Girl Detective

#95 in my book challenge for the year was Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. After I read and enjoyed Karen Joy Fowler’s The Jane Austen Book Club last year, I resolved to read all six of Austen’s novels; I’m halfway there. Northanger Abbey tells the story of an average girl, Catherine Morland, and how she becomes involved in Bath society and her entanglement with two families, the Thorpes and the Tilneys. Catherine is an often painfully naive main character, and the book frequently read to me like a middle-grade novel with its simplistic, passionless encounters between the sexes. What was more intriguing was Austen’s defense of the novel as an art form, as well as her critique of those who take escapist reading more seriously than it deserves. The hero of the book, Henry Tilney, was not a favorite of mine. I found him something of an ass, condescending to women, thinly characterized, and not that interesting. This was a short, easy read, worthwhile in some aspects, but without the stronger authorial control of the two, later-written Austen novels I’ve read, Pride and Prejudice and Emma.

In my continued attempt to dine out in these last few weeks before our second child arrives, I made plans with my friend Queenie at Bakery on Grand. Queenie likes duck, and Bakery on Grand was purported to do it well, so off we went.

We started with the pate appetizer. While very good, I might have preferred a warm appetizer on the cold, snowy night. She and I then split two duck entrees. The roast duck was savory in a pan sauce with asparagus and mashed potatoes. The crisped leg was rich and served over a confit and garnished with sausage. Uncharacteristically, I was going to pass on dessert, but Queenie ordered a poached pear in pastry with caramel sauce and warm cream, which I ate most of. It was just too good to abandon. And the duck leftovers made an outstanding lunch the next day.

My family was in town last week, and when I’m on my game as a hostess (which is not always the case during this rather challenging second pregnancy) one of my goals is to make sure my guests eat well of their favorite foods. With my sister, we went out for sushi to Origami. On a weeknight the restaurant wasn’t crowded. Service was attentive and thoughtful. In spite of varied advice on the safety of sushi during pregnancy, I wasn’t feeling brave enough to risk raw fish, so I ordered miso soup, the Encounter (a roll of cooked salmon, scallops, and veggies that is then tempura dipped; yum), a salmon skin roll and futo maki. Never let it be said that pregnant women can’t eat well at a sushi restaurant. My sister had three kinds of tuna, all of which were excellent, a Hawaiian fish special and the sockeye salmon nigiri. My husband had the Hide roll, tuna, yellowtail, and sockeye salmon nigiri. The food was delivered in a timely but not rushed manner, the presentation was beautiful, the amount of wasabi on the nigiri was just right, and the quality of the food and the fish was excellent. My husband and I used to live within walking distance of Origami. While it’s good for us to be farther away on our one-income, soon-to-be-two-kid family budget, I do miss it a lot, and this visit was a reminder of how lovely a restaurant it is.

My father likes to eat frog legs, so when he visited last week, I made plans for Cave Vin, at 55th and Xerxes in South Minneapolis. The restaurant wasn’t full, but a table of ten’s orders slowed the kitchen down quite a lot. Following the advice from this review, we focused on appetizers rather than entrees, and among my dad, my husband and I we tried the mussels, frogs’ legs, steak tartare, calamari, frites, the lamb entree, the beet salad and the spring greens salad. All appetizers were excellent. My dad was well pleased with the battered and sauteed frog legs, the bread and the frites were excellent, and there was plenty of good stuff to dip them in–the aioli from the frites, and the garlic butter with either the mussels or the frog legs. Dad and husband split a very nice, reasonably priced bottle of wine, and we were so full (and dinner took so long) that we skipped dessert. Our server was friendly and helpful, the lighting was low and the noise wasn’t high. Aside from the slow delivery of food, it was a very good experience.

On our way to see a movie last Saturday, my husband G. Grod and I were behind the last car to get into the parking garage. We stared in disbelief at the sign that now read “Full.” Our original plans were to see a twilight matinee, have dinner at an inexpensive restaurant, and be home early to relieve the babysitter. New plans involved a different parking lot (old reliable: the little lot between Hell’s Kitchen and the old location of Big Brain Comics on S. 10th Street–$5 at night and on weekends), eating at the bar in a more expensive restaurant, and a full-price movie at The Heights theater, which features live organ music prior to movie showings on Friday and Saturday evenings.

