Blog

  • Lost Files of the Star Trib Readers' Rep

    Sunday morning’s aren’t nearly as much fun anymore. Not long ago I’d heft the Strib off the doorstep, chuck out the ads, the news and the sports and dig right into my favorite column, "The Readers’ Representative." Having worked for a decade and a half at a daily newspaper, I miss hearing first hand the way self-criticism is transformed in to self-congratulation, the way dense curtains fall over assurances of transparency, the way anyone and everyone higher up the company ladder is not only always right, but right and brave. And especially I missed the way a big, high-profile media company saved a bundle on PR flackery by having a compliant middle manager wallpaper over the corpses hanging in the living room.

    But now I just miss the Reader’s Rep. Back in early October the kids up the ladder decided that, gosh, they were just so committed to giving us the latest health news — not so much on dark, complicated stuff like how local health insurance billionaires have goosed the cost of medical care and our collective stress level — but rather the importance of eating vegetables and getting annual exams, they "reassigned" the old Readers’ Rep to the health section and replaced her with … well nobody, apparently.

    The last two Sundays have featured columns by the Strib’s top editor, Nancy Barnes. In the first one she displayed a lot of comaraderie with veterans like Paul McEnroe, a.k.a. "Mac", as she called him, much like she does when they bowl together every Tuesday and Thursday night, I’m guessing. This week she gave out a number that’ll connect you to an editor somewhere in the building (maybe) whenever you’re pissed off at Nick Coleman, want to give Katherine Kersten a wet kiss or point out that someone, maybe one of the new (and cheaper) hires on the suburban team had Stillwater on the banks of the Mississippi in the morning’s East Metro edition.

    Somehow this isn’t as appealing to me. Obviously the old Readers’ Rep wasn’t actually "representing" readers so much as she was taking bullets for her paymasters, the now beached Par Ridder in particular. Not that Mr. Ridder’s myriad problems; a near complete lack of awareness of business ethics being just one, were ever addressed mind you. But the sheer spectacle of the Readers’ Rep’s elephant-in-the-room avoidance and the frenetic patter of her happy feet scurrying back and forth in search of any vantage point to laud the wisdom and bravery of her colleagues was reliably entertaining. You could read her and think to yourself, "Goddamit, I may have to spend eight hours in a cubicle working for psychotic nerds, but at least I don’t have to sign my name to that!"

     

     

     

  • Can You Eat Your Way to Better Sex?

    So. I was at the Jewish Community Center on Christmas Day — along with what appeared to be every other fitness-minded non-Christian in the western metro — on the elliptical trainer, reading Self magazine, when I ran across an article entitled The Great Sex Diet. And out of a deep sense of professional responsibility, I read.

    This was no small task. It was a very lengthy treatise that included not only food advice, but a list of "myths" about aphrodisiacs, the testimony of a sex expert, and (oddly, I thought) the intensely personal thoughts of the author — an online novelist (?) named Valerie Frankel — who had tried all the recommended techniques with her husband, as well as a blow-by-blow account of exactly how each one worked out.

    Unlike most magazine articles, however, this one failed to provide any useful, scannable information in the form of a handy-dandy bullet-pointed list. Rather, the advice was buried in and amongst details none of us needs to know. So in order to save you the pain and embarrassment of reading the entire article for yourself, I’m going to do here what I think the editor at Self should have done for her readership.

    If you want to have better sex, try eating:

    Almonds and Walnuts — they’re high in arginine, an amino acid the body uses to make nitric oxide, which in turn opens blood vessels and allows them to expand

    Salmon, Cod and Halibut — also contain arginine, plus omega-3 fatty acids, which may increase both libido and orgasmic intensity

    Spinach, Broccoli, Beets, Berries, and Grapes — because they’re high in antioxidants which clean up free radicals and improve general cell health

    Dark Chocolate — also a great source of antioxidants, plus endorphin-raising compounds that enhance circulation

    In other words, the very same foods (jeepers!) you should eat to ensure peak cardiovascular function, prevent premature aging, maintain a healthy weight, and build strong hair, bones, fingernails, and teeth. Hmmm. . . .Could it be that healthy living actually leads to better sex? Wow!!! Who in the world could have predicted that?

