Pioneer High Marching Band - Concert Band Edition

I rejoined the corporate workforce back in August, so haven't had a lot of energy for the care and feeding of The Brouhaha.

However, last night was pretty special - The Button and other members of the Pioneer Concert band joined the Symphony Band on the field during the half-time show of the Pioneer vs. Chelsea game.

(video also posted on YouTube CLICK HERE)

Pioneer does not field all of the student musicians for marching. Only the top band, Symphony, is allowed to march. But for one game each Fall, the kids in Concert band get to participate. The Button LOVES marching, and the excitement in our household for the past couple weeks has just been bubbling over.

And while it was unfortunate that the football team lost to Chelsea in a spirited, close match-up, the combined bands looked and sounded awesome. Lots of proud parents in the stands.

The One Who Likes Eve

BFF Kelly was in town for one of our semi-annual extravaganzas last week. At one point early in the evening we were seated outdoors at Rush Street, and a man we met on one of our previous forays happened to stroll by with a friend. “Mandy,” Kelly exclaimed, “look, it’s Mike!* Can you believe it?! What a coincidence!” She waved the pair over to join us, and it was clear they’d gotten quite a head start in the beverage department. “You guys!” Mike kept saying with a bit of a slur and a surprised expression, “YOU guys!” Then, pointing to Kelly, he said “Dave, you remember me telling you about these girls. The cute one and…” turning to me “…and...and the one who likes food!”

Perfect. “the one who likes food.” Exactly the impression I want to make on the single men of Ann Arbor.Now that said, and in a sort of you-can’t-fight-City-Hall frame of mind, I’ll tell you about my outing with Pepper to Eve for noshies and drinks last Friday night.

Eve The Restaurant

The Button and Pepper’s daughter are both at band camp, so it was our annual Moms’ Night Out. With no reservations, we entered the Kerrytown boite with some trepidation. “No problem,” said the hostess as she seated us at a lovely outdoor table, “we’re in the August doldrums.”

Pepper ordered a White Grape Martini, and I had a Prosecco Peach Bellini. The martini was made with grape flavored vodka, and lovely with a little green grape floating in it. And while grateful that it didn’t taste like grape Kool Aid, it really didn’t have much flavor. Just a sort of bland, sweet taste that made the vodka frighteningly smooth going down. My Bellini wasn’t made with the traditional white peach puree, but yummy nonetheless. I’ll give the bar a pass and assume that they made the puree with in-season Michigan peaches.

For eats, we went tapas-style and ordered all appetizers. The tempura-style shrimp (below) was to die for, presented with a fresh aioli swirled with some kind of crème fraiche. Sweet, sweet, sweet! “This is almost like eating the shellfish version of a perfect filet mignon,” I said to Pepper as I sliced into one of the banana-sized crustaceans.

“My staff constantly rave about these,” Pepper told me, as we then dove into the plate of Wonton Nachos. But you know what? Meh. They were okay, and using fresh wontons rather than tortillas is interesting, but I found them a bit bland. They were heavy on the beans, and really needed a kick of some sort of strong flavor. Maybe a salsa with lemon grass, to continue the Asian/Latin mash up?

Curry Mussels...Mmmmmm

But then, honestly, just about anything would pale in comparison to our final dish, the Curry Mussels. Oh. My. God. Swimming in a green curry and coconut sauce, this was by far the best bowl of bivalves I’ve ever had in town (sorry Earle). The sauce was just a perfect curry – fresh tasting, a bit of a kick, and delish went sopped up with the crusty house bread from Café Japon. Killer.

Happily fed, Pepper let out a surprisingly melancholy sigh and said “Mandy, this may be our last chance to eat here.” Chef/owner Eve Arnoff’s (above) lease at Kerrytown is a question mark, and I asked Pep if she’d heard more lately. “I hear she’s moving to Chicago by Christmas.”

Sigh, indeed. Those of us "who like food" would sorely miss Chef Eve.

*Names have been changed to protect those who ought to know better...

What’s the difference between a bagpipe and an onion?...

