Girl Detective

My husband G. Grod and I recently passed our eighth wedding anniversary. We celebrated by getting a babysitter and making a dinner reservation at a Twin Cities restaurant friends have praised, but that we had not yet tried. The chef is a veteran of many local and national big-name places, and started his own place not long ago. The menu was strong, and we were excited about the food. We shared a foie gras appetizer and french fries. Both were quite good. Then I got the fish special and G. Grod got a steak. The server stopped by immediately, and we said things were good. But soon after, I found that the fish was overwhelmed by the winter vegetable preparation that accompanied it. G. Grod’s steak was overdone. We gave the server this feedback when he did finally return, but by then we had finished the entrees. We ordered desserts, and had a very good berry tart and a spiced chocolate cake. But our impression of the restaurant was of infrequent service, and expensive though only OK entrees. Our experience didn’t leave us eager to return.

I wondered at the time whether the problems were due in part to dining on a Friday–did an increase in the number of diners mean diminishing quality? My next two restaurant experiences didn’t disprove this theory. I ate out with friends at 112 Eatery on a Wednesday. The service was attentive and friendly, and the food was quite good: french fries with aioli, romaine salad with roquefort, the lamb sugo pasta, and the pot de creme dessert, which was great when mixed and matched with the banana cream dessert that a friend got. The burger received raves. I must remember that the pot de creme easily feeds two.

I did another night out on Thursday at Gardens of Salonica. I’ve been to Gardens a lot over the years we’ve lived here, but I went with a friend who was very familiar with the menu, so I tried some things I hadn’t before. I had the Greek salad, which was lightly dressed and bright with lemon. We shared a sampler platter of feta dip, potato/garlic dip, and artichokes on pita. I got greek fries and leek lemon boughatsa–a phyllo packet, and shared some of a friend’s stuffed cabbage leaves. Finally, I tried the galaktoboureko, a layered custard with phyllo in an apricot honey sauce. Service was helpful, attentive, water glasses were refilled, and the food was well prepared and delivered quickly.

I may be comparing apples and oranges. The latter two restaurants are small, and more neighborhood places than destination joints like the first. But of the three experiences, I’d prefer to frequent a small place that does its thing well, than a large place that costs more, and is more ambitious, but less of a sure thing with quality and consistency.

#61 in my book challenge for the year was Alexander McCall Smith’s Tears of the Giraffe, the sequel to his wildly successful novel, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. A kind friend gave it to me ages ago, and it languished on the shelf because I bought new books, or something came in at the library. But after re-reading In Cold Blood, I felt the need for a sustaining book, and thought this might suit my mood.

Alas, I found the book uneven. The main characters from the earlier book were back, and I found them aggravatingly unnuanced. Precious Ramotswe was so insightful she barely had to do any detective work. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was kind. Mma Makutsi was clever. In fact, there were no complex characters. Each person had one defining characteristic, and that’s all there was to them, and it identified them as either bad (e.g., the wife-beating ex-husband Note Mokoti) or good (e.g., Precious’s late father Obed).

The main mystery, the fate of an American boy who disappeared ten years before, seemed to turn on a mistake. When Mma Ramotswe investigates, she finds “a newspaper photograph–a picture of a man standing in front of a building. There had been a printed caption, but the paper had rotted and was illegible.” (p. 93) She puts the fragile paper in her pocket.

Yet twenty pages later, the photograph includes multiple people, and has names on it. Mma Ramotswe determines that one man in the photo is evil, and traces him easily by the name on the paper. While the mysteries aren’t critical to one’s enjoyment of the books, this inconsistency was surprising and sloppy.

One of the strengths of the book is the small details of daily life in another culture. Sometimes these are incisive, as when the characters muse on the futility of revenge, the connectedness of people, and the meaning of family and place. At other times the author seemed to be making clowns of his characters, as when they wondered at Freud (since all men should love their mothers) or Madame Bovary (who should have been content married to a boring man, who would provide for her.) Many of the comments were sexist, e.g., that men are disorganized and women are hard working. There was also a great deal of nostalgia for a past that supposedly had better manners and values, yet no insight into why things changed, or ironic awareness that some of what was good about the past might have been a result of otherwise unlamented colonialism.

This book gave me some things to think about, but at the end, its flaws outweighed its merits. It provoked my critical consciousness repeatedly. While I understand it was trying to champion simplicity of life and values, I think instead it was too simplistic in character and narrative, and this undermined for me its message of culture difference and appreciation.

The last two films we’ve borrowed from the library were Hero and Ong Bak. Yet they don’t make my movie challenge for the year, because I was unable to stay awake through either of them. What I saw was pretty (Hero) and fun to watch (Ong Bak) but both were long, and without strong narrative lines. My husband G. Grod enjoyed them for what they were, though.

