favorite foodies in the news

Imagine my excitement to see Paul and Ari, of Zingerman's Fame, receive the Lifetime Achievement Award from Bon Appetite! Oh, how I want to go to Zingy's to celebrate...December 22 or 23 will find me holed up in a corner of the Next Door bakery, hands wrapped around a steaming pint glass of coffee (laced with cream and raw sugar cubes) and an assortment of breakfast goodies on the table. Friends H, S, and maybe little baby S, as she celebrates her first bday, will be there with me.

And then, to amp up my excitement, the latest Gourmet includes the best farm-to-table restaurants, including several joints I've been fortunate to visit, like The Flying Fig in Cleveland, Frontera Grill in Chi-town, and, most significantly, The Journeyman Cafe in Fennville, Michigan!!! Yeah! I love this little restaurant, an unexpected delight in the middle of Fennville (best known for apple farms, wineries, and being the BIG rival of my Mom's alma mater, SHS). Their bread--a revelation of crumb and crust and yeasty goodness. Their coffee--Intelligentsia from Chi-town. Their food--delicious, simple, lovely, and local. I'm so proud to see them in the esteemed pages of Gourmet.

And, a restaurant I've been dreaming of for 4 years and will FINALLY dine at in November also made the list: Floataway Cafe in Atlanta!

"oh yah, we got our kopps on"

The title is the quote of the day from my friend C., as we all sat outside lavishly sighing at the smooth, creaminess that is Kopps frozen custard. I had one of the flavors of the day, Pecan Toffee. Um, yum. Way yum. The custard extrudes out of big steel tanks in long snake like sections, and falls into tubs, where the workers, clad all in pristine white, scoop up nice dishes of the stuff, garnishing dishes of custard with triangle wafer cookies. We were surrounded by folks proudly wearing the green and gold, and excitedly discussing how the Packers are now 3-0. A quintessential Wisconsin afternoon.

I bought a pair of pants and a knit sage shirt at the ATL (not to be confused with the Hotlanta airport), and two magazines at Barnes and Noble: Body + Soul and Gastronimica, an issue devoted to food politics! It is well worth the $13 cover price to read about my current favorite political issue.

Here's to many more fun trips to the city with the VP (a super secret nickname that I can't disclose) and their entourages:)

welcome, autumn!

The first day of autumn here in NE Wisconsin feels more like summer, with bright sunshine and temps climbing to the high 70s/low 80s. I like the contrast of warmth and bright blue sky with the first tinges of crimson and gold in the maple trees lining my street.

Last night I listened to *A Prarie Home Companion* and smiled as Garrison Keiler waxed poetic about fall, mentioned my humble little town in passing, and tempered his sentimentality with a well-placed Midwestern joke.

Yesterday at the farmer's market I chatted with the organic farmers, who regaled me with tales of their farm, their experience with my college, and even their religion. It was an interesting conversation and shows how food can really connect people. They gave me their card and invited me to call and come to the farm for veggies...I also stopped at the public library yesterday morning, and came home with my body, mind, and soul ready to devour the delicious, life sustaining foods and books I gathered.

I'm reading *Stealing Buddha's Dinner,* a memoir I've wanted to read every since Mom sent me the review from the GR Press last year and a former colleague asked me if I'd read the book. It's so lovely and melancholy all at once. The author/narrator, Bich Minh Nguyen is about my age and describes her childhood days, growing up Vietnamese-American in the Dutch stronghold that is Western Michigan. Many of the places she mentions are places I know, and at times the book made me so homesick for my home region that I had to set it down and walk away. I feel a real kinship with the author when she describes her escape into books as a way to both be alone and not be alone. It's a gem, and I'm going to teach it in my Multi-Culti American Lit class in the Spring. I'm excited to plan this class...

Today, my friends, their kids, and I are heading to Milwaukee for an afternoon of fun! this time I'm going to spend a little time in Barnes and Noble, selecting at least one new book of my own! Libraries are wonderful and elemental, but there's something about having "a book of one's own" that conveys a delicious pleasure. What I'll choose remains to be seen...several possibilities come to mind: *White Teeth,* *Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,* my very own copy of *The Omnivore's Dilemma*...or a book I have yet to meet. Ahh, the excitement of the unknown!

alice's "delicious revolution"

Ahhh, I so love to read about fellow idealists, who can be frustratingly lovable in their optimism and faith, and their zeal in, well, a kind of perfection. I love that the meal Alice cooks is so utterly simple (and vegetarian!). Check out this article in the NYT:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/19/dining/19wate.htmlex=1190952000&en=2d812d1e466dd6d7&ei=5070

A wonderful read and a nice intro to Alice Waters' philosophy if you're not familiar with her legacy and her ongoing "delicious revolution."

poetics of early morning

I'm one hour into a 12 hour fast. Not for any transcendent motive, but rather for my very first cholesterol and blood sugar screening tomorrow morning. And it seems that my chocolate is calling me:) That I can have an iron will (when I so choose) is quite helpful at moments like this.

