Author: rakemag

If you’ve never had bahn mi, this is the place to get acquainted with (or addicted to) the seductive, sweet-hot flavor combination of this classic Asian sandwich. This Eat Street deli drapes a juicy heap of peppery pork with onions on top of crispy carrots, cool cilantro, and kick-in-the-pants jalapenos, cut into long strips and lurking between the hot halves of a crusty French roll. That pepper will bring tears to your eyes, and yet your brain will command you to keep biting into your bahn mi, because this collision of flavors is so mesmerizingly good. (And vegetarians: They make a killer mock duck version, with marinated faux meat, that carnivores actually line up for.) Jasmine Deli also serves outstanding noodle soups and rice bowls, but the bahn mi-to-go is the beacon that draws us. It’s a near-religious conversion, and it’s under three dollars. 2532 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-870-4700

Taking that second bite at A Rebours is a “Where have you been all my life?” moment. This assumes, of course, that you have a destiny with outstanding French bistro food–and we all do, really. With its white tiled floor and long-aproned servers, A Rebours’ rough but elegant atmosphere makes you feel comfortable and out-of-town at the same time, as any true bistro should. The menu is easy–oysters on the half shell, steak au poivre, cassoulet–but it’s also daring, with creative gravlax and charcuterie plates and cocoa-dusted duck breast. Dinner can be a high-buck affair, especially with a selection from the stunning French wine list, so a good bet is to sample the omelette du jour at lunch, or get a memorable start on the day with quiche and a flawless bowl of latte at breakfast. The only thing sweeter than the breads (baked at sister Bakery on Grand) is the excellent service. 410 St. Peter St., St. Paul; 651-665-0656

Jilted right before the wedding: It’s every sweetheart’s nightmare. So what else is there to do but have the wedding anyway? Without the bride, it seems, much of the pressure is off, and weddings become fun again. And afterward, why waste a perfectly good honeymoon? That’s what Franz Wisner thought when it happened to him. After the party of a lifetime, he jetted off to Costa Rica with his brother. The two enjoyed each other’s company so much that they quit their jobs, unburdened themselves of worldly possessions, and spent two years trekking the globe. They hit sixty countries along the way, and Wisner’s travel columns for newspapers and magazines became his memoir, Honeymoon with My Brother. There’s rumor of a movie not far behind.

If Charles Simic’s poem “Breasts” wasn’t sexy enough for you, consider trying the wink-nudge collection of Valentines collected in his newest volume. Here, Simic’s poetry is characteristically airy, image-evoking, and funny as he tells of making love in a grass field, catching a glimpse of an unclothed Venus through her bedroom window, picking a flea from his lover’s armpit. There are lots of kitchen sex scenes, too, always fun stuff. And, of course, his love affair with breasts continues. Simic’s poem-stories are paired with appropriately minimalist and scribbly sketches by Howie Michels, erotic romps in which clothing precariously slips–or gets pulled–aside.

Stuck in a sterile and impersonal marriage, Liselle strikes out for Mexico with her archeologist husband and his dig team. We wouldn’t complain about a trip to Mexico, but that’s just us. Anyway, while hubby searches for human remains, Liselle looks for human touch. She finds it, and how, with Charlie, a fiercely intelligent Mexican painter. But after allowing Charlie to shock her into living again, Liselle finds herself wanting to repair her marriage. Minnesota writer Sarah Stonich captures all the heartache, but adds a powerful note of hope.

How is it that pretty young girls with mental problems are deemed “hot,” but grown women whose troubles continue are just creepy and sad? Just look at Elizabeth Wurtzel: She had a hit with Prozac Nation, but her subsequent attempts to milk her misery in print have been rather, well, depressing. What she needs is some Midwestern common sense, like our own Marya Hornbacher, who has left behind the notoriety of her eating-disorder memoir, Wasted, and moved on to fiction. Her first novel explores the paths families take when their worlds are rent by illness: a child’s autism, a father’s depression, a friend’s post-traumatic stress disorder. But instead of wallowing in the worlds of the afflicted, Hornbacher sticks by the characters who are strong enough to pull others to safety with them.

Last month’s klatsch between Robert Bly and Donald Hall was such fun, we’re eager to sit in on the next tete-a-tete in Garrison Keillor’s “Literary Friendships” series. This time, the Pulitzer Prize-winning Michael Chabon (The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay) and public defender-turned-novelist Ayelet Waldman take to the stage with Keillor. In 1999, The New Yorker named Chabon one of the twenty best American writers of fiction under forty; meanwhile, Waldman, his wife, was cooking up her spicy Mommy-Track Mystery series. Now, with nearly a dozen books between them, not to mention a multitude of funny family stories, the couple will talk about their personal and professional relationship. How do literary mates relate when writer’s block, deadlines, and book signings prevail? No doubt there will be other writer-couples in the audience who want to know. Fitzgerald Theater, 10 E. Exchange St., St. Paul; 651-290-1221

And she got a movie deal, too! Kate DiCamillo is the Cinderella of Twin Cities writers, having gone from toiling in the Bookman warehouse to offering people pennies for paperbacks at Half-Price Books to winning a prestigious Newbery Medal and National Book Award honors. Now her first book, Because of Winn-Dixie, has been fashioned into a charming movie, starring Jeff Daniels, Cicely Tyson, and Dave Matthews (yeah, that Dave Matthews) in the story of a little girl who finds a dog in need of a friend at the grocery store. Hollywood’s idea of a good-looking dog has never really matched ours, but hey–it’s a nice, family-friendly story. When are they making Kate’s own tale into a movie?

Brainwashed victim or extremist sympathizer? Does it matter, now that she’s become part of John Waters’ ensemble? Well, there’s still plenty of the drama swirling around Patty Hearst’s two-year stint with the Symbionese Liberation Army. Guerilla: The Taking of Patty Hearst examines the plight of the media mogul’s granddaughter following her kidnapping, apparent brainwashing, and crime spree with the radicals; it uses raw, gritty, and rarely seen footage to recreate the circus that had the press in thrall for months. By the way, Symbionese doesn’t refer to some obscure nation, but to symbiosis: different organisms living together in harmony. Obviously, the SLA had no desire to harmonize with the establishment; its favorite motto was, ÒDeath to the fascist insect that preys upon the life of the people!

We know how you feel about Godard. As one of our friends said, after a screening of his newest, Notre Musique, “Don’t ask me to discuss that.” Okay, then–but you still want to see Tout Va Bien, from 1972; along with 1967’s Weekend, it’s billed as one of Godard’s “most accessible” films. (Funny how these bookended Godard’s militant-filmmaking spree with Jean-Pierre Gorin.) With Tout Va Bien, the canny Frenchman got “Hanoi Jane” Fonda, at the peak of her anti-establishment phase, to star as a journalist, with Yves Montand as her erstwhile New-Wave film-director husband. He also tried to play to the masses by offering, as he grudgingly admitted, “a story for those who shouldn’t still need one.” What’s more, one could even call Tout Va Bien optimistic, at least by Godard’s standards. Unlike Weekend, it attempts to convince the well-meaning bourgeois masses, which he so valiantly despised, that they could, indeed, change. How’s that for uplift?