Surly Trail Loppet Half-Marathon

It helps to balance out the ridiculous number of food-related entries with proof that I also do a good amount of running, right?  I wouldn't want anyone to think all I do is eat cupcakes.  Although, now that I think about it, that wouldn't really be a bad life.

Cupcakes would be an excellent addition to the already fantastic race sponsored by Surly in Theodore Wirth park.  This half-marathon was the first trail half I ever did two years ago and it was the race that opened my eyes to what has become my favorite form of exertion.  I just don't think there's a better feeling (in terms of exercise) than pounding down a leaf-strewn path, hopping over tree roots, and listening to your own breath with each swish of a tree branch. It's almost spiritual to me. And Surly does a great job supporting an awesome location for a trail race.  This year there was lefse (complete with butter, sugar, and cinnamon) pre-race and spectators and runners alike were rewarded with several Surly brews at the finish line.  I'm lucky enough to have someone in my life who is happy to clap at the finish regardless of the presence of beer, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the promise of a Surly keg (or two or three) may make cheering my slow self on a wee bit more enjoyable.  And I must say, a bit of Surly Hell (my new favorite) at the finish softens the aches and pains quite well.

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Cupcake

I was unimpressed, at first, by the name of this shop.  Naming a cupcake shop, "Cupcake," just seems especially lazy.  But now that I've tasted twelve (12!) of their creations, I'm a bit less judgmental. They could name the place "Letter Opener" and I wouldn't question it. Who cares?! Eat cupcakes! Eat cupcakes!

Luckily, I was in the company of three other cupcake-lovers, so test-driving 12 flavors (over several hours, thanks to the handy dandy box above) was pretty manageable, moreso because these little dreamboats aren't huge.  They're a normal cupcake size, which is refreshing.  I'd imagined some sort of lets-make-everything-HUGE type establishment (such an American ideal these days), and was relieved to find that these are the same size little cakes of happiness you make in your own oven at home. Leaves a bit more room for trying out multiple flavors.

While all the cakes were yummy, I was most impressed with the less traditional varieties. The red velvet and typical chocolate varieties were great but rather unexciting.  I wouldn't necessarily reach for a second cupcake. But the peanut butter and jelly (named the Anti-Bullying Cupcake) and the tiramisu were absolutely perfect.  I'd have to restrain myself if seated next to a plate of Anti-Bullying cupcakes.  And the tiramisu was the lightest of our choices, which would make it perfect for a late night snack alongside that glass of wine.

It's no secret that this shop knows its sugar.  I was introduced to the place because a friend saw that it had won Cupcake Wars and it seemed highly irrational that we'd be driving around town NOT stopping to taste test such victory.  Upon trying the aforementioned Anti-Bullying cake, I said I'd be game for just coming to Cupcake for dinner (they do serve various quiches and sandwiches and soups, although I kinda think I'd just commit to sugar for my evening meal) the next time we can't figure out where we want to go.  Seems rather decadent, I suppose, but everybody needs a cupcake for dinner every once in awhile. Everything in moderation, including moderation...

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Tales from Hollywood

I never tire of taking my seat at the Guthrie Theater, and I have a certain weakness for the Wurtele Thrust Stage.  I hate to say that a play has an advantage if it's staged on the Thrust, but I rather think maybe it does get a leg up.

Undue advantage aside, Tales from Hollywood is a solid opener to the 2012-2013 season. The first of three Christopher Hampton plays to be staged this season, Hollywood follows the awkward, often stunted, often humorous travails of a fictionalized Odon Von Horvath.  Had Odon not been killed by a falling tree branch, what might his experience have been as an emigre in WWII-era Hollywood?

The staging for the show is inspired, calling to mind the newsreels and sound stages and "Action!" one pictures in those golden years of Hollywood.  Odon is joined by Brecht, played impeccably by Stephen Yoakam, who snaps his fingers at every entrance, causing a flood of light to hit the audience.  Brecht, of course, never wanted the audience to forget that they were watching a play. The timing of the lights, the transition from scene to scene, the use of image and sound and music to create specific places, all were fantastic.