Today my class created our own cheese tasting...we're writing food culture narratives and I find that a tasting activity helps show the importance of multi-sensory details. And, when in Wisconsin, make like a cheesehead:) One student brought in the Italian cheese Bra Duro, which I tasted at Stella in TC this summer and adored. I had to deviate from my cheese abstention plan (bc of the aforementioned cholesterol test) to sample a cube or two. Yummmmm.

I'm supposed to be reading Thomas Jefferson. And Ben Franklin. For class tomorrow. Fascinating history wise, but literary wise...I can't wait until next week when we jump ahead to the Transcendentalists and then the rest of the semester falls into line and I can chat extemporaneously (and confidently and knowledgeably) about ALL the readings.

This morning I watched the most beautiful sunrise yet--all pink and blue and purple and cloudy and striated, the sun rising as a fuschia orb from the azure depths of Lake Michigan. That moment of breathtaking beauty, around 6:35 am, when I watch the sun slowly make its way skyward from the vantage point of the YMCA parking lot makes the 5:00 alarm worthwhile. Forget the sweat-inducing and heart-racing spinning class. That's minor compared to the poetry of a daily miracle that we mostly take prosaically.

Poetry, prose, poetry. I'm almost feeling ready to write another poem. It's been three years since my last attempt at verse. I think it's time to leave the sprawling exuberance of prose and revisit the spare elegance and eloquence of poetry. Maybe I'll share...

kitchen home

My weekend has largely evolved in the kitchen, the only place I seem to feel at home these days. I keep reminding myself that this feeling of homelessness will pass as the weeks and months unfold and I settle into the strangeness that at times seems so jarring. Autumn weekends in Wisconsin are distinctly color coded: Red on Saturdays (to cheer on the Badgers) and Green and Gold on Sundays (to cheer on the Packers). I felt like the only person not wearing the de rigeuer garb as I wandered the Farmer’s Market yesterday and the grocery store today.

Yesterday at the market I was waiting in line to buy delicious beautiful organic veggies--they always have a line, which is heartening (they’re the only table to declare themselves organic or anything close)--when I felt hands on both sides of my waist. It felt like something my Grandma would do if she were here, but of course she lives in Michigan. I turned to see that the owner of the hands was an elderly woman on a mission for tomatoes. I waited for her to say something as her hands left my waist and I turned away, but she silently sidled alongside the table toward the heirloom beefsteaks. I, on the other hand, patiently waited my turn.

I watched kids eating cider donuts, and felt a prick of homesickness when I saw a table of blueberry honey from Grand Haven...And I remembered that the last two years this was “apple weekend,” the fall gathering of my best college friends and myself. We’d stay at my parents’ home and spend Saturday in Saugatuck/Fennville. I would run the Mt. Baldy 5K (last year I even won 3rd place in my age group!) and then we’d lunch at the Journeyman Cafe, pick apples at a conventional orchard (where we’d also buy apple butter and cider donuts) and an organic farm (where we wrestled with the threat of bees and poison ivy), drink coffee and enjoy scones and hummus at one of my favorite coffee shops (uncommon grounds), walk around cute shops, and eat pizza at Marro’s (where I would drink one glass of wine and someone else would have to drive my car back to my parents’).

My kitchen became a place of refuge on a cool, breezy day. I made butternut squash ravioli-- a mixture of roasted organic squash, caramelized onion, roasted garlic, sage (all from local farms), pepper, salt, and honey (from Leelanau) stuffed in wonton wrappers (someday I’ll brave my own pasta). After boiling the ravioli, I pan toasted them with more sage and chopped walnuts in a bit of butter. I finished them with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of wisconsin parm, and set them on a bed of wilted organic spinach. A side dish of oven roasted cauliflower and carrots completed this wonderful expression of fall! Oh, and the last glass of my Crios Torrontes, one of my favorite wines.

I also “invented” a tart yesterday, and it’s good, though it needs a little work to be great, and a bit more work to be transcendent. A basic pate brisee topped with dark chocolate ganache (made with half-and-half, which worked surprisingly well), and then a layer of butterscotch pudding (made mostly with skim milk--it is a bit less voluptuous, but makes me feel better about eating the dessert:). A sprinkle of toasted nuts or shaved chocolate on top. Yeah, it’s fairly good, but the crust is a tad tough and too thick. It’s been awhile since I’ve made pastry and hence am a bit out of practice.

