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  • 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.

  • Danger, Danger, and Whatnot

    In these cold, bristling days of the early year (when there’s
    no holiday in sight), it’s good to have something to anticipate … And so, in
    defiance of depressing January, this offering: an illustrated list of some, but not all, of the
    designers for this spring’s Voltage local fashion show, courtesy of Nic Marshall Photography.

     

     

     

    Above: That’s Russell Bourrienne, menswear maven (he once told me: "I’m
    known for my pants") and all-around nice guy.

     

     

    Above: That’s hipper-than-thou Annie Larson, whom I find intimidating (the chunky glasses seem to cast a preemptive strike against unwitting folks such as me) … You might recall the line of jumpers she presented at last year’s Voltage under the name Double Dutch.

     

     

    That’s the "architectural" clothing designer Laura Fulk rockin the asymetrical hair up there. Fulk is currently in the throes of designing costumes for God Save Gertrude, a new rock-n-roll play. (Read more about the playwright, Deborah Stein, and her musical tastes here.) I hope to offer a sneak-peek of those costumes right here at Hook & Eye …

     

     

    Above: I don’t know much about Amanda Christine, but she sure looks sweet …

     

     

     

    That’s the inimitable Katherine Gerdes, known far and wide for her formal yet confortable designs, hiding in her hoodie. With any luck, she’ll launch a new line of jersey dresses in conjunction with Voltage ’08.

     

     

    Not to beat a dead horse, but George Moskal (above) is my absolute faves – not the least of my reasons is that he just lent me the dress for which I previously begged. I plan to wear it to a holiday party this Friday. Stay tuned for the full frontal.

     

  • Start the Year with a Sampler, a Good Read, or Wrestling Mummies

    PERFORMANCE
    Sample This Year’s Goodies

    Who doesn’t love samples? And who wants to sit though one long show when you can squeeze in many, in nice neat ten-minute increments? Sample Night Live: Art in a Trial Size does just that, giving one a buffet of bite-sized upcoming performance options that includes everything from rock bands to dance to comedians. —Kate McDonald

    7 p.m., Bryant Lake Bowl, 810 W. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-825-8949; $15.

    BOOKS
    The Book of Other People

    File this one under “can’t miss.” Zadie Smith
    asked a bunch of literary cohorts to contribute to her latest project.
    Her only rule: Each story must bear the name of a person, and be about
    that person. The result is a broad-ranging collection of characters (a
    giant, a judge, and a monster, to name a few) presented in formats
    ranging from comic strip to monologue. Indeed, the only common thread
    in this schizophrenic anthology is the fact that each author is hotter
    than the next; George Saunders, Miranda July, Dave Eggers, and Chris Ware
    are among the contributors. Given the spectrum of genres and styles,
    there’s guaranteed to be something for everyone, all of it quality.
    Plus, all proceeds will go to Eggers’s 826NYC organization, a nonprofit that teaches children to write. —Danielle Kurtzleben

    Available today in bookstores nationwide.

    FILM
    Las Momias de Guanajuato

    This is arguably the greatest lucha libre horror film in history. Yes, friends, we know that’s like saying Evan Almighty is
    the greatest congressional ark-building comedy ever, but this
    entertaining schlock—starring those masked Mexican wrasslers—cost a
    hundredth as much, and looks to be ten times more amusing. In Las Momias de Guanajuato
    (1972), the wrestler/sorcerer Satan has been mummified for over a
    century and returns to wreak havoc on the peaceful city of Guanajuato.
    What’s to stop him? Why, those kindly masked wrestlers Santo, Blue
    Demon, and Mil Mascaras, that’s who! Marvel as this trio fights off a
    horde of rotting mummies in tights and those crazy masks. We challenge
    you to find a more memorable film to inaugurate your new year. —Peter Schilling

    7:30 p.m., Parkway Theater, 4814 Chicago Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-822-3030.