We got seats at the bar at Vincent as soon as it opened at 5:30 p.m. The tables in the bar area were all reserved, unsurprising on a Saturday in the holiday shopping season. G. Grod and I shared the appetizer of pan-seared scallops over braised leeks in orange sauce, the Vincent burger, which I’ve praised before, has been most eloquently described by award-winning local food critic Dara Moskowitz:

This burger–and at $11.75 I know you’re already skeptical, but trust me, it’s worth it–this burger is a miracle.

To make it, the chefs at Vincent first braise short ribs overnight in a complicated stew of tomatoes, tamarind, Worcestershire sauce, and lots more. (This is a recipe chef Vincent Francoual picked up when he cooked at former New York City super-important restaurant Lespinasse.) The chefs then pull these short ribs off the bone, make a little patty of that short rib meat, add some smoked gouda to that, build a sirloin burger around it, and then just grill the heck out of it till it tastes like it’s been outside on a fire, when it hasn’t.

This miracle burger then gets tucked into a light, eggy bun that is best described as some meeting point between brioche and a Kaiser roll, a roll further dressed with a thing the restaurant modestly calls French cocktail sauce–a mayonnaise gussied up with more kinds of secret ingredients, including sherry vinegar and minced cornichons. The Vincent burger comes with all the fancy-restaurant accompaniments you hope for: sliced tomatoes that taste like tomatoes, leaf lettuce, wisps of onion.

Every bite of this burger is rich, profoundly meaty, as full of flavor as a symphony is full of sound. Like any great dish, it conquers several dimensions: In terms of flavor, the roasty qualities of beef are accented by the sweetness of the bun and the cocktail sauce, while the salt and smoke of the cheese give meaning to the fresh and light of the toppings. In terms of texture, though, the burger is exceptionally accomplished: The soft and stringy texture of the short ribs plays off the melting texture of the cheese, which teases out the more muscular texture of the burger. You know, it’s not easy for a burger to remain fascinating through every bite, but this one is.

We finished with the chocolate-caramel tart, which was garnished with Earl Grey chocolate sauce, and accompanied by a coffee sabayon, an ethereal foam encased in a chocolate wafer cylinder. The server and we agreed that the sabayon was the best part, and worth saving for last.

Even though we split an appetizer, entree, and dessert, the check, along with parking, a full-price movie, and the babysitter, totalled more than we would have liked. Since our original plans were thwarted, though, I thought we did pretty well.

#94 in my book challenge for the year was Revision by David Michael Kaplan, recommended in a workshop I took with writer Faith Sullivan at the Loft Literary Center earlier this year. This is an enormously helpful book that elucidates one of the toughest aspects of writing. His general advice is to get a first draft of a story down however you can, then spend lots of time and effort polishing it. Interestingly, this advice is antithetical to the medium in which I’m discussing it, a weblog. In general, I doubt there’s a lot of time-consuming polishing going on in the blogosphere. Kaplan’s book is simple, practical, and useful. It provides impetus and inspiration for launching into the next round of revisions on a work.

#58 in my movie challenge for the year, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, or Harry Potter 4, was directed by Mike Newell, whose best known film is probably the decade-old Four Weddings and a Funeral. This Harry Potter movie, like the books, is fun while it lasts, but doesn’t leave much impression beyond that. The special effects are first rate, and well suited to the dragons in particular. It’s enjoyable to see the teenage actors acting like teenagers. Their characters are much more foregrounded than in previous movies and the novels, while the adult teachers mostly inhabit the background. An interesting difference from the book is that the villain is foreshadowed better and earlier. Also valuable is the absence of some of the more trying subplots of the books, such as Hermione’s championing of house elves. Dobby, thankfully, does not appear at all. For anyone who, like me, found themselves itching to take an editor’s pen to Rowling’s overlong novel, this movie does an admirable job of cutting the crap. Unfortunately, what is left is merely a pretty piece of entertainment. For all its aspirations of depth and scariness, it falls strangely flat. I preferred the more palpable complexity of the previous movie, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