Today I made stuffed shells despite a DIRE situation with ricotta/cottage cheese. Yesterday I bought cottage cheese, brought it home and then remembered that it’s one of those products that often contains various gums and stabilizers. So I went back to the grocery store today and the only like product I could find that’s not filled with various gums and stabilizers was marscapone and I couldn’t justify that high level of fat (especially with my cholesterol test on thursday morning!). So I used cottage cheese with all that CRAP in it and I was quite put out by the whole situation. I might not have pursued the dish but I already had the cottage cheese at home and would feel bad about throwing it away. My cover-up strategy involved adding tons of good stuff to the cottage cheese filling: fresh basil and parsley, roasted garlic and roasted peppers, spinach, black pepper, wisconsin parm. But, I swear I could still discern a difference in taste and texture since I usually avoid all such fakery. And this situation annoys me to no end because it is endemic of agri-business. If we bought local, sustainable foods, we wouldn’t need such crap in them because they wouldn’t be coming from some faraway place. And everything would be simpler and taste better!

But I can feel myself being self-righteous and that’s not a good combination with a feeling of homelessness:) Besides, I need to check on my raspberry jam, the last fresh dish to come out of my kitchen this weekend, and then rest for the week ahead.

the best pizza in the world (for now)

Dvorak's 9th, the *Symphony from the New World* is on Wisconsin Public Radio (WPR) tonight. The station plays a program that includes educational discussions of classical music; instead of playing the symphony in its entirety, they'll play one movement and discuss it before moving on to the next. I actually played AND studied this piece back in college, when I minored in music. Ooh, now the DJ is discussing similarities to Beethoven's 9th (my fave symphony, though not my fave classical piece. That would be Barber's Adagio).

The warm fragrance of just-baked banana nut muffins wafts through my home, promising good snacks for the next two work weeks. A few years ago I took to baking batches of muffins, freezing them, and taking them to work for a healthy delicious snack. In a few weeks I'll do something pumpkin chocolate chippy. Yumm.

Today was pleasant though cold. My friend down the hall brought Starbucks to work for me, another friend brought bday treats, and yet another was interviewed on WPR. My students are more than engaged--we're actually planning a FASHION SHOW for later in the semester, in conjunction with reading *The Devil Wears Prada,* and they want to have a little inter-class competition, though when I insisted the competition must take some written form they rolled their eyes a bit.

But, I will delay no longer on my discussion of THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD (for now). I very well may revise this statement when the blessed day comes that I travel to Italy...For now, dining on pizza that has been officially certified by the Verace Pizza Napoletana Association is close enough to being in Naples myself...

Yesterday I left work and drove along the Lake, watching the interplay of billowy clouds, fierce winds, and intensely blue waters. Turning on the interstate, I watched the sky transform into a luminous Beirstadt painting (I had been looking at his "The Oregon Trail" in our American Lit book). I shopped at Target before heading to my new Aveda salon. The trademarh herbal, floral Aveda scent, so familiar and redolent of relaxation and pampering, eased any remaining jagged edges of my day. A vanilla honey latte and a good haircut make me want to return. (I realize that I'm stalling, making you wait for that delicious pizza...). I stopped at Younkers and tried on shoes, but it wasn't the same without Mom, Grandma, or S shopping with me.

Finally, I made my way to Il Ritrovo. Settled into a table for two. There's a certain art to dining alone in a real restaurant. It's difficult to refrain from apologizing for only taking up one chair, but I'm mastering the art (not that this means I intend to become overly comfortable dining alone. But it's a precious skill.) I asked for half a glass of wine--wish granted. Did it help that I was thumbing through the latest copy of *Food and Wine* that I brought with me? I deliberated between the specials--a veggie minestrone, a caprese panini--and my usual. I had pizza on my mind. I needed that perfectly balanced taste and texture again. As I have on my previous visits, I ordered the Mista salad and the Margherita Classico.

Mista salad: bibb lettuce, cubes of fennel, half-moons of cucumber (from round cucumbers, I suspect), long shaved carrots, and wedges of heirloom tomatoes--green zebra, and some completely transcendent variety that's so red it's nearly purple, and sweet, and lush, and a revelation (I found myself thinking in poetry--instead of Elizabeth Bishop's "rainbow, rainbow, rainbow," I was thinking "tomato, tomato, tomato!). Between the fennel chunks and the cucmbers, a delicate floral fragrance pervaded every bite of the salad, which is tossed in a basalmic vinaigrette, in its purest form.

My *Food and Wine*: forgotten. Every taste nearly bringing tears. And it's just a salad!

