Nice Fish

Apropos, I suppose, that the Guthrie is home to Nice Fish, a play about ice fishing (among other things), as we're exiting (hopefully) what feels like the longest winter ever.  Capturing not only the bizarre rituals underlying this quintessentially Minnesotan activity, but also the requisite stream-of-consciousness conversation that such an activity inspires, Nice Fish ends up being a rather nice catch, if a bit squirmy and briny at points. 

Anchoring the show are two Guthrie veterans, Mark Rylance (also a co-playwright of the work) and Jim Lichtscheidl (who will forever be Vladimir to me after seeing him in Waiting for Godot at the Jungle).  Rylance's wide-eyed, wandering Ron, played with a Forrest Gump bounce in his delivery, is a direct foil to Lichtscheidl's Erik, whose Erik clearly just wants to be left alone to fish but breaks occasionally to pepper his character's melancholy with poetic interludes.

There are plenty of laughs in Nice Fish, and plenty to ponder, despite the somewhat lengthy show time. The audience loved the central duo and laughed often, as much for well-timed conversations as for physical comedy and a well-placed stare or shrug by Erik. The deadpan DNR agent provided one of my favorite scenes in the first act, steamrolling explanations by our duo and somewhat seamlessly transitioning (how did he do that?) to become a self-described angel. The beautiful Flo, channeling a snow goddess in a skimpy bikini, adds an additional element of mythological poetry to the show.

Despite the snowy tableau, which at this point is fully unappreciated by most of us, this is a well-executed poem-in-play-form, served over ice. Make this your last wintry exercise of the season, end your winter with Nice Fish.

Nice Fish plays through May 18th.

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The Hive Salon

I have always heard that every woman gets one vanity, one aspect of their physical appearance upon which they get to spend an irrational amount of money and/or time.  While hating my hair as a child (as most redheads do), my vanity as an adult is certainly what sits atop my head. Thus, I'm always keen to find a salon that is the right fit for that somewhat-sheepish vanity. Somewhere cozy, somewhere friendly, somewhere reminiscent of the beauty parlor we've all seen in movies but not quite that cloyingly chipper. The Hive is that spot.

I found the Hive courtesy of a friend at work who swears by their genius and as we both have long hair and bangs, I thought I'd give them a whirl.  Eric had an opening that fit my schedule and I'm so happy that it worked out! I wasn't unhappy with my hair, just a bit bored with it, but not quite bored enough to chop it off. Enter Eric, and his snappy scissors, cutting off a couple inches and reviving some disregarded layers. 

Cut skill aside, this is just a happy salon. A scalp massage and steamed facial towel are par for the course these days, right? But this is the first time that someone, after removing said warm facial towel, took the time to look at my eyes and wipe away that touch of mascara smudge.  Nobody likes mascara smudge.  It's a tiny effort, I know, but it was an appreciated one. 

The products are all organic and smell of gardens and homey kitchens, a welcome change from the salons that have a tinge of chemical floating through the air. And conversation flowed naturally in the salon, none of that force fed small talk, just easy, personable conversations about a long winter, favorite local beers.  

It has taken me a long time to find a salon with friendly folk, expert scissors, and the kindness to wipe away mascara smudge. The Hive is a wonderful cheerleader for my chosen vanity.

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Icehouse

Sunday brunch is a beautiful thing.  An easy walk from my apartment after church, Icehouse has been on my must-visit list for months. What sealed the deal today was my discovery that Actual Wolf, a local favorite of mine, was playing the brunch hour.  Good music + good company + good food + good drinks = Sunday afternoon happiness.

We started with drinks, which I don't normally do in the middle of the day. But the description alone of the bacony bloody mary with mini doughnut and the souped up screwdriver would have made us feel a bit sheepish not test-driving the bar. Before taking a sip (or five) of my friend's bloody, I was not likely to refer to myself as a bloody mary fan.  I was incorrect, evidently I'm just a snob.  If all bloody marys tasted like this, peppery and dense with a hint of a kick, garnished with a thick slice of bacon and a bacon-crusted doughnut...well...then I'd be a bloody mary fan.  For now, I'll just say I'm an Icehouse bloody mary fan and stick with that. My screwdriver was a little too wonderful.  Dangerously easy to drink, it woke up every corner of my mouth, which was great considering what was next.