    Apparently not Frankel, who went on (the diet portion was only the first third of the article) to talk about all the fancy supplements she took to increase her level of free testosterone, her always "reliable" clitoris and inadequate G-spot, as well as her use of a device called a GyneFlex that sounded kind of like a Thighmaster for the vagina.

    Believe me, you’re better off not reading the entire article, in which Frankel talked glibly about giving up cigarettes temporarily in order to improve her circulation so she could orgasm more easily (never mind breathe. . . .) And then she went way, way too far, suggesting that those in search of good sex should give up coffee and alcohol, too. As if being perpetually cranky, tired, and stone cold sober ever did anything for anyone’s love life.

    Anyhow, culling the two or three paragraphs of useful information from this mess of personal memoir and genital workout routine, I think the message can be distilled down to this:

    On your next date night, go out (or stay in), relax, have a glass of red wine; a spinach salad with walnuts and a nice balsamic vinaigrette; a piece of grilled fish; and for dessert, a few squares of 70-80 percent cacao dark chocolate. Then feel free to finish it all off with a good, strong cup of espresso.

    This is me talking now and I say go for it, caffeine be damned. Because God willing, you’re going to be up until dawn.

  • A Post-Christmas, Pre-New Year Sing-along

    FILM
    A Post-Christmas Story

    I firmly believe that music is for everyone — and there is certainly enough from which to choose this weekend — but if you’re just not in the mood (perhaps puckered out from the holidays), you might prefer to kick back in a nice, dark theater for a post-holiday treat. We get so wrapped up in all the holiday obligations — all the shopping, the traveling, the visits, the eating and drinking and rejoicing (or tearing one’s hair out) — that we forget what it’s all about. No, I’m not talking Christ here. I’m talking about the Fatman, Santa. The man grew up in Finland, and it’s time to get the story from the Finns. Learn about an orphaned village boy named Nikolas at a Twin Cities special premiere of Christmas Story, directed by Juha Wuolilsoki.

    Friday at 7:15 p.m., The Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-3134, $8 (seniors $6, members & students $5).

    MUSIC
    The Snakes Are in My Water-trough

    What’s at the heart of the blues? Well, according to the Black-Eyed Snakes, playing the blues is a lot like having an epileptic fit or butchering pigs. Maybe both. Alan Sparhawk lets the blues take a hold of him — a firm, almost possessive, hold. This is raw blues. And watching gives new meaning to musical experience. —Kate McDonald

    Friday at 8 p.m., The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-388-2674; $15.

    A Smorgasbord of Local (and almost local) Hotshots

    Dave Pirner of Soul Asylum and Tim O’Reagan of the Jayhawks are just two of the artists that make up the smorgasbord of local rock talents performing tonight at the Cabooze. Pirner will be accompanied by The Volunteers, and O’Reagan will be followed by the lovely Janey & Marc, whose sweet melodies have accompanied the likes of Astronaut Wife and Sarah Lee Guthrie. It is a night of music perfectly fit for the Friday after Christmas. —Kate McDonald

    Friday at 9:30 p.m., The Cabooze, 917 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; $13.

    A Spontaneous Pre-New Year’s Show — Up to Your Standards

    What happens when you combine Semisonic with The Suburbs and a vibraphonist? Well, you get a new standard for music, of course, and a new band, The New Standards. It’s almost the New Year — better start thinking about having some standards. And if you look back at our last big fashion spread, it’ll attest to their level of class. —Kate McDonald

    Saturday at 7 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club & Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010.

    The Eyes Are Still So Bright

    Thrasher Magazine has a great website. It includes pictures of bikini-clad skateboard-welding bitties, documented proof of skater Darren Navarrette’s party throwing abilities, and an interview with Shed, who’s wearing an executioner’s hood and is in the middle of a half pipe talking about his upcoming 13th skate rock album. However, this all seems to stand in stark contrast to the Bright Eyes website, which boasts only a lone tree and the work of a serious indie computer graphics design genius. What, then, are former Thrasher photographer Nik Freitas and Bright Eyes frontman Conor Oberst doing together in Minneapolis? Well, playing a show, naturally — since their alt-indie sound turns out to be oddly similar. It’s worth checking out — almost as much as the Thrasher website is. —Kate McDonald

    Saturday at 9 p.m., 400 Bar, Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-332-2903; $20.