#93 in my book challenge for the year, In a Lonely Place was a recommendation from my husband G. Grod, who read a recommendation of it by Frank Miller, the comic book creator of Sin City. Miller embraces a lot of the conventions of 40’s pulp noir. Hughes, however, did not. In a Lonely Place is narrated exclusively by the bad guy, Dix Steele, and Hughes carefully ensures that the reader is engaged by the story but does not identify with him. Dix’s misogyny is never in question, but the violence is always implied. The book is part of a series of women writing noir, and has an excellent afterward that contextualizes the work and allows the reader to reconsider details of the novel within a feminist framework. I was glad for the thought-provoking afterward, as it encouraged me to keep thinking about things I rushed through reading because the story was so compellingly told.

#92 in my book challenge for the year, Sexy by Joyce Carol Oates was much darker than the young adult novel by Oates I’d read previously, Big Mouth and Ugly Girl. While it has similar themes of persecution and rumor, it is told entirely from the point of view of its main character, Darren Flynn. He is good looking and an athlete, but uncomfortable both about the attention his looks attract as well as his working-class family. Darren is a complex, interesting character, and at the end of the book Oates does not offer up easy answers for the many difficult questions she’s raised.

#58 in my movie challenge for the year, A History of Violence, with Viggo Mortensen and Maria Bello, and directed by David Cronenberg, was a strong, provocative film. The performances were across-the-board great. The film was not rushed even though it had a short running time; the story unspooled deliberately and economically. Based on a graphic novel, it tells the story of a man whose life is interrupted by violence, and who may have had a violent past. It questions whether violence can remain in the past. It is an interesting film to consider alongside I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, a film I watched earlier this year. There were some interesting similarities and differences between the two.

#91 in my book challenge for the year (am I going to make it to 100? I just don’t know!) was Big Mouth and Ugly Girl by Joyce Carol Oates. I’ve been so impressed recently by talented “adult” authors like Alison McGhee and Pete Hautman who have written books for the young adult market, and Oates’s book is another fine example. It’s about two high school misfits, Matt and Ursula, whose respective nicknames make the title. Matt gets in trouble because of his mouth. Ursula’s part of the story is told from her point of view, with insight into her perception of herself as Ugly Girl, and how that serves her. As their stories unfold and intertwine, both characters develop believably and in environments that are richly detailed. There is some ugliness in the book, but of the kind that a good young-adult author doesn’t shy from, and it’s redeemed by hope and character development. Good writing and good characters, and an auspicious introduction for me to the works of Oates, who I have not read before.

After I read and enjoyed the book, I checked out reviews for the movie. They were largely favorable, so I rented it, #57 in my movie challenge for the year. Alas, I can’t recommend the movie. It annoyed me, and diminished my affection for the book. Skip the movie; read the book.

I got a speeding ticket yesterday because I was close to home, driving back after lunch, looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw that Drake had fallen asleep. I knew if he continued to sleep, he wouldn’t nap when we got home. I’d had a bad night’s sleep the night before, and he’d had a rough morning, so we both needed naps.

Immediately, I reached back, jiggled his foot, started singing the ABCs at the top of my voice, and hit the accelerator. Alas, I wasn’t able to multi-task just a bit further to make sure my acceleration was within the speed limit, or notice the police car. I was written up for “unwarranted acceleration.” I guess that depends on your point of view. Kid falling asleep in car just before nap time within twenty blocks of home sure seemed warranted to me.

Or, more pithily, Biff, by Christopher Moore, was #90 in my book challenge for the year. It intrigued me when I first read about it, but I had just begun not to write down books, but to accrue enough recommendations or sightings that I could remember them without prompting. Biff definitely got enough recommendations from the media and from trusted reader friends that it earned a place on my reading list.

