The Rake Magazine

Month: January 2008

  • My First Rake Mea Culpa

    More like a mea maxima culpa. 

    In my very first guest post here, I used the Rachel Bliss show at Cliché as
    an illustration of art works on display in places other than galleries,
    something that happens more and more here in Minneapolis.

    And then I posted the work of the wrong Bliss.

    The artwork I posted — and have removed from this blog — came from

    Rachel Bliss in Pennsylvania
    and did not appear at Cliché.  We were informed that the images on the
    site, like many pieces on artist sites, are copyrighted and require
    permission to use. 

    I meant to use some pictures from the Minneapolis Rachael Bliss, who did in fact have an opening at the clothing store in Uptown.   You can now see her images in the original post. 

    My apologies to Rachel and Rachael and to Cliché for the confusion.

  • I, Too, Have A Bone To Pick With Andrew Zimmern

    I know I said yesterday that I was going to talk about my favorite books from 2007. I’ll do that eventually, I suppose, although who really gives a rat’s ass? Right now I’m all worked up about something else, so the book nonsense will just have to get shoved aside for the time being.

    I’m not a guy who can easily mask his feelings, and I guess I more or less telegraphed where I’m coming from in that headline up there: along with virtually every one of my Rake colleagues, most of whom I don’t personally know, I have a beef with Andrew Zimmern. And, yes, I know I said earlier that I had a bone to pick, but this being a discussion about food I feel excused in mixing my metaphors, if in fact that’s what I’m doing, or did.

    At any rate, what’s my big problem with Zimmern? Where to begin, where to begin?

    First of all, I suppose I should admit that I really don’t know who the hell this Zimmern fellow is, and by that I mean I really don’t know who the hell he is, just as, I’m sure, he doesn’t know who the hell I am. I got wind of the recent dust-ups, however, and felt riled and curious enough to search Google images for a picture of the man. I always start there, if possible, because I have no problem at all judging a book by its cover, being as I am a firm believer in that old business about a picture being worth a thousand words (a phrase, incidentally, that was coined by my old colleague at City Pages, Dylan Hicks. Or perhaps it was Paul Demko). At any rate, I spent some time –way too much time, actually– looking at photographs of a man alleged to be Zimmern and quickly concluded that a thousand words were something like 975 words too many; a couple dozen, I should think, would suffice.

    From what I’ve seen I can definitely tell you that I don’t like the cut of Zimmern’s jib. I think he eats too much, and given that he apparently spends so much of his time eating, I also think it’s fair to presume that he eats bugs…no, wait, he does, it seems, eat bugs, but what I meant to say was that it’s fair to presume that he talks with his mouth full. I don’t care for that.

    I had to dig a little deeper to find out more about this Zimmern character, and mostly what I discovered was that –yes, just as I suspected– he eats too much, and also eats almost entirely at places I’ve never heard of. I’m not a big fan of people who make a habit of eating at places I’ve never heard of, and then proceed to go on and on about how great those places are.

    I’m guessing that Zimmern has never in his entire life spent a morning laying drywall and then, with dust all over his hands and under his fingernails, eaten the hell out of a Manwich and a can of Pringles. I’m also guessing that he’s never spent a cold afternoon in the garage skinning muskrats and then driven his truck through the drive-up lane at Arby’s and polished off the 5-for-$5.99 roast beef special all by his lonesome.

    Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe Zimmern has, in fact, laid drywall and eaten the hell out of a Manwich and a can of Pringles. Maybe he has skinned muskrats and gone to Arby’s to gorge himself on beef. But I’ll say this: if I’m correct in my suppositions –and I feel confident that I am– then I’m also correct in saying that this is a man who doesn’t know a diddly-damn thing about truly great food and the supreme pleasures and surprises of eating when you’re flat-out hungry as shit.

    Answer me these questions, Zimmern, you hot shot:

    Have you ever eaten a pie from Beek’s, King of Pizza?

    Under the right circumstances (very, very hungry; very, very stoned and/or drunk; etc.) could you rave for hours about the wings at Shorty and Wag’s?

    Can you name, with appropriate enthusiasm, a favorite brand of canned chili?

    Could you, do you honestly think, tackle the Tremendous Twelve at Perkins?

    Have you ever been so fucking hungry that you’ve eaten a microwave hamburger from Super America and felt like you’d died and gone to heaven?