...Nobody cries when you cut up a bagpipe.

A sample of the humor that was flying about in the Red Dragon Pub tent at the Saline Celtic Festival, offered up by the lead singer of Rant Maggie Rant, a “Celtic band with an edge” from Ontario.Strangely enough, despite my heritage (“Dum Spiro Spero” is my clan motto, on our crest above) I’ve never attended the Celtic Fest. Too hot, too worn out from Summer Festival, gearing up for Art Fair – my excuses have been myriad.

Avoiding Saturday’s rains in the early part of the day, we unfortunately missed the dancing, piping, and sheep dog competitions. But we did arrive just in time for the final events of the Highland Games. Saline scored a major coup by hosting the Masters World Championships, for competitors over 40. It’s essentially the equivalent of “the Seniors” championship on the PGA. (I didn’t really need the caution tape to tell me not to go near these guys.)

We saw the finals of the Weight Over the Bar and Sheaf Toss events. On Weight Over the Bar, they’re tossing a 40 pound lead weight with one hand. The “sheaf” is actually a bale filled with 16 pounds of beans – the competitor at right won the event, and in this photo is actually trying for the world record of over 34 feet!

“Hoser, guess where I am?!” I shouted gleefully into my cellphone, connected to my much older brother in San Jose. “At the Masters Championships!!” He exclaimed, “no way! I read about that on the web!” My brother is the genealogy buff in the family, and still glowing over the fact that he was invited to carry the clan banner at the recent Highland Games near his hometown (that's him in the Hawaiian shirt).

Similar to Heritage Fest in Ypsi, there were historical re-enactors in tents (how do they cope with the bugs in what is essentially the foggy bottom of Mill Pond Park? Do they allow themselves the modern luxury of Deep Woods Off?) and a little merchant village. I was particularly tickled when one of the kilt sellers asked me about my clan tartan, which I tied as a sash onto my purse. And the men were like peacocks, wandering around in their kilts. “They must be pretty confident in their masculinity,” I commented to The Accountant. Friday night during “Pub Night” in the Red Dragon Tent, Chris Snider was crowned “Mr. Pretty Legs” wearing the Stirling tartan. When I introduced myself and asked to take his picture, Chris seemed a little alarmed and introduced me to his wife RIGHT AWAY.

How many Scots does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

One. To say “occhh, screw it! We’ll drink in the dark!”

The biggest revelation of the Festival was the music. If I had had any inkling there were so many fantastic bands, I would have been attending this event for years. Two different stages hosted a whole spectrum of interpretations of Celtic music. We saw the more traditional Heaton Trio and the slightly more modern, improvisational Wild Wood, and I was especially partial to the aforementioned Rant Maggie Rant and the Kreelers. We started counting and Mark Fletcher, lead instrumentalist for RMR, played at least five different instruments - beautifully! And The Kreelers fall a bit into the “Celtic Punk” category inspired by my favorites The Pogues, and recently more popularized by bands like the Dropkick Murphies and the Tossers.

Listening to music in the Red Dragon Tent, we were joined at our table by Patrick Little, chairman of the Festival and Cliff Carlson, publisher of the Irish American News. “Who do I talk to about volunteering next year?“ I asked Pat, after introducing myself. You would have thought I’d presented him with a Red Ryder BB gun, he asked for my phone number and email address so quickly.

As pointed out by the Ann Arbor Snews, the Festival has a history of financial struggle. But Pat and the organizers worked hard this year to re-energize the event , with the addition of the Masters and new competitions. Unfortunately Mother Nature, and TV weather forecasters, conspired against them. “Did the weather this morning kill you?” I asked. “Not so much the weather, as The Weather Channel!” When I asked what he meant, Pat explained that the PREDICTIONS of rain all day, when in fact it cleared up around 1pm, were what really hurt attendance.

So, members of the Clan Brouhaha, I exhort you! Put the second weekend of July and next year’s Saline Celtic Festival on your calendars, and help keep this great event going strong! And when you attend, maybe you’ll find me volunteering behind the bar sporting my tartan and pulling a fine pint (well, paper cup) of Murphy’s.