I struggled with engaging a couple of the characters.  I thought Allison Daughtery's performance as Nelly Mann, wife to Heinrich Mann (a fantastic, if heartbreaking, portrayal by Keir Dullea), though not lacking in bravery, lacked connection.  I never quite understood what Nelly was so upset about.  It was only after her exit, and Heinrich's final scene, that I glimpsed any wisp of real guts in the girl-child. To me, the character came across as coarse and shallow, without adequate background to give one a sense for why such traits were important. She was simply a character I never understood and never really felt sorry for, despite the tragedy of her end.

Stephen Yoakam continues to inspire me.  His turn in Burial at Thebes was one of my favorites, and he masterfully embodied Brecht this time around. He managed to make a character who is all vinegar still a character you ache to understand and cheer for. It was that component that I lacked with Nelly.  I don't need to like her, but it would have been nice to care.

All in all, a great show with some of the most visually exciting staging I've seen recently.  A great show to kick off the season.  Appomattox is next on my agenda, and I'm anxious to compare Hampton plays seen back to back. It probably takes a real theater nerd to get excited about that, but I'll accept that title happily.

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The Bachelor Farmer

I've been wanting to try The Bachelor Farmer since it opened last year.  But clearly, everyone else in the metro area had the same idea because we ended up making our reservations a good three weeks in advance.  But the anticipation greatly added to the joy of the evening, so I won't fuss about the wait.  I spent the few days before our dinner peeking at the menu here and there, googling the words I didn't know (I'm always excited by menus that expand my vocabulary).  My date purposefully avoided the menu posted online in a desire to fully appreciate the breadth of creativity at 6:15pm of Thursday, Sept. 20.  I really think these are just two versions of the same passion for tasting new things.

We stopped first at Marvel Bar, a fantastic way to kick off the evening with stunning, unique libations. We followed those up when seated at TBF with a Hemingway (for me), which was a wonder of icy lemony goodness. We started the meal at TBF with a plate of radishes, salt, and butter accompanied by a pile of crisp toasted-cheese flavored crackers. This boded well for the rest of the meal because I've recently been slicing radishes into everything, even dishes that really don't make sense, just going through a bit of a radish obsession at the moment.

We decided to start by splitting an appetizer and a toast.  I don't know that I've ever seen a collection of toasts before, five or six choices all perfectly crafted to spread on a warm piece of bread, said bread to be arranged in a nifty silver tower that I clearly need in my dream kitchen. We chose a collection of heirloom tomatoes drizzled with anchovy aioli as our appetizer and the duck liver pate with pickled cauliflower for our toast. As proven by the picture, I was sopping up the oil on the tomatoes with everything in reaching distance (bread? fingertips?). As delicious as the tomatoes were, it was the pate that we both raved about.  The sweet, chutney-ish prune marmalade and the accompanying stone ground mustard were perfect complements to the flavor and texture of the pate.  I could have happily made a meal off a loaf of those toasts and a plate or two of the pate.

But where would the fun be in stopping after pate? I opted for the fish du jour, a beautiful cod partnered with clams and my date opted for the grilled pork leg with pole beans, which I mistook for duck at first nibble, likely a result of a couple strong drinks and the melt-in-your-mouth quality of the pork, a feeling that I usually associated with a well-done duck.  The cod, though perfect, was outshone by the clams.  I had to force myself to keep up some semblance of conversation despite really just wanting to squirrel away in a corner and suck every ounce of YUM! out of each wee little clam. I don't know that TBF supports squirreling away in corners, and my date probably would have arched an eyebrow at that behavior, so I maintained a modicum of decorum and just exclaimed, often, how deeply I appreciated the clams. As much as we each raved about our individual choices, the side we chose to share, caramelized fingerling potatoes, was the dish we both were struck a bit dumb by. In a perfect world, someone would be waiting at home with a bowl of these babies after every bad day.  Days later, my date mentioned that he could still taste those caramelized potatoes.