    Might you, as I did this very evening, mix together cans of Progresso vegetable beef and beef barley soup and eat the whole damn pot while seated on the kitchen floor?

    Have you ever spent hours driving along a freeway praying for the appearance of a Taco John’s?

    Do you agree that Tootsie Rolls and pretzels are often as not a perfectly suitable lunch?

    If you answered no to even half of these questions, Zimmern, you’re not only a piss-poor food critic, but you’re also a pussy.

  • January: Days of Emergen-C and Ice

    Let’s face it. The Days of Wine and Roses are past.

    This is January, month of frigid temperatures and atonement. And all I have to say is, if you overindulged in December. . . .well, join the club.

    I’m not a glutton by nature. I don’t typically stuff myself; I’ve been drunk maybe twice in my life. But there’s something about the relentless holiday season with its obligatory parties and family gatherings and professional to-do’s. You’re surrounded by food of a junky, sugary sort. Pretzels crusted with blocks of chocolate and whole grains of salt. Pastries oozing a cheesy strawberry cream. Chex Mix spiked with red and green M&M’s.

    And the wine. It just keeps coming, like a spigot you cannot turn off. Put down your empty glass and it’s full again. Just the other night, on the first of January, I finally hit a point of saturation with the whole hedonistic affair. I’d had a glass of something French, then an Italian table wine with the New Year’s meal. Afterward, someone poured me a glass of Syrah, I took one sip, and something in me rebelled.

    "Aren’t you going to finish?" our host asked.

    "No," I said — politely, I hope. "I’ve had enough." And I meant it.

    This is not to say I quit drinking wine. I was, in fact, back at it tonight. But only a glass, or two. Something dry and red and low in sugar, after an abstemious meal of grains, vegeatables, and seaweed.

    Beyond that, my cures for the bacchanalia of the season include:

    Emergen-C: I know it’s a hackneyed starlet’s trick, but I love these packets of water-soluble vitamins and, placebo effect or not, I swear they make me feel better; I take two doses of Emergen-C Lite in ice water each day.

    Lemon juice: It’s astringent, cleansing, and somehow — despite all the citric acid — can settle your stomach on even the worst of days; I squeeze a full lemon’s worth into hot water and start the morning with this brew. Evenings, if needed, I drink it cold.

    Green tea: Think of it as a dietary tonic. Green tea is antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, and — supposedly — boosts both the immune system and the metabolism; experts recommend 4-5 cups a day, with organic honey (but never milk, which inhibits tea’s healthful properties).

    And if you get truly desperate, you can revert to "colonics:" a method for detoxifying that’s preferred by super models and Swedes. This is, of course, actually just a fancy, upscale name for something that’s done with a bag and a hose and warm, soapy water (or coffee, if you’re into that pleasant mocha scent). But I wouldn’t advise anyone to undertake this "cure" unless under a doctor’s — or massage therapist’s — care.

    Given a couple days of clean living, I think you’ll find extreme measures involving reverse-ingested caffeine just aren’t necessary. And slowly, you’ll be able to return to the wine. In fact, you’re going to need a little nip from time to time. Because the days are getting longer — or so I hear — but it’s still the same steel gray sky each day. The realities of a new year have set in. Work has resumed. And it’s just too damn cold outside.

  • Grassfed buffalo: something to chew on

    I had a lovely dinner last night at the Grand Café:
    cauliflower soup with a fig gastrique; pan-seared scallops with porcini-potato
    pave, and lean slices of medium rare bison (buffalo) top sirloin with lentils, bathed in a fig and port wine
    demi-glace. Then this morning, I happened to see the full-page ad in the New
    York Times for Michael Pollan’s new book, In Defense of Food: An Eater’s
    Manifesto    . Pollan wrote the best-selling Omnivore’s Dilemma, which takes a
    critical look at our overly industrialized food system.

    The new book is billed as The Omnivore’s Solution, and the
    dozen recommendations in the ad start with

    1. Don’t
      eat anything that your grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food,

    and ends with

    12. Eat deliberately, with other
    people whenever possible, and always with pleasure.

    But it was recommendation #9 that caught my eye:

    9. Eat food
    from animals that eat grass.

    I’d read the literature about this before: meat from
    grass-fed is lower in calories and higher in healthy omega-3 fatty acids and conjugated linoleic acid, which is supposed to reduce your
    risk of cancer. And grass-fed animals have a much smaller environmental impact that animals raised on corn.