T.O.P. Wrap Up 2008

(After eating about a pound of debris during the trip to New Orleans, my digital camera literally bit the dust. So I don't have any Summer Festival photos to share. Anybody know a good digital camera repair shop?)

“You must have been born before July 3, 1987 to purchase alcohol,” the sign at the Top of the Park beer tent read.

“I was HERE on July 3, 1987!” I exclaimed to the kid behind the counter, who seemed singularly unimpressed. This year, a little teeny glass of Pinot Grigio set me back $6. In 1987, we could get a WHOLE BOTTLE of White Zinfandel for $6, ‘cause a friend was a bartender and she gave us the employee discount. Sigh. I feel old.

Between our trip to New Orleans and the crazy weather, I didn’t spend as much time this year at T.O.P. as I would have liked. Popped by to see The Dream Engine on one of the few nights it didn’t rain. A Cirque du Soleil-esque troupe of acrobats, we saw the “human tether ball” show, which alternated nights with the “floating balloon people. “ (my terms, not theirs)

“It’s pretty damn amazing that we can see something like this for free, “ I commented to The Accountant. “In this economy, I bet people are taking advantage of this sort of thing as much as they can.”

My musical highlights this year were performances by Zebula Avenue and Bugs Beddow. Zebula Avenue was a revelation . They’re a Detroit band comprised of desk jockeys who crank out some wonderful Caribbean-infused world music on the side. And we also enjoyed Mandy Patinkin at the Power Center.

Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime; Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?

In addition to the expected roster of Sondheim and show tunes, Patinkin threw in a couple Yip Harburg compositions. Many people know that Harburg wrote “Over the Rainbow” (which Patinkin sang beautifully,btw), but I’m sure not many know he also authored “Brother Can You Spare a Dime?” during the Depression.

Do you suppose this was Patinkin’s own particular form of commentary via music?

Rebuilding New Orleans

“It’s good to be a college professor,” The Accountant mumbled from the couch in our hotel room at Olivier House.

“Why?” I asked, amused, “because you don’t have to do hard labor every day of the year?”

While The Button is on vacation in Thailand with her Dad, we decided to head south to New Orleans to volunteer for an organization called Rebuilding Together. After the first day of work on the job site, we landed back in our hotel just about as filthy and exhausted as I’ve ever been in my entire life.

Rebuilding Together (“RT”) specializes in rehabbing (rather than new construction) damaged homes that belong to the disabled and elderly. Many of their clients in NOLA live in homes that are considered historic, so the city won’t allow them to flat-out demolish. That’s where RT, and volunteers like us, come in.

1239 St. Ferdinand was built in 1904 in the St. Roch area of town, and was turned over to RT to use as a halfway house of sorts for their clients. When volunteer crews are working in a house, very often the elderly residents don’t have a place to stay while the work is being completed. So this building, once it’s rehabbed, will house clients in need.

It was a complete gut-job. We went down to the (often rotted) studs, and there was drywall dust and debris everywhere. I spent quite a bit of time one day clearing debris from the alley, and found a stash of perfectly undamaged white ceramic tiles piled near the foundation. And I couldn’t help but wonder about the history of the house. Were the people who lived there about to retile a bathroom when the storm hit? And while you’re at it, why WAS the alley a logical place to put a used toilet?

Bob Whitacre, project manager for one of our local Habitat for Humanity houses in Ann Arbor, would have been proud that I salvaged every one of the intact tiles – enough to perhaps do a nice backsplash.

There were about 25 people working at 1239, most from RT affiliates in Monterey and St. Louis, with a few other scattered odd-balls like The Accountant and me. Lisa, our House Captain, is a building inspector from San Diego, and like Bob Whitacre she was cool, level-headed, and good with volunteers. I want to be her when I grow up.

(This is Lisa’s very, very old Chihuahua. Perhaps Chihuahuas are required for a builder’s license in southern California.)