We decided to share the Pastrami and Egg sandwich and the Pork Biscuit. I struggle here.  Because the pork biscuit really was delicious.  The biscuit alone was worth the price of the dish, just because it's tough to find a truly top notch homemade biscuit in these parts.  Southerners are picky about biscuits and this one is one of the best I've had in years. Wonderfully flour-y on the crust, but with that soft, salty butter flavor permeating every bite.  The pork and egg, too, were expertly cooked and seasoned.  Even the gravy, if I could forgive one element, was fantastic.  But to me, a biscuit with "sausage gravy" implies a white gravy, a dense, flour-laden, peppery sausage gravy.  So the brown gravy was off-putting, again, not because of the flavor (perfect!) but because it was the "wrong" gravy for that dish.  If it was a dinner dish, an evening sandwich with a brown gravy would be heavenly.  But sausage gravy on a biscuit should always be white.  And I'm comfortable with how judgmental I am about that.

The pastrami sandwich was just a masterpiece.  The onion roll, the pastrami, the homemade pickles, the juicy, yolky egg, the smear of harissa, they were just the perfect combination.  We both thought that while the biscuit was delicious, the pastrami sandwich was the real winner.  It's the sandwich I'll rave about to anyone thinking about brunch on Eat Street.  And it will likely lure me back very soon.

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Eater Minneapolis: Best Fried Pickles List

I recently compiled a list of top spots in the Cities to eat fried pickles for Eater Minneapolis.  I have a weak spot for these briny bar snacks so it was a fun list to put together.  While every locale on the list is a winner, my personal favorites are Hazel's Northeast and Blue Door Pub. 

Check it out: http://minneapolis.eater.com/archives/2013/04/19/10-places-to-find-fried-pickles-in-minneapolis.php

And follow me on Twitter @TheMinneapolite

Trail Mix Trail Races

This was my third time running the Trail Mix 25K. My first attempt, three years ago, goes down in history as the muddiest of my races, and the only one where I had to sit in my car for 10 minutes afterwards with the heated seat blasting before I stopped shaking long enough to drive home. Last year's race was significantly better, drier afoot, almost humid, and I crossed the finish in a tank top. 

This year, as evidenced by the photo, was its own bag of ridiculousness.  I've never run on trails with 4-6 inches of snow and I think there's a reason for that. It wears a body out! But the Trail Mix remains one of my favorite races in town and one I know I'll sign up for every year. Hosting three races with staggered times, a 50K, 25K, and 50K relay, runner traverse four, two, or one lap around the park, respectively.  And I use the word "traverse" because I did not personally do a heck of a lot of what would be considered running on my second lap.  A rolling course with few flat patches, one lap is a doozy of a workout without snow, much less with the added friction and instability of trails packed with the white stuff.  Short bursts of paved trail at the beginning and midway through the lap allow for a quick reprieve from the trail, which I think would bother me in a non-snowy race as I prefer 100% trail, but today I was thankful for brief breaks in the unsteady, exhausting snow slogging. 

The race is well-organized, especially given how cheap it is ($37 is a steal) and the organizers/volunteers are enthusiastic, trail-loving cheerleaders for all racers.  Three water/snack stops pepper each lap, with serving of trail mix (of course), bananas, flat coke (a race fave of mine), water, and gatorade and each stop. One thing I love about trail races is how genial everyone is, how supportive.  I routinely bring up the rear in this race and was passed often but the number of runners that call out a "good job" as they speed past me is encouraging.  Road runners just do not do that. 

If you're looking for a first foray into trail running, the 50K relay would be a great place to start. One lap, or 7.75 miles, is doable for anyone who has a 10K under their belt. Just keep in mind when you sign up that late April is clearly a crapshoot. Snow? Mud? Some combo of the two? Exciting!

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Blue Door Pub Longfellow

The Blue Door Longfellow was my celebratory indulgence following the Goldy's 10 miler.  Ten miles is all well and good, but there is no way that covered the caloric whammy of this meal.  But I like to think that the 1000 or so calories burned during the race at least covered the fried pickles...

Ah yes, fried pickles.  I've had some fried pickle spears recently, which I consider to be mildly blasphemous.  Fried pickles should be in chip form and preferably have a cornmeal batter.  However, I don't think Minnesotans are as cornmeal-happy as my Southern brethren, so I soldier on, cornmeal-free.  That disappointment aside, I can't find any flaw in the Blue Door fried pickles.  Not a cornmeal batter but who really cares when these little gems come out perfectly golden and crispy, with a perfect briny bite.  Served with an aioli, I opted for ketchup.  Not knocking aioli, I just love fried pickles and ketchup.