To polish off the night we knew we wanted dessert. I think initially we'd thought we'd split something, but then they brought out the damn menu and we were torn between too many options.  We felt it important to try at least two desserts, so splitting just really became irrational. I immediately committed to the blue cheese Napoleon with maple-glazed figs and my date sided, after much debate, with the smoked white chocolate ice cream concoction.

I'm not one to ignore chocolate, typically. I would be suspicious of anyone who turned down a plate of drippy, decadent ganache. But I would take one of the blue cheese napoleons over the chocolate creation every single time. The combination of figs and Big Woods blue cheese (a variety I insist on "trying" in every cheese shop, just to make sure I still love it as much as did the first time I tasted it) and the sweet addition of brandy ice cream just make for a dessert unique enough to displace even, gasp, smoked chocolate.

While the food was certainly the star, I can't say enough great things about the service, too. Our waitress was warm and helpful (fixed a shaky table) without being overly attentive, and she seemed genuinely invested in making sure our evening was a happy one. I was a waitress long enough to know that you can't fake that type of hospitality, you either care about your guests' experience or you don't, and the waitstaff at TBF simply shone with warmth.

I don't normally do this, but as my date and I discussed the meal in these terms, I'll offer the following as a sort of ranking of importance for anyone headed to TBF for this menu (still the summer menu, I imagine the fall menu will debut very soon, given the days' chill recently):

Heirloom tomatoes with torn bread: delicious, especially if you're a big tomato fan, but not the most memorable dish

Duck liver pate: you'll regret not eating this

Grilled pork leg: my date raved, I was more impressed by my cod with clams (the market fish choice for the day)

Caramelized potatoes: I will judge you if you do not order these.

Smoked white chocolate ice cream with chocolate shortbread: wonderful, especially if you're in need of a chocolate fix

Blue cheese napoleon: One of the best desserts of my life. Period.

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Marvel Bar

Marvel had been high on my must-visit list since it opened. The quasi-hidden entrance, the buzz, the dangerously convenient proximity to Bachelor Farmer, the rumor that they use ice sculpture-grade ice...my expectations were high.

And I cannot say enough swell things about this little speakeasy. The bouncer (doorman? ID checker?) was smiley and warm, and when we walked by later in the evening his nose was buried in a book. In my heart, I know it was Kerouac. Maybe Hemingway, if he insists on that sort of dude.
The interior was softly lit but not dark. It's not a bedroom eyes, gaze-lustfully-at-your-date type place (how I'd describe La Belle Vie, for instance). It's cozy without feeling homey. You're definitely a guest, not an old friend, but there's a comfort in that, too.

I had the Ladykiller, my date had the Lincoln County. Mine was smooth as silk,  with only a touch of sweetness. And had we not had dinner reservations, I could have gleefully sucked down a couple and required an extra arm on the walk upstairs. I was honestly mesmerized by the clarity of the ice. I'm not sure I've ever had ice that sparkly before, and it seemed to melt at the perfect pace, never watering down the light flavors.

There was nothing "light" about my date's choice. In fact, upon ordering, he was warned that the Lincoln County was "smoky and aggressive." But of our drinks, hours was definitely the most unique, the one you kept in your mouth for a shade longer just to fully appreciate that you were drinking (and enjoying) liquid filtered over charcoal. Completely bizarre and wonderfully memorable.
I must go back, there are a dozen other creations to explore.

Waiting for Godot

I have no excuse for never having visited the Jungle Theater. It's a short 10 minute walk from my apartment and I'm a (mildly) recovered thespian so how I've managed to live three years in this apartment without a visit is just a mystery.