     

     

  • The Three Pointer: A Culture of Losing

    Game #30, Road Game #17: Minnesota 82, LA Clippers 91

    Season record: 4-26

    1. 4th Quarter Follies

    For those of you with hangovers, either from an excess of alcohol or undue loyalty to a dysfunctional, mentally weak basketball franchise, we’ll start with a Joe Friday straight script on the lodging of the Wolves’ latest L. The team was up 11, 70-59, heading into the final period against a woeful Clippers team that had lost six straight overall, seven straight at home, and all 17 games in which they had trailed after three quarters thus far this season. A mere five minutes later the Wolves had missed ten straight shots, committed three turnovers and four fouls, and watched the Clips reel off 15 straight points–the most they had amassed in any one of the three previous quarters was 21–en route to a sudden 70-74 deficit.

    Against stiff competition, the most absurd stat of the quarter was the 13 personal fouls committed up by the boys in blue and green, a pace that would disqualify eight players from the game if enacted for the entire contest. Only one, perhaps two, of those fouls were the purposeful offenses of a team hoping their opponent misses from the foul line in the waning minutes of the game. In any case, the Clips leveraged the hacking for a bounty of 20 free throws in that 12-minute span, making 16, which by itself was enough to top the Wolves 12-point period (which included just 5 free throws). That’s how you come within one miss of tying the NBA record for three-point futility–the Clips finished 0-14 3ptFG–and still win by 9.

    Four of those 13 4th quarter fouls were committed by Rashad McCants, whose regression has entered toxic territory. In the past two games, McCants has gone 2-13 FG–with just three of those shots inside the three-point arc–with zero, count ’em, zero, free throws. Tonight he fouled out in 18:48, registering a game-worst minus -15. But beyond the numbers, McCants seems to be moving at half-speed. His defensive rotations and scrambles back in transition are occurring in invisible molasses. His engagement and desire are MIA. Even as the desperate television stations broadcasting Wolves games repeat the feature on his many tattoos, this hip hop poet and sensitive soul is mailing it in on the court.

    Perhaps Shaddy is sulking over his demotion, watching from the bench as Corey Brewer gets bumped over to his two-guard spot (that went to Marko Jaric before him) and Ryan Gomes takes the bulk of the minutes at small forward. It is hard to argue with Gomes’s effort and performance the past two or three weeks, however–last night he vied with Jefferson as the best player in a Wolves uni, scoring 17 points (8-14 FG) and grabbing 15 boards. In terms of the future, however, it is hard to imagine Gomes resigning here.

    Hindsight is 20-20, and this only became apparent to me as the game was progressing. But the Clippers took the floor was grandpa Sam Cassell and defensive specialist Quinton Ross in the backcourt. The Wolves countered with Sebastian Telfair and Brewer. Coaches Mike Dunleavy and Randy Wittman both seemed content to cross-match the guards, with their taller, defensive-oriented 2s throttling their smaller point guards. That’s because Brewer’s season-long shooting woes made Dunleavy comfortable sticking the 38-year old Cassell (who moves like he’s 76 on D) on the rook. But what happens if McCants starts at shooting guard? That forces matchups of Ross-McCants, Casell-Telfair, and either Brewer-Maggette (who’s 6-6, 225) or Gomes-Maggette.

    Wittman obviously didn’t want to go that way. His plan was clearly to take advantage of the Clips woeful front line, suffering from the season-long absence of Elton Brand, and, last night, Tim Thomas. That’s why he started Michael Doleac next to Jefferson, and put the taller Gomes on Maggette. Besides, Wittman also had to be salivating over the backcourt matchups off the bench. Specifically, 6-7 Marko Jaric would go up against either 6-foot Dan Dickau or 5-10 Brevin Knight. And, as it turned out, Jaric and McCants were greeted by Knight and career-scrub Richie Frahm to begin the 4th quarter. But Jaric never once posted up his nine-inch shorter opponent, But he, McCants and Sebastian Telfair went scoreless (0-7 FG) for the period while Frahm and Knight combined for 6 points, five assists and two steals.

    Judging from his postgame comments, Wittman was more concerned with his backcourt’s inability to execute the paint-oriented gameplan. "I have to find some guards to lead us down the stretch. We had no direction, no leadership. We have mismatches on the inside that we don’t even recognize. It’s the same thing every game."

    Clips center Chris Kamen, who notched 16 rebounds and 5 blocks, was equally frank. "They’re just not that good, so we were able to beat them. We’re not that good either. I mean, it was like a `Dust Bowl" game–two of the worst teams in the league playing each other."