#60 in my book challenge for the year was a re-read of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I read it six months ago after I saw the film Capote, and read it again for a book group. It’s a compelling and frightening read, even the second time. What impressed me again was the glimpse into a writing past. True crime and creative non-fiction did not exist as genres until Capote wrote this book. This time, I was strongly reminded of Joyce Carol Oates’s We Were the Mulvaneys, which also centered around a tight-knit, small-town family undone by an act of violence.

I’m not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but I have done it (and won!) twice. I highly recommend it. If you’re trying to develop a writing routine, or if you want to write a novel but never make time, NaNoWriMo could be the catalyst you’re looking for.

Though 3yo Drake is not napping anymore, I still follow the routine and he goes into his room for quiet time. Drake’s version of quiet time involves yelling “mom” repeatedly into the monitor, kicking the wall, and hollering the ABCs while stomping along on the floor. Unsurprisingly, this ruckus often wakes baby Guppy, and any semblance of a break for me is brought to an abrupt end.

We’ve had a rough couple weeks with many night wakings (croup and nightmares), so patience is low and tension is high. Last week during lunch, I urged Drew to finish eating so we could go up for quiet time.

“NO!” he yelled.

“But Drake,” I responded, in what I hoped was a calming voice, “quiet time is our friend.”

“NO!” he yelled again, then continued. “QUIET TIME IS _NOT_ A FRIEND. IT. DOESN’T. HAVE. A. FACE.”

I paused and stifled a laugh. “I see. Do friends have faces?”

“Yes,” he said in a normal tone, nodding for emphasis.

The boys had croup recently. Baby Guppy’s lasted longest, and I was beginning to fear an ear infection because he was waking each night. If he woke again, I vowed, I’d take him to the doctor the next day. Of course, Guppy slept peacefully that night. But at 1:23 a.m., Drake’s crying woke me. I stumbled into his room, and patted him on the back.

“The M was scaring me, Mom,” he wailed.

I sighed. “Yeah, that’ll happen sometimes.”

I tried to open my text editor program. It wouldn’t open.

I tried to work on my current draft of novel #2. The word processor wouldn’t open.

I tried to open my other word processor. It wouldn’t open.

Then I tried to restart the computer. Nothing happened.

So I came here, and am typing it into the ether. I feel I’ve made a good faith effort to work on my novel today. It’s not my fault the universe isn’t cooperating.

Book Moot, which I found via Mental Multivitamin, and MotherReader, which I found on Pages Turned, are two of many kid lit sites with great recommendations for children’s books to read aloud.

Because of Book Moot we’ve read Hi Fly Guy, Farmer Duck, and Snip Snap! What’s That?. At Mother Reader I found out about Happy Bees and Duck and Goose. My 3yo son Drake loved all of these, and demanded numerous re-readings. They were so well written and illustrated, and so humorous, that they were a pleasure for me as well, even multiple times.

The last night of my recent trip to Philly, friends M. and L. watched the kids so I could go with my in laws to Salt and Pepper, the 6th and Fitzwater restaurant owned by a family friend. It’s a small space, with a brief menu that changes seasonally. The open kitchen with its single chef takes up about 1/4 of the pale-green tiled room. Lemons and pears were decorations, as well as ingredients.

I had the salad with pears and fried shallots, which was a good blend of textures and flavors, and dressed with just the right amount of vinaigrette. My entree was perfectly grilled diver scallops atop roasted pumpkin. For dessert, we sampled all three choices,the chocolate cake with mocha cream, the warm Frangelli’s donut with creme fraiche and berries, and a creme brulee with fresh Black Mission figs. The chocolate cake was merely good; it lacked the assertive taste that I prefer in a chocolate dessert. The figs had a rich, wine-y flavor. The donut, though, was a standout. It was sweet, simple, and local. Salt & Pepper is a neighborhood sweetheart, rather than a destination place (only street parking is available), but the space and menu reflect that it knows its strengths, and isn’t trying to be anything it’s not.

I should be doing any number of things other than surfing the web reading about the finale. Baby Guppy naps, and Drake is reading to himself in his room, though whether it’s real reading or memorization, I can’t say.

But back to PR3. Here are a few good links:

Blogging Project Runway
The Fug Girls on the finale
EW interviews with the final four

Did anyone else get dressed up to watch the finale? One of my group, A., did a dead-on Jeffrey look, with a black skull T-shirt, rhinestone sunglasses, exaggerated brows, eye-liner neck tattoo, and even a crotch chain.

I dressed Laura-esquely in a DVF wrap dress with no bra for the plunging neckline, and white fishnet stockings, which were weirdly fascinating to the 3yo boys.

Our hostess, K., put on an Uli-ish floral, floaty dress but woke her baby girl when she changed into it, so much crying ensued in the name of fashion.

Finally, another friend A. dressed up a basket with beads, in an homage to crazy Vincent. (Read the Tim Gunn part of the EW article to confirm Vincent’s craziness.)