And then the pizza arrived. It's quite large--probably 14 inches. The crust is thin, and charred in places, crisp, yet inexplicably chewy in the center. Topped with a slick of Italian tomatoes, grown in volcanic soil. Thin slices of fresh mozzarella placed sparingly, and torn basil strewn haphazardly are the only toppings. Steam undulated upward when the pizza first arrived, and I paused before grabbing a slice, a rough quarter. I folded the slice in half and began the transformative meal anew. What makes this pizza so delicious is the utter simplicity of ingredients. The pizza is not much to look at, and indeed might appear disappointing to fans of American pizza, laden with toppings and oozing with cheese. Here, each flavor asserts its rightful place, from the clean textural contrast of the crust to the simmering sweetness of the sauce and the creamy chewiness of the cheese. I find myself smiling through the whole meal--experiencing what the French call joissance.

A decaf non-fat cappuccino, with one lump of raw sugar, and a perfectly blended crema, helped balance out the dreaminess of my half glass of italian red and ready me for the drive back home.

velour pants and fleecy blankets

The first really cool day of fall always surprises me. And make that chilly day a rainy one, and the shock multiplies. Further compound the hint of arctic air with a freezing office, and you have a day of blue fingernails and longing to be home, curled up in the aforementioned velour pants and fleecy blankets (both pink, of course), sipping hot chocolate and lost in some deliciously addictive book, like *Gods in Alabama,* which I'm currently attempting to read betwixt the letters of Columbus and the ravings of the Puritans. And informal student writings. And non-fiction accounts of life on the tenure track. And all my fun blogs...

When I finally made it home, and layered on warm clothes, and curled up with a mug of steaming hot guatamala antigua coffee, I relaxed, breathed, and then proceeded to doze off in my study whilst reading Columbus and de Vaca in preparation for tomorrow's class. Shameful. Or Shameless? I long for the day we begin the Transcendentalists and I can bring in my American Lit photo album. English-major dorky, of course, but it's so sweet! There's Walden Pond, all the nifty sites in Concord, MA, including Emerson and Thoreau's graves, Louisa Mae Alcott's home, the Old Manse, the North Bridge...and then there are the Emily Dickinson photos that students particularly love because I'm in the photos wearing a sorority sweatshirt! and sporting really dorky hair! And, finally, the Kerouac photos. It's a nice collection.

I finished the last of my Corallo bar yesterday. And I'm quickly making my way through the Scharffen-Berger bar stashed in my office drawer as of yesterday. If this cool weather sticks, it will be time to make a little online pilgrimage to chocosphere.com. Hoorah!

Tomorrow I'm going out for THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD, which I keep teasing y'all about. I'll write tasting notes soon...

newbie bloggers and early morning cycling

I spent today reading and commenting on the lovely posts my students are creating for our class blogs. I'm so proud of their willingness to try something new and to share themselves. I'm so excited to see how using a blog for class might change the classroom dynamic--hopefully improving the connections between students. Many of them express a bit of skepticism but their long-ish and personal entries betray their real interest in this "experiment."

Tomorrow morning I will be at the gym, on a fancy bike, listening to pounding music, and peddling my legs into pools of jello at 5:45 am. Yes, 5:45 am. Those of you who know me well know that I am NOT exactly what one would call a morning person. I need a good few hours to adjust to being vertical and alert. Actually, I love mornings, but I like them as a quiet, caffeinated, reflective, peaceful cushion to the more frenetic energy of the rest of the day. This spinning class, which I intend to take 3 days a week, is a testament to my dedication to maintain that delicate life-work balance. To carve out dedicated time for physical fitness. To start my teaching day on a post-spinning high.

If, in a few weeks, I admit to sleeping in, please help boost me out of the bed and back on the bike:)

booze and big city adventures

A beautiful day--the kind of day when the sun's warmth is tempered by a cool breeze, and the crispness in the air means one thing: summer has slipped into fall. I spent the morning dowtown, selecting a few novels from the public library, and deliberating over the gorgeous vegetables at the farmer's market. I came home laden with organic goodness, and with the added treat of mini mozzarella balls--made right here in Wisconsin!--and a mediterranean olive mix from the cheese vendor. Their store in Green Bay is locally famous for delicious cheese from the state and the world. I have yet to make it up to the frozen tundra...but will soon when my cheese stash runs out.

But today I piled into the car with my friends and we set out for a northern suburb of Milwaukee. Under bright blue skies spilling in the moonroof, we laughed and chatted all the way to a colleague's home. We dined on delicious treats and celebrated our host's new status as a tenured prof!

Upon leaving the soiree, we headed south and visited Bay Shore Mall, giddy at the possibilites lining the streets of the urban shopping mecca. We all bought new school clothes, and enjoyed coffee from Alterra. Yummm.

And then we wandered through Trader Joes, loading our baskets and carts with delicious treats and fabulous finds that cannot be had in our small town. I yelped, "bread! real bread!" as I deliberated between a pugliese and sesame semolina loaf. I chose the former. Fage greek yogurt, organic extra firm tofu, baked hickory barbeque kettle chips, 2 bars of Valrhona, 1 bar of Scharrfen Berger, a pound of california walnuts, and a pound of california almonds rounded out my purchase. Oh, and a bottle of slightly fizzy pinot grigio. What happiness in a brown paper sack! And what lovely company on such a gorgeous day.