    2. Witt Tightens the Screws

    Last night was the most aggressive I ever remember seeing Wittman coach. He juggled his lineup, inserting Michael Doleac so Jefferson could operate against rookie Al Thorton. When Jefferson committed some early defensive gaffes, Witt yanked his star less than three minutes into the first quarter and kept him on the bench for nearly five minutes. Likewise, timeouts were quickly called after a pair of mentally lazy turnovers in the third period and when Brewer allowed his man to waltz past him for a layup later in the second quarter. Finally, Witt altered his lineup five times in the first 4:36 of that disastrous fourth period.

    There are at least two ways of looking at this. First, Wittman has a thankless job and preferred to have praise and a long leash with his troops result in a steady increase of confidence and, thus, maturity and performance. And when it hasn’t happened, he’s been forced to withdraw the carrots and deploy more sticks. After all, people are finally beginning to understand how magnificently multi-faceted Kevin Garnett can be for a ballclub–all the big and little things he does to enhance your squad. Look at the Celts’ roster and tell me how they are allowing 86.82 points per game when the next best team is ceding 89.25. Then, on top of that, they don’t have Foye or Ratliff at the two most important positions on the court.

    The flipside is that everything Wittman has tried hasn’t worked. The ballclub he is coaching is mentally weak, physically weak, woefully immature and now thoroughly embedded in a culture of losing. Witt fired one of his bullets a couple weeks ago when he essentially told his players they were a bunch of wusses; then, as further motivation, the Strib ran a front-page story openly wondering if this could be the worst team in NBA history, a challenge Witt said affected his team, who proceeded to play their best game of the season in blowing out the Pacers.

    But since then, it’s been almost all regression, with playing time seemingly allotted without rhyme or reason. Last night it was Doleac getting his season high in minutes while Gerald Green and Chris Richard received their first DNP-CD in quite awhile. Why? Yeah, you can say Doleac was a nice matchup on Kamen (my choice for Comeback Player of the Year thus far) and the big lug did a good job. But with Doleac saddled with foul trouble, why not at least try out Richard? I guess it is plain that Wittman really does envision a Jefferson and Craig Smith front line for the future, a depressing thought. And while I am content to watch Green languish, his supporters have to wonder why he didn’t join Walker and McCants on the bombadier squad when Witt was desperately trying to salvage the game in the final minutes–or why he didn’t some of McCants minutes when Shaddy lethargically went through the motions in the first half.

    Once again the question is–what’s the plan? Go with enough vet seasoning to help the young’uns? Give the kids all the burn they can stand? Find out about your expiring contracts–Smith, McCants, Green, T
    elfair, Gomes–as much as possible? Reward hustle and performance or play for the future? Engender experience in specific roles or juggle the lineup to get the best immediate matchups? There is evidence that the Wolves are doing all of these things and thus none of these things very well. Some of it can be blamed on the bad luck of injuries and flu bugs and the travails of youth and immaturity. More of it is bad, inconsistent judgment.

    Bottom line, the problems with this team are fundamental: Executing and defending the pick and roll, moving your feet, boxing out, staying mentally focused, avoiding stupid fouls. They are getting worse, not better. Meanwhile, ten players on the roster average at least 20 minutes a game (a testimonial to wildly fluctuating playing time) and three others average at least 11 mpg,

    3. Hit and Run

    I walked into the Caribou Coffee outlet beside Lund’s in Uptown the other day and saw that if you purchased a pound of Caribou Coffee you would receive two free tickets to the Wolves’ January 6 game against Dallas–while the supply lasted. Meanwhile, if the team’s play doesn’t kill fan interest, the absurdly expanded coverage by FSN will. While Jim Petersen and Mike McCollow are both astute and engaging analysts, promoting a former cheerleader to provide fashion tips or insights on halftime shows or having sideline guy Telly Hughes interview the third or fourth best player on that night’s victorious Wolves’ opponent kills more brain cells than the 180 proof everclear I once got for Christmas from a friend in Alaska.