Fitting, I suppose, that while tangled in that absurdity I took my seat in that theater to watch Beckett's Waiting for Godot, a play famously (absurdly) about nothing.  To be honest, I've always been partial to Ionesco over Beckett, although I don't think it's necessary for that affection to be mutually exclusive.  Waiting for Godot always seemed a bit more heavy-handed in its drumbeat of meaninglessness, while Bald Soprano seemed a bit more deft at sliding that feeling of pathos slyly under the skin.

But after last night's performance, I really feel like I just hadn't ever seen Godot in a forum, and in the hands of such talents, that properly enabled me to enjoy that meaninglessness.  The pathos is still there, the occasional break in hilarity to show glimpses of genuine pain, but the actors are so skilled in juggling the conflict of agony and apathy, the audience cannot help but recognize themselves a bit in the banter. You laugh at the inane slapstick of it all and then catch yourself wondering how far off that slapstick actually is from reality.

Jim Lichtscheidl and Nathan Keepers effortlessly collide physically and in dialogue as Vladimir (Didi) and Estragon (Gogo).  Didi's incessant optimism takes shape as an almost lazy personality quirk, one gets the sense that his comfort in waiting for Godot is less a facet of genuine optimism and more a what-else-is-there-to-do habit. This balances Gogo's whining and continual forgetfulness perfectly.  Is it forgetfulness or a game to pass the time? Does it matter? Is the whining legitimate or another crafted ploy to simply give the mind a way to adapt and survive in a tenuous circumstance?

Allen Hamilton and Charles Schuminski round out the cast as Pozzo and Lucky, providing not only a diversion but further proof of the meaninglessness of the wait. While any number of commentaries can be dug out of Lucky-the-Slave and his tyrannical master (and Allen Hamilton's famous voice perfectly settles into that booming quasi-monologue), what struck me most was, again, the purposelessness of each action.  Even Pozzo often stumbled with the most minor of desires.  He wants to sit but does not know how to go about it.  He wants to leave but does not know how best to do so. There's a loss of momentum internally within each character that is only restored by dialogue with external forces, namely, the equally frozen humans that inhabit their shared space.  It's exhausting and enthralling to watch.

Exhaustion aside, this is how I should have seen Beckett years ago.  Ionesco may still hold my heart, but Beckett is a worthy slice on the side for my wandering thespian eye. And regardless of your love or apathy as relates to absurdist or postmodern theater, this is fantastic acting, and fantastic acting deserves an audience.  See this show.

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Crave

For the life of me I cannot upload the photo taken of my bento box, which is especially tragic for a bento box since a portion of a bento box's charm is in the compartmentalization and presentation of its various components.  One of these days, said photo will appear, but for now this post will be photo-less.

This was not my first time at a Crave as I've frequented the Galleria and West End locations on numerous occasions.  I've largely been a happy hour Crave-r as they really do have some stellar drink and appetizer specials and they happen to be an easy drive between work and home.

This time around, however, I was at the downtown location for their 45 minute power lunch menu. I won the meal (for two) in a contest and while I don't imagine I'll be lunching often downtown, I'm not one to turn down "free" when it's offered.

I was pleasantly surprised by how many options were provided on the power lunch menu.  I was expecting a small selection, maybe 3-4 dishes, but I believe there were 8-10 possibilities.  And, in a testament to the offerings themselves, my friend and I both had trouble deciding which dish to select. I went with the bento box as I'm a sucker for sushi and the friend went with andouille sausage and shrimp linguine, so that pairing alone tells you something about the breadth of options.

I've always enjoyed Crave's sushi and this lunchtime selection was no disappointment.  The rolls provided were simple, which was fine, but I'd be interested to see something a tad more exciting (yellowtail is yummy but is it really something anyone craves?) in future bento boxes.  The tempura vegetables, too, though flavorful, were rather cold.  Tempura doesn't need to be hot, but it shouldn't be cold.  The rolls themselves were prettily arranged and the amount of food was very reasonable for a $10 lunch.