    That made me curious about last
    night’s bison: was it grass-fed or grain-fed? Ordinarily, I would have simply
    assumed that buffalo are raised on grass, but a recent letter to the editor of
    the New York Review of Books claimed otherwise: the writer had done a little
    research and discovered that a lot of buffalo sold in supermarkets (including
    Trader Joe’s) is actually raised on corn. Apparently, a lot of consumers like
    the idea of buffalo, but like the flavor of corn-fed meat.

    Our hostess, Mary Hunter, who owns the café with her husband Dan,
    had told me that the bison came from Venison America, a family-owned business
    in Hudson, WI. According to their
    website, their bison comes is raised in Minnesota by a supplier who "feeds
    the bison grains and grasses but also supplements this with a weekly ration of
    whey from their cheese factory." The website does claim that their bison is
    still a lot leaner than beef:

    " Bison has per 3.5 ounce serving: 143 calories and 2.42
    grams of fat.
    Choice Beef has per 3.5 ounce serving: 211 calories and 9.28 grams of fat."

    There aren’t a lot of buffalo producers in Minnesota, and
    even fewer who own cheese factories, so the producer in question had to be
    Eichten’s Hidden Acres, which raises buffalo and produces cheese. Steve Loppnow, the owner
    of Venison America confirmed that Eichten’s is the supplier, and said that
    while the buffalo spend most of their lives eating grass, in the last 30 days
    before slaughter, they are fed a diet of oat silage, alfalfa, and "a little bit
    of corn, not a huge amount because corn is really expensive."

    Loppnow said that if restaurants want bison that is purely
    grass-fed, he can supply it, from an organic producer in Rice Lake, WI, but
    it’s more expensive – and he added that the fat from grass-fed beef is not as
    palatable as the fat from animals that have had some corn in their diet.

    Bottom line: that bison sirloin at the Grand Cafe was from an animal who consumed some corn, but a lot less than the typical feedlot steer.

     

     

     

  • I Really Did Get Wet and Wild at "Wet and Wild"

    Ok… I made a promise to my husband and kids that — although I am
    known to get a little out of control — they would never have to worry about me pulling a Britney Spears. Well, I pulled a Britney, but it wasn’t my fault! 🙂

    Here is what happened.

    My whole life I have dreamed of swimming with Dolphins, so my husband found a place in Mexico called Wet and Wild, where, after being given THOROUGH instructions with the Dolphin trainers, you can actually jump in the pool and swim with the Dolphins.

    I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was!!!!!! In my mind I pictured being like one of those woman you see at Sea World posing in a pretty suit on top of two Dolphins swimming full speed ahead.

    Well, it wasn’t quite like that.

    First of all, I was put in a group with five kids under the age of 10 who wanted to jump in without listening to the rules. Big mistake on their part. One at a time, each of these little rug rats came out of the pool disappointed by the fact that the Dolphins were not cooperating. Not only were the kids bummed, but their parents, who all had cameras ready and wallets empty, came away with nothing more than an angry kid in a wet bathing suit smelling of bad fish!

    I was not giving up on my dream though! I had a plan: Get to know the
    trainers and listen very carefully.

    After chomping at the bit and making small talk with Edgar (the head trainer), it was my turn to fulfill my dream. I jumped in the pool without thinking about two very important details. First, I was wearing a bikini; and second, I had on more ornaments than a Christmas tree. What can I say? I don’t go anywhere, even swimming, without covering myself in jewelry. Sickening? Yes. But that’s me!!!!!!

    Edgar guided me to where I needed to go, and after a little bit of flirting (with Edgar) and watching my husband roll his eyes, I was READY!!!!!!!

    I did as Edgar instructed me to. I floated on my stomach and positioned my feet facing down, waiting for "Alex" and "Keeley Kat" to come and whisk me up in the air for the big ride across the pool.

    Well, as I was swept up in the air by the two Dolphins and whisked at full speed across the pool it never occurred to me that I was being videotaped by several people, and that the bottoms of my bathing suit were… well… how should I put this?… OFF of my butt and ON the Dolphins.

    After I took a deep breath and saw the horrified look on several people’s faces, I did what any person who just fulfilled the fantasy of a lifetime would do. I made every person with a camera promise not to post the video of my very embarrassed 40-year-old butt on YOUTUBE!