    After the Indiana win, I pronounced Telfair as having made it in the NBA, claiming that his next batch of bad games should be construed as a slump rather than an immediate ticket to Europe. Since then, Bassy has reverted to the form that earned him his rep as a colossal bust. Last night he shot 3-14 FG, and while the 7/2 assist-to-turnover ratio and the three steals were hopeful, the stubborn fact is that he can neither stick a long-range or mid-range jumper nor finish at the hoop in transition. Aside from Al Jeffersonj, no one will benefit more from the return of Randy Foye–provided it happens this year–than Telfair.

    I have long been a supporter of Wolves owner Glen Taylor, who, especially compared to the likes of Pohlad, Wilf, and the Wild crew, has been willing to step up in a dramatic fashion to invest in his franchise. Taylor’s loyalty to Kevin McHale and Randy Wittman is another matter, and a can of worms I’m not opening here. No, what perplexes me is how and why Taylor stood by while two of his division rivals–Portland and Seattle–have stockpiled assets from a Phoenix Suns franchise that abhors the luxury tax, has abandoned any pretense of building for the future and is doing everything possible to win now. Portland’s owner Paul Allen has gladly accepted Phoenix’s top draft pick the last two or three years, ensuring that the already deep Trailblazer team is a dynamo for the next five to ten years even if Greg Oden can’t fully recover from injury (one, I might add, that deprives the Blazers of a greater potential talent than Randy Foye). Further up the West Coast, Seattle was able to execute a sign-and-trade with otherwise departing free agent Rashard Lewis that provided them with an enormous trade exception against the salary cap. They then peddled that exception to the Suns in exchange not only for Kurt Thomas (whose $8 million deal expires this year), but Phoenix’s first round pick in both 2008 and 2010. By 2010, the Suns should be in a precipitous freefall, giving the Sonics (or whatever they are called by then) a nice addition to the roster as Kevin Durant and Jeff Green enter their fourth year in the NBA.

    Let’s end on a positive note, eh? Doleac demonstrated that he’ll be a solid 15-20 minute performer as the Wolves encounter a slew of legit centers–Joel Pryzbilla, Marcus Camby, Erick Dampier, and Shaquille O’Neal–in the week ahead. Sorry, that’s the best I could come up with.

  • A Bone to Pick with Andrew Zimmern

    I was going to tell you about my most memorable dining
    experiences of this past year, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. There is more pressing business at hand: Andrew Zimmern’s recent blog post.

    I have only met Andrew – who writes about restaurants for
    Mpls-St.Paul magazine – a couple of times, but he seems like a nice guy. Once,
    when we happened to be dining at the same restaurant, he sent a couple of
    glasses of champagne over to our table
    – a classy gesture. But in a
    recent blog post, Zimmern says some things about my colleague, Ann Bauer, and
    me, that kind of hurt my feelings.

    I don’t mean the
    part where he says that I have a "workmanlike style honed over many years
    churning copy at the Star Tribune." I’m not sure how to return that compliment,
    except to say that Andrew is the perfect restaurant critic for a magazine like
    Mpls-St. Paul.

    No, the part that bothered me is when Andrew wrote that Ann
    needs to get out more, and that The Rake should send us to the restaurants that
    are "really making some noise," like La
    Belle Vie     and Heartland, which have both been around for years. And then
    he suggests that Ann and I need to be "more conversant with the local dining
    scene."

    That’s an interesting suggestion, coming from a guy who
    seems to spend a lot of his time out of town, eating sheep eyeballs on camera.
    I’m a little curious as to how Andrew finds time to check in on "two dozen
    other restaurants in town that are kicking ass every meal period." I’m in town most of the time, eating out
    about five nights a week, – looking for good restaurants that don’t make a lot
    of noise – and I can’t name that many places that are that consistently
    excellent.

    He did confess that he still hasn’t made it yet to Heidi’s,
    Meritage or Nick & Eddie, but I would be curious to know whether he has
    made it to very many of other new restaurants that we have written about in the
    past year: including Saffron (my nominee for the best new restaurant in the
    Twin Cities), the Blackbird Café, the Chindian Café, Pagoda, Keefer Court, Ngon
    Vietnamese Bistro    , Shiraz, Café BonXai, Mysore, the Hyderabad House, and Vinh
    Loi. Some of these have been reviewed by Andrew’s colleagues, but it looks like
    Mr. Zimmern himself isn’t getting out as much as he should. Or maybe he is
    spending too much time at the usual suspects. He did make it to Cafe Ena but wasn’t impressed – I suggest he give it another try.