My friend's dish was a bit more impressive to me.  The shrimp were huge, which is always something I'm impressed with up here.  Having moved to Minneapolis from the Gulf, I'm routinely shocked by what passes for "large" shrimp in these parts. But the critters in the linguine were hefty, delicious, and hearty and though the pasta wasn't near as spicy as any self-respecting andouille-lover would ingest, the flavors were spot-on.

Lunch can be a rather dismal affair when you're pressed for time.  But we really were in and out in 45 minutes and probably could have been out sooner if we hadn't taken so long to choose our respective dishes.  So there's no doubt in my mind that with less than an hour to spare, you can't do much better than Crave's power lunch menu.

French Meadow (airport)

I live near the Uptown French Meadow location so I'm well-acquainted with the perfection of its omelets, orange juice, and various sandwiches and pasta dishes. But given my need to kill a lunch hour at the airport, I'm especially grateful for the airport location today.

I will say, the service can be a bit lethargic, which is not a good quality in any restaurant but is especially ill-suited for an airport cafe. Luckily, my gate was nearby.

And, lethargic or no, the fish tacos were far yummier and healthier than my second choice (Snickers bar and a Diet Coke).

City of Lakes 25K

I run a fair number of races in town, mostly half-marathons.  And while I don't plan on saying much on this blog about my training, etc., I do feel like this would be a good place to review some of my experiences at various area races.

First off, you really couldn't ask for a prettier urban race.  Two figure eights around Lakes Calhoun and Harriet, on a day as sunshiney and autumnal-feeling as today, made for a pretty perfect experience.  The roads around Harriet can be a bit potholey, as proved by my stumble around mile 7, and a chunk of the route around Calhoun is run on concrete, quite possibly the most annoying surface to run on, but these were both minor aggravations. They probably don't even rise to the level of being aggravations, just less-than-perfect.

Another thing I really loved about this race was the swag.  I need another race shirt like I need another pair of black heels (I have roughly 6 pairs of black heels).  So I'm pretty stoked by the pint glass and key chain alternative.  These are two things I will actually use, instead of a race shirt that will likely 1) fit funny and/or 2) be ugly.

The MDRA always does a great job organizing their races, so I should probably get crackin' and become a member instead of paying full price for most of the races they host. And this experience may have been the one to push me into membership territory. Great organizers, great volunteers, and a route that proves, once again, that Minneapolis is a fantastic place to be a runner.

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Bricks Neapolitan Pizza

After our jaunt to Stillwater we crossed the river and drove a few miles south to Hudson, as I'd heard good things about Bricks Neapolitan Pizza and I require a substantial dose of pizza the night before races.  So while I usually stick to my traditional Pizza Luce Ruby Rae, I decided to test the superstition attached to that pie and try my hand at another pizza joint.  As I'm writing this review post-race, still alive and happy with my performance, I'm pretty sure the pizza tradition has legs but the locale, perhaps, is less important.  As long as it's good...

And if "good" is a requisite for pre-race carb-loading, Bricks more than delivers because the pizza is fantastic.  We got there before 6 so we each received a free small salad with our pizzas and while I didn't take a picture of the gorgonzola salad, I can assure you that I pretty much licked that bowl clean. Delicious. The roasted garlic honey dressing was wonderful paired with that distinctive gorgonzola flavor.  I'll be trying out that combo (honey+garlic+gorgonzola) in recipes soon, I can feel it.

But the pizza is the real attraction.  I ordered the Bella (pictured), which had asparagus, parmesan, red onion, and pine nuts on top of the classic San Marzano and mozzarella-topped crust.  A great Neapolitan pizza has a light, flavorful crust with a touch of char on the bottom, small pockets of air where the outer edge meets the cheese, and a bit of restraint as far as cheese goes.  Bricks does this masterfully. The tomato-to-cheese ratio was perfect, allowing the special toppings to shine individually without being lost in a sea of ooze. I especially liked the surprise crunch of the pine nuts. I need more pine nuts in my life.