My next culinary undertaking is to creating a lemon-limecello, per the girls' request, since we polished off the limoncello last night. We've christened it the "Mason Jar Special" after its illustrious vessel:) I've discovered that cutting it with sparkling water makes it very tastier and a little less jangly. It is, after all, made with 100 proof vodka!

Ahh, what a wonderful weekend! Tomorrow it's off to figure out a way to make the Puritans seem absolutely thrilling.

let's get it started...

This photo has nothing to do with my subject. But it's pretty, and it's from my parents' house, and it just says "ahhh, summer!" on a day when southern temps and hazy sun fill the air while eager students and excited teachers hit the classrooms...

On to the subject line...my friend J. sent me a wonderful mix CD of "traveling tunes" for my move last month, full of eclectic songs ranging from the theme to *Smoky and the Bandit* to a insouciant Lily Allen number, to Justin Timberlake and the aforementioned "Let's Get it Started." When S. visited a few weeks ago, we tooled around Door County (the Wisconsin version of Leelanau), listening to the CD. Upon hearing the Black Eyed Peas for the 7th time, I quipped, " Wouldn't it be great to walk into the first day of class and play this song? Maybe dance around a little? Even go old school by bringing in a BOOM BOX?" I loved the idea, but since I'm starting out and have a reputation to build, I decided to stick to my standby: declaring the necessity of chocolate to any and all reading and writing success. However, S. is an established and very talented middle school choir director and she decided to use the Black Eyed Peas. From what I hear, her students loved it and her street cred has increased exponetially.

I share just three words, not even very descriptive words, to describe my first weeks on the job: I LOVE IT.

And my foodie romance article? DONE.

Tales from my kitchen...very pedestrian. Various salads and pasta dishes, sandwiches and frittatas, using the finest local Wisconsin produce. However, delicious thoughts of a towering three layer coconut cake--one with marshmallowey, meringuey frosting, and a dusting of coconut--pervade my mind at the most inopportune moments. I predict a cake party in the near future. The cake will be pink if I'm feeling kitschy and uber-feminine, white if I'm feeling classic. And if I'm feeling like a cheesehead, I may "Packer" it out in yellow and green...




This was my birthday cake in 2006, all coconutty loveliness, with a coconut-less section on the side for my brother who doesn't like the texture. How old was I that year?!?

at home in the kitchen

My grandparents "inherited" this cabinet when they bought their house--a house they've lived in for as long as I've been living and then some. My Mom and Grandma "antiqued" it back in the 1970s, and then my Aunt T refinished it with class brown stain and glass panes etched with cattails and ducks. She returned it to my grandparents this summer, and Grandma called me to see if I wanted it. I did, but not in its present incarnation. I had visions of clear glass, and a pink-tinged white paint finish. I'd always wanted a Hoosier cabinet, but I feared I wouldn't have the time to refinish it before moving. Grandpa gamely volunteered to paint it for me for the bargain price of a few chocolate cakes.

And here it is, my very slightly pink cabinet, my favorite part of my new, large kitchen. I imagine all the women before me who might have rolled out pies on the enamel top. I think of the loaves of homemade bread that sat in the aluminum drawers, feeding the family for a week. Now, the cabinet holds my fancy glass, the bread drawer my vintage apron collection. I've taken to placing a vase of farmer's market blossoms--mostly vibrant zinnias this time of year--on the enamel top.

Someday, when I have the luxury and the money to design my own kitchen (I must believe that this day WILL come), I hope to pass up "modern" installed cabinets for a collection of "vintage" freestanding pieces. A pie safe, for one.

I move around the kitchen, still growing accustomed to the new layout, and as I bake my grandma's cookies, or make my Mom's homemade yeasted waffles for breakfast, I feel guided, comforted, and at home.

chocolate: the new black

My absence this week is explained by my procrastination on the aforementioned "foodie romance" article. My deadline looms--August 31--and therefore I've been trying to remember how to write academic prose. It's more difficult than one might think to switch from writing romance and food writing to writing ABOUT them!

I've been doing a little online shopping lately, to replenish my back-to-school wardrobe, which has never been completely restocked since I lost a bit of weight running and eating as few processed foods as I can. This fall, my closet is filling with a collection of chocolates!

Ahh, how I wish my kitchen cupboards were likewise filling with chocolates...my dear Cluizel, Corallo, Domori, Vosges...you shall return when the days turn cooler and shipping you across the country, across the globe does not cost a small fortune.