I will also admit that I had one bite of the spam bites.  There's nothing bad about this, my roadblock is purely mental.  I don't do spam. But for those of you that do, the Blue Door should be your favorite place on the planet. 

The Blucy (burger stuffed with goods) list is overwhelming.  I was torn between the Bangkok Blucy's promise of coconut milk-soaked mozzarella and pickled veggies and the that-is-crazy element of the Jiffy, which sports a smear of, yes, Jiffy peanut butter.  I opted for the Jiffy in no small part because it won Best Burger from City Pages and because my date insisted it was a life experience I was lacking. He ordered the Horsekick Blucy and as I wanted to try more than one burger, we split the two.  I highly recommend doing the same with any number of guests at your table.  Order as many as you can and divide those things up because each one, from what I gather, is its own little masterpiece. 

The Jiffy was overwhelming in its creamy richness, one bite and I kinda felt like finishing it would anger the powers that be and I'd no longer be allowed to eat yummy things, having reached my quota of burger awesomeness. The Horsekick was lighter (ha! "lighter" is totally relative, right? "lighter" as compared to a cheeseburger smeared with peanut butter), crisper, with that bite of horseradish.  I polished it off first, just couldn't stop dipping it in that side of jus, the deliciousness wouldn't quit.  This proved to be a detriment to my Jiffy consumption.  I couldn't hack it, and ended up with the majority of my half languishing uneaten.  Very, very sad.  

Given our ease at getting seated on a Saturday night (waited for 20 minutes, tops, and we were still nursing our first beers when seated) and the proximity to Riverview Theatre, I can't imagine letting this place sit unvisited for too long.  I still need to try that Bangkok Blucy...

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Goldy's Run 10 mile

When I signed up for this 10 mile race I imagined I'd be pounding the pavement on a cool spring morning, maybe starting off somewhere in the mid to upper 40s, possibly 50s! It was 28 degrees at the starting line and it was snowing (or ice pelleting) at the finish.  So needless to say this race had weather working against it today.

But I'm going to try not to hold Mother Nature against Goldy's Run and give it a fair review without the usual angry-fist-to-the-winter-sky griping. This was a new race for me, though it's not new to the rest of the Twin Cities. Still basking in affection for the TCF Stadium at the University of Minnesota, many have made the 5K or 10 mile a yearly tradition. 

Packet pick-up on Friday was a bit messy, despite my getting there right at the beginning.  One frustration I tend to have with races, Goldy's not being the only one with this habit, is when they assume location knowledge of all runners.  I don't know anything about the area around the U. I'm not from Minnesota and didn't attend the U for school.  So some of the directions for packet pickup were a bit vague for my liking.  And just a word of caution for runners picking up packets before race day, 80% of the people in line in front of you are actually picking up for themselves plus at least five other people.  I've heard patience is a virtue. :)

Race day, having figured out parking the day before, went pretty smoothly. I arrived around 7:10 for an 8 am start and found parking easily at the stadium and $4 isn't a steep price in my mind. It would have been nice if other doors into the stadium had been open so that we didn't have to wander all around the outside before getting to the door by the start line.  It was cold!  But had it been a pretty day I wouldn't have cared, so I'll chalk that up to bad weather luck. 

The course was hillier than I expected but I really love the races along the river, especially when they're point to point like Goldy's and don't consist merely of one out-and-back stretch.  So I appreciated running on the West Bank because it seems like most races stick solely to the East.  As should be expected with a purely downtown race, there were a fair number of short stretches and turns, especially through campus.  I didn't love this.  But I could also see how if you went to the U or knew the area well, this would be a cool jog through memory lane.  As someone with no emotional attachment to the school, it just seemed kinda choppy.  

But the best part of the race is at the finish!  My picture is crappy as I'm evidently unskilled at simultaneously running and picture-taking.  But all finishers get to run their way to the 50 yard line, see their grins on the big screen, and get a high five from Goldy.  Even as a non-Minnesotan, that just feels cool.  

Definitely a race anyone that attended the U would want to make a yearly habit, and I always like seeing alternative distance races (not a 5K, not a 10K, not a half-marathon), so the 10 mile is a cool option for anyone training for upcoming longer distances. 