    The Big Stuff

    Should old acquaintance be forgot? Not in the new year, my dears — hence the House of Large Sizes “Re-Union” gig at the Triple Rock. Two-thousand-and-seven was the 20-year mark from the band’s first recorded release, so what better way to ring in the 21st than with a rock-, funk-, heavy metal-influenced performance? Special guests will include Speed’s the Name, Beat Strings, and The Melismatics. —Kate McDonald

    Sunday at 7 p.m. Triple Rock Social Club, 629 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-333-7399; $10.

  • Found Around Town

    Ephemera def. transitory written and printed matter

    Here’s a very interesting visual blog that I came across today: ephemerania. It’s simply a collection of photos of found objects assembled together, sort of grouping visual pieces together.

     

    On their own each bit is for the most part insignificant, but together they’re a little bit scrap book, a little bit abstract, a little bit just weird. But cool to look at.

    Here’s another one:

     

    If you put together the pictures from my stint at guest blogging, ephemerania is sort of what I think it might look like.

    Click here to see more pictures.

    (Oh, and not to be confused with the traveling art and fashion fun time of Ephemeral Space, which is also awesome and aesthetically appealing.)

  • postcard power!

    How cute is this girl? I bet her rock band just shreds.

    While gig posters might be the hot and hip way of promoting, postcards and small fliers for upcoming shows and events can also catch people’s eyes. And because of their small size, and because they’re in every bar nook, cafe cranny, and downtown gutter, they almost have to work harder creatively and aesthetically to get noticed.

    But sometimes the coolest things to look at are those buried notices. Here’s two more fliers for shows that I’ve seen recently that I’ve really liked. First, a flier with a retro look for the recent Afrika Bambaataa show at Foundation with The Get Ups.

    Funky.

    Next, a pretty sweet promo for the Hotpants Dance Night at Club Jaeger:

    How’s that for an example of Minneapolis-St.Paul visual culture? If this flier were the size of an actual bus pass, you’d have a hard time telling the difference, since they kept the dominant images and nailed the font sizes.

    And now with online marketing and publicity, etc., the size factor is sort of eliminated, although the effectiveness isn’t.

    (images from respective myspace pages)

  • Ode to a Sycophant

    The above photo is an altered version of "AZ in Action," taken by Sarah McGee.

    Mitch Omer, proprietor of Hell’s Kitchen restaurants in Minneapolis and Duluth, responds to Andrew Zimmern’s Perspective in the December issue of Mpls./St. Paul Magazine:

    "That’s all I can stands, and I can’t stands no more!"
    ~Popeye the Sailor

    Some notes on a critic, his standards, and the obligations of the job:

    What is the proper way for a restaurateur to critique a critic? As
    far as I can tell, there is no such manner. I can only hold back so
    much bile (the result of a gastric bypass, I’m sure), and I must
    regurgitate my feelings about a self-indulgent, self-obsessed,
    self-aggrandizing food writer; a former executive hack (but by his own
    admission, master chef). Master or not, his Café Un Deux Trois in
    Minneapolis, even though a clone of its mother ship in New York, won
    many "best of’s" while open here.

    However, it is with a nagging sense of professional obligation that
    I respond to Andrew Zimmern’s journalistic treasure trove of
    anti-Minneapolis condescension. I suppose I should be filled with a
    sense of self-preservation. As it is, I am filled with a sense of
    outrage, and I finally gave into it.

    "In many ways, the work of a critic is easy; we risk very
    little, yet enjoy a position of those who offer up their work and
    themselves to our judgement. But the bitter truth we critics must
    face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk
    is probably more meaningful than our criticism designates itself."
    ~Anton Ego, food critic in the movie Ratatouille

    God forbid, a restaurateur would actually take aim at a critic; this
    would be suicide. This is a tight community, and none would say a
    disparaging word about another. He, however, writes as if above
    reproach, and I am here to tell him that he is not. At Mpls/St.Paul
    magazine, no pretense is made of keeping him in check…and,
    Mpls/St.Paul, just how does he rate a spread about celebrity homes, and
    the only picture we see is of him and his family on a couch? Must be
    one helluva house.

    But I digress. His orations involve an immense waste of time. But,
    like slowing down to look at a morbid and horrifying accident, I read
    his column every month. His gastronomic fatalism sorely tries the
    patience of every chef and restaurateur in Minneapolis. He is
    inaccurate and tremendously negative; a perfect tabloid weapon. But,
    Andrew, you have been playing without an opponent, and I must say, it’s
    my turn at bat.

