a turkey — this had always been my husband’s area of expertise — and it really wasn’t in me even to try. But before I could even investigate alternatives, Max announced he was planning to brine a 20-pound bird. He had me buy him a brand-new 5-gallon trash can, then filled it with sugar, salt, peppercorns, red wine vinegar and water, and slipped the turkey in. He set his alarm and at 4 a.m., he got up briefly to stir.

    "Because it’s an aqueous environment, the vinegar and salt get into the pores of the turkey," Max told me. "It helps moisten the meat." I have no idea where he learned to speak this way. . . .

    The meat was, indeed, excellent, as I recall. Though I’m pretty sure anything this stoic little boy had put on the table would have filled me with pride. And I remembered that November of seven years ago today, when I ran across a recipe for Brined Roasted Turkey Breast with White Wine Sauce from Chef Ethan McKee of Rock Creek at Mazza, in Washington D.C.

    For me, life got better. I found a job, bought a house, got my kids into a great school system, started dating again, and published a book. Thanks in large part to Max, I put the 20 pounds back on (plus a couple more); my hair grew back, my skin healed, and my bones somehow survived. More important, I watched my kids pull together and I learned that a brave ten-year-old who’s just lost his father can find the wherewithal to make a holiday turkey in a can meant for trash.

    Over time, Max’s plans have changed. When he leaves for college next fall, he’ll be pre-med rather than a student at a culinary school. But I’m struck by how similar theses courses are: he’ll be taking care of people one way or another — feeding them or healing them. It’s very much the same.

  • Beaujolais Nouveau at Barbette, Pizza Night at Gigi's

    Trying to walk in at Barbette at 8 p.m. on a Friday night
    probably wasn’t a great idea, but we were lucky – only about a five minute wait
    for a place at the bar. Before the first course was served, we were
    offered a table, but the bar felt so comfortable that we stayed where we were.
    The big draw for me was the Beaujolais Nouveau menu, which the restaurant is
    serving nightly, through Monday. The whole Beaujolais Nouveau hype is a little
    silly, in my opinion – as is paying $8 a glass for what used to be
    considered a jug wine. But the Barbette
    menu has few pretensions, and a reasonable price tag: $38 for four courses, and
    an optional flight of four wines for $20 more.

    The first course is
    a lightly dressed salad of beets, pears and candied pecans, followed by a pumpkin soup lightly seasoned with a
    cinnamon crème fraiche. The main course offers the only choices: char with
    smoked potato puree and truffled Brussels sprout chips, beef short ribs braised
    in red wine, or a mushroom ragu served with Gorgonzola polenta. The beef ribs
    were very hearty fare, but the dessert provided a light finish: a delicate
    panna cotta in a five spice oil, topped with maple-scented croutons. The wines
    are no great shakes, but they are all drinkable: a non-vintage Bouvet sparkling
    wine from the Loire, half-glasses of Vielle Ferme rose (a popular inexpensive
    table wine) and Joseph Drouhin 2007 Beaujolais Nouveau, with a small pour of sweet
    Graham 10 year tawny port to accompany the panna cotta. Unless you already have reservations, you may have a hard time
    getting a table tonight, but your chances are better tomorrow and Monday.

    Last Wednesday night, the missus and I
    cruised some of our favorite neighborhood spots looking for a bite to eat, and
    all were packed full: at Heidi’s, at 50th and Bryant, the wait was half an hour, and the dining
    room and bar next door at the Blackbird Cafe were so packed that we didn’t bother to ask. Next stop, the Grand Cafe at 38th and Grand, but they were hosting a private party. Finally, we headed for Gigi’s,
    our old standby at 36th and Bryant, where we found an empty table – but just barely. Turns out
    Wednesday night is pizza night – a pizza du jour and a bottle of wine to share for $20.
    We chose the vegetarian option,
    topped with roasted butternut squash, mozzarella, Gorgonzola and arugela, over
    a brittle crust. The wine was a good match – a young Monte Aman Tempranillo
    that’s ordinarily $24 a bottle at the café (and online in Spain for two
    and a half Euros.) Not a meal, or a wine to remember, but on a night when we
    didn’t feel like cooking or spending $100 for dinner for two, a reasonable
    alternative. I want to go back on a Thursday, when it’s spaghetti night at
    Gigi’s: two plates of pasta and a bottle of wine for $24.

