My Pita Bread Post!

Matt has been asking for us to make falafel
for a while now, but I keep putting him off because it's so much work! Even though we use packaged falafel mix, the stress over getting the tzatziki to taste perfectly and the little chores of chopping parsley for tabouli and dill for the sauce drives me crazy. But... we love falafel, and we live in a town where there is no falafel to be had.

This time, Matt asked, "Do you think we could make the pita ourselves?"

I've been making bread at home for about a year now. It's partially been a new hobby and partially a step toward our goal of reducing the processed foods in our house. Last summer, I tried lots of different breads: white, wheat, rye, baguette, ciabatta, foccacia, pugliese, potato... but since school started, I've been relying on my bread maker to make multi-grain bread. We love it; it's easy and fits into our busy work routine, but I've been ready to start back with handmade bread.

So, when Matt asked, since I was still on dorm duty for the weekend and since I knew he wanted to create a meal fit for his viewing of the IMAX Everest movie, I figured it was a perfect time for falafel and for making pitas.

Sure enough, there was a pita recipe in my trusty bread book, 100 Great Breads by Paul Hollywood, which I found on clearance in those rows at Barnes and Noble where the books are stacked vertically instead of shelved horizontally.

These pitas were very simple to make: white bread flour, salt, sugar, olive oil, yeast, and water. After an hour for the dough to rest, I rolled them out and baked them in a very hot oven for about 9 minutes. Since we were frying falafel at the same time, we managed to send smoke into the kitchen, which is not generally a good idea in a dorm.

My pita breads were perfect.

Well, they weren't perfect. They were more like flatbreads than pita pockets. They puffed up, but an air pocket wasn't left behind. Next time, I'll use fresh yeast, roll them a little thinner, and try a hotter oven. Still, they tasted perfect with our dinner, they tasted perfect after work and with leftovers today, and I think they'll heat up perfectly tomorrow.

Making a loaf of bread, or a pita, has such a profound effect on me. I'm amazed at the simplicity of the ingredients and the power of yeast to transform flour and water. Every time, I expect my bread to fail because it just seems too much of a miracle that it doesn't. But, it doesn't fail. Instead, a warm, comforting aroma fills the house. Each time, I announce to Matt or our friends, "This didn't come out right," but I know it doesn't matter. It's fresh, it's homemade, and it emanates goodness.

And, like I told you about the durian smoothie and the spicy squid, it simply makes me happy.

Next time, we're ditching the packaged falafel, too. I'll keep you posted.

Here's the recipe from Paul Hollywood. See if you can get the pockets, but if not, enjoy it the way you make it.

4 cups white bread flour, plus some for the counter
1 tbsp salt
1/4 cup sugar (recipe calls for superfine sugar, which I didn't have)
1/4 cup olive oil
1 oz/30g yeast (recipe assumes compressed fresh yeast, but I used active dry yeast and reduced the amount by about 25%)
1 and 1/4 cups water

Combine ingredients in one bowl and mix by hand. When the dough has formed, knead dough on lightly floured surface for 5 minutes. Let the dough rise for 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees and placed a lined baking sheet in the oven to heat up. Divide the dough in balls the size of a lime or 100 gram/3.5 ounce pieces. Roll the balls to about 1/2 inch thickness, and let rest for 5 minutes. Place pitas on heated baking sheet (I didn't have anything to line my sheets, so I just buttered the pan). Bake for 5-10 minutes. I flipped mine, so they would brown a little on both sides, but you don't have to.

The pitas should balloon up in the oven and then collapse when you take them out... this is when the pockets should form!

Recipe courtesy of:
Hollywood, Paul. 100 Great Breads. New York: Barnes & Noble, Inc., 2006. Originally published by Cassell Illustrated, 2004.

Pork Belly and Blood Sausage

Looks innocuous enough, doesn't it? A little something grilled, with some crispy kielbasa-like sausage atop a bed of lentils soaked in bacon... The other night at Solera, I wanted to try something new, so I ordered the Sherry Glazed Pork Belly with Morcilla and Lentils. I'd never had pork belly, but since I hear about it all the time, I thought it was time to check it off my list.

But when the server delivered our tapas, she said, "Here is the pork belly and blood sausage."

Blood sausage? I don't know why I didn't realize. Maybe I thought that morcilla was a red wine sauce or a type of Spanish cheese, but, relevant cognates or not, I didn't realize I'd ordered up such a culinary combo.