    A cook does not a critic make, yet A.Z. is a self-professed Alpha
    Male of food writing; one need only go back just a few issues for
    examples of how he dismisses the sophistication of Twin Cities
    residents, making us look as if we never travel outside state lines,
    never try anything except meat and potatoes, don’t know a damn thing
    about unusual ingredients, don’t support innovative restaurants, aren’t
    willing to pay for good food, and are in desperate need of a god-like
    food writer to tell us not only how stupid we are, but also what to
    think from A to Z:

    "My high profile can distort minor aspects of my dining
    experiences, but I’d argue that what I bring to the table in expertise
    and experience more than makes up for it."
    ~Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, May, 2007

    Why don’t you let someone, other than yourself, make that decision.
    And how dare you put yourself above more seasoned food writers like
    Jeremy Iggers, Ann Bauer, Kathy Jenkins, Peter Lilienthal, Dara
    Moskowitz, Rick Nelson, Lynne Rosetto Kasper, and let’s not forget the
    late Pam Sherman. There is no objectivity here, only platitude
    prescriptions for whatever ails you each month. Take a booster shot of
    your own medicine, dude, you’ll feel better in a day or so.

    "The transcendent restaurant must hit the Trifecta: It must be
    good, original, AND successful."
    ~ Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, Dec
    2007

    Lemme see. You all but got down on your knees and sucked the
    gastronomic dick of Aquavit, "…goat cheese parfait with blueberry
    sorbet and passion fruit curd. Wow!" Lotta guys from Anoka going to
    order that malady. And then, when they had to fold up operations
    because they were months behind in rent, owing purveyors, and not
    paying staff, you denigrated the city for not being supportive of such
    a grandiose, transcendent restaurant. Two out of three ain’t bad I
    suppose, even if they didn’t meet your criteria for the
    Trifecta. Bifecta? I think not. Stupid fucking elitist? I think so.
    Monofecta…

    "We thrive on negative journalism, which is fun to write and to read." ~Anton Ego, from the movie, Ratatouille

    A.Z. bludgeons local eateries with a blunt instrument: his pen, the
    journalistic equivalent of keying a car. From his "Perspective"
    column, he writes:


    "Frank Brini’s brutal review of Harry Cipriani on Fifth Avenue
    (NYC), is proof positive of how fun it is to wield a poison pen…awesome
    ." ~Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, Nov 2007

    This is only a small tribunal of scorned restaurants, and I quote:

    "Most of this year’s crops are conundrums wrapped in
    half-baked concepts. Crave is a fancified Green Mill and not as good,
    Picosa is missing identity, Bank under whelms, and Amazing Thai fails
    to rumble me. Black Bamboo, Café Ena, Harry’s, Fogo de Chao, Spill the
    Wine, Café Maude, Wasabi, Bulldog NE, Bagu, Toast, Manhattan’s, and
    Landmarc all fail to rouse me from my desk. Need I continue?…I will not
    fall into the trap of some of my peers who canonize such places on the
    basis of pedigree."
    ~Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, Dec 2007

    Should we canonize YOU on the basis of pedigree? Could YOU stand
    up to such biased observation? Let’s see. Most of this year’s
    observations are a conundrum wrapped in half-baked journalistic
    concepts.

    Just for fun today, I went to his Chow and Again blog, where he
    lambasts a press release announcing a new menu at a gentleman’s club.
    Yes, a ‘Gentleman’s Club’; expensive drinks and powdered tits for the
    expense account crowd. Press releases being, by their very nature, a
    marketing tool, this one seemed fairly straightforward, explaining the
    new menu that would start January 1: "Dinner selections will include a
    42-oz. USDA prime Porterhouse, kobe beef hot dogs, colossal shrimp…etc.
    All affordably priced. The kitchen will use the freshest ingredients
    and…try to appeal to a larger guest base."

    But Zimmern finds he must tear apart even a simple press release:

    "Holy crap! Does someone actually get paid to write that
    junk? Is that the best point of difference the owners can come up with?
    Oy vey."
    ~Andrew Zimmern, ChowAndAgain.com

    Oy-fucking-vey yourself! Please, allow me to ‘tell it like it is’.
    You are pre-disposed here to a negative review of the club’s offerings,
    even though you, by your own admission, have not dined at the
    restaurant. "Holy crap!" I say. "Does someone actually pay you to write
    this junk? Is that the best point of difference you can come up with?"
    I doubt it.

