When Mr. Obama gave his state of the union speech last winter he discussed winning the future. I love this. I mean, who doesn’t want to win the future? It reminds me of the time that I was an archery instructor (?!) at a summer camp and a young man named LaTroy declared in a boastful voice: “I won archery.” You know what LaTroy? You did. So let’s win obscure things today, shall we? Here are a few tips for winning the summer.
Tip #1: Enjoy a delicious lunch. One with cheese, sauteed kale and a sliced tomato with sea salt. Yumtown. Population: you.
Tip #2: Avoid swimmer’s itch… I lost at this one.
Tip #3: When the temperature hits the 90s, chop four inches off of your hair.
Tip #3 part 2: Go to Thorps on Atwood for said haircut. They give you a can of pbr upon your arrival.
Tip #4: Sit close to the fridge.
Tip #5: Meet up with some friends and enjoy a tall glass of iced tea from Mermaid Cafe.
Tip#6: Take a road trip. And if you find yourself on Highway 20 in eastern Iowa on a Sunday morning, take the exit near Dyersville and visit the field of dreams before anyone else arrives. Run the bases. Yell, “Go the distance” at a father and son playing catch as you flee the parking lot.
Tip #7: Make beergaritas. My sister and I made them for the first time last summer after our cousin told us about them. Delicious.
1 can frozen limeade
1 1/2 cans pbr
1 limeade can full of tequila
2 limeade cans full of club soda (or Squirt)
Mix ingredients in a pitcher. Serve over ice. Cheers to winning stuff.
I’m not Irish, but I am a Kashub. And I am also about a week behind with this post. Time to get caught up and stay up. But back to St. Patrick’s Day…
The weekend before St. Patrick’s Day I listened to a voicemail from Jimmy, a dear (Irish) family friend. Jimmy said that my (Scandinavian) mother had called him up to tell him that I would be all alone on the holiday and would they invite me if they were going to do anything to celebrate? To tell you the truth, I had not yet pondered my alone-ness on St. Patrick’s Day (Dan was on the road with Clovis Mann), but when faced with this apparently sad reality, at least according to my mother, I realized that, indeed, I would be alone on this day of all days. And so this is how I found myself trotting down the bike path on a warm, muggy almost-Spring evening last Thursday wearing my cowboy boots and favorite green top and swinging a brown paper bag containing a block of Kerrygold Irish cheddar cheese from the Willy Street Co-op.
Upon arriving at the party, I was delighted to find a warm group of family friends and a selection of delicious appetizers, including olives, grapes, crackers and cheese, and, of course, beer. The soda bread was out of the oven and the cabbage sat waiting on the counter for its’ turn.
The dinner menu included corned beef for the meat-eaters and vegetarian-cooked potatoes, carrots and cabbage (with a side of horseradish) for those of us who avoid the meat. The soda bread, with butter, was hearty and delicious. Dessert included lime popsicles, various flavors of green-shaded gelato and sherbet and cookies. We talked about politics (how could we not?) and St. Patrick Days past (I couldn’t make some of these stories up if I tried…). It was a lovely evening. Thanks to my hosts- and my mother- for inviting me.
The following is a guest appearance on ‘Wisconsin Fun Next Exit’ by Dan Walkner
I’m a guitar player. I have a blog about my band but if I started talking about cakes and other trifles, I may lose all of my already limited street cred. I rarely cook. Never do I bake. My mom used to bake a lot when I was little. Bread, cookies, potpies (is that baking?), all that stuff. I remember when I was about 4 or 5 and both my brothers were in school, my mom and I would trudge through huge snow drifts to get to the store. We had to walk because we couldn’t get the car out of our glacial wall of a driveway. Once, specifically, I remember helping push a grocery cart full of provisions home through dunes of white powder between Bill’s Red Owl and our house. Five blocks of it. At some point my mom started baking this Mandarin Orange Cake for every holiday and birthday and any other occasion where sugary delicassies are required. If anyone didn’t love it, they were keeping quiet. Similarly, she made the “mistake” of making the world’s greatest 7 layer salad at some point and now has to make one about every 3 days to appease her loyal following. (Slight exaggeration, but it’s the best, and I punch anyone who says otherwise. Also, if you use Bacos in 7 layer salad, there is a special place in hell for you. Not you Aunt Joan, it was just that once and we all forgive you.)