This pork belly and blood sausage virgin was terrified and thrilled.

My first taste of pork belly almost shut me down. Maybe the crispy edge could have saved the bite, but all I got was a thick slab of pork fat in my mouth. It melted easily, unlike the chewy fat that I always cut off my steaks, but the idea of eating pure fat made my stomach turn. Lucky for the pork belly, I noticed that the next bite actually had a bit of meat on it. Sure that bit of meat tasted good, but another chunk of melty fat came with it. That was it; I was done with the pork belly. Bring on the blood.

Morcilla is the Spanish version of blood sausage, which is made from the fat and blood of a slaughtered pig. My friend Brad, who drank rattlesnake blood in China, shrugged and said, "We had that all the time in the cafeteria when I was in Germany." All I remember from die Mensa was Mullermilch, pretzel rolls, and RitterSport, which tells you a lot about my dietary health at the time. As I sipped my wine, I imagined that big party for three days after the slaughter when the whole family celebrates by eating every part of the pig. That's sort of what I wanted for myself after a week of work. A night in the big city is a reason to celebrate; a night of tapas and puppet nudity at the Orpheum was about as good as it could get. Blood sausage was my celebration.

So I gently cut my morcilla in half, savoring the fantasy that I was, for the moment, even further from home than Minneapolis and trying blood sausage in Germany or Argentina or Spain. The insides crumbled slightly, but I choose a nice first bite. A little onion, a little sweet but rich, the sausage had a crispy edge. Like the pork belly, it melted in my mouth, but more like the melt of chocolate than fat. It was earthy, not meaty, and I would have been happy to finish it off, but instead, I passed the plate to share with my friends.

The lentils, by the way, were fantastic.

The Durian Experience

I went to Hawaii with a mission. This time, I would try durian, that notorious fruit that stops globe-trekking chefs in their tracks. I'd already missed other opportunities in Asia and Hawaii; this time would be different.

Durian, the king of fruit, comes from Southeast Asia, where it is used for both sweet and savory dishes. Some claim it has powerful health effects, and some claim it is an aphrodisiac; however, the fruit is nearly inedible to those not accustomed to its odor. Durian is even prohibited in some establishments because of this overpowering odor. Supposedly, it can be smelled over a long distance even when the fruit is uncut.

My original goal was to try the fruit plain; I had visions of having a meaningful connection with some fruit seller who would machete open the hard, thorny fruit for me as though I was a Food Network celeb in a far off land. I chickened out. I couldn't bring myself to buy a whole durian at one of the markets, ask someone to chop it open, taste a tiny bit on the streets of Chinatown, likely gag obnoxiously in front of them, and then throw out the fruit like a careless, culturally insensitive spendthrift.

So, I settled for a durian smoothie with pearls in Chinatown.

When I ordered one, the woman behind the counter said, "You know what it is?" I assured her I knew, but that I had never tried it before. She simply said, "Tastes good, smells bad," and smiled.

I wouldn't exactly say good was a perfect description of the taste, but durian does smell bad. It smells like trash, like my garbage can in summer after we've missed trash day. My husband, who suffered though only one or two small slugs of the shake, fondly remembers a taste of "creamy, buttery ass." Actually, he said something far more crude than I care to record here.

But, I found that if you don't pause significantly between sips, like less than 5 seconds, the rotten odor starts to fade away and the sweeter taste of the fruit emerges. So, I kept slurping. Tempered by sweetened condensed milk, ice, and tapioca pearls, the durian took on a flavor more like a melon, but a melon that was somehow off. Every time I stopped for a breath, the sewage-rot odor returned with a vengeance.

And yet, it was growing on me. It had been a long time, since fermented eggs and duck knuckles in Beijing, since I had tried something this different. I was happy; the brief exotic experience and the famously fragrant fruit nudged me to shake my mid-winter Minnesota blues.

And I felt ready. Ready for the durian without the palate pleasing support of the smoothie. Thailand, anyone?