Darwin Awards are given to silly humans who behave foolishly enough to remove themselves from the gene pool. Before having kids, I thought the warning on plastic bags was ridiculous–that’s common sense; what idiot wouldn’t know to keep bags away from a kid?! Since having kids, I think it’s a good idea. My kids LOVE plastic bags–they’re crinkly and they float! The other day, 3yo Drake was playing with one while I supervised. I turned my back for the proverbial one second, then heard him say, “Mom, look at me!” What I turned back, he had the bag over his head. I shouted No over and over, and then we had the talk about how mommy wasn’t mad, just scared, etc.

Drake’s other new behavior is to take a whisk or butter knife off the counter, open the toaster oven, stick in the utensil and start banging. We’ve taken to unplugging it, but haven’t yet found a positive way to discourage him.

The good news is that the behavior will change. There are things he used to do that I thought he’d do forever, and then he stopped, like insisting on being the one to use the microwave and flush the toilet. The bad news is that there will probably always be some annoying, dangerous thing he wants to do. I just hope the bag and toaster phase ends soon.

Smoothie season is really over, but during the past summer, smoothies (or foozies, as Drake lisped them) were a frequent snack at our house. I invented a peach one that was a particular favorite.

Peach Smoothie (based on the yogurt smoothie recipe from Cook’s Country)

1 10 oz bag frozen peaches
2 small ripe bananas
1/2 c. Knudsen Orange Carrot juice
2 Tbl. honey
1 1/2 c. whole milk vanilla yogurt

Blend until smooth. Serves 3 to 4, and doesn’t keep, so drink it all!

For last night’s Project Runway 3 finale, my friends had a potluck dinner, and I brought brownies. I love the brownie recipe I use. It turns out every time. It’s easy (even easier when I melt the chocolate and butter in the microwave) and it’s quick. It’s from Alice Medrich’s book Cookies and Brownies, which I bought based on a recommendation in Cook’s Illustrated. Buy Medrich’s book, or, if you’re feeling cautious, borrow it from the library and audition it for your home cookbook collection.

New Classic Brownies from Alice Medrich’s Cookies and Brownies

8 Tbl. unsalted butter cut into 8 pieces
4 oz. unsweetened chocolate, coursely chopped
1 1/4 c. sugar (can use light brown, white, or a mixture of the two)
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. salt
2 lg. eggs
1/2 c. all-purpose flour

Use an 8 in. square metal pan, lined across the bottom and sides with 2 strips of aluminum foil, spray with non-stick oil.

Preheat oven to 400F. Position rack in lower third of oven.

Melt the butter and chocolate gently: in double boiler, in glass bowl over low-simmering water in small saucepan, or in microwave at 50% power. Stir frequently until mixture is melted and smooth.

Remove from heat. Stir in sugar, vanilla, and salt. Check to be sure mixture is not hot, then add the eggs, one at a time, stirring until each is incorporated before adding the next. Stir flour into chocolate mixture, and beat with a wooden spoon until the batter is smooth, glossy and comes away from side of bowl, about 1 minute. Bake for 20 minutes, or until brownies begin to pull away from side of pan. Surface will be dry but inside will be gooey, so don’t bother with a toothpick test.

While brownies bake, prepare an ice bath: Fill a roasting pan or large baking pan with ice cubes and water about 3/4 inch deep.

When brownies are ready, remove pan from oven and set it immediately in ice bath, taking care not to splash water on brownies. Cool brownies in ice bath. (Medrich calls this the Steve ritual, and this step is critical in producing brownies that have a firm crust but creamy, fudgy center. You may use this method with other 8″ brownie recipes: bake for 20 min at 400F, put in ice bath.)

Right up front, Tim Gunn publicly absolved Jeffrey of cheating, thereby balancing the public accusation from last episode, and not prolonging the somewhat artificial suspense. The group I watch with was split. Some of us thought he didn’t cheat and Laura was venting her jealousy. Others thought he had too much opportunity to cheat. I felt somewhere in the middle. Maybe he did cheat, maybe not, but Laura’s behavior could have been better. She was, though, gracious in the face of the announcement.

Uli’s support of Jeffrey raised her further in my esteem, and I was happy to see her collection do so well. Michael, who seemed such a cinch to win mid-season, didn’t learn anything from the last challenge. His collection was full of variations on his last, losing design. Hindsight makes me wonder if he shouldn’t have been eliminated. Laura’s collection was no surprise–perfectly tailored formal outfits in neutrals. She said the collection is about dressing well, but I think her disdain of casual wear isn’t the strength she believes it to be. Uli’s collection showed a much larger range than the patterned flowing dresses she favored so often during the season. She learned from the last challenge, and it showed in a variety of wearable, fashionable looks. Jeffrey, too, learned to pay attention to his strengths. Of the final four, he had the most daring looks, and it was because of this that the judges awarded him the win.