    So far, so good! My only concern is the one guy who pretended he didn’t speak English and refused my plea to respectfully erase the footage.

    As I told my family… If a picture of me standing half naked on top of two dolphins should ever surface… I will simply deny deny deny… unless it just so happens that some hot 20 year old also went swimming with Dolphins at "Wet and Wild" and lost her bottoms too!!!!

    P.S. Much to the dismay of my husband, the navel jewelry stayed on, so I guess I will have to keep wearing it. 🙂

    Thanks Alex and Keeley Kat!!!!!!!!!!!!

  • Food Forward '08

    Forget about looking back … let’s guess what’s in store for 08!

    If a rat can charm us, why not a bug? The next great food film to be revered by adults and tolerated by kids will be a jaunty romp with Corky Cockroach as he sings his way through a scrappy life spent in the bottom of a Caesar salad bowl.

    Gourmet burgers and sassy meatballs were the rage last year, our Isaac Becker got a nod in the NYT for his meatballs, but what’s next? The Cheddar Foie Dog, coming to a hot cart on every corner.

    The locavore movement has helped to push CSA into the mainstream. Look for farm-to-table boundaries to be further pushed with the advancement of text message "birth announcements" so you can race to field and arrive for the exact moment your rutabaga is ripe for the plucking.

    The small-plates trend is dead. This time we MEAN it. Who cares that O-Bentoya got a plug for their robata which I find myself thinking about sometimes…it’s dead, I tell you. What’s hot? Anything in a loaf (shrimploaf, robataloaf, okraloaf, hot hot hot).

    Buzzwords of the food world were clearly local, seasonal, organic, and sustainable. The trend they describe shows no sign of abatement, yet the words themselves have become a little overused, a little blah, no? Look for these new snazzy watchwords: earthish, dirt-nurtured, zip-code-containable, seasonesque (i.e. What are those tomatoes doing on your January menu? Shame on your lack of seasonesque.)

    He’s already worked on banning trans-fats and is trying to start a menu-labeling scuffle, but what’s The Man really doing for 08? He’s going to save your life, whether you like it or not, by instituting mandatory steel-cut oat enemas. Bend over, and Supersize it please.

    Damn, I’m excited. You?

  • Music as Sanctuary

    ART
    Midwest Sanctuary

    Immigration to the United States is at its highest level since its historic peak in the 1920s; there really are a lot of people roaming the world, either forced by war or economics or driven by curiosity or circumstance. And many of them, artists included, end up here. (Read some of their stories in the current issue of 10,000 Arts, the supplement to The Rake and mnartists.) This show promises an interesting look at the growing local community of international artists. —Ann Klefstad

    1-7 p.m. (though Jan. 26), Altered Aesthetics, 1224 Quincy St. N.E., Minneapolis; 612-378-8888.

    MUSIC
    Those Screaming Cherry Blossoms Certainly Like the Blues

    Apparently, Minneapolis is now home of the blues. Or at least more so than Fairfield, CA, and Tulsa, OK. The Screaming Cherry Blossoms, a punk rock group with an affinity for the blues, traveled far and wide before settling down right here by the Mississippi. Bringing together talents from the coast to the Midwest in a fusion of electronic sounds indeed sounds like the "punk rock version of a traditional Japanese flower" that is their namesake. —Kate McDonald

    8 p.m., 331 Club, 13th Ave. N.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-1746; free.


    Where Are Those Space Lovin’ Fiends A’hidin’?

    Picking the right pseudonym can be a tricky business. Joshua Pederson tried out a couple — a river, a fire — until finally settling on, not a just a name per se, but one that creates a question as to Where Astronauts Go To Hide. The word "where" does much in the conversation-starter department. (Where, in fact, do those space lovin’ fiends hide?) The name does lead to some confusion, as well however, considering it is not quite the title of a band but rather the title of Pederson, the solo folk indie performer. Sure, he does have some help from time to time — a kazoo here in there — but in truth he’s just a one-man band. Most recently, he performed with the metal band Corporate Thunder. Go to the show. It promises to solve the astronaut hiding question. My money is on Chicago since that is where Pederson has just relocated. —Kate McDonald

    9 p.m., Triple Rock Social Club, 629 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612- 333-7399; $5.

  • Wamp-Wamp: The Good Stuff from a Very Bad Year

    And the empty place got dark, and the fire went out.