All right. I started compulsively thinking of the Mandarin Orange Cake for about a week straight. I called up my Ma and she wanted to mail me the recipe. I told her it couldn’t wait. She read me the recipe, and here it is:
Alice’s Mandarin Orange Cake
This has a few steps, but I guess most recipes do. The main parts are the crunch layer, the cake, and the frosting. You can do it all from scratch, or cheat, or both. I cheated and made some alterations. If you tell my mom I’ll tell her you lie.
1 cup graham crackers (I got the Co-op hippie kind, but the regular kind are fine)
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 chopped walnuts
1/2 cup melted butter (I used slightly more.)
Combine the dry stuff and dump in the butter. Don’t use a microwave. Use the burners. They get lonely and won’t fry your chromosomes. Just make sure the butter and brown sugar get mixed up pretty well or you may have some sticking to the pan. (A little bit of sticking is okay, as you will soon find out!)
Using two 8 inch circular cake pans, line the bottoms with half the crunch stuff. Smash it down with the nearest dull object. I used a pint glass, but you could use a balpeen hammer, butt of rifle, etc.
1 yellow or vanilla cake mix
2 tablespoons grated orange peel
Here, follow the box directions, except when it calls for water, substitute 1/2 of it with orange juice. So the eggs and oil is the same, but generally it will be a 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup OJ. Also, for the orange peel, you don’t need a lot or maybe you need more I don’t know. If you like stuff orangy, go nuts. Put it in the mix, though.
1 can vanilla frosting
1 cup whipped topping (Cool Whip style, not whippets)
3 tablespoons grated orange peel
1 tablespoon grated lemon peel
11 oz. can of Mandarin oranges, drained
Beat frosting in midair til fluffy. No, actually, you should use a small bowl. Add whipped topping. Fold in orange and lemon peel.
Oven should be heated to 350 degrees. Pour the cake batter equally over the two pans with crunch layer. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until you can pass a toothpick in and it comes out unscathed.
VERY IMPORTANT (my mom yelled this, so I took it seriously): let the cakes cool for 10 minutes. Any longer and you run the risk of not getting the cakes out of the pans. Take them out and put one crunch side down. Scrape the remaining crusty parts into a small bowl and hang on to them.
Frost the first layer with 1/4 of the frosting. Stack the other layer on, also crunch side down. Frost the bejeezus out of the sucker. Top with the Mandrin oranges. Then, this is my crowning glory that I thought of on my own, sprinkle the crusty crunch layer remnants over the top. Maybe my mom does this too, but I can’t remember, and until she corrects me I’m taking credit for it.
Thanks Ma, for making this when I was little and inspiring me to obsess over it in the modern era.
After three weeks of feeling the love and staying optimistic about winning the fight against the soulless tyrant now ‘leading’ my state, Tuesday night I finally gave in to the anger and was mad as hell. I needed to bang some pots around, wield knives and curse in the kitchen. I needed a recipe to match my fiery mood. I present to you, ‘Mad-as-hell puttanesca.’ It’s salty, spicy, tangy and impossible to screw up too badly (this part is key, considering I was cooking with blind rage and not paying much attention to what I threw in the skillet).
I was first introduced to puttanesca by my friend Derek (the Packer owner). Derek told me that legend has it that Italian ‘women of the night’ would make a batch of spaghetti alla puttanesca to put on their windowsills to beckon suitors. I love to picture the open windows and curtains wafting in the breeze while a pot of spaghetti sits steaming on a dark Italian night. Derek makes a more traditional puttanesca sauce with anchovies and herbs (I always forget about those pesky herbs). I never follow a recipe when I make it, but always include a few essential ingredients: olives, capers, and tomatoes.
Between tirades delivered to Dan and the stove, a captive audience, this is what I cooked up the other night:
tomatoes (crushed, diced or whole)- I like Muir Glen organic
olives- cured black olives work well
red pepper flakes
wine (red or white)
whole wheat pasta (spaghetti or penne)
Heat a couple of glugs of olive oil in a skillet over low-medium heat. Add chopped garlic and red pepper flakes- I like a lot of heat, so I add a lot. Depending on how many you are serving, add some canned tomatoes and the juice (I added half a can for the two of us). I had some leftover tomato sauce in the fridge, so I added some of that, too. Pour in some wine- red or white works fine. To add a little color and up the health ante I added some kale that I tore into bite-sized pieces. Let this simmer and bubble for a while over low-medium heat. Boil water for the pasta. Rant and rave. Cry. Take a sip of beer. Chop olives, wave knife in air, curse. Heat oven for bread. Salt the boiling water. Add pasta. Take a breath. Add the olives and capers to the simmering sauce. Put bread in oven. Dress the salad. Stir pasta into the sauce. Take bread out of the oven. Serve the pasta in bowls with freshly shredded parmesan cheese from the state that is boiling with turmoil. Serve and attempt to enjoy.