My New Best Meal Ever

We'd heard all about these famous shrimp trucks on the North Shore of Oahu, but little did I know what I would discover when we finally made our way there. The "trucks" are converted mail trucks that serve up shrimp from the local shrimp farms in Kahuku. We first stopped at Giovanni's because we had heard they were one of the originals. Sure enough, when we got there, it became clear Giovanni's was THE shrimp truck to try. Cars lined up to turn right into the grass parking lot. A small tour bus pulled in behind us. A crowd of tourists hung around the two mail trucks leisurely; we were not quite sure if they were standing in line to order or to pick up. I had a flutter of that feeling like when you first go to Anna's Taqueria, when it seems like everyone but you knows what to do and you can't figure it out in time before you get to the tortilla warmer. After taking a minute to assess that nearly everyone was waiting to pickup, we made our way to the front and ordered the shrimp scampi, which seemed to be the house specialty, from a young blond high schooler. After a long wait, we indulged in a plate of hot, buttery, garlic shrimp and rice.


I looked around to see a young Japanese couple posing for pictures with their shrimp. Across from us, a very large girl around eight years old sucked the butter and garlic off every shrimp before pulling off the shells, slurping her Gatorade, ingesting each shrimp in one bite, and licking her fingers. A small bird hopped around, waiting for a bit of butter and rice.

Five napkins each, we were hooked and ready for more. Luckily, we had concocted what I thought was an ingenious plan: order only one plate from Giovanni's so we could visit a second truck, Famous Kahuku Shrimp Truck...


Even though it was the just next one up the road, this shrimp truck was different. There was no line turning off the main road, no tour bus, and no crowd waiting to pick up. Only one family, albeit a very large family, occupied the purple picnic tables, with a cooler of drinks from home. Where Giovanni's felt like an ice cream parlor on the Cape in August, this truck was quiet and calm. With no confusion about what line to stand in, we placed our order; this time is was a Korean style hot and spicy squid with shrimp scampi.


And there is was... the best meal I've had in recent memory. At first we took distinct bites of the two, but soon the buttery shrimp and spicy squid blended together to create a new sensation.


Off the beaten path in no way, it was simply the second truck up the road, yet 99% of the tourists missed it when they took that very first turn off Kamehameha Highway. Matt and I, on the other hand, happily sucked the butter and garlic off of every shrimp, scooped up every spot of spicy squid, slurped our Cokes, and licked our fingers. No scraps for begging birds here. Just two people contemplating a return visit the THE shrimp truck.

Thorncrest Farms (and I am tired)

Inspired by our friends Theresa, Jamie, and Karl, who became members of a community supported agriculture (CSA) farm in New York, Matt and I researched a couple local farms in our area who had similar programs. We found a farm that would let us join mid-season, and last Wednesday, we picked up our first share of locally-grown, chemical-free, just-picked vegetables. We knew the share was large enough for a family of four, but it was summer, and we figured we could handle the challenge.

I was surprised at how excited Matt and I were about joining the program. After I made the initial calls to the farms, Matt asked me several times each day if I'd heard back from any of them. Then, on our pick-up day, we ended up so early, that we went to Menard's for light bulbs and Caribou for coffee.

We both loved visiting the small farm and talking with the farmers. When we asked how to cook some of the vegetables we were less familiar with, a common theme emerged: pan fried in butter. We left with 19 pounds of food, and, like I said, we were ready to take on the challenge of using it. On the way home, I looked at Matt, happy and hopeful for our healthy choices, and he said to me: "You think we can use it all, don't you." I nodded eagerly but he shook his head and said, "I'm not so sure..."

Like we used to do at Halloween, we spread out the bounty when we got home to take it all in. We had beets, rutabaga, kohlrabi, potatoes, onions, broccoli, carrots, red cabbage, green cabbage, cucumbers, basil, zucchini, green beans, snow peas, and radishes.

That night, we stayed up until 1:00 am. We shopped for pickling spices and jars, and then washed, chopped, and parboiled. Since then, the introduction of 19 pounds of vegetables into my home has doubled the number of dishes I've had to do and left me exhausted each night. I've cooked dinner each night, snipped the ends off of an endless supply of beans, and made chocolate zucchini bread. I've got plans yet tonight to make coleslaw and pesto.

(I just had to run to the kitchen to put the wheat bread in the oven.)

We're trying so hard to eat better, cook for ourselves, and make sustainable choices, but I just don't know if this is a sustainable for me. Right now, I'm working shorter days, home usually by 3 pm at the latest. When school hits, especially in my first year as a dorm parent, how can we possibly cook 19 pounds of vegetables each week?

I think we needed to split the share after all. Any takers?

