Friday night—John and I rarely, if ever, go out on Friday nights, mostly because we're too exhausted by our work week, but also because we've developed a great ritual that we hate to miss. But it was our pleasure to spend the evening with Tracy and Bill, who had invited us to see Greil Marcus and the Mekons with them.
We started with dinner at Red Stag Supperclub*, Kim Bartmann's ultra cool restaurant with a great menu and spectacular dining environment. It's the first Minnesota restaurant to have LEED certification, meaning that they've taken extra steps to ensure green building—that is to say environmentally friendly, energy conscious, and, most important, sustainable. The food was fantastic, especially any menu item with meat. I had elk, something I haven't eaten since I was a kid, when my dad hunted elk in Colorado with my Uncle Bill. It was very good and tender, unlike when I ate it as a child and made me instantly suspicious that it might not be elk. John's beef filet and Bill's duck were also outstanding. Anyhow, I'd like to go on record as saying that the red stag over the restaurant's front door would look great on my fireplace. Just saying.**
Over in St. Paul, at the Fitzgerald Theater, we saw Greil Marcus interviewed by The Current's Mary Lucia. I've long been a fan of Mary Lucia. I could recognize her voice anywhere, but I had no idea what she looked like. Tracy and I both thought it was a little trippy to now have a face to pair with her voice. The interview was great. The Mekons were pretty awesome, too. Sally Timm knocked my socks off. They played for almost an hour. Folksy tunes with edge, a totally natural progression from their alt country vibe of the early 90s, which, quite frankly, was evident even in their "punk" music from the mid 80s. Great Friday night out!
Saturday—Took Winston to the first stop on the March-May birthday party circuit, and caught up with the SPCC parents. After the party, so as not to waste a drive all the way out to Woodbury, I dragged Winston with me to Trader Joe's where he took control of the shopping cart so that he could find Tiki Sven, which was hidden in the store. Trader Joe's is such a weird place. Many of their food items look intriguing, but ultimately I'm grossed out that it's processed food—albeit without a lot of junk, such as HFCS. I spent a lot of time putting things into my cart, then returning them to the shelf. Later, John and I took the boys out for dinner to celebrate Winston’s birthday. He’s turning six at Gpa and Gma house later this week and he’s milking it, which seems so innocent and is yet so Machiavellian. Still we had dinner at Saji-Ya. Simon, who won’t touch sushi (which is okay, he’s 8.5) devoured two bowls of edamame and a plate of tempura shrimp. Winston ate a bowl of rice saturated with soy sauce, as well as a number of rolls and the eyes off a fried shrimp head. Both were mesmerized by sounds and flames of the teppanyaki chefs upstairs, so we vowed to return and try it ourselves.
Sunday—I love our weekend mornings. This one started with the family Shepard making a pancake breakfast together. Everyone got in on the action. We lifted our juice glasses and toasted the measurers and mixers, egg crackers and pancake flippers. Then I took a pile of Nancy Drew graphic novels—so much fun—and a very large, very heavy duffel bag packed with dirty clothes and headed for the laundromat. I don’t want to dwell on broken appliances so let’s just say I stepped in a very large puddle while washing clothes on Saturday. After the laundry was done, we drove to Montevideo to meet my parents. On the way we ate PB&Js that Simon had made. I read aloud from Winston's library book—The Secret in the Old Mill, a Hardy Boys mystery—as well as listened to Bill Cosby's 1964 recording I Started Out As a Child. In Montevideo, a halfway point (ish) between us and my parents, we handed the boys over to Gpa and Gma, who are kindly entertaining the boys on their spring break. On the return drive, I read aloud to John from Tony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, his hilarious and revolutionary behind-the-scenes look at the restaurant industry. The first/last time I read this book, I read the manuscript, prepublication. And, though it was funny and well written, I would have laughed in your face if you had told me it would be a bestseller. John and I kicked off our third annual Hambone and Spice Restaurant Week at La Cucharacha, then returned home and plopped in front of the telly. In a very quiet house.
*I won't link to Red Stag's site as some redneck idiot has hacked it, and three days (or more) later, it still isn't fixed.
**Ostensibly, we went to Red Stag for bone marrow. The roasted marrow was beautifully presented. How could you not want to brag about how you love bone marrow—except it's about the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. Mind you, I have eaten blood sausage, tripe, foie gras, sweetbreads, shrimp heads—all good. The marrow was oozy, like pure fat, but some of it was bloody. Okay, the less said about this the better. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little traumatized by roasted bone marrow.
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