    —Randall Jarrell, The Animal Family

     

    It’s always seemed to me that very little of the music I love in any particular year makes much of a reappearance in subsequent years. If I looked at lists of my favorite records and CDs from virtually any of the last twenty years, I’m pretty sure I could sell more than half of them for all the time I’ve since spent listening to them.

    So before I started monkeying around with any sort of list pertaining to anything related to last year, I tried to figure out which discs from 2006 were my favorites in 2007, and which of the discs I loved in ’06 disappeared entirely from my life in ’07.

    I know for a fact that in the last year I didn’t listen even once to Yo La Tengo’s "I’m Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass" or Sonic Youth’s "Rather Ripped." I’m sure I listened to other, older stuff by both bands, but I also know that I spent more time listening to Sweet’s Desolation Boulevard than to either. I’m pretty sure, also, that I never dug out Neko Case, Band of Horses, Beth Orton, or TV on the Radio (which would have been a strong candidate for my top pick in ’06).

    The disc from 2006 that I spent the most time listening to last year —Hell Hath No Fury, by Clipse– is a record I truly love but which, geezer that I’ve become, I can’t really recommend to very many people in my life. I still spend so much time with it primarily because I spend so much time in my car, and wearing headphones while walking a dog. In both contexts it sounds fabulous, and I haven’t even begun to grow tired of it.

    I was actually sort of surprised by how many 2006 discs made it into fairly regular rotation in ’07, including a bunch that I didn’t spend much time listening to when they first came out (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Cat Power, Howe Gelb, P.O.S., The Coup, and Ali Farke Toure). There were also some things that would have been near the top of my list last year that I continued to listen to on a regular basis, including Jon Dee Graham’s stupendous Full, Roddy Frame’s Western Skies, The Hacienda Brothers’ What’s Wrong With Right, Ornette Coleman’s Sound Grammar, Joseph Arthur’s Nuclear Daydream, Bob Dylan’s "Modern Times," and the Hold Steady.

    I didn’t think 2007 was much of a year for new music, but I also have to admit that I seldom venture out to hear music anymore, am not much of an internet browser, and actually buy most of the stuff I do eventually hear. So, then, based on that information, and what I now recognize would have been a dodgy 2006 list, here are my favorites from the last year, ranked top to bottom based on how much I listened to them and how likely I think they are to hang around through 2008:

    1. Ian Hunter, Shrunken Heads. Sure, an even bigger geezer than I am, and it came to me out of left field, but, shit, I really love this disc. Whippersnappers might be impressed to learn that Jeff Tweedy chips in some backing vocals.
    2. The National, Boxer. I just listened to it for about the fiftieth time last night and it still makes me happy.
    3. LCD Soundsystem, Sound of Silver. Another great dog-walking record, and "All My Friends" was probably my favorite song of the year.
    4. The Roots of Chicha: Psychedelic Cumbias From Peru. I hate the term psychedelic, and I’m not sure what’s psychedelic about this. I just hear surf guitar, farfisa, and the sound of bar bands in oil boom towns along the Amazon.
    5. Nick Lowe, At My Age. The Jesus of Cool has become a first-rate vintage-era Nashville crooner. He’s not as big a geezer as Hunter, but still even more of a geezer than me, which is a consolation. This is too damn short, but it’s all lovely.
    6. Avett Brothers, Emotionalism. I’m still not sure how to categorize or describe this, but I like it more and more all the time.
    7. Ween, La Cucaracha. It always makes me laugh. It always makes me happy. Dean and Gene Wene may be the only musicians I actually envy, precisely because they always seem to be having so much fun, and entirely on their own terms.
    8. Tie: Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta, Balkan Beat Box, Nu Med, and Tabu Ley Rochereau, The Voice of Lightness: Congo Classics 1961-1977. Because they all remind me of Paris in the late-80s, when Les Negresses Vert, Manu Negra, and African Soukous were all such reliable blasts of fresh air.
    9. Lili Allen, Alright, Still. The disc that was in my car all summer. It sounded just as good driving home the other night.
    10. Iron and Wine, The Shepherd’s Dog. I always try to resist Iron and Wine, and in the past I’ve mostly been successful, but this is one I keep playing.

    Tomorrow I’ll try to put together a list of books, as well as some of my most memorable dining experiences [sic].