    I made it to a lot of other very worthwhile restaurants this past
    year: Peninsula, Brasa, the Grand Café, Cosmos, Relax (the former Yummy), Yum!,
    Tanpopo Noodle Shop, Obento-ya, Cave Vin, Tam-Tam’s African Restaurant, Wolfgang Puck’s 20.21,
    First Course, Little Szechuan, Hoa Bien, Evergreen, Vincent, the Colossal Café, North
    Coast    , Kum Gang San, Victor’s 1959 Café, Sapor, Babalu , Cheng Heng and the
    Namaste Café – and I am sure I am forgetting a few.

    I don’t spend a lot of time going back to places like La
    Belle Vie and Heartland, because they have been around for years. And besides,
    I have had some wonderful meals at La Belle Vie, but I have also had moments
    where I have found myself wondering just exactly what the point is. Tim McKee
    and Josh Thoma are very talented chefs, but their menu, with its truffles and
    porcini and Barkham blue and branzino (sea bass, flown in fresh from the
    Mediterranean), doesn’t exactly engage the place where they are. It’s a cuisine
    they could create anywhere, as long as their customers have enough money – but
    maybe that is the point.

    I’m more inclined to restaurants like Heartland, at least in
    theory. I like and admire Lenny Russo, who is a very engaging guy, and has done
    heroic work to support local farmers and promote local and sustainable eating.
    His menus always sound wonderful – how can you resist a dish like Minnesota elk tartare with preserved tomato
    jam, Wisconsin turnip slaw and rosemary-shallot dressing?     In my limited experience, it’s always good,
    but it doesn’t always taste as exquisite as it sounds. Maybe it’s time for another visit, but I
    wish he used more garlic. Or something.

    Zen philosopher Alan
    Watts     warned against eating the menu instead of the meal. That’s good advice.
    Charlie the Tuna had something similar in mind when he made the distinction
    between "good taste" and "tastes good." Lucky for us, our readers just want to know what tastes good.

    Tomorrow: my favorite tastes and restaurants of 2007. I
    promise.

     

     

     

     

  • Best and worst gifts of 2007

    Of course, this will be a personal list. If you have a
    hankering to mention a particularly tasteful or -less gift of your own, please comment below.

     

     

    WORST

     

    1. Body Fat Scale (from one fat ass to another?) On Christmas
    evening, after I’d had my fill of sugar cookies, at the most inopportune
    moment, I opened a body-fat scale marked "From Santa." Quickly programming the
    thing with my height (5′ 5.5") and gender, I hopped aboard and was horrified to
    read its measure: thirty-seven-percent fat. However, if I program myself as an "athletic
    woman," it puts me at only twenty-four. And when I weighed-in as a man? Ten. And
    if you sleep it off and try for better the next morning? Eighteen. Needless to
    say, I can’t stand the fucking thing.

     

    2. Portraits. Is it really appropriate to give framed
    portraits of your lovely children to the single, childless aunt who once walked
    away from an engagement to a hot, wonderful man (thus causing suspicions about
    her sexual preferences) and who, furthermore, lives in a 600-square-foot box? I
    don’t have room for that shit … in my apartment or in my frozen-over heart.

     

     

    BEST

     

    1. In Vogue. A coffee-table book providing a comprehensive
    history of Vogue magazine, with plenty of images, beginning with the
    illustrated covers of the 1890s through the ’40s and moving into the magazine’s
    heyday, from about 1950 through the mid ’80s.

     

    2. 20 Questions Game. This handheld, battery-operated doodad
    asks you to think of an object and then, after asking twenty questions, guesses
    what it is – and with amazing accuracy. I’ve found it to be a colossal, but nonetheless
    delightful, waste of time. Already, I’ve identified its weak points: food things
    and anything feminine other than bra and panties.

  • Looking Back on 2007

    Say you were offered the option to go forward or backward in a time machine. Which would you choose?