    Now, I’m anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive and manic-depressive,
    (and, probably a few more hyphenated maladies), so researching this
    shit is right up my alley. I just couldn’t resist. Further down on this
    self-absorbed blog, I found one of his little secrets…asking his blog
    readers for their input, since he was too busy to attend some events.
    (Don’t believe me? I quote Zimmern himself, "Any great pull quotes you
    heard from the recent Anthony Bordain visit to Minneapolis? I was in
    NYC doing the Today Show, so I couldn’t attend.") Hey MSP editors, who
    ya paying?"

    But then it got good…I found out I’m not alone! I discovered a
    website called "Chowhound" that was upset at Zimmern for snagging their
    moniker. Readers were almost unanimous in their, um, "reservations"
    about our local-boy-made-big-TV-foodstar really being a poseur. A few
    of their comments:

    "…has anyone else noticed that he never touches the food with his
    lips? He always sort of cowboys up and puts it on his tongue or throws
    it into his mouth. Which is not only gross to watch; this is clear body
    language saying that he doesn’t want to eat the things he’s eating on
    his show. So watching him do that for a half hour while he goes
    ‘…mmmm…’ unconvincingly makes me think he’s a big fat liar when he
    says he loves food. I am not buying."

    "… he never enjoys the food or even acts like he’s eating it for
    real. He puts it in his mouth much like someone who doesn’t want to.
    Ever seen Bourdain eat anything like that? No. The man eats it, chews
    it, tastes it. Anyways. I guess the Discovery channel execs like it –
    so it’s on the air. But like Bourdain says, ‘I give him one season
    tops.’ "

    Where does this cat come from, and just what do the execs see in
    him? Lack of good journalism leaves a hole in his articles and food
    blog. If you swallow any of this offal, do not induce vomiting. Take
    two Bauers immediately, and read Jeremy Iggers in the morning. Andrew,
    in his Andrew way, has razed restaurants chef by chef. Some owners
    survive, but nothing major on the scene is older than Solera.

    "If we can’t recommend a restaurant, we don’t write about it,
    so a long-term absence from our pages does imply something."
    ~Andrew
    Zimmern, Mpls/StPaul, May, 2007

    How fucking dare you! Long term absence from your pages tells us
    only that your Id-ridden alimentary tract is represented as detritus,
    and has nothing to do with objective journalism. A.Z.’s standard
    take-out order is two negative reviews, an anti-Minneapolis with
    cheese, and a small perspective to go. Can I super-size that for you?

    "For years, I have wondered why someone who criticizes a
    restaurant for being ordinary or derivative is derided by fellow
    Minnesotans for being unsupportive of our restaurant community. I think
    when we ‘call ‘em as we see ‘em’, we are holding the restaurant
    community to a higher standard."
    ~ Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, Dec
    2007

    For years, I have wondered why someone who criticizes a restaurant
    critic for being ordinary or derivative is told to simply shut the fuck
    up…or suffer the consequences. When I "call ‘em as I see ‘em", I am
    holding the critical community to a higher standard. He is too smug,
    too pseudo-objective, and wouldn’t stand up to any reciprocal reviews.
    He has yet to capture the gestalt, the big picture, of food service in
    Minneapolis.

    "…lying to ourselves when we’re merely marking time serves no
    productive end, least of all towards bettering our future food
    experiences."
    ~Andrew Zimmern, Mpls/St.Paul, Dec
    2007

    You seem to lack a fresh, clear, well-seasoned perspective. If, as
    they say, we are what we eat, well, crow is my second choice for you
    here… From his blog recently about appearing on the Tonight Show with
    Jay Leno
    , he writes:

    "There is only so much personal grand-standing one can dole out, even on a blog, where blowing your own horn is
    ‘de rigueur,’ par for the course, and standard operating procedure…" ~
    Andrew Zimmern, Nov 15, 2007

    Yeah, well, blow this horn! Personally, I am over-Zimmerned and
    under-whelmed. He seems possessed with his own ego, and I say, "Ban
    thee Satan from this body, and exorcise the evil within." As for me,
    I’ll get down on my knees and pray to St. Jude, patron saint of lost
    causes. Such is my fate. The fallout from this diatribe could be
    catastrophic, given his "high profile" of magazine columns, blogs,
    television show appearances, et al. I wish he’d leave the writing to
    better journalists, and continue to roam the globe eating bugs on the
    Travel channel.