  • Damn, This Woman Really Cooks

    So why is it that the bad boys of the kitchen get all the good press? Take Anthony Bourdain — a foul-mouthed son-of-a-bitch whom a good friend of mine (an attractive, intelligent woman) told me just today is "her ideal guy." And Gordon Ramsay, the British chef who hosts a show called The F Word. Even our local culinary star Stewart Woodman — formerly of Levain and Five, now the proprietor of Heidi’s along with his wife — has been known to throw a dish or two. But a woman chef with fiery tendencies tends to get a lower level of respect.

    Now I’m not condoning bad behavior. I don’t like it, no matter who’s cursing out the dishwashers or attacking customers because they asked for ketchup with their steak tartare. Yet, when it comes to the guys, bottom line: it seems to be the food that matters. People forgive a lot when a man is an artist in the kitchen (and it doesn’t hurt, either, if he looks like he’d be a beast in bed). Whereas when Marianne Miller showed herself to be a) one of the most talented chefs in the Twin Cities and b) a hot-headed malcontent under whose leadership restaurants collapsed like so many houses of cards, she was crucified.

    This was back in 2005. Miller had moved from Red — the wonderful, scarlet-hued Russian restaurant that operated in the Foshay Tower for about six minutes before repo men came to haul the furniture out — to Bobino, a sweet little nordeast neighborhood spot that had been great once (when JP Samuelson was chef) and fallen into an intense mediocrity bordering on the bad. Miller revived that restaurant like it was a fat, dying banker on a bus. She tended to the overwrought, underdisciplined Bobino, conjuring up an absolutely dazzling menu and earning top reviews for a place everyone previously thought a bore. She was even offered a partnership by grateful owner, Chris Paddock.

    Then, all hell broke loose.

    The rumors flew. I probably shouldn’t repeat them here, as I don’t have a lawyer on retainer and all. Suffice it to say that over the summer of ’05, the staff at Bobino mutinied, the restaurant closed, Paddock lost his shirt, and Miller was accused of just about every indiscretion a chef could commit, both upright and prone.

    What actually happened? I know only one thing for sure. A truly great chef quit cooking. . . .for a long time.

    But as of this week, I’m happy to report, Miller is back, running Saga Hill Cooking School on East Lake Street in Wayzata, just above Five Swans. And she’s got a truly innovative curriculum. This afternoon (11/17), for instance, you can attend the mother/daughter high tea and learn how to set a table properly and bake flaky scones. On Sunday (11/18), Miller will run a two-hour Thanksgiving "Boot Camp" that goes over everything from side dishes to time management. Later in the month, there’ll be a wine buying class and a detox-after-the-holidays seminar.

    I don’t know what kind of crap Miller has pulled in the many kitchens she’s run — and believe me, it’s quite a list. I do know that she’s someone I’d be glad to have teach me to cook, if I were even the slightest bit inclined. Being a bad girl doesn’t seem to have made her a bad chef. Who knows? Maybe being a Bourdain-style loose cannon has made her — like him — inscrutably, maddeningly even a little bit better.

    Saga Hill’s upcoming classes include:

    • Mother-Daughter High Tea

    Grab
    your best friend and confidant for a ladies’ afternoon of learning proper
    high-tea recipes, the art of table setting, and fine manners.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Saturday,
    Nov. 17

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-4:00 p.m.

    –
    $25

    •
    Dinner and a Date

    Calling all singles for an interactive mixer
    of fun and food.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Saturday,
    Nov. 17

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $55

    • Thanksgiving Boot Camp

    Shop
    and prep like a pro! Work smarter not harder! Practical advice on time
    management and food preparation as well as foolproof recipes. You will leave
    class with a shopping list, a plan, and the knowledge to make your Thanksgiving
    dinner stress free.

