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Last weekend Scott went on an overnight trip to Door County. You might think I’d be most excited about having the house all to myself, but no.
When you are married to someone whose TV taste runs completely divergent from your own (think Speed Channel and Fuel TV vs. Oprah), it’s the remote that you find yourself looking at with fond remembrance for the times you shared together in front of HGTV and the Food Network.
Anyway, Friday I scoped out the lineup for Turner Classic Movies, popped some popcorn and lazed around in a totally shameful fashion all evening. It was great.
And so was Saturday. I woke up early, did a little cleaning, and met Kacy for brunch in front of Vivo Urban Grill.
Unfortunately Vivo was closed. (Note to Vivo’s manager: You might want to revise that “Saturday & Sunday” thing on the online brunch menu.) We were terribly disappointed as the Cuban Benedict with a blood orange hollandaise sauce or the Guava and Cream Cheese French toast did sound so good after a night of doing nothing.
Kacy assured me Dish Bistro had an equally mouthwatering brunch menu so off we went. If you’ve never been there, you absolutely must go. It’s tucked away on a corner, slightly off the beaten downtown path, but that only adds to its charm.
We arrived just as the rain started to fall, and took a seat near the window. With warm yellow walls that sweep towards a cathedral ceiling and hold tasteful paintings and art selections, Dish’s atmosphere instantly dispels any of the gloom lurking outside.
I admired the deep crimson and gold flowers on our table while looking over the menu. Kacy recommended the omelets. She’d tried them on her last visit, and pointed me in the direction of the artichoke omelet, made with egg, artichoke, mushrooms, havarti cheese and a delicious red sauce that pulled everything together beautifully.
I ordered mine with a side of seven-grain toast while Kacy had to have a banana pancake. (Very tasty, I tried it myself.) I also found it necessary to have some coffee. That should come as no surprise to those of you who know my penchant for the stuff. Especially in the A.M. hours. Apparently our server could sense the necessity of keeping the joe flowing, and did an excellent job of keeping my quaint little cup completely full.
Finally feeling that I had reached an adequate state of caffeine-induced alertness (and having polished off my tasty omelet) I suggested we do something to work off all those yummy calories (i.e. shop.)
Boston Store was having their Goodwill Sale so I dug a few items out of the trunk that I had been meaning to get rid of anyway and we claimed our 20% off coupons. It was a total madhouse. Lancôme was doing a demo, some kimono-clad woman was practically accosting people with samples of a new fragrance and crazed bargain-hungry shoppers were snatching up purchases right and left.
But they were no match for me and Kacy. We are pros!
My favorite Van Morrison CD is playing and I just pulled a piping hot apple crisp from the oven. For some reason whenever I make apple crisp I must have Van Morrison’s “Moondance” in the background. I know it sounds strange, but it seems to help and who am I to question the kitchen gods?
Unlike the cherry tart, the apple crisp turned out perfect. I used Macintosh apples freshly plucked from the trees at Apple Holler. That’s right. Despite spending a good portion of last Sunday lazing on the couch, Scott and I somehow managed to make it to the orchard.
On the way we stopped for burgers (why does bad-for-you-food always sound so good after being out too late the night before?) and suddenly found ourselves in the midst of what can only be described as a Jerry Springer-esque moment.
You can’t live in Milwaukee and not make it to Miller Park at least once during baseball season. And you can’t go to a baseball game and not consume some form of meat wedged between a bun.
Last night we hit the ballpark around seven, just in time to snag some tickets and catch the last few strains of The Star Spangled Banner. Since it was our first time there, Scott’s coworker and his wife were cool enough to give us the grand tour, complete with lots of fun facts and background info. Then we hit the concessions.
Miller Park boasts an abundance of grills and bars where you can find everything from the ubiquitous Milwaukee fish fry and pie to pizza and burgers or martinis and margaritas. For the more health conscious, there’s reportedly even a soy dog available.
Personally though, I think it’s sacrilege to order anything but beer and hot dogs (meat, not soy) at a baseball game. That said, we made our way to the lower level where I got my hot dog and loaded it up with some mustard and ketchup. The others were more adventurous. Scott and Mark ordered Italian sausages, which they piled high with mustard and onions. Shana got a little plastic souvenir Brewers helmet filled to the max with cheese covered waffle fries. How cute is that?
Anyway, we totally chowed while watching two bats get broken and several innings pass without a single run. Mark and Shana bought some fragrant cinnamon roasted nuts which they kindly shared and Scott ventured out to get some chorizo.
Apparently, the chorizo is somewhat new on the Miller Park scene, but having lived in South Texas for a while, I’m no stranger to this spicy sausage. Seeing it wedged between the bun though, provided a new take on things as usually the chorizo I have encountered in the much loved Tex-Mex items like breakfast tacos or migas is crumbled into tiny bits. To each his own. And to the Brewers a big congrats – finally Geoff Jenkins broke the scoreless tie with a homerun in the bottom of the ninth and lead the Brewers to a 1-0 victory over the Cardinals. Go Brewers!