But I digress. Chocolate is the new black. It is very versatile--provides a warmer palette than black; coordinates well with the assortment of pinks I am already devoted to; and reminds me of my little foodie obsession:)

From Nordstrom I ordered utterly fabulous shoes--chocolate patent leather peeptoe Mary Janes with, to quote the website, "Trapunto stitching," for vintagey-mod flair. They are HIGH and I feel very TALL wearing them. Considering I'm already 5'8", I really AM tall in these 3 1/2" heels. I also ordered a chocolate brown trench coat with removable liner for these cooler Wisconsin autumns, and to finally look like the professional I am when I go to work (last year I was all denim jackets and patagonia fleece). A chocolate t-shirt and chocolate cardigan from bluefly.com, a wonderful discount fashionista site with distinctive pieces and quick shipping. And, finally a tealish and brown print silk dress from the clearance section of Ann Taylor.

Chocolate overload?

Never!


ps...am very conscious of the chick-litty appeal of this post. have spent much of the afternoon reading reviews of *Cooking For Mr. Latte* and *Julie and Julia* that trash them simply because they look like--egads--chick lit. am rather distraught about all the negative discussion of chick lit. so, in its defense, here's a heaping dose of chocolate and shopping. the cocktails and men will have to wait for another entry...

a long, strange trip back to *On the Road*

In a past life, I was a Jack Kerouac junkie. No, not in the Burroughsian sense of “junkie.” I mean in that, “wow, Jack was so cool and misunderstood, the voice of a generation, who was deeply romantic and henceforth tortured a la Heathcliff, and who was always seeking a deeper connection and real spirituality through whatever avenues were available to him, and he tried his hardest to live in the moment when really he was always simultaneously stuck in the past and already in the future, and wow, was he sexy when he wasn't looking so wasted...” That kind of junkie. I had a bit of a crush, really, and even went through a phase of digging Kerouacian fellows, or at least those who read Kerouac.

Well, those days are past, for various reasons, but primarily because writing a dissertation and focusing all one’s intellectual and therefore most other energy on a topic and a group of writers tends to lead to overdose. I needed a break. And I needed to find some fellows who never even heard of Jack Kerouac, much less read any of his works.

So. My scholarship turned towards romance novels, and fashion, and food. My fellows read John Grisham novels (okay, admittedly not an improvement, really. Where are the fellows who are, say, Michael Pollan devotees? That kind of fellow I could settle in with.)

From time to time I think of Jack and the gang and feel a twinge of something...not longing, but a sense of loss. Back in my doctoral days, I could’ve recited the publication dates of Jack’s novels. I could’ve rattled off some impressive anecdotes about the Beats. I could’ve told you which female Beats slept with which male Beats, and how those relationships ended (which they always did. end.)

So yesterday I received my NYTimes Book Review preview email and saw two articles about Jack and the 50th anniversary of the publication on OTR. I needed and wanted that paper, but wasn’t sure where in my new small-ish town I could locate the Sunday Times.

This afternoon, after whittling away at my foodie romance article, I braved the cold (62 degrees) and rainy day to head to Starbucks in search of liquid rejuvenation and my NYT. They had it! I settled into a comfy chair with the Kerouac articles and my tall non-fat misto (cafe au lait). As I read about Jack’s infamous first draft of OTR (the scroll), the Starbucks music shifted from a bluesy-jazzy mix, to something that sounded suspiciously like the Grateful Dead. “Cold Rain and Snow.” Followed by “Uncle John’s Band” and “Casey Jones.” How more Beat could it be? And how much more could I be propelled back into the past, say 2000-2003, when this particular mix of literature and music filled my days? I finished the Kerouac articles, picked up my American Lit anthology to prep for class and laughed out loud as the Dead gave way to Dave Matthews. “Stay or Leave,” from Dave’s solo album.

I sipped my coffee and waited for that pang of longing to be back in 2000, listening to Dave and the Dead (throw in a little Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls, and Shawn Mullins for authenticity) and reading about the Beat boys and girls, while living in sunny Alabama and at the zenith of intellectual prowess.

And the pang didn’t come. I was content to be in a Starbucks, which looked and felt like it could be anywhere in America, in my new lakeside town in Wisconsin. Happy to be preparing to teach American Lit. Thinking of how I could use these articles, and maybe even some of this hippie music when I teach Kerouac’s *The Dharma Bums* later this fall. Really, DB is my favorite of the few Kerouac novels I’ve actually read in their entirety. Rather than the frentic and at times completely alienating motion of the road, I always identified more with the Kerouac who longed to lay in green fields and free chained dogs. The Kerouac who didn’t want mystical orgies but wanted real soul talk between lovers (okay, in that case I’m back to OTR).

And so this, my 100th post on my little blog, is devoted to Jack, on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the publication of OTR. The publication of which would alter his life dearly, and, if the insights of some of those who knew him best at that time are to be believed, an event that would begin his long, slow spiral downward, madly burning to be saved.