Many who haven’t been to New Orleans since the storm ask "what's it like down there?" And I tend to focus on the "French- Quarter-is-open-for-business" message. That's because I don't think it can be overemphasized since tourism is so vital to the local economy.

That said, perhaps some perspective best comes from a local resident. I subscribe to a number of New Orleans-based blogs, and this post by Laureen at New Orleans MetBlogs articulates my own reaction after this most recent visit. As we drove around the city, it seemed a crazy juxtaposition of incredible examples of the rebuilding, can-do spirit contrasting with areas that look like something from the Discovery channel show "Life After People."

"We started to see a difference last Fall, " Richard Fisk, owner of the Bombay Club in the Quarter told us. "Long about November, we really started to see things change."

Life is often defined by our ups and our downs. And while New Orleans has certainly suffered a lifetime of downs in the last 34 months, maybe moving forward the ups will start to have more impact, and be more visible.

Squash Blossoms!

"Girl!" my friend Pepper shouted into the phone, "I need you to come over and frrryyyy!!!"
Pepper is one of those instinctual cooks, a MacGyver of the kitchen who can throw together a gourmet meal with only two slices of cheese, some old bread, and a jar of spice that lost its label five years ago. I, on the other hand, don't know a grater from granita. But, we both acknowledge that I have one strength – I am a wiz with a tub of Crisco and a frying pan.

My southern roots shine through when it comes to frying, and I don't fool around with any of that namby-pamby olive oil stuff. So when Pepper decided to experiment with frying up some squash blossoms from her garden, she put out the call.

"We don't even have anything like that in the house," Pepper's daughter observed wryly when she saw me extract the blue and red container of Crisco from my shopping bag. "0 Grams Trans Fats!" the label shouted optimistically, as if that made the food you cook in it any less likely to kill you after 70 or so years of eating the stuff. But mmmmm, good.

Stumbling somewhat into Kitchen Chick's and the Gastro 3's territory, I used a recipe from Big City Little Kitchen for the cheesy stuffing. It calls for a cup of ricotta, so I took advantage of the fantabulous local variety from S. Serra Cheese, available from Morgan & York. I found that it's hopeless to try to use a tool to stuff the delicate little blossoms – you just have to break down and use your fingers. Once stuffed, do a little twist of the blossom at the end, dredge in egg and then toss in cornmeal, throw it into a pan of hot Crisco for about four minutes, and voila! Yummy little packets of cheesy summer goodness.

To be honest, the squash blossoms themselves don't seem to have a lot of flavor. They're simply an attractive, seasonal medium to contain the lovely cheese. And what more could you want, I ask?

(If you don't have access to your own garden and/or squash blossoms, they've been popping up at Farmers' Market for $3 a pint. Definitely a better deal than the $5/pint shelled peas, the cost of which seems somehow tied to gas prices. Are there pea speculators?)

Picnic Pops 2008

After a rocky Spring that seemed to focus entirely on the health of her innards, The Button is essentially 100% back to normal, making her mother a nervous wreck with driving lessons at All Star Driving School (more on that in a future post).

We got to revisit all our friends at St. Joe's 3rd Floor Pediatrics when she had her actual appendix removed on April 24. Routine surgery and only one night in the hospital, thank heavens.

So now The Button is back in the groove at Pioneer. Their annual Picnic Pops concert was this weekend, and despite some gusty winds and ominous storm clouds late in the day the kids cranked out a wonderful performance. The Queen medley was especially rollicking, though I wonder how many of the teenagers actually know the whole history of Freddie and the band?

Happy Birthday to Me!

Ah, it's great to be 27 years old. Again.

The Button and I have this running joke. When she was little, I had her trained to answer "27" whenever someone asked her how old I was. But one day, sitting at the sushi bar at Godaiko, chef Paul Tsai asked her "when is your birthday?"

"May 2," The Button responded, through a mouthful of tempura shrimp. Sensing an opportunity, Paul then asked "hey, how old is your mom?"