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More Real at the MIA

The power of an exhibition, whether it be artistic, theatrical, musical, or literary, resonates with me when I'm surprised by its influence days/weeks/years later. Entertainment is one thing, beauty another, but influence is elusive. The More Real exhibition at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts has influenced my days, the way I think, and I'm not sure there's higher praise for a Saturday afternoon experience. That influence is probably fleeting, soon to be shuffled behind future experiences, but for now, it's the mental nugget my brain is gnawing on. 

The leaflet floating around for the show uses a quote from Time, "Art Lies. that's one of the things it does best. And if it does it right, it points to some kind of truth every time." Walking through the exhibition, the patron is struck by one "kind of truth" after another.  Early on, one experiences Ai Weiwei's "Colored Vases" as a powerful example of that question of veracity. Are the vases really priceless, ancient works? Are they fakes? Surely he would not destroy a treasure of antiquity...surely not...

I was impacted by the pieces most when I stood at a distance first.  We were told upon entering the exhibit that we should make sure and read the didactics on the wall.  Important, to be sure. But part of the power of these works is in recognizing how your first impression surfaces, and what it takes to dissuade you of that impression. 

The work that has stuck with me, however, as a work by Iris Haussler, and I struggle with giving away too much because I don't want to rob anyone else of my surprise.  Because it's a fascinating surprise. Instead of speaking too much about the particular installation piece, I'll link to the artist's wikipedia page. Suffice it to say, I left the museum believing a story that was not true.  And it was a story that stuck with me, tragic and beautiful and powerful.  It was only upon googling around for more background on that tragic story that I discovered I'd been duped, expertly so. And I just keep coming back to that moment of realization and what it says about our ease in believing what is written, what sounds plausible.  And a story so intricate and beautiful in its sadness, just seems like it should exist. I remain fascinated by that story, but even more fascinated by the mind that created it.  Because most people will not google the way I did, they'll forget the work. They'll incorporate that story as truth into an experience they had at a museum.  They may even tell friends bits and pieces of that story, that lovely lie.  So there is "truth" by individual definition floating around out there that is 100% false. And my own truth is hobbled together by wikipedia, not necessarily the hallmark of veracity. Just fascinating. 

I'll have to go back, of course, to revisit the space of my manipulation, and to dig deeper into what it means to be a fact and what it takes to dissuade us of the facts to which we cling. 

The More Real exhibit is open for your own curiosity and exploration through June 9.  It's worth the $14 price tag, or make sure and check it out on a Third Thursday, when the exhibit is free!

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Pat's Tap

I'm forever finding places I'm embarrassed to have never found before. I've been hearing of Pat's Tap for ages and you'd think the fact that the restaurant name is a palindrome would be enough to lure me in sooner. Sucker for word tricks over here. 

Better late than never, and better that my first experience at Pat's be accompanied by a basket of fried pickles.  Lightly battered and served, of course, with ranch dressing, they were the perfect way to kick start a meal after a truly awful workday. I don't think it's legal to eat fried pickles without drinking beer, so I was happy to note a tap list that made the choice a difficult one but and was happy to toast with a pint of Lift Bridge Farm Girl

I made a meal of the appetizer mussels in a white wine broth (Meatless Monday and all). Our waitress was genuinely confused by my not eating meat (okay, I sometimes eat seafood/fish) just one day a week, hence my linking to the wikipedia explanation. The mussels were delicious, the broth perfectly light and savory, I only wished for a bit more bread to soak up that broth-y goodness once I'd killed every last one of those shelled creatures. 

We split a slice of carrot cake to finish off the meal and "split" is really inaccurate.  I think we ate a third of the slice together because it was, literally (and I understand the definition of that word), the size of my face. I took the remainder of the slice home and three days and several small slices later I still have at least two healthy portions left. You could easily split this monster between four people and have some to spare.  And they're not trying to make up for mediocre flavor with sheer size.  This is a fantastic carrot cake, and I am a true connoisseur of this particular dessert as I'm very proud of my own family recipe. Dense but still moist, with a cream cheese frosting that doesn't overpower the carrot cakeyness, you will treasure those leftovers. 

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Parka

This was my second time at the Parka location, in the Longfellow neighborhood on Lake, but my first time to eat.  Note to my fellow people-who-drive-places-without-looking-up-hours, they're closed on Mondays. 