My boyfriend ordered the Salame (we were informed that "the boys" love this one, so clearly it's the tough guy, macho pizza), which had pepperocinis, basil, goat cheese, salami, and garlic.  It had a hint of a kick, but we're crushed red pepper people so a kick is always welcome. The Salame was a bit too salty for me, but as I'm not one of "the boys" perhaps it's fitting that I prefer my pine nut perfection. The boyfriend polished this off happily so clearly it was a winner in his book.

Bricks is a hike from Minneapolis, but on a sunny, autumn afternoon, when the days just kind of seem  created for the purpose of leisurely drives, Hudson should be on your list.  This place is worth the gas money, I promise.

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Stillwater Olive Oil Company

I toyed with the idea of keeping this blog specific to Minneapolis and St. Paul and their immediate suburbs, Stillwater being a bit of a stretch.  But it's my blog so I can break (or rewrite) my own rules whenever I like.  And I just love these olive oils and vinegars too much to not sing their praises.

I love to cook.  Along with this little blog I also keep a pretty active food blog, Edible Avocation, and my Stillwater Olive Oil favorites are called upon frequently to make my good recipes even better. I used up the last of my Herbs de Provence olive oil on Thursday (is it sad that I can pinpoint the moment I used up the last drop?) so I knew a trip to Stillwater had to be in the cards for the weekend. The shop also has locations in White Bear Lake and Rochester, neither of which I've frequented, and while White Bear Lake would be a smidge closer for me, I prefer wandering the streets of downtown Stillwater after gorging on (ahem, I mean, "testing") a couple dozen oils/vinegars.

My picks this weekend were two favorites, Herbs de Provence olive oil and Juniper Berry vinegar, and two new-to-me flavors, Red Apple vinegar and Sicilian Lemon white vinegar.  I've still got a healthy stash of the Harissa olive oil, which adds an awesome spice to absolutely anything and reminds me fondly of the Harissa flavors of my Moroccan life.

And while I highly recommend stocking your own kitchen with an exciting array of these goodies, I also cannot stress enough how awesome a gift these make.  They have a wonderful sample size and you can mix and match flavors to suit anybody's taste.  I've used the sample gift for birthdays and housewarmings several times.

Note: Don't store your oils by a window.  I only did that for picture purposes.

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Taste of Greece Festival

I'm a sucker for any kind of festival.  You could pick any food/activity/nationality and throw in the word, "festival," and I would be gung-ho for the experience, regardless of any genuine interest (or lack thereof) in the subject.

Give me a festival involving copious amounts of delicious Greek food, however, and I will turn cartwheels of joy (figuratively speaking).

The Greek festival is hosted by St. Mary's Greek Orthodox Church in Minneapolis, a locale that I have run by a million times while on jaunts around Lake Calhoun but never ventured near.  On Irving between 34th and 35th Street, you could probably find it my aroma alone this weekend, with the distinctively delicious smells of gyro meat and feta and hot pita bread wafting around every corner.

Like any summertime festival (especially when the weather is this gorgeous), it's crowded and the line to order food is lengthy.  But the enthusiasm of the volunteers and the occasional, "opa!" forgive a lot of that wait time.  Part of the wait is due to the need to stand in separate lines to purchase food/wine tickets and the food itself.  I'm not a huge fan of the buy-food-tickets-and-then-buy-food concept, but I won't whine too much when the result is a happy one. Because the food really is delicious.  My mom and I split the chicken dinner and a large salad and then splurged on three desserts to share.  As we'd completed the Taste of Greece 5K minutes before, we figured we were entitled to a substantial amount of compensatory calories.  

And while the food was definitely the best part of the evening, there was also a great deal of other activities lined up to enjoy.  Live music, traditional Greek dress with explanations, a marketplace of pretty baubles and "Greek Girls Rock" tshirts, and wine tasting in the evening.

The festival runs all weekend and I can't think of a better way to enjoy the sunshine than with a big, fat gyro and a Mythos beer in hand.

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