24 Hours in Central New York

Matt and I spent just about 24 hours in North Syracuse, New York visiting his mom this weekend. In that short amount of time, we packed in a pretty good tour of the area. We started at Angotti's for dinner, where Matt ordered the same meal he's been ordering for years: eggplant parmigiana. I had something I have been craving for months, pizza from the east coast:



Matt's family has been going to Angotti's for decades now ever since his uncle found a review of the restaurant in the newspaper. The owners and the staff seem to recognize them each time, and more than once we've run into people Matt and his family know. The hallway entrance is covered with restaurant reviews, Syracuse University memorabilia, and photos of famous people, like Tony Bennett, coming in for some Italian food. I usually resist loving things that other people gush about (e.g., the Beatles or Van Morrison), but I can't help it: I'm hooked, too.

After dinner, we headed out to Onondaga Lake, where there are miles of recreation trails. We just walked for a little while and made plans to come back the next day to ride our bikes. I was pleasantly surprised how many people were out and about both that evening and the next morning. People were rollerblading, shuffle boarding, biking, fishing, picnicking, rowing, and walking...



Hopefully, the amount of activity around the lake will help support efforts to clean it up as it remains seriously polluted.

On Saturday, we addressed another one of my food cravings. In Minnesota, I just can't seem to get a decent salami sub. In Massachusetts, I grew up with Greek pizza shops where you could get grinders piled high with provolone and Genoa salami, toasted in the pizza oven, and drizzled with olive oil. In Minnesota, we have Subway and other chains, but I can't seem to find a good grinder anywhere. In Syracuse, Matt and I turn to Wegmans (yes, the supermarket). I know it isn't a mom & pop sub shop, but I can get this:


After we had lunch, we joined some friends of Matt's mother on a boat trip up the Oneida River to Oneida Lake. I hadn't been on a powerboat in a long time, and I always forget how big the lakes in upstate New York are.



A pretty cool pause on the trip was Lock E23. I can't say I've ever been through a lock before. For those of you who might not know, a lock is a device that allows boats to pass through an area of a river or canal where there is a change in water level. After you enter the lock, the large doors close, and the water level is either lowered or raised depending on the direction you are going. The lock we passed through moved about 7 feet, and I was intrigued by the little tiny plants and the tiny, mostly dead, scorpion-looking bugs clinging to the lock walls. I don't one hundred percent understand when and where a lock is necessary, so I'll refer you to wikipedia if you need more info!



So, for someone itching to get to the ocean all the time, Syracuse turned out to be a perfect place for a break. I didn't expect to spend so much time on or near the lakes, but once again, like I said last summer, it's important to realize what perfect spots there are right where you forget to look for them.

An Impromptu Chocolate Cake

On Saturday, I realized suddenly that I couldn't remember ever baking a cake from scratch. I was sure that it would be quite an undertaking, and I thought about making a list of things I'd like to cook someday, a list like my friend Theresa posted on her blog. Later that night, when Matt was out playing frisbee golf with our friend Nate, I was feeling a little restless, and I did not want to do laundry or sort clutter or read a book. I'd had a productive day that included washing the walls, cleaning the kitchen, my own round of frisbee golf, and a three mile jog, so I didn't want to do any work... but I still wanted a little project.

On a whim, I started surfing the Betty Crocker website, thinking I might find an interesting cake recipe, but I was surprised to find out that most of their recipes called for using Betty Crocker cake mix as a base.... Of course they do.

As I searched a little more, I realized that a basic yellow cake recipe actually is pretty basic. It just calls for a few ingredients that I probably could have predicted on my own: flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, shortening or oil, eggs, milk, and vanilla. In fact, everything I needed was already in my kitchen. I found a similarly simple chocolate frosting recipe (confectionery sugar, cocoa, butter, evaporated milk, and vanilla), so I sent Matt to the store for what I was missing for the frosting, and I was on my way.

Even though the recipe and the ingredients were simple, I was still under the impression that this would be complicated. But it wasn't. I didn't even need my KitchenAid mixer. It was easy, and when I tasted my cake batter, I knew it was right.

When I tasted my frosting, I knew that was right, too - but something else happened. In an instant, I felt myself back in my childhood, and I remembered right there my mom's homemade cakes and frosting. I never went around thinking my mom made cakes from scratch when we were kids, but as soon as I tasted that frosting, I knew she did. Maybe I didn't ever even realize what she was doing.

Such a simple little decision I made yesterday, and two great things happened. I realized (once again) that once you just get yourself started, most tasks aren't as daunting as they feel when they are squatting for weeks on end on your to do lists... an important reminder for a master procrastinator.