  • Highlights of a Year of Eating

    I don’t do ten best lists, but looking back over the last
    year, I can recall some memorable dining experiences. For now, at least, I am going to limit myself to the new places – the
    list will just get too long if I try to work in more than just a mention of old
    favorites like the Grand Café Vincent, and Atlas Grill.

    My nominee for best new restaurant of 2007 is Saffron, where
    chef Sameh Wadi brings together the flavors of the Middle East and North Africa
    with the techniques and presentation of contemporary haute cuisine in very stylish
    surroundings. Highlights of my visits included an entrée of fork-tender lamb
    shoulder, over a savory bed of chick peas and a tagine of salmon and clams with
    roasted peppers, olives, fennel and saffron.

    Other favorite new places:

    Heidi’s Café: The
    same talent that the husband and wife team of Stewart and Heidi Woodman
    demonstrated at Restaurant Levain and Five (both now defunct) is again on
    display at Heidi’s, but this time at much more affordable prices: poached
    pheasant breast with cauliflower arugela salad for $19; a vegetarian entrée of
    pappardelle Bolognese for $12 .

    Meritage: Chef
    Russell Klein, cooked Regional American at W.A. Frost, but as chef-owner at
    Meritage, (in the former A Rebours space in downtown Saint Paul) he is free to
    return to his first love, French cuisine – which he delivers up with some
    playful and creative twists (like a Nutella and matzo sandwich for dessert.)

    Rotisserie Brasa, which Alex Roberts opened this summer in a
    former gas station on E. Hennepin remodeled to look like a Caribbean chicken
    shack. Roberts, known for much pricier and refined cuisine at Restaurant Alma,
    sets out at Brasa to show that local and sustainable can also be affordable.
    Only two meats are offered – rotisserie chicken and a terrific roast pork shoulder,
    along with a bunch of classic southern sides like cheese grits and collard
    greens.

    Keefer Court Bakery & Café. This funky little Chinese
    bakery at Cedar and Riverside recently hired Jack Ma, one of the most talented
    Cantonese chefs in the Twin Cities, to run their kitchen, and now serve a menu
    of traditional rice plates, noodle soups and stir-fries, at bargain prices.

    Pagoda in Dinkytown: The décor is much trendier than the
    usual noodle house, but the menu here, too, is traditional Cantonese street
    food plus a smattering of Japanese, Thai and Korean dishes in very stylish
    surroundings, at student-budget prices.

    Shiraz Fireroasted Cuisine: The chicken and lamb koubidehs
    (ground meat kabobs) at this new Persian restaurant at 61st and
    Nicollet tasted so authentic to me that I assumed that the chef must be from
    Iran, but it turns out it’s the same Mexican chef who ran the kitchen when the
    place was called Cintia’s of Mexico.

    Little Szechuan: The best Sichuan cuisine in the Twin
    Cities, plus some amenities you won’t find at many other Chinese restaurants in
    the Twin Cities, like a small but decent selection of wines. Try the fish
    fillet and tofu with spicy tasty broth.

    Café Ena: I live a few blocks from El Meson, and I have been
    a fan of chef-owner Hector Ruiz for years. His new Latin American fusion
    restaurant at 46th and Lyndale is just a tick more upscale, but the
    cuisine is just as lively and imaginative.

    Ngon Vietnamese Bistro: A lot of the restaurants that attempt East-West fusion wind up with the worst of both worlds, but this stylish storefront in Saint Paul’s Frogtown neighborhood is an exception: smart combinations of Asian and Western flavors in dishes such as Vietnamese beef over pappardelle noodles, ahi-tuna mango
    salad, and a succulent lamb shank with pho spices, served over
    lemongrass rice.

    Well, that’s about as many highlights as I can think of at the moment, but check back – I’ll probably add a few more to the list.

  • Open Thread: Create Your Own Trey

    Actually this is just a more prominent way of letting folks know I’m overwhelmed with a looming deadline on another story and won’t be able to make the Wolves game tonight–or even see it until tomorrow or Friday.

    So if anyone wants to fill in with their impressions–it can be a trey of your own making, a couple of lines, or maybe focusing on one aspect of the game, as AK proposed a few weeks ago–I’d appreciate it. And if you don’t feel like it, well, I’m shocked that you don’t want to work for free.

    In any case, I won’t be posting. But–unless this story really stays a Gordian knot–I should be back to look at Friday’s home tilt versus Denver.