I’m exhausted. I stayed out way too late last night.
It all started when Scott and I got word that our offer on a house had finally been accepted. To celebrate the fact that soon we will no longer have to haul groceries up two flights of stairs and we’ll actually be able to paint and decorate according to our own rather mod taste, we decided to go to Swig.
I like Swig. I like it very much actually. However, last night I felt a little irritated that we had to agree to order appetizers to be seated at a cozy table near the bar. Sure, it makes sense to make people ordering drinks sit at the bar if things are super crowded, but the place was half empty! Whatever, nothing could really usurp our celebratory mood. We took our seats, ordered some bruschetta and a glass of Spanish cava for me and a Malbec for Scott.
While the bruschetta with Roma tomatoes and basil were enough for us, I thoroughly recommend almost anything on the menu. Personal favorites include the pan seared Ahi tuna, black bean cakes with cilantro and sour cream, and the crab cakes. And if that’s not enough to reel you in, they serve divine desserts by Simma’s, the bakery that made my wedding cake.
Anyway, while we lingered over a second drink Scott’s phone rang.
His friend Bill, in town from Salt Lake City, was calling from a wedding several blocks over. He tried to convince us we should crash the wedding reception.
Continue reading "New Houses, Old Friends, and Really Lo-oooo-ng Night" »
I think I mentioned that during my brief stint working in Japan I mainly subsisted on ramen noodles and bento boxes from my local 7/11.
Sure, I had the ubiquitous rice maker, toaster oven and a kitchen the size of a Victorian-era closet, but I had no idea how to prepare the fantastic array of new vegetables and fish found in my local market.
Right before leaving I finally found a cookbook that explained things to me in very basic terms (i.e. English), and at last I discovered how to use all the colorful veggies, sauces and seasonings lurking on the shelf.
For a few weeks I ate incredibly well.
Then I returned to the States and resumed my typical American diet. Actually, I wouldn’t say it’s typical. I try not to consume vast amounts of fast, fat-laden food. I prefer lean meats, lots of veggies and fruit. But neither do I eat anywhere near the amount of fish and rice that is included in a typical Japanese diet.
But once in a while something makes me crave flavors from the land of the rising sun. This time that something was Japanese Women Don’t Get Old or Fat by Naomi Moriayama. As you can imagine, it contained the same simplistic directive found in other books of a similar nature, but upon scanning a few recipes and reading her description of eating warm, salted edamame while sipping a cool Asahi beer on an outlandishly humid summer evening, I immediately started to long for some of the same.
Due to the rising demand for Asian-inspired cuisine, my neighborhood grocer stocks frozen edamame and Asahi, but I decided to venture to the Asian Mart on Old World Third Street for a few additional items.
When I walked in the owner threw out a friendly welcome and told me to let him know if I needed help. I assured him I would and wandered through the aisles, taking in the shelves packed with a variety of Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, Filipino and even Indian ingredients.
I found the rice vinegar and mirin (rice cooking wine) tucked in the back and put one of each in my basket. Then I picked up some genmai cha (green tea with roasted brown rice).
Finally I walked down the aisle with sweets and noticed there was a wealth of Pocky snacks, an addictive variety of slim wheat crackers dipped in various things like chocolate or strawberry sauce. I snapped up a box of strawberry flavored Pocky snacks and then asked where I could find some bonito flakes. The owner dug a couple of packets out of a box I’d somehow managed to pass right by and handed them to me.
“You have lots of Japanese items,” he noticed.
I filled him in on how I acquired my affinity for Japanese-inspired cuisine and he wished me well.
Outside I couldn’t stop thinking about the Pocky sticks. I opened the box as soon as I got in my car. I vowed to eat only one but by the time I got home I’d consumed half the box! I couldn’t help it, there’s a reason those little munchies have a cult-like following. They are G-O-O-D! Hope the other things I make turn out equally yummy . . .
As it turns out, you can get rather crafty with two burners and a microwave. It helps if the burners actually work though. For some reason, the ones in our cabin didn't get very hot and when trying to boil water for some linguini I had to leave the pot of water on high heat for almost an hour before it even started to produce the faintest hint of a boil.
By then I was too hungry to care and tossed in the pasta, despite the lack of a roiling boil. It turned out quite nicely, actually.
Really the whole weekend trip was a success. A much needed escape from the everyday cacophony of telephones and TV and 24/7 computer access.
Our little place was nestled down in the surprisingly lush green Kickapoo Valley region of Wisconsin, right on the edge of a small river. Since it rained a lot while we were there, we took the opportunity to drive around the countryside where rolling hills are filled with acre after acre of apple orchards laden with ruby red fruit just waiting to be plucked.
For those who are intersted, here are some pics:
