Author: rakemag

What do you get when you put two eight-hundred-pound gorillas—er, Minnesota literary lions—in the same room? Hey, we’re just joshing! Truth is, Robert Bly and Garrison Keillor were entirely at ease with each other when Bly appeared onstage, along with his buddy Donald Hall, at one of Keillor’s “Literary Friendships” events last year. Which, come to think of it, may be why Keillor is introducing his elder at this talk. Bly’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if he’s yours, it would behoove you to show up here since the man’s been making fewer public appearances of late, and (not to be too blunt) he’s not getting any younger.

Italian food had already gone from molto chic (oooh, pesto!) to ultrapedestrian shtick (humph, another Olive Garden) before carbohydrates, and thus pasta, went out of fashion. What has diners coming back to this cuisine, locally at least, is a mini-renaissance of neighborhood restaurants that focus more on Italian flavors than on heaping mounds of pasta. In fact, Brix doesn’t even bill itself as an Italian restaurant, though its menu says otherwise. Most of the pasta is made fresh in-house, and the dishes are riddled with rich Mediterranean flavors: tomato, pancetta, anchovy, saffron, olives. Here osso buco, which can go horribly wrong, is executed perfectly, with fall-off-the-bone tenderness. Plump roasted figs stuffed with gorgonzola sit majestically atop the carpaccio antipasto. And instead of checkered tablecloths and wicker-wrapped Chianti bottles, Brix’s space is modern yet warm, which speaks well to this next generation of Italian eaters. 4656 Excelsior Blvd., St. Louis Park; 952-698-2749; www.brixwine.com/home.cfm”

Lager-battered onion rings, homemade ginger ale, and Frogger on a flat-screen TV. Is there really any other way to spend your lunch hour? The Chatterbox’s new outpost in Highland Park, a onetime Perkins, has been refashioned as a hipster den full of vintage couches and paint-by-number artworks—though it seems slightly more polished than the original basement-chic neighborhood bar in South Minneapolis. But the huge skillet breakfasts, tasty burgers, and creative bar snacks are still noteworthy, as are the focaccia pizzas with their tangy, herby sauce and toppings like tiger shrimp and lemon pepper chicken. And nothing goes better with the Chatterbox’s cornmeal-fried pickles than a pint of their Chit Chat Ale (or maybe that’s just the disco ball talking). 800 Cleveland Ave. S., St. Paul; 651-699-1154

With its proximity to Macalester College, this new Mediterranean grill seems poised to fulfill student cravings for falafel, gyros, and kebabs. Shish’s hummus ranks as some of the best in the city, and for under seven dollars, you can get this lemony spread with a generous portion of gyros—a nice deal for wallet-watchers. The Shish burger, served on a pita with hummus, grilled tomato, and spinach, is a successful blend of cultures. The namesake kebabs may be spendy, but the bright spices make them well worth it. Just save enough money for a few post-prandial tokes on the hookah pipe. 1668 Grand Ave., St. Paul; 651-690-2212

Virtually unknown here, Morrisseau is revered in his native Canada. The influential Woodland style of painting he developed stemmed from an isolated childhood in northern Ontario, where he was inspired by petroglyphs and drawings on birchbark scrolls, but also cautioned by his elders against indulging his own visions. He eventually gave in to his artistic calling no less, meeting with instant success in southern Canada in the 60s as well as criticism and controversy from his own Ojibwe people, who believed he was selling out their legends and beliefs. But younger Native artists in northern Canada found his work inspiring, and as one writer has pointed out, better they follow one of their own tribe than go to art school in Santa Fe. This is Morrisseau’s first major gallery exhibit in the U.S.; next fall, the National Gallery of Canada’s retrospective of his work will open at the National Museum of the American Indian in New York. 2123 W. 21st Street, Minneapolis, 612-377-4669; www.bockleygallery.com”

Norsten is one of those Minneapolis painters whose many, quiet years spent with his nose to the grindstone are paying off with higher-profile recognition of late: a slot in the Whitney Biennial earlier this year and a new affiliation with a New York gallery. Some (okay, it’s those dealers in New York) associate Norsten and his cranky, caustic, and often quite funny paintings with the likes of Robert Ryman, Blinky Palermo, Richard Tuttle, and Philip Guston. We’d venture a certain affinity with Raymond Pettibon, if only because both artists have their own strange obsession with, and take on, phenomena that are distinctly American. 527 2nd Ave S.E., Minneapolis, 612-605-4504; www.midwaycontemporaryart.org”

Is there a seasonal approach to art, as there is to eating? If summer puts one in the mood for sprightly, challenging, out-there work from contemporary kids, does that make fall and winter best for cozying up to rich, impressive oils from long-dead Europeans? If so, then this traveling show hits our town at the perfect time. It’s no stingy repast, either, but rather a feast of sixty-one paintings by names that always make it into the color-plates section of any art history textbook: Caravaggio, Tiepolo, Zurbarán, Goya, van Dyck, Frans Hals, van Ruisdael, Lorrain, Boucher, and Gainsborough, among others. Perhaps you thought you’d reaped enough benefits from the new wings at our local museums, but you can thank the Wadsworth Atheneum, currently undergoing its own expansion, for the chance to see these masterpieces. 612-870-3200; www.artsmia.org”

Put those thoughts about “wearable art ”—the tie-dyed caftans and bat-winged tunics made from elaborately loomed, jewel-colored fabrics—right out of your head. With artists like Joseph Beuys, Yoko Ono, Yinka Shonibare, and The Art Guys, this exhibit is more like a bizarre, intellectualized version of Project Runway. Spanning five decades, its thirty-nine garments and other sundries deal with the social and cultural messages transmitted by clothing (e.g., Beuys’ iconic felt suit), as well as those we convey with our own choices (Patrick Killoran’s modified T-shirt and sweatpants). The 2004 reissue, in camouflage fabric, of Mimi Smith’s 1966 maternity dress, with its strategically placed, see-through plastic dome, is all too apt on many levels. We’d love to hear Heidi Klum improvise a response to that. 333 East River Rd., Minneapolis; 612-625-9494; www.weisman.umn.edu”

After a fascinating show contrasting “official” and “dissident” works of art made in the former USSR, the Museum of Russian Art gets back to its strength: Russian realism that celebrates industry, agriculture, and the people of the motherland. What’s on view here shows a diversity of scenes and styles that many will find surprising. In some works, villagers are rendered in vivid colors and invisible brushstrokes, while in others, erratic and heavy streaks of paint almost completely obscure actual objects like, say, a furnace. And besides all the requisite woodsmen and robust milkmaids and strapping factory workers, there’s an image of a grim author and another of a tree bursting with flowers. As always, the museum has adeptly installed this show, displaying the works in association and counterpoint and leading visitors not just along the walls but across the room and to other floors. 5500 Stevens Ave. S., Minneapolis, 612-821-9045; www.tmora.org”

More and more, it’s looking like film buffs have to gaze across both oceans for their B-movie fix. A product of France and Georgia (not the Peach State, mind you), 13 (Tzameti) has already been gathering raves for its steely intensity and bold filmmaking. Gela Babluani’s film is the story of Sebastien, a down-on-his luck Georgian day laborer recently relocated to France. Working for a morphine addict who kicks off one afternoon, Sebastien steals the dead man’s train ticket, which he believes will lead him to a job for some real money. Instead, he finds himself a pawn in a high-stakes game of group Russian roulette with no way out. Filmed in sharp black and white, 13 (Tzameti) looks fraught with tension and will undoubtedly outpace the work of its big-budget American counterparts.