And, I remembered something great about my mom. I don't have as crystal clear of a memory of my childhood as I wish, but today one taste of homemade chocolate frosting made me remember and realize again how lucky I am.

China & Taiwan: My Top Ten or So, Part One

It has almost been a full year since Matt, Andrew, Kelly, and I left Minnesota for Beijing, Shanghai, and Taipei last July. This week, we brought our friends Len and Brad to the airport to set off on their own adventure, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit jellish.

In honor of their departure and to ease my envy, I present my top ten or so experiences (in no particular order) from our trip to China and Taiwan... remember we were fortunate to visit Beijing, Shanghai, Taipei, and some of the surrounding areas near these cities, but there remains so much more to Taiwan and China that we were unable to explore.

1. The Rain

Every day that we spent in China and Taiwan, it rained. The heat and humidity was something I cannot explain to you. Stepping out of the plane presidential style (which you all know I LOVE to do), I couldn't bring myself to wave appropriately when I felt the thickness of the air on my skin and in my throat. The rain intervened every day. We had thunder and lightening over our heads in the glass-roofed pool at the Regent Shanghai, and we saw shopkeepers pack up Mao watches, Chinese zodiac mobiles, and tea sets in minutes as the sky opened over Wangfujing Snack Street in Beijing. If I were China, I would never try to cloud-bust to ensure dry days, not even for the Olympics.

2. New Foods

I love "Chinese" food in the United States, and I loved the food we had in China and Taiwan, for the most part. It was an adventure that I willingly undertook; food wimps should be cautioned. It's polite to try new things - plus it is part of the fun of traveling - and our hosts were clearly proud to share with us. I found some strange-to-me foods that I enjoyed, like lotus pods, gelatinous meatballs, pea flavored popsicles, stinky tofu, jelly fish, and tiny (thought they were noodles or sprouts at first...surprise!) river fish, native to Suzhou, I think. Of course I found plenty that I loved as well: moon cakes, steamed buns with sweetened condensed milk at Five Wheat, candied grapes, bubble milk tea, lychee tea, new mushrooms, green beer, wurst with garlic, shaved ice sundaes, Peking duck wraps, squirrel fish and other amazing whole fish dishes. There were some harder things to swallow, but Matt, Andrew, Kelly, and I tried everything we were offered. We had goose and duck feet (not so strange to my Hungarian grandmother), grilled cow stomach and intestines, duck knuckle bones, preserved black duck eggs, sea cucumber, and shark fin soup... and Andrew even sucked out the brains of a duck.

3. The Great Wall of China

Yes, we went to Badaling, where all the guides books say to avoid because it's so "touristy" and crowded. And we loved it. I loved the curving vistas of wall in the distance as well as the spectacular circus of the crowds. There is a moment of awe when you realize you are walking (sometimes climbing) The Great Wall of China. It's somewhat otherworldly, if it is possible to feel otherworldly. You know what I mean - one of those moments where you shake your head and ask yourself if you are really experiencing this!

And then I started to people watch. Soldiers requested photos with us, most likely because of our tall traveling companion Andrew. Shirtless teenage boys climbed the wall and posed for pictures that reminded me of a 90s boy band. Women in heels attempted to scale the steeper parts of the wall, and tee-shirt vendors followed tourists, looking for someone to haggle with. Photographers with authentic "Chinese" costumes lured sweating visitors in to take Disney-style "historical" photos. Small children held bottles of Coca-Cola, and a "One World One Dream" billboard dominated the view in one direction. A luge ride sped down to the parking area, but I couldn't be swayed. I wanted to walk back and take in one more time the sights and sounds of this too-touristy, too-crowded, too-well-maintained Badaling that everyone told me to avoid.


4. Breakfasting with Peter in Taoyuan City, Taiwan

Breakfasting at a local little hole in the wall restaurant, sure, but who would have ever thought that making this list would be breakfast at a 7-11 in Taoyuan?

Facing his impending high school graduation, Peter was clearly reminiscing about the good old days (much like I do each time I visit Cambridge, Amenia, Middletown, and Attleboro) and Matt and I were quite content to follow the breakfast tour! We started with a local place, where our host Peter tells us he used to stop for breakfast on his way to elementary school. The restaurant is literally a stone's throw from his home and for just a couple dollars, we sampled all of his favorite dishes... egg pancakes, steamed buns, breakfast burgers, sweet sandwiches. A young girl flipped her gaze back and forth between us and the television; commuters on scooters outside parked quickly to grab a bite. It was clearly the neighborhood spot.