Biff has been resurrected by an angel in order to write a new gospel, one that fills in the blanks left by the Big Four. As noted in the title, Biff is Christ’s, or Joshua’s, friend since childhood. They get into trouble together, they fall in love with Maggie, and they bumble through a buddy tale in which they travel far, meet the three wise men, learn kung fu, confront demons, and more. Unfortunately for Moore, we all know how the story ends, and it isn’t well. The book is at its best imagining what might have happened in the thirty years after the birth narratives and before Joshua began preaching in earnest and on the record. The book is eminently quotable, with some genuinely hysterical scenes, as when a caffeinated Joshua decides to heal everyone he can in a marketplace. Moore’s book points out some of the common misconceptions and re-imagines them–the wise men aren’t kings, Mary of Magdalen isn’t a whore. This is a fun, funny, clever book. I didn’t find it life-changing, or overly thought-provoking, though.

I travelled to visit family for the holidays for about 18 years. It took that long for me to realize that holiday travel is usually more expensive, and always more stressful, than travel at off-peak times. I enjoy visiting with family a lot more when it happens at my convenience, and not by the national calendar.

The past few years my husband G. Grod and I have sought out other friends who are also on their own in Minnesota. This year, we split the cooking and celebrated with our neighbors from down the street and their two boys. We ate at normal dinner time, allowing the two-year olds their naps. Best of all, when the two-year olds decided they were done at the table, they got down and played with each other, leaving the rest of us to enjoy the dinner.

No one felt strongly about having a turkey, and no one wanted to cook one, so instead I made a Dr. Pepper glazed ham. We also had mashed potatoes, a sweet potato casserole, corn pudding, spinach salad, pumpkin pie, and bittersweet chocolate mousse cake.

Alas, I forgot to take photos before we ate, and my attempts to photograph individual servings later just looked gross and weird, so a verbal description will have to do. Everything turned out well, but the corn pudding (from the latest issue of Cook’s Country), made with cheddar cheese, heavy cream and a hit of cayenne, was particularly nice. The six-year old pronounced the mousse cake “yummy, yummy, yummy”. I’d never made the recipe before (it’s from Cook’s Illustrated), and it involved separating eight eggs, then whipping the egg whites and folding them into chocolate, and baking the cake in a water bath. Folding egg whites has always intimidated me, but the recipe turned out well, and the chocolate was a nice complement to the pumpkin, since of course I had to have both desserts.

The ham not only allowed for leftovers for both families, but I used the scraps and the bone to make my first-ever split pea soup, which turned out nicely plus made for another few meals. This thanksgiving I was grateful for good food, and for friends to share it with. And for not having to leave my house.

Dr. Pepper Glazed Ham
from Cook’s Country, Dec/Jan 2006

1/2 c. Dr. Pepper
3/4 c. light brown sugar
2 Tbl. fresh orange juice
2 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 spiral-sliced, bone-in half ham, 7 to 10 lbs., pref. shank end

1. Bring Dr. Pepper, sugar, orange juice, and mustard to a boil in medium saucepan. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until mixture is syrupy and measures 3/4 cup, about 8 minutes. (Glaze can be refrigerated for up to 2 days; reheat when needed.)
2. Remove ham from packaging and discard plastic disk that covers bone. Place ham in plastic oven bag, tie bag shut, and trim excess plastic. Set ham cut side down in 13 by 9 inch baking disch and cut 4 slits in top of bag. Let stand at room temperature for 1 1/2 hours.
3. Adjust oven rack to lowest position and heat oven to 250 degrees F. Bake ham until center registers about 100 degress in instant-read thermometer, 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 hours, about 14 minutes per pound.
4. Remove ham from oven and roll back sides of bag to expose ham. Brush ham liberally with glaze and return to oven briefly until glaze becomes sticky, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven, brush entire ham again with glaze, loosely cover with foil, and let rest for 30 to 40 minutes before serving.