    –
    Demonstration

    –
    Sunday,
    Nov. 18

    –
    11:00
    a.m.-1:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    •
    Make, Take, ‘n’ Bake: Holiday Pies

    Prepare
    all your Thanksgiving pies ahead of time and bake at home. Class fee includes
    all materials needed.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Sunday,
    Nov. 18

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-5:00 p.m.

    –
    $65

    •
    Make, Take, ‘n’ Bake: Side Dishes

    Prepare
    all your Thanksgiving side dishes ahead of time and bake at home. Class fee
    includes all materials needed.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Tuesday,
    Nov. 20

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-5:00 p.m.

    –
    $75

    •
    Wine Buying

    Sample,
    taste, learn and buy! Buy wine risk free for the holiday season at deep
    discounts.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Tuesday,
    Nov. 20

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $20

    •
    Dog Day Afternoon

    Treats,
    tricks and walk. A perfect time to get out of the house and get moving with
    your best fury friend. Learn to make healthy dog treats and some new tricks.
    After class a group social walk will be offered.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Saturday,
    Nov. 24

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-4:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    •
    Wine Series: Restaurant Guide

    Insider
    information on which restaurants have the best wine lists, value, and service.
    Winetasting during class discussion.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Saturday,
    Nov. 24

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    •
    Healthy Eating Boot Camp

    Detox
    and cleanse after the holidays.

    –
    Demonstration

    –
    Tuesday,
    Nov. 27

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-4:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    •
    Wine-and-Cheese Pairing Class

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Tuesday,
    Nov. 27

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $65

    • Make, Take, ‘n’ Bake: Metabolism-boosting
    soups

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Wednesday,
    Nov. 28

    –
    3:00
    p.m.-5:00 p.m.

    –
    $65

    • Young Chefs

    Class
    information to be determined. Please check back often for updates.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Thursday,
    Nov. 29

    –
    4:00
    p.m.-5:30 p.m.

    –
    $25

    •
    Ladies’ Night: Salon

    Class
    information to be determined. Please check back often for updates.

    –
    Demonstration

    –
    Thursday,
    Nov. 29

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    • Holiday-Entertaining Boot Camp

    Shop
    and prep like a pro! Class information to be determined. Please check back
    often for updates.

    –
    Demonstration

    –
    Friday,
    Nov. 30

    –
    2:00
    p.m.-4:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

    •
    Couples’ Class

    Class information to be determined. Please check back
    often for updates.

    –
    Hands
    On

    –
    Friday,
    Nov. 30

    –
    6:30
    p.m.-9:00 p.m.

    –
    $45

     

  • Randy, The Reader's Rep …

    (A semi-regular Q&A with "Randy" the new Star Tribune Reader’s Representative, most frequently found on the corner stool at the Dry Dock roadhouse, in the shadow of the big microwave tower, Chaffey, Wisconsin.)

    Randy, Your Reader’s Rep: Dang but stuff piles up. I come back from baitin’ a few bear traps, havin’ a couple beers and getting old Jonsered ready for cuttin’ season and look at all this mail. Sheeeit. When the Star Tribune hired me back, I had no idea they really meant a weekly gig. I thought with little Par out sun-bathin’ it’d quiet down.

    Guess not. So here goes.

    Question: I heard that the staff at the Star Tribune all got flu shots the other
    day? Is this true? Where did this happen? Were these shots administered in a sanitary way? And did the top executives
    join in?

    Randy, Your Reader’s Rep: That is definitely true. Flu season is coming on pretty strong, and Avista Capital Partners, the really fine folks that own the paper want all their Full Time Employee Units running like a big pack of Dodge Hemis. There are a lot of very big stories that are going to mean plenty to the Avista folks’ year-end numbers. Like for example, ‘Who is going to buy them damned parking lots?’, and whether the folks in Eveleth and Granite Falls are going to pitch in to build a new stadium for the Vi-Queens, which would mean Avista might have half a chance of selling the main building to what’s his name, the billionaire dude from New Jersey.

    As for "where it happened"; it wasn’t in the butt, Bob.

    I know. I know. I heard some pretty risque jokes about everyone standing up, dropping trow and bending over at their desks while Chris Harte went down the line pokin’ tushies. But the truth is everyone took it in the arm.