Around the corner from his house is one of the many 7-11s in town; to Peter, it is a beloved institution. When he wasn't breakfasting at our first stop, he breakfasted here. So we did, too. Here's the pre-elementary school menu he recreated for us: more steamed buns (white and brown), a hot dog, iced Starbucks lattes, sticky rice "sandwiches" filled with chicken, stuffed buns, sweet breads, and more of those warm breakfast burgerlike sandwiches. I think Matt and Peter had icees with their breakfast. The best part about 7-11 was the souvenir potential... I found Chien-Ming Wang and Daisuke Matsuzaka cell phone charms for my two favorite baseball fans. Our breakfast was so cheap, but these official MLB charms were $10 each! You can eat breakfast for 10 days (less the iced latte) for the price of a MLB charm.

5. My Taiwanese Peach

This is simple. Eat the fruit in Taiwan. Have a peach. Wash it, relax, and enjoy it. Durian fruit, sure you can skip that, but eat the peach. Have dragon fruit and lychee while you are at it. I loved that peach.

Northfield, Minnesota

Over the hills and through the woods (through one really evil speed trap, past one haunted house adorned with an abandoned school bus, and beyond the home with clydesdales), there is a town that has helped ease our transition from Cambridge to Faribault.

Northfield has two cool colleges (Carleton and St. Olaf), a Taco Bell (Matt's ambrosia), a Target (as Jennifer used to say, Tar-jay) and a Caribou, which already makes it a wee bit more cosmopolitan than Faribault. But that isn't really what makes it great. This is the home of Malt-O-Meal, an industry that innocently makes the entire town smell of cookies. This is the town whose motto is "Cows, Colleges, and Contentment."

Here's what makes it great:

Chapati's... especially Chicken Korma. Having Indian food so close when you live in what feels like the middle of nowhere is pretty special. It's not the same as Cafe of India, but that's okay. Chapati's is located in this old, red & white, historic hotel, The Archer House, with a huge white porch, where I can just see a Henry James novel happening if only this wasn't Minnesota.

Jesse James... Do you know that Jesse James tore through Northfield, hoping to get rich off the First National Bank in 1876? Too bad for him that the tough local Minnesotans stopped the raid! In honor of Jesse James (hmm, or maybe those brave locals), we celebrate Jesse James Days each September. I ran my first 5K to celebrate.

Paul Wellstone... Wellstone taught here in Northfield at Carleton College for over twenty years before he became senator and later died in a plane crash. Minnesota is the strangest state in terms of politics (e.g., lots of pro-life billboards, a wrestler for governor once, a comedian running for Senate) but the work done in Wellstone's memory is pretty nice to have going on here. Wellstone!

Window shopping, or not... Northfield has everything I need. The Rare Pair, where I can stock up on Merrells and Privos. Digs, my favorite (oh, and Matt's too), where you can buy fabric and yarn and buttons and dish towels and eco-friendly cleaning products, where I found my Stitchin' Vixen shirt that I adore, where I can buy sushi themed stationary, and where I found a very special Dracula for a very important person. Of course there's antiques on every block - perfect for my mom to spend an afternoon.

Books... There's an independent bookstore, River City Books, whose owner loves David Brent as much as I do, and there's a used bookstore, Monkey See Monkey Read, where I recently found a 1937 Collier's World Atlas and Gazetteer for only 10 dollars!

Coffee & Cookies... How can a place called Quality Bakery and Coffee Shop not be great? I recommend the cookies. For coffee (and rice crispy treats reminiscent of the cafe at Wesleyan), it's Goodbye Blue Monday. I don't know if they are referencing Vonnegut or New Order or the simple fact that Mondays suck and would be even worse without coffee. Who cares. My favorite thing about Goodbye Blue Monday is that even when I am 30 seconds away from being late to my therapist's office, I can still order a latte and be on time for my appointment across the street. I think there is simply a difference between my car's clock and the office clock, but I like to think of it as a little Northfield magic realism.

Dog Park... need I say more? When is the rest of the world going to catch on to this?

So, even when I complain, even as I look out on 5 fresh inches of snow, even when my skin hurts from the cold, even when I miss my family and my friends, even when I long to walk the streets of Cambridge or eat sushi in JP, even when I want to swim in the ocean, it isn't that bad here after all.

Maybe next time I'll tell you why Faribault itself isn't that bad....