Savory Corn Pudding
from Cook’s Country, Dec/Jan 2006

1 Tbl. unsalted butter, softened for greasing casserole dish
6 c. frozen corn
1 1/2 c. heavy cream
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1 Tbl. sugar
1/4 tsp. cayenne
3 Tbl. chopped fresh basil

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 quart casserole dish with butter. Bring large kettle of water to boil for water bath. Bring 2 qts. water to boil in large saucepan for corn.
2. Add 1 Tbl. salt and corn to boiling water and cook for 1 minute. Drain in colander and dry with paper towels. Pulse 4 c. corn in food precessor until rough puree forms, about ten 1-second pulses. Transfer to large bowl and stir in remaining whole corn, 1 tsp. salt, cream, eggs, cheese, sugar, cayenne, and basil until combined.
3. Pour corn mixture into casserole and transfer dish to roasting pan. Pour boiling water from kettle into roasting pan until it comes halfway up sides of casserole dish. Place roasting pan in oven and bake until pudding is set and a few brown spots appear around edges, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove casserold from water bath, transfer to wire rack and let set for 5 to 10 minutes before serving.

To make ahead: Corn can be cooked, processed, and mixed with the whole corn, salt, cream, cheese, sugar and cayenne up to 2 days in advance. Refrigerate until ready, then stir in eggs and basil when ready to cook.

Bittersweet Chocolate Mousse Cake
from Cook’s Illustrated 11/2002

Because it is available in most supermarkets and has scored highly in past tastings, Hershey’s Special Dark is the chocolate of choice in this recipe. Other bittersweet chocolates will work, but because amounts of sugar and cocoa butter differ from brand to brand, they will produce cakes with slightly different textures and flavors. When crumbling the brown sugar to remove lumps, make sure that your fingers are clean and grease-free; any residual fat from butter or chocolate might hinder the whipping of the whites. If you like, dust the cake with confectioners’ sugar just before serving or top slices with a dollop of lightly sweetened whipped cream.

Makes one 9-inch cake, serving 12 to 16
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), cut into 12 pieces
1 teaspoon unsalted butter , softened, for greasing pan
unbleached all-purpose flour for dusting pan
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate (such as Hershey’s Special Dark), chopped
1 ounce unsweetened chocolate , chopped
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
8 large eggs , seperated
1/8 teaspoon table salt
2/3 cup packed light brown sugar (4 1/2 ounces), crumbled with fingers to remove lumps (see note)

1. Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Butter sides of 9-inch springform pan; flour sides and tap out excess. Line bottom of pan with parchment or waxed paper round. Wrap bottom and sides of pan with large sheet of foil.

2. Melt 12 tablespoons butter and chocolates in large bowl over large saucepan containing about 2 quarts barely simmering water, stirring occasionally, until chocolate mixture is smooth. Cool mixture slightly, then whisk in vanilla and egg yolks. Set chocolate mixture aside, reserving hot water, covered, in saucepan.

3. In clean bowl of standing mixer fitted with whisk attachment, beat egg whites and salt at medium speed until frothy, about 30 seconds; add half of crumbled brown sugar, beat at high speed until combined, about 30 seconds, then add remaining brown sugar and continue to beat at high speed until soft peaks form when whisk is lifted (see photo, below), about 2 minutes longer. Using whisk, stir about one-third of beaten egg whites into chocolate mixture to lighten it, then fold in remaining egg whites in 2 additions using whisk. Gently scrape batter into prepared springform pan, set springform pan in large roasting pan, then pour hot water from saucepan to depth of 1 inch. Carefully slide roasting pan into oven; bake until cake has risen, is firm around edges, center has just set, and instant-read thermometer inserted into center registers about 170 degrees, 45 to 55 minutes.

4. Remove springform pan from water bath, discard foil, and cool on wire rack 10 minutes. Run thin-bladed paring knife between sides of pan and cake to loosen; cool cake in springform pan on wire rack until barely warm, about 3 hours, then wrap pan in plastic wrap and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, at least 8 hours. (Cake can be refrigerated for up to 2 days.)

5. To unmold cake, remove sides of pan. Slide thin metal spatula between cake and pan bottom to loosen, then invert cake onto large plate, peel off parchment, and re-invert onto serving platter. To serve, use sharp, thin-bladed knife, dipping knife in pitcher of hot water and wiping blade before each cut.

#89 in my book challenge for the year was Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood. It would be easy to review the book in a word: wow. As regular readers might know, though, I am not prone to under-writing. Alias Grace was recommended to me years ago by a trusted friend, and has sat accusingly on my bookshelf since. I found its size daunting, which made it all the more ironic when I read the first hundred pages, stopped to read another book for a deadline, then picked up Alias Grace again, and re-read those hundred pages again just because I could, because I wanted to, because they were that good. I flew through the rest of the book, so rapt with the story that I gave scant attention to the awe-inspiring mastery of Atwood’s prose.

