Prepping for the fair

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Summer is only a few weeks old and already we are heavily into State Fair training. On a hot weekday afternoon we battled the sweaty crowds and strollers at Como Park Zoo. We stood in line for “zooper” treats and ahead of us three counselors in matching camp t-shirts ordered 20 ice cream cups, 10 cones, and three lemonades. By the time I stepped up to the cashier to purchase a cone the frozen ice cream was gone. The teen behind the counter presented a melty mess and apologetically asked if I’d prefer a refund. I did. Continue Reading

June, Alanis, repeat

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Has it really been eighteen years since Gen X females crowned Alanis Morissette our queen and pondered, not without disgust, how Dave “Cut It Out” Coulier became the muse for the voice of our generation? Continue Reading

Zombie apocalypses and other stormy tales

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As a certifiable disciple of zombies and imaginary apocalypses, I often pose questions about the End of Times to T. My favorite is, “Which stores would you loot if the zombies were coming?” We pretty much agree on the pilfering route we’d take. We’d start at the sturdy hardware store across the street from our house, loading up on tools and camping items and food that has a mid-century expiration date. Then we’d move on to the pawn shop a few blocks down the road. They advertise “GUNS! WEAPONS! AMMO!” Not being a gun toter, I suppose if the zombies do make it to the Twin Cities I’ll have to stifle my inner pacifist and learn to lock and load. Then, time allowing, we’d make a final run to stock up on groceries, pharmaceuticals, sundries, and liquor. Maybe we’d grab some smokes to use as trade leverage (isn’t that what they use in prison?). Continue Reading

Midsommar prep

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In Minnesota this year we have two weeks of Midsommar celebratory options, which is ironic considering we have yet to experience spring. Perhaps the iffy weather will make the festivities even sweeter. Our celebration begins tomorrow with a trot through the grounds at American Swedish Institute, a dance around the maypole, and indulging in a pastry or two from FIKA. Then our group will come back to our place for a Nordic feast worthy of any Scandinavian. Next weekend we head to events at Svenskarnas Dag (Swedish Heritage Day) and picnic along the Minnehaha Falls. Continue Reading

Dads, grills, steaks, and sauce

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The first time I saw someone eat a plate of pink prime rib with its quivering fat and bloody puddles, I nearly fainted. My dad was one of those guys who could only eat meat that was burned. I mean, incinerated. He fried his bacon in butter until it was black. He fried his meatballs in butter until they were black. His steak? The same. I grew up thinking that well done was the only way to cook meat. As a result, I hated beef and stuck to seafood, fish, and the occasional pork chop. When I was confronted with a plate of charred beef, I added a pool of my favorite steak sauce, A1. Continue Reading

Grill power in bleak weather

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When the sun doesn’t shine for weeks at a time, when all roads to success are actually dead ends, when the world seems to be falling apart around us, we look for empowerment in familiar places. I turn to the grill. It is often the only area where my success is guaranteed. Continue Reading

The morel of the story

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‘Tis the season of morels in Minnesota, a brief but beautiful time of year. The first time I met these guys they were handed to me discretely in a brown paper bag. It felt like a drug deal. “These are really good,” the guy told me. “Don’t tell anyone I gave them to you.” He flashed me what I assumed was a secret morel mushroom smile. Continue Reading

Polaroid moments in a post-Brady world

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There are two Americana indulgences I enjoyed earlier this week. The first was an old episode of the Brady Bunch. Remember when the whole gang traveled to the Grand Canyon and got locked up in a ghost town jail by a manic recluse gold prospector, but upon release Mrs. Brady and Alice exclaim that they are having a groovy start to a great vacation? Later they meet a Native American who without any hint of irony or offense uses the term “squaw” to describe the women in Mr. Brady’s “tribe.” Continue Reading