    If science fiction is any indication, most people would leap ahead to find out what the world will be like at some future time. Me? I’d go back: to the Last Supper, to Ludwig Beethoven’s Vienna, to the birth of my firstborn. I’m fascinated by what has happened and by the changes wrought. Whereas others blow horns and throw confetti, kissing strangers and drinking too much to welcome the new year, I tend quietly to look to the past.

    This is why I love those recap shows — even the really sappy montages set to music — that show the events of the previous year. It never fails to awe me how much transpires in so short a time and how long the events echo.

    In 2007, for instance, we as a world suffered the loss of Kurt Vonnegut, Ingmar Bergman, and Luciano Pavarotti. There were other deaths, of course, which for whatever reason don’t rank as high on my personal list. I’ll admit I’m irrational. That Norman Mailer finally shuffled off this mortal coil, leaving some 17 wives and 98 children, seems fitting somehow; but the silencing of Vonnegut’s wit and preternatural understanding struck me as abrupt and left me cold.

    There were the iPhone and the Kindle; the collapse of the 35W bridge; the massacre at Virginia Tech; and the real estate crisis that precipitated a slow-moving but monstrous economic slump. As a result, people are reading The Da Vinci Code on handheld screens. Commuters of sound mind are taking long detours to avoid crossing rivers. College professors who teach writing are on alert (I know, because I am one) to pick out troubled students. Once secure and successful homeowners who thought they’d made a failsafe investment are going broke. And all this took place in the space of a year.

    In my smaller corner of the world, 2007 was the year I celebrated my one-year wedding anniversary to a man I never expected to meet — and whom I did not yet know on New Year’s Eve 2005. I was 39, the longtime single mother of three teenagers, and happily resigned to a life of independence (though far less happily to a life of celibacy) when we brushed against one another for the first time in the Heartland Wine Bar. That we are now a family simply amazes me.

    I also watched the resurrection of my older son — the one whose birth haunts me because of its profound normalcy — from a trancelike condition called autistic catatonia. In 2007, I allowed the doctors at Mayo to hook my child up to machines and jolt him with electricity in hopes it would bring him back to life. And in the sort of weird coincidence that appears in books like The Sirens of Titan, I took comfort from the fact that Vonnegut once made the same decision regarding his son, Mark.

    I spent an afternoon with Leonid Hurwicz, the 90-year-old winner of the Nobel prize who fled the Nazis as a young man and came to Minnesota where he developed economic theories touched with the humanity of one who knows both honor and sin. I met Max Fink, one of psychiatry’s most well-known and controversial figures. I finished my second novel. I joined the staff at the Rake.

    Truth? I also culled a lot of people out of my life this year. It happened around the time of my son’s illness as the community I knew divided neatly into those who remained admirably steadfast and those who became distant, accusing, or mean. It saddens me to say that several friends and my own younger sister were among the latter. And while I try not to live with the grudge in my throat, I find it’s a relief to know where in the world you stand.

    All this happened, and yet it feels like no time at all has passed since the night of December 31, 2006. I was in a hotel room in Madison, WI, drinking a glass of something red and watching my then-brand-new husband sleep as the bells and whistles and gongs of some faraway New Year party announced midnight’s turn.

    I began contemplating all this last night, while sipping on a strange wine called The Other. I will rarely admit this, but I bought the bottle mostly because the label rather appealed to me. It’s simple and incredibly off-topic but the line drawing somehow speaks to what it is to be a woman in flux. It’s inexpensive: about $12 in most stores. A blend that, confusingly, changes each season depending upon both crops and the winemaker’s whim, this Peirano Estate Heritage Collection variety doesn’t list a year. But the one I tried was 60 percent Cabernet, 30 percent Merlot, and 10 percent Syrah. Heavy, fruity, and almost leathery, today’s Other belies the naked yoga pose on the label. Like hearing the voice of Queen Latifah come out of the mouth of Heidi Klum. This is a thick, thoughtful, serviceable wine. It exists in no time, apparently, and contains an oddly specific 13.8 percent alcohol.

    It’s a wine with a wallop, a rough finish that lasts for full minutes, and a dissonant drawing on the front. But after such a year, I’m thinking Kurt definitely would approve.