    Don’t know about the sanitary thing. I suppose a bunch of $4 coffee drinkers like that crowd used … ooooo … pre-moistened towelettes, like you get at Famous Dave’s. But I’m not sure. I mean, hell, I usually just wave a butane lighter under my buck knife to cut out slivers.

    But yeah. Chris Harte himself took a pokin’. Right there in line like he was a normal person or something. Ain’t that something?

    Funny though how happy and agreeable everyone was for the rest of the day.

    Question: I was reading that bastard Nick Coleman’s column a couple days ago and I noticed that right next to his little picture, the one where he doesn’t look anything like George Clooney, it said, "One view". Was that a typo or something? I mean, he’s writing a column, right? Who else’s view were we supposed to think it was? And does this mean that all the other columnists, like Katherine Kersten and C.J. and Sid Hartman and Reusse are going to have "One View" next to their pictures. (And none of them look much like George Clooney, either.)

    Randy, Your Reader’s Rep: That’s a good question. Tell you the truth, I didn’t notice until you brought it up. So I sent a note asking what the deal was. Nobody wrote back. But I hear through the old company grapevine that no one told Coleman about it and no one knew who put it there. But come on, there are so many brave and courageous editors at the Star Tribune doing so many important things to, you know, enhance the quality of life in the better zip codes of Minneapolis they probably just overlooked it.

    My guess is all whoever stuck it there meant to say is that, "This is that commie prick Coleman’s view, not our view." In fact, I gotta check and see if it says, "Our View" next to Kersten’s and Sid’s pictures the next time they write.

    Question: That blonde Republican babe, Sarah Janecek, wrote a story this week saying how a couple of your reporters used some pretty foul language talking to the MnDOT people. Those guys McEnroe and Kennedy sounded like jerks. I suppose they were pretty ashamed when that story came out, and they must really be pissed that people know how obnoxious they are.

    Randy, Your Reader’s Rep: Oh yeah, and how. I tell you, nothing
    makes those two stick their tales between their legs more than everyone in town knowing they shout in the phone and use words like, "bullshit". I don’t know what they were smiling about after that thing ran.

    Because, we have a very strict policy about bad language here at the Star Tribune. Penalties, too. If you’re heard saying, "This place is total bullshit", you have to put a dollar in the Save Par jar. If you say, "I’m going to cap the next a**hole who assigns me an Eagan Sewer Commission story", you have put in $5. Of course if you say something like, "These Avista douche bags wouldn’t know a paragraph from a parsnip," you have a choice between hurling yourself off the roof or editing a Katherine Kersten column.

    Question: I see that you are starting to run more editorials supporting a new Vikings stadium, which would be built practically right next door and most likely goose up your real estate value pretty nicely. Don’t you think you need to at least mention that fact every time you write opinion pieces? You know, maybe a standard little box at the top that says something like, "If you stupid chumps bite on this deal we’ll make a shitload of dough."

    Randy, Your Reader’s Rep: Man, I’ve heard cynical. But you about take the jelly donut. You got something against football? You want to see a place without a team I suggest you come up to Superior, because that’s what you’re going to end up with if you don’t close ranks and play to win, pally.

    The folks at Avista Capital Partners, some of whom have even heard of Green Bay, are actually doing you one shiny ripe favor. They are looking out for your interests when obviously you won’t. They are family people just like you, and they know that special feeling fans get when they contribute a little bit extra out of every pay check to have a place where, you know, if they cut their coupons and save up a couple months they might be able to take their kid to see a game. Three months if they want to park and have a beer.

    Until next time. Think transparent thoughts.

  • Chug-a-glutton

    So, I was cruising the fashion blog circuit earlier today
    when I happened upon a local writer (she shall remain link-less) who somehow
    seemed to sustain this incredibly luxurious, posh lifestyle. Day after day, the posts were about her sushi dinners, the diamond-encrusted electronics she had encountered, or a recent trip to the local furrier … Just another day in the
    life of TKTK—of whom, yes, I am somewhat jealous. But still, I couldn’t help
    but wonder: How long till so-and-so finds herself bankrupt, and with a BMI wa-aa-ay over 25. Not to hate on my fellow bloggers or anything.