What amused and sometimes discouraged me most read was how Atwood brazenly flouted conventional wisdom on how to write a novel. Phrases from writing instructors echoed in my head: don’t switch verb tense; don’t vary point of view; be wary of flashbacks and dreams. Atwood did all these and more. She is writing proof that rules are meant to be broken by those who can, and a novel need not be experimental and weird to break the rules. Alias Grace is a tremendous story written with astonishing skill, with Atwood’s trademark ambiguities that give so much credit to the reader for interpretation.

A few years ago my husband G. Grod and I subscribed for two seasons to the most well-known local theater. We saw some good shows, but two seasons was enough for me. In the end, all the plays seemed the same; the creative director had homogenized them to the point of blandness. This put me off theater for quite some time. Recently, though, I was seized with an urge for Shakespeare. With a baby due in less than three months, I will not soon have three hour chunks of time to do with as I wish. I was lucky in that I could choose between an all-male production of Measure for Measure at the aforementioned theater, or an all-female production of The Tempest at Theatre Unbound. The latter seemed an obvious choice.

The program for the production noted something else obvious, though it hadn’t occurred to me. Even though theater no longer insists that all its players be male, the number of roles for women is still quite small. Staging an all-female production gives more women the opportunity to play more Shakespeare.

The room was small, and the staging consisted only of a small number of props and some versatile drapes. This was a wise choice, as it let the audience focus on both the play itself and its gender-bending production. It was also a brave one, since The Tempest is a play with so many supernatural elements that it would be easy to justify an extravagant staging.

As with many productions some performances were forgettable, while others were striking. Caliban was played with such ferocious intensity that s/he was painful to watch, while Ariel was played with such humor and physical grace that s/he drew all eyes when on stage. The performance that most made me think, though, was that of Prospero. The actor was skilled, but her manly suit could not mask a motherly mien. To have the meddling father of Prospero embodied in a mother’s physique made me realize that the meddling is creepy no matter which parent is doing it.

Another upside to seeing The Tempest is that it is a short play. It is not one that is usually edited, so that when you see the production you are usually seeing the entire text enacted. I re-read the play for the performance, which was #88 in my book challenge for the year. A good and learned friend recommended the individual Arden editions to me years ago; they have since been my volumes of choice. My husband G. Grod prefers his Penguin omnibus, but I like one play at a time, even with scads of footnotes to a page, even when those footnotes are politely vague:

Act IV, Scene I, line 236. Now is the jerkin under the line…Malone records a suggestion that the jest is less decent than any of these conjectures.

My favorite line from the play has never been a famous one. It is spoken by the drunk:

I am not Stephano, but a cramp. (Act V, Scene I, line 286)

It was a particularly apt one, since the next morning my uterus decided to express outrage over who knows what, and began a series of painful but ultimately non-harmful cramps that landed me in the hospital on monitors for five hours. I’ve been resting and hydrating since, and all cramps have abated. Like the characters in The Tempest, I seem to have weathered this particular storm.

I feel as if I should come up with a standard disclaimer for when I haven’t posted in while. Kind readers, please know I don’t take you for granted. The last few weeks have been filled with pregnancy-related rest (I’m fine and Swimmy’s fine; we just need to rest) and crafting my very first query letter so I can finally send out the manuscript for my novel.

Stunning insight of yesterday: the more pregnant I get, the more rest I need.

Stunning insight of today: the more I rest, the less I get done.

But I continue to read, write, and watch movies and TV. I continue to challenge my brain into activity. Remember, the law of inertia concerns bodies, not minds.