    This article pretty well eliminates the possibility of any positive
    reviews I may ever get, but, like that second piece of pie at
    Thanksgiving, which you are already too full to eat, you go ahead, and
    suffer the consequences later. Such is my plight. I’ve never had the
    ability, or maturity, to qualm my passions, good or bad. I’ll have to
    suffer the fallout from this diatribe. So be it, there’s always another
    slice of pie…

    Warmest personal regards,
    Mitch Omer

    For the record, neither Zimmern nor Mpls/St. Paul Magazine has ever
    critiqued my restaurant because of a policy to only review
    establishments that offer dinner service, which my restaurant does not.
    As a result of this policy, there has never been anything written,
    negative or otherwise, that might personally taint my opinion of Andrew
    Zimmern.

  • Enjoy a Primitive Chicago Happy Hour

    FILM
    Chicago Restored!

    Who better to tell ya about all that jazz then the people who were actually living it? At the end of the roaring ’20s, a little film was made that incorporated all the music, gin, and debauchery of the times. While the movie originally met with fear, the premise inspired the hit Bob Fosse musical and 2002 Academy Award-winning movie Chicago. Now the original 1927 version has been found and restored, and it’s playing tonight at the Heights as part of a special screening with Harvey Gustafson on the organ. —Kate McDonald

    7:30 p.m., Heights Theatre, 391 Central Ave. N.E., Columbia Heights; 763-788-9079; $8.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Happy Hours and Olives

    There are many reasons behind my desire to see Martini & Olive’s Holiday Happy Hour show at Illusion Theatre: the fact that they describe themselves as deliberately appalling; the fact that they are channeling the ’70s in their wardrobe and badattitude; and the fact that I have a weakness for all things involving happy hours and olives. Their two-man play is a celebration of all things festive — as long as festive involves crudeness, fruit basket head ornaments, and debauchery. —Kate McDonald

    7:30 p.m., Illusion Theater, 528 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-339-4944; $25.


    MUSIC
    Primitive Appeal

    Minnesota in December might not resemble Winter in Kingston, Jamaica, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have our reggae and play it too. And who better to play it than The New Primitives, who have won the Minnesota Music Awards for best reggae in Minnesota for the last four years? The eight member band doesn’t stop at reggae either; they incorporate R&B, ska, and calypso into their energetic world dance music performance. —Kate McDonald

    9 p.m., The Cabooze, 917 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; $5.

  • Swallowing the Wormwood

    It is a firmly established fact about human beings that we want what we cannot have. Once stores run out of Furbees or fetal Cabbage Patch babies or giggling Elmos, suddenly every mother’s child must have one. When exorbitantly-priced iPhones hit the market already in limited supply, people line up at 2 a.m. I’ve heard this is even a paradigm used by sex therapists: by telling even a couple they are not allowed to have sex for a week, experts say they can get even the most disinterested spouse to churn with desire.

    And so it is with absinthe, the drink preferred by Ernest Hemingway, Vincent Van Gogh, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, which supposedly drove each of them crazy and was outlawed in the United States in 1912.

    It is supposedly the wormwood in Absinthe that makes it so deliciously dangerous. An herb that’s poisonous in even moderate amounts, pure wormwood contains trace amounts of thujone, a ketone with hallucinogenic properties — and it’s possible, I suppose, that absinthe provokes delusions in very rare cases. Though the same can be said of sugar, sleep deprivation, over-the-counter cold medicines, and love.

    Laws restricting the sale of absinthe have been loosening for years, since 1972 when the Food, Drug and Cosmetics Act lifted the ban on the liquor itself and focused instead on concentrated thujone, which occurs naturally in sage, thyme, and rosemary. Once distillers realized that the absinthe they’d been drinking in Spain and Portugal (and believing had mystical properties) actually contained such a negligible amount of the hallucinogen it qualified for sale in the U.S., they were faced with a conundrum. The very thing that made this substance legal might lessen its appeal.