What I always loved best about Jack’s writing was the sense of wide-open possibility, of a never ending seeking, of a yearning for something transformative. It's that message that today’s readers, perhaps more than ever, need to hear. We’re still searching, still looking to see if “God is Pooh Bear,” still looking for our forefathers (and mothers) to show us some better ways, and still searching for personal and national redemption...

school supplies

This time of year, I'm overcome with giddiness when I see special aisles dedicated to brightly colored paper folders; packages of crayola markers and crayons; tubs of elmers glue and rubber cement; and trendy lunchboxes and backpacks. I always loved school, which is partly why I stayed in school as long as I could, and now work in higher education so I can still surround myself with the accoutrements of--and contribute directly to--learning. This year I purchased several sets of crayola markers, glue sticks, and safety scissors, placed them in clear plastic boxes, and brought them to my office. To engage different learning styles, we're going to do more visual/artistic representations in my classes this fall. We'll create identity collages for one class, food collages for another, and American Dream collages for the other. Do I worry that this seems too sophomoric for my first and second year college students? A little. But research--and my own experience--shows that engaging other areas of the mind can help strengthen our writing and help break us from the formulaic patterns we've absorbed in earlier writing experiences. I, for one, am thrilled with these projects. We'll also go high tech and create class blogs...

My personal school supply purchases this year include: a mini pink stapler, complete with PINK staples; a bright candy pink folder, the kind with the clear plastic pocket to slip in a collage to personalize the front; a fancy, imported from Spain notebook with a green cover with white hearts on it; two green pilot v5 precise pens, my favorite to grade with; a brown and pink paisley rug for my office. And then there's my gorgeous green leather HOBO "briefcase" that my dearest friends gave me as a send-off gift, filled with all sorts of goodies, from pens, to hankies, to a journal, and a Vosges Gianduja chocolate bar (which is long gone. I HAD to consume before it melted:)

I'm still working on that all important first day of school outfit...but soon enough I'll be all tricked out, ready to bring my love of pink, green, chocolate, and all things literaturey and foodie to my students and colleagues:)

of things vintage, new, and excluded

This is the famous Zingerman's, in Ann Arbor, home of all that is delicious and good. Oh, Zingy's, let me count the ways I miss you...

Today I'm conjuring up some of their Paesano bread in my mind, and dipping it in the fine Arbequina Olive Oil I recently bought from the Oilerie, an Olive Oil bar in Fish Creek, WI (the most touristy of the Door County towns). Fantasy bread and real olive oil. Hmmm.

And this is me in the photo, wearing a dress that used to be my Mom's, from the late 80s/early 90s, that I like to call vintage, but she doesn't like to hear called vintage.

This is me before I got my hair cut (note to any former students who happen to be reading this blog, yes, I know, I used that abhorrent word GOT)...which I had done right before moving, I'm sure subconsciously it was a symbolic act. I'm still adjusting to my sassy layers that just barely fit in a ponytail...last year this time my hair was flowing halfway down my back. Last year I was also training for a half marathon and confidently running up to 8 consecutive miles with limited difficulty. Today I'm lucky to manage running 1 consecutive mile before sucking air...

But I digress. Today's a day of memories and bits of the past that make me homesick mixed in with my new reality, which is thrilling and positively full of potential.

But. I really wanted to post a mini-rant today about the discrimination against RN's in used bookstores. I've frequented quite a few such bookstores lately, and have noticed that while they include special sections for all manner of odd and esoteric subjects (including the always interesting Circus Book genre), and include sections for other popular, mass-market genres of sci-fi/fantasy and mystery, ROMANCE is no where to be found. A few may be scattered in with the general fiction/literature, but these titles are teetering towards the slightly more "respectable" women's fiction. This exclusion made me mad. I've been formulating reasons in my head--i.e. there are simply too many RNs to even admit any because it is, after all the MOST popular/best-selling genre, and the bookstore would be overwhelmed. But wouldn't this also then mean that these books would come in and out of the store with greater frequency? Surely they could set aside a little shelf space for tales from the heart.

I suspect the exclusion has more to do with perceptions of high/low literature, class/cultural capital perceptions, and suspicion of those damned scribbling women, and their impressionable readers. Again.

fabulous frittata

Yesterday morning I drove to Sheboygan to sign my insurance papers, and decided to treat mytself to "brunch" at the previously mentioned Field to Fork. I ordered the vegetable frittata and wrote in my journal and jotted notes for my classes while listening to the chef prepare my brunch at the open kitchen beneath the loft where I was sitting. The swirl of eggs being whisked, the intoxicating scent of breakfast meats lingering in the air (not that I partook...I'm not that lapsed of a vegetarian. Yet.) heightened my anticipation. When my server set my plate down in front of me, my hands ached for the digital camera I don't yet have so I could share this beautiful creation with y'all...