I know many viewers were disgusted with Jeffrey as a person, and therefore didn’t want him to win. I think it’s facile to believe we can like or not like the people on these shows based on a heavily edited version of reality. Personality aside, I think he did the most interesting designs over the course of the season, and his collection was a strong finish.

I meant to include a link to Lynne Jonell’s Mommy, Go Away with my recent post on empathy for 3yo Drake’s struggles. Mommy Go Away is the story of Christopher at bathtime. His mom wants him to take a bath, but he doesn’t agree, so he makes her small. She’s forced to experience some of the same difficulties that children go through all the time (”Be good! Mind your manners! No hitting the other mommies!”) and ends by agreeing that it’s hard to be small. This and other Jonell books, like When Mommy Was Mad and Mom Pie, have a sweet sense of humor, and are good stories as well as gentle lessons for both parents and children.

Our parenting class instructor says it’s best to leave junk food in the store. My favorite baby book, Baby 411, advises that parents foster healthy eating habits by eschewing the four Cs: cookies, candy, chips, and cola. I saw this when I flipped through the book the other week, and kept it in mind during last week’s grocery trip, and didn’t buy any of those items. That week, Drake may not have known what he was missing, but I did, and it made me cranky.

The next grocery trip I bought a bottle of black cherry pop, a dark chocolate bar, a bag of Kettle chips, and a bag of chocolate Newman O’s. I’ve kept all but the chips out of 3yo Drake’s hands. While I agree that the ideal is to not to have them in the house, I’ve found my mood improves appreciably when I have access to an occasional treat.

My musical horizon, never particularly broad, expanded a bit during my last semester of college. I met new friends who had different musical tastes, and I began to listen to an “alternative” radio station, WHFS. I’d previously leaned more toward classic rock. One of the first CDs I bought was the Indigo Girls. I liked the whole album, but “Closer to Fine” was a particular favorite. A friend of mine joked that it was my panacea song, one I played whenever I felt anxious or blue. When that song’s appeal faded, I moved on to a succession of others, such as Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. (Hey, I never professed to be cool. I leave that to my friends like Rock Hack and her husband.)

Over the past year or so, my panacea CD has been Nick Drake’s Pink Moon. It was the CD we played in the car as my husband and I drove to the hospital for baby Guppy’s birth, and it’s been the CD in most frequent rotation in our car ever since.

Even three-year-old Drake likes it, and asks for it by name. Some of its power to calm is lost, though, when Drake shouts “Pink Moon” repeatedly until we put it in. Also, Drake is more enamored of the numeric display than he is with the songs, so he keeps insisting that we replay song one over and over. For now, that’s OK. But it’s a good thing we don’t use the car often, and then only for short trips. I sense that our Pink Moon phase will be over soon.

The bad news is that I have post-partum depression. The good news is that I’m working with a doctor and a therapist to treat it and try to bring some balance back to life. It turns out that feeling tired, frustrated, and angry after having a baby may be normal, but it’s still a good idea to get it checked out.

On the theme of balance, I offer three depressing things (meta depression?) and three good things about depression:

Depressing things about being depressed:

1. I’m even more likely than previously to take things personally
2. Being on the wrong dose of an anti-depressant provides side-effects, but no benefits
3. Answering the diagnostic questions truthfully, especially those about whether I think about harming myself or my kids, makes me feel like a failure, and a deadbeat mom.

Good Things:

1. I’ve decided to take nothing personally unless someone says something to me directly.
2. Side effects go away, and the right dose of an AD builds my reserves, and reminds me of my former, more balanced state.
3. I have been heartened by how responsive doctor, family and friends have been. I am also proud of myself for not dithering about getting help, or quibbling about the advice I’ve gotten. All of these have helped lessen the severity of a discouraging situation.

I hesitated about writing about this here–too personal, too controversial, too trite. Yet writing helps at least me, and might even help someone else, too.

Some friends of mine used to joke that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing twice, and expecting different results. After spending yesterday in the kitchen and using just about every utensil and gadget, I think I have a new definition.

Insanity is making baby food from scratch.

Jars of organic food are easy, readily available, and not that expensive, though maybe not at the rate and volume baby Guppy consumes them. I don’t care what the books say, making it from scratch is time, labor and dirty-dish intensive. Plus I’m not sure I’m allowed to complain about being stressed and busy if one of the things that takes up my time is making baby food.

And yet, homemade peaches taste really good; homemade zucchini is very pretty; homemade green beans are a bitch to puree, but are way more appetizing looking and tasting than what comes in a jar. I shop for organic produce for the rest of the family anyway, and avoid packaged food when possible. Buying produce for Guppy and pureeing isn’t inconsistent from a quality of food standpoint.

But it might be inconsistent with a quality of life standpoint.