    In other words, without the naughty element of absinthe, what is it but a bright green syrup with a nearly lethal level of alcohol?

    I am a confirmed wine drinker AND I do not care for the taste of anise. Keep these two facts in mind. But my experience tasting absinthe for the first time left me truly puzzled as to what all the fuss is about.

    It smells herbal with a touch of sweetness, like bakery in the middle of a stand of fir trees. This I truly liked. . . .But the first sip was like dragon effluvium: livid, scorching, and green. It burns for a long time (a looonnnggg time) on the tongue and in the throat and later in the gut. The predominant taste is licorice and leaf and something vaguely scotch-like — if your scotch were subject to a nuclear flash.

    Most disturbing, for me at least, the flavor lingers for hours. Neither breath mints nor vigorous tooth (and tongue) brushing can expunge it. With an alcohol content of 62 percent — that’s 124 proof — it’s as if the imprint is soldered onto the inside of your mouth.

    I tried drinking it straight and as an absinthe drip, a process that reminded me of every heroin-cooking scene I’ve ever seen on TV. There is dramatic ceremony to this drink — no doubt one of the things that made it popular among the writers, artists, and actors of yore. Traditional preparation requires a slotted spoon and a sugar cube. You trickle ice water directly over the sugar, allowing it to melt into the liquor through the spoon’s vents. This creates a "louche," or pale white cloud, topped with a ring of iridescent chartreuse.

    It’s pretty. But the fact is, I liked the absinthe even less this way, preferring the pain and boldness of a flavor I found confounding to the watered-down and sugary slurry edged in green. The only way I could imagine liking this liquor, frankly, is in coffee with a heavy dollop of whipped cream — which would not only soften the flavor with mocha but might thankfully heat off some of the alcohol as well.

    Tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., Surdyk’s will begin selling Lucid Absinthe Supérieure, one of only two varieties currently available in the United States, for $70 a bottle. And Jim Surdyk, who has an exclusive on the introduction of absinthe to the Twin Cities, says he expects a line around the block by 7:45. "It’s interesting to people, the whole mystique of it," he said. I agree. I also think this is a rather dangerous drink, not only for the pocketbook but for public health. It is a fascination: a century-long withheld novelty that will make you very, very, very drunk very, very, very fast.

    And this, in addition to depression, schizophrenia, and syphilis (respectively), likely is what caused the madness of Hemingway, Van Gogh, and Toulouse-Lautrec.

  • freedom of expression

    This "freedom of expression booth" at the MSP airport most likely won’t be looked at in the same way after this year’s Senator Craig escapade.

    But one of the most important — and one of the most overlooked — aspects our visual culture is fonts, particularly in our instructional messages.

    Recognize the style in the picture? It’s Helvetica, the ubiquitous plain Jane font that has gained a wider recognition thanks to an interesting documentary released earlier this year of the same name which illustrates just how pervasive the font is. (And really, it’s everywhere.)

    For some more info on fonts, check out the blog for local font shop Chank. They’ve got a lot of examples of fonts they’ve designed in action, like the lettering for the front of Sam’s Wine Shop on Washington Avenue:

    That window just wouldn’t be as classy and the Freedom of Expression Booth wouldn’t have the same seriousness if the fonts were exchanged, would they?

    (pictures from el-as’s photostream and chank blog)

  • Rachel Bliss at Cliché

    Minneapolis-St.Paul is a Midwestern oasis for the visual arts. In fact, we here in the Twin Cities have visual arts all over the place, damn near everywhere you look… or where you aren’t looking, as is often the case.

    The visual arts don’t just hang at big name institutions like MIA or le Walker and hot small spots around town like Rogue Buddha or First Amendent. They’re at rock shows, in the corners of coffee shops, on the sidewalks, in people’s clothing, and on and on.

    This week, while I’m guest bloggin’ over here, we’ll hopefully take a look at this strong visual culture in the Twin Towns.

    First, let’s start with something conventionally unconventional, but still pretty great. These pictures from painter Rachel Bliss, whose exhibit from a few weeks ago wasn’t on some stardard white walls of a gallery, but rather hanging up in the Uptown clothing store Cliché.

    Pretty fantastic stuff for a small show at a boutique, and a perfect example of how high grade art can show up at spaces alternative to galleries.

     

     

    You can check out more of Bliss’s work at Cliche and Bliss’s mnartists page.