The frittata was plate sized, with a thin, ruffled edge. Studded with sauteed vegetables--summer squashes, peppers, onions, and mushrooms--and topped with thin slices of crecenza (sp?) cheese, and topped with a salad of frisee, miscellaneous spring greens, cucumbers, more peppers, halved grape tomatoes, and a light vinaigrette, it was a sight to behold. Beautiful, fresh, and bursting with simple flavor. Delicious. I savored every bite, and ate to the point of fullness, munching on wheat toast spread with creamy butter, and sipping perfectly acidic coffee.

I picked up a can of San Marzano Tomatoes, a half pound of Guatamala Antigua coffee beans, and a 3/4 lb. slab of Wisantigo Strevecchio cheese (an aged Wisconsin parm-reg style cheese) and headed back home to the joyful task of unpaking and arranging my library. Then I met some of my new friends for cocktails and felt the welcome of new friendship and the joy of working and socializing with like-minded, fun-loving, thoughtful, and intelligent colleagues.

beginnings

photo courtesy of Wikipedia, taken by MadMaxMarchHare, licensed by GNU Free Documentation License

I can't remember when I've been this bone-tired for this many days in a row...packing, loading, driving, unloading, unpacking...it's grueling business, moving is.

My parents and brother L all made at least part of their journeys on the S.S. Badger, pictured above. I'm looking forward to making the boat ride across the big Lake myself one of these days. I can hear the ship's horn at my home, heralding departures and arrivals...and, I can see a fine film of the Badger's coal-fired black soot on my windows, blown there by a lovely lake breeze...

I'm pleased with my new home, and thrilled with the kind generosity of new friends/colleagues who appeared in droves to assist with my move. Life will be good here.

Anonymous, thank you for your heartfelt comment. Every new beginning means a farewell to what came before, an opportunity to challenge and grow and settle deeper into understanding of myself, and I welcome that change, which I sorely needed.

Soon I shall share the wonderful story of the Best Pizza I've Ever Eaten, my encounters with local color in area liquor stores, and tales from the road. For now, I crave sleep, sweet tea, and restorative yoga!

my favorite things about Michigan, a fond farewell

photo from wikipedia, taken by Lars Lentz, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 1.0

1. my family and friends
2. the beaches of Lake Michigan, with long slopes of sand and rolling dunes
3. foodie destinations: zingermans, trattoria stella, journeyman cafe, uncommon grounds, captain sundae, schuler books and music, simply wine, foods for living, Okemos farmer's market, Holland farmer's market
4. memories of the 26 years I lived in "the magical mitten"
5. two of my three alma maters, Alma College and Michigan State University...oh, and I suppose I should throw in my k-12 schooling at West Ottawa, places that all contributed to my eggheadedness:)

somehow a list seems incomplete, but if I think in full sentences this morning I'll focus more on the sadness of what I'm leaving than the exciting possibilities that await me in Wisconsin...

I'll catch up with you on the other side of the Lake...

last desserts

Friday's the big day: we load up the 16 foot Penske truck with all my worldly goods. There's much questioning about the size of the said truck: will it be large enough to hold all my boxes? I'll spend the night at my parents' home and then make the drive to WI on Saturday morning to unload with the help of my new colleagues/friends.

Yesterday I baked my last goodies in this kitchen that I've hated yet grown accustomed to, with its dark pressed wood cabinets and annoying refrigerator that insists on freezing my baby lettuces...

First I made a cute two layer six inch chocolate cake, which I'm just about to frost. I'm bringing it to Grandpa C, who loves sweets, but particularly chocolate cake. He's refinished a Hoosier cabinet for my new place and I promised to pay in chocolate cake.

Then I made an ultra rustic peach and blueberry galette, with Michigan peaches and my own family's blueberries (I have many stories about that to come). I had to dig my rolling pin out of the box it was already packed in, and attempt to maneuver it on the small counter space left free during the packing frenzy. The pastry crumbled and fell all apart, so I had to press it back together...It certainly wasn't the prettiest of galettes, but it was tasty.

My friend K came over to spend the night and we enjoyed the tart and tumblers full of wine (as I already packed my nice stemware). K and I are friends from college--we were the two highest officers in our--brace yourself--sorority (more on that another time:)--as well as editors on our college newspaper (she was editor-in-chief and I was Features). We caught up on college gossip and discussed the travails of young motherhood and single life, respectively. We're planning a visit for her family to come to WI and go to a Packers game (her husband is a HUGE sports fan)...we have to wait until Brett Favre retires to get tickets, but it will certainly be an adventure (especially for me, as I'm functionally football illiterate).