Good Music; Bad Fashion At the urging of a local music critic, I went to see Mary Gauthier and Eliza Gilkyson at the Cedar Cultural Center last month. I’d heard both of them on The Current, but had not listened to either of them in depth. My friend Queenie and I left the kids with the husbands and had a moms night out. I’d forgotten what a civilized venue the Cedar is. It’s open seating, but we arrived within half an hour of the show and still had great seats near the stage. (My strategy for movie seating worked well–buck traffic and go to the sides. Everyone goes up the center.) It was strange being 37 at a concert and still among the younger members of the audience. I saw my future as a middle-aged Minnesotan. It was politically liberal, earnest, and having a good time, but not particularly well-dressed.

Two of the worst glamour don’ts were on the stage, though. Gauthier had on a pair of nice, well-fitting leather pants but her floral jacket had a large skull and Native American headdress on the back. Gilkyson, in her fifties, nonetheless has the arms to be able to go sleeveless without shame, but her tank was over a floaty skirt that was over a pair of tie-dyed pants. Fortunately, both women could sing and play guitar so well that their dubious fashion choices were not distracting for long.

Both had arresting voices, moving songs, and great guitar skills. Each also was accompanied by a different talented guy on guitar. The crowd kept to their seats except to demand encores of both performers. I’m abashed that a small quiet show is now the kind I enjoy, but it was so nice just to sit and listen to some really good singer/songwriter/musicians.

I have a friend who lives in Eagan, a Twin Cities suburb. I never envied her locale. It takes me a few highways to get there, and I have to travel at off-peak times, or I’d be stuck in traffic. Plus it’s a normal suburb: there’s not much to walk to and it’s full of chain stores and restaurants. When I read a review of Brianno’s, though, some envy began to nip at my brain. And when I tried it with my friend, the envy emerged full blown. Brianno’s is a gem to have close by. I took a closer look at the neighborhood I’m in, and there’s nothing to compare. I’ve got a family restaurant that’s sometimes good, a friendly coffee shop, a bad new pizza place, and a couple good Indian places that are not too far. What I do not have is a kick-ass Italian grocery and deli, with to-die-for sandwiches, which I will refer to as hoagies, because I moved here from Philly*.

I browsed Brianno’s shelves and freezers. They had every kind of dried pasta shape imaginable (my food coop doesn’t even carry farfalle) and cases full of pre-made foods: ravioli, lasagna, soups, and more. I restrained myself to the takeout order I’d come for, a full-size eggplant parmigiana hoagie, a half of a classic Italian hoagie, and a small size Caesar salad.

I imagined that I’d eat a quarter of the Italian hoagie, a quarter of the eggplant, the half salad, then split leftovers with my husband for lunch the next day. I was barely able to leave a bit of the Italian hoagie undevoured. It was a perfect blend of Italian meats and cheeses, with a vinaigrette on a great bun. The dressing on the salad was unexceptional, but the croutons were crisp and flavorful. The eggplant parmigiana was enveloped in a rich, meat-full sauce. Unfortunately for my husband, who took it to lunch the next day, the eggplant hoagie didn’t keep as well as my sliver of Italian hoagie did.

When I lived in Philly, I had a hard time finding a good hoagie. I lived in a little town just outside the city and there was nothing close. The best hoagies I had were from a place called The White House in Atlantic City, a trip that was both far and usually involved gambling. The trip to Eagan is shorter, and casino-free. I’d still give a lot to live closer to a really good hoagie shop.

*For your edification, here is the note about sandwich terminology from http://dictionary.com, excerpted from The American Heritage Dictionary, Fourth Edition.

Regional Note: The long sandwich featuring layers of meat and cheese on a crusty Italian roll or French bread goes by a variety of names. These names are not distributed in a pattern similar to that of other regional words because their use depends on the business and marketing enterprise of the people who create the sandwiches and sell them. Submarine and sub are widespread terms, not assignable to any particular region. Many of the localized terms are clustered in the northeast United States, where the greatest numbers of Italian Americans live. In Maine, it is called an Italian sandwich, befitting its heritage. Elsewhere in New England and in Sacramento, California, it is often called a grinder. New York City knows it as a hero. In the Delaware Valley, including Philadelphia and southern New Jersey, the sandwich is called a hoagie. Speakers in Miami use the name Cuban sandwich. Along the Gulf Coast the same sandwich is often called a poor boy. In New Orleans, a poor boy is likely to be offered in a version featuring fried oysters.