    Anyhow, here are some teasers for upcoming hooks: I’m
    going to the Butterball on Saturday; this year, it’s in the theme of Truman Capote’s famous
    black-and-white party. And then, later next week, I intend to roll out the Keynesian
    economic model that, for me, will make Christmas possible this year.
    Stay tuned!

  • Behold the Bull

     

    The Pedro Infante film festival at the Parkway Theater. Beginning November 16 and running through the 29th.

    Who is Pedro Infante and why should we care? Why should we brave cold November nights and wander through the city streets to an old theater and watch these Mexican melodramas? For the same old reason we see movies in theaters: to be touched, mesmerized, to laugh and perhaps cry, and to share these complex experiences with other strangers in the dark. And, in this case, to see something entirely new to American audiences. In this case, a series of strange and wonderful musical dramas starring Mexican crooner Pedro Infante.

    You won’t get better than this. This is melodrama, sir, chest-thumping and tear-jerking stories originally meant to give you a pause from a life of endless toil. In the 1940s and 1950s, great waves of rural Mexicans emigrated into Mexico City to find work. The story’s the same everywhere: these lovely bumpkins found only crushing poverty and a society that was indifferent to their needs. Once living in the wide-open spaces, they were suddenly crushed on top of one another by the thousands. And so, director Ismael Rodríguez and singer Infante found inspiration there, and made a series of films about the poor and oppressed that have the scope and detail of Balzac mixed with the grace and affection of Rouben Mamoulian. In the process they made some movies that could make people look at the slums around them and think "Maybe I can sing, too."

    Look at Nosotros Los Pobres, the first of a trilogy of movies featuring Infante as the carpenter Pepe the Bull. Here, the widower Pepe, a carpenter, is trying to raise his single daughter and fall in love again–something the daughter doesn’t want in the least. Poor Pepe! In the course of this film he’ll lose his girl, essentially lose his daughter, nearly ruin his hand (essential for his work), be accused of robbery and murder, lose his mother and sister, and still manage to sing a song or two. Pedro Almodovar couldn’t make this story any hotter.

    There is no room for happiness in Nostros Los Pobres. Pepe tries to be affable, tries to maintain some pride in the squalor, raising his daughter to be a good and kind and hard-working. At first, it’s not even the wealthy who get to Pepe–the poor in Nostros are a strange bunch, an admixture of hard working, diligent people and drunken, disorderly louses eager to gossip and sell you down the river for a peso or a slug of cheap booze. Nostros, made in 1948, is free from the American restraints of the Hays’ Code–here are drunks and drug addicts, whores and consumptives, love in the streets, widows clinging to tombstones. Toothless biddies speak of drinking, gossip viciously, and hunger to fuck Pepe. The film is bizarre and beautiful: the girl washing clothes, praying to St. Dimas for the thieves. A shot of Pepe’s mom, confined to a wheelchair and mute, tormented by the gossipy drunks, is as bizarre and funny as anything David Lynch has conjured up.

    Infante was called the Mexican Sinatra, no doubt by clueless gringos who barely paid attention to life south of the border. He was a master singer, and a very good actor, who brought his dashing good looks to these rough stories and yet never shone too brightly, never distracted us from his supporting actors, or from the pain and pleasure witnessed on screen. He sang, told jokes, made comedies and dramas, and could entertain a billionaire or a bum.

    He did not live long, though he left a wealth of movies and music. A fan of aviation, Pedro Infante flew his Consolidated X B-24-D plane from Mérida, Yucatán and crashed it five minutes later. He died instantly at age 39.

  • Last Night's Debate: Bite Me, Wolf.

    Now that we’ve more or less cleared up that "illegal immigrants with driver licenses" issue, the line I was pleading for one of the Democrats to throw back last night was, "Wolf, do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Do you ever get tired of this ‘gotcha’ crap?"

    Something like that probably would have to come from Joe Biden, whose demeanor these days suggests a guy drifting well into, "Aw, f**k it" mode, since debate moderator after debate moderator has effectively reaffirmed the polls and consigned him, Chris Dodd, Bill Richardson and Dennis Kucinich to side show acts.