The reason for my anger? After days and days of peaceful protests the governor illegally shutdown the Capitol to prepare for his budget address. For the first time there was an orange fence keeping protestors away from the state building in an attempt to keep the noise out of his lethal budget speech.
While we stood outside in the cold, the heartless and cowardly governor told a crowd of supporters (ushered secretly into the Captiol) inside that he plans to cut nearly $900 million dollars from Wisconsin’s public education system. He wants to take this money and give it to the people who fix roads. The same people who donated to his campaign and got him elected. On Tuesday I just couldn’t take it anymore and I erupted with sadness and rage. But now I’m back to feeling optimistic because, in retrospect, the governor is scared. I’m still mad as hell, but I also realize that the governor is working so hard to silence the voices of dissent because he knows that he is doing something wrong. I will continue to fight. And I hope you will join me.
While Ian’s Pizza is now known around the world and will probably be opening a franchise in Cairo sometime soon, I wanted to mention a few other places where I have been fueling up to fight the good fight.
Ground Zero Coffee, 744 Williamson Street
Dan and I have been stopping at Ground Zero every day for coffee to go as we walk to the Capitol. There are always friendly people inside who want to discuss our current state of affairs and the oat fudge bars are out of this world.
Roman Candle Pizza, 1054 Williamson Street
About a billion years ago, Dan and I went to Roman Candle after our first night of protests at the Capitol and discussed the possibility of a teacher “sick-out” with some other teachers who were sitting at another table. Since that night, Roman Candle has started offering a 10% discount to union members and teachers. In a show of solidarity, my cousin, a teacher in the Denver public schools, and her colleagues ordered my elementary school staff Roman Candle pizzas for lunch last week. My favorite protest pizza? Make your own: Firecracker sauce, banana peppers and green olives. Yum.
Lazy Jane’s, 1358 Williamson Street
It’s all good, really, but my favorite is the grilled cheese and avocado sandwich on wheatberry bread. Put sriracha on the potato chips and order a pineapple juice with fizzy water to quench your thirst from yelling, “This is what democrazy looks like” about 412 times. The bakery items are delicious, too. Yesterday I had an orange coconut white chocolate chip scone that was fresh out of the oven and oh so good.
I’m off to school and then back downtown to check out the scene, so, for now, Solidarity through scones!
And I have this great cookie recipe to share. I wanted to tell you all about how I burned out the motor on my handheld mixer trying to whip all of the delicious organic butter and how I found myself jogging one of the ingredients- 2 Tablespoons of booze, in the form of kirsch- in a jam jar down the slick bike path in the dark on Monday night, but something else came up. Late Tuesday afternoon as I was wrapping up a Social Studies lesson (naming South American countries with second graders) I was handed three versions of a letter (in Hmong, Spanish and English) to be sent home with the kids right away. The letter warned families of the possibility of excessive teacher absences over the next few days in response to a budget repair bill that had been introduced by Wisconsin’s governor. This was news to me. I attended the rally at the Capitol Tuesday night and received word at 11:30 p.m. that school had been cancelled the following day. Wednesday’s protest was eye-opening. I’ve never personally witnessed such a diverse group of people (and pets) coming together for a common cause. I’ve said the word, “solidarity” more times in the last few days than in my whole life and chanted something in a large crowd besides “Go Pack Go” for probably the first time ever. People keep asking me for reports of the Capitol rallies and all I can really say is, “It’s amazing.” And now the ‘Wisconsin 14’ have fled the state because they believe this legislation is moving too fast and that our voices deserve to be heard. Their bold action gives me hope. Watching my teachers and mentors chanting along with a new generation of teachers makes me proud. Hearing a firefighter declare to a crowd of thousands that we are all in this together makes me believe that we are. This isn’t about making more money or whining over pensions. Nor is it a fight between public and private employees, like they would like us to believe. It’s not even about Democrats versus Republicans. This is about basic human rights and one man’s power-hungry move to try to take them away.
I will share that cookie recipe when this fire burns down, but for now, Solidarity.