It's a great space, with an open floor plan next to Forage Modern Worshop, where I enjoy looking at furniture and decorating doodahs I cannot afford. Pricey though it may be, these are beautiful things, and if you're in the market for a statement piece for a new (or make-it-new) place, Forage is an awesome spot to poke around, dream, and possibly succumb to impulse shopping. 

The ham and pickle tots (pictured) were what lured me in, but the brussels sprouts won my heart.  The tots are great, and a fun way to start the meal.  A fresh twist on the ham+pickle combo we've all encountered at church potlucks, Parka does something miraculous not only with the tots themselves, but with the condiments. I'm a sucker for a good gel, paste, dip, smear, mush, relish, etc. The dill pickle gel (those green dots in the picture) was just wonderful, and when paired with the truffle smear (not sure what the correct term is), a bite of tot, and a dollop of whipped sour cream, every single flavor popped. Like the brine of pickle, the savoriness of truffle, and the sweetness of ham were all enthusiastically waving hello.

I like to think of myself as a solid roaster of brussels sprouts, but Parka put me in my place. These sprouts are good, and the boiled quail egg, candied (but not overly so) walnuts, and dry cheddar perfectly accented the occasional crisp leaf and warmly roasted sprout. You may peek at the menu and think brussels aren't a respectable choice for a meal but really, this was filling and satisfying in the way a solid vegetable dish should be. 

We were eating late in the evening and didn't want anything heavy so these dishes (plus an unpictured dish of delicious cabbage rolls) were perfect.  But at the end of the meal we did spy a couple of the desserts coming to other tables (holy moly, the doughnut ice cream!) and we smelled the spare ribs and green chili mac at the table next to us and realized we really should have come hungrier. 

Next time...

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Flashdance

I was too young to see the movie in theaters, so my first experiences with Flashdance must have been radio-based. The anthems of Maniac and What a Feeling peppered the skating rinks and minivans I frequented as a child of the 80s. And even into the early 90s, there was something so grown-up and sexy about that one-shoulder sweatshirt.  It's amazing how pop culture can translate an old, tattered piece of crappy clothing  into the epitome of nonchalant, teenage seduction!

This is all to say that my own personal build-up for seeing Flashdance the Musical involved a lot of wardrobe review bemoaning the lack of neon and off-shoulder gear.  I listened to Maniac while doing my dishes. I contemplated crimping my hair (didn't have time after work, tragically). I was pumped.

The musical delivers all of the 80s-era angst in a dance-laden production.  Alex Owens, played by Emily Padgett, belts out one synth-underscored number after another.  But it's her dancing, no surprise, that brings the applause. Perfectly reinacting key moments in the movie, with added choreography incorporating Alex's rough circumstances, Alex and the ensemble underscore the my-life-just-isn't-fair-but-I'm-going-to-do-my-best-anyway motif with the stomping of heels and Reeboks.

Many of the characters feel plastic, even Alex at times, but that's part of the appeal of the movie. The love story feels forced, but the movie wasn't any better on that score. This isn't a musical based in any shade of reality, but for the same reasons we love the movie, we enjoy the musical.  There may not be a lot of depth, but there's a lot of good music, dance moves you'll never attempt on your own, and, once again, the realization that women can remove their bras without removing their clothes. Fascinating.

Alex's fellow dancers at Harry's, Kiki and Tess, played by Dequina Moore and Rachelle Rak, were wonderfully warm, engaging characters to supplement Alex's often dour expression.  The numbers backstage at Harry's were the ones that felt the deepest to me, showcasing the sisterhood and support between these women low on their luck.  And the brilliance wasn't strictly tied to their dancing shoes, these women can sing.  

As one would hope, the final scene reenacts Alex's dramatic audition at the Shipley School of Dance, with the added help of the ensemble at the crescendo.  From Alex's iconic black leotard to the schoolmaster's enthused clap to the thrumming chords of "What a Feelin," by the time Alex ends in dream-accomplished exhaustion, the crowd was clapping and whistling with enthusiasm.  That's what we came to see.  That, and the chair-in-the-water thing.

If you grew up in the 80s or grew up on 80s movies, or if you just love to watch a crew of often scantily clad dancers hoof it, then this off-shoulder sweatshirt gem is your ticket to a good time this week.  Flashdance plays at the Orpheum through April 7.

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