    In actual fact it was Kucinich who said to Blitzer, referring to the yes/no driver license bit, "I take exception to the way you framed that question." Thank you, Dennis. But you should have added, "What’s with the week-old beard thing, Wolf?"

    My beef with Blitzer, who aside from the vaudevillians on Fox News, may be the most implausible "news man" on television, is that the guy not only takes the bait and over-works the meme — ad nauseum — but that he does it with such humorless, halting verbosity. Aaron Brown may not have had the Upper West Side pedigree or the promotable cover boy look of Anderson Cooper, but the guy could ask an intelligent question in less than five paragraphs, and maybe even flash a little wit.

    Last night’s debate in Vegas — was irresistible viewing after two weeks — TWO SOLID WEEKS — of Blitzer, Hannity, O’Reilly et al — burying their bloody snouts in "Hillary’s Flop", the aforementioned immigrant driver license "issue" from the Oct. 28 debate. (And did anyone think of staging this debate in the Mandalay Bay sports book
    instead of some anonymous field house? I mean, how about a slice of
    Americana while we ridicule our candidates?)

    The real issue of course was Clintonian parsing. Her Bubba-ness. A resumption of that famous, "A little something for everyone" act. The horror! Because, God help us, the worst thing that could ever happen to this country is to have more Clinton-style government. You know with balanced budgets, respect for the Constitution, no troops getting shot up in some medieval hellhole and … oh, christ, don’t get me started. So yeah, the point was parsing and the ticking clock on someone else, Obama or (my guy) Edwards, to bust a move with an effective attack on the little lady.

    And its not like I don’t understand the ratings imperative of getting the blood on the ground early to hold viewer eyeballs. Come on! We’re putting on a show here, people! But after the cornball NBA-style introduction bit with the candidates half-trotting out from the wings, (I expected Blitzer to swat Biden on the ass and shout, "go get ’em, Stud."), the potential leaders of the free world had barely settled behind their podiums when Blitzer — with neither style nor wit — began angling for someone to lob a grenade Hillary’s way.

    According to a Google search there are approximately 8,543,907 web sites currently analyzing last night’s debare performances. So I’ll spare you mine, other than to state the obvious.

    1: Clinton learned her lesson from the Oct. 28 "flop" and was not only completely composed, she nailed Campbell Brown’s question about "playing with the boys". There isn’t a woman over 30 in this country who doesn’t understand — viscerally — Clinton’s point about "impediments".

    2. Obama clearly doesn’t have a shiv side to his act, and can’t really compete with Clinton or Biden on foreign affairs savvy … not a good sign for "looking into the soul" of Vladimir Putin or the next Chinese trade minister.

    3. Bill Richardson seems a likable sap, but he should probably head back to New Mexico before he totally screws a shot at another cabinet job.

    4. My guy Edwards is still saying most of the right things — about the broken, corrupt system and how we get nowhere replacing "corporate Republicans with corporate Democrats" — but he’s getting out on thin ice with his obsessive Hillary-focus. Also John, you really didn’t answer the question about voting for all those free trade acts. That bothers me.

    Lame and predictable as the driver license bit was, Blitzer jumped the shark completely with his other "gotcha" question, the one demanding to know — yes or no — whether candidates would put human rights ahead of the security of the country. Yeah Wolf, there’s an on/off dilemma. I mean, you’re either with us or against us, right? That act is working pretty well, isn’t?

    The candidates may be tiring of this debate circus, and with the preening stage craft of Tim Russert last time and the ham-fisted pomposity of Blitzer this time you can understand their frustration, but if you’re a media/political junkie I have to concede it is great theater/farce.

    On the 28th the Republicans — at long last, and after first refusing — will submit to a CNN/YouTube debate, (hosted by Cooper, possibly in a tight t-shirt). This holds the possibility of an average citizen asking any or all of the creationists, I mean candidates, how exactly the Grand Canyon was carved in six days, how far out from California you have to go before you fall off the edge of the Earth and whether they are prepared to protect America by personally strangling each and every suspected jihadi with their bare hands.