"27," she replied. Paul's look of disbelief must have been plain enough for even a 10-year-old to interpret, because she immediately turned to me accusingly, "wait a minute! If you're 27, that means you would have only been 17 when you had me!"

April 16 is my birthday, and of course I managed to stretch the festivities through the whole week. Liz Davis, long-time waitress at Old Town, crafted this wonderful birthday Pinot Grigio for me. And I chose to celebrate with The Accountant and old college friends at yet another one of Bob Sparrow's (pictured with friend Beth Pascoe) wonderful private dinners at Kerrytown.

27 feels pretty good. Again.

2-Bit Review: Northside Grill

One or two visits. A few hundred words. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Usually the other side of the Broadway Bridge seems like a DMZ that I don’t have a huge desire to wander past. But the Northside Grill is only a few yards north of the bridge, and it’s always worth a foray into no-mans-land for one of the best breakfasts in town.

My absolute favorite is the Morning Egg-dition. Northside is a big supporter of WEMU, and even hosts a fundraiser for the public radio station every Valentine’s Day. The Morning Egg-dition is a sandwich featuring eggs scrambled with chopped tomato and ham, on grilled Texas toast with cheese and this wonderful spicy mayonnaise. A generous portion of crispy hash browns come on the side. Nine times out of ten, I’ll request French fries and invariably the waiter will have to remind me that the deep fryer isn’t hot yet. Oh, and just to make things interesting, I usually substitute multi-grain bread for the Texas toast, which I have found to be a bit greasy sometimes.

My other favorite order is French Toast. Bread at the Northside Grill is homemade and extra thick, the perfect medium for what is essentially dessert for breakfast. Somehow I don’t think the diet Coke that I regularly order compensates for the calories that this dish unloads. And other than breakfast, I’ve also enjoyed the occasional cheeseburger – cooked to order, juicy, and just the right size.

Northside Grill is invariably PACKED on weekends, especially during Art Fair or football season. I know some who have waited for 40 minutes or more for a table in the small diner that seats probably only 40 or 50 people. So I try to go on weekdays, when it’s easier to sit with a paper and enjoy a leisurely breakfast without two or three parties giving you the hard-eye-ball stare wishing you would vacate your table. And even on crowded mornings, the staff at Northside are always friendly and efficient, keeping coffee (or in my case diet Coke) topped off and dishes cleared.

Between Angelo’s, Frank’s, Bell’s, and seemingly dozens of Coney Islands, we are lucky to have a wide choice for breakfast on any given day. But the Northside Grill is definitely a favorite worth repeat visits.

Bunny-zilla

Great Harvest Bread Company has a tradition of selling "honey bunnies" during the Easter season. "Every year we try to come up with some creative way to mangle and or humiliate the poor bunnies," owner Janene Centurione explained. "This year we managed to bake a 50 pound specimen."

Bunny-zilla is on display in the store on South Main near Busch's, and since it's been petted and manhandled for the past week (not to mention it's doneness in the middle suspect), it's not intended for consumption. "One of our regular customers is going to take it to use a centerpiece for Easter dinner," Janene told me earlier today. "And then she's going to put it out in her woods for the turkeys to eat. She's promised to send us a photo each day, to show the progression as the big ol' thing is nibbled away."

Zingerman's Compound

While everyone seems hopeful regarding the re-opening of the Jeff Market, we've heard an interesting story regarding proposed growth up on Detroit Street...As part of it's long-term strategy, we hear that Zingerman's plans to somehow add 8,000 square feet to their space near Kerrytown, creating what will essentially be a "compound" of sorts. To achieve that much square footage on the relatively small footprint of the Deli, Next Door, and the small house behind, part of the plan will be to go underground with kitchens, offices, and meeting space.

Chatting with my source in the produce section of Busch's yesterday, I mentioned how much use Zingerman's has gotten from the big, heated tent in the back yard. "You know, that tent cost them $10,000 to put up," she told me. "But they grossed an additional $300,000 in the first two months after it was installed."

One can only imagine the new income a Zingerman's Compound would generate, as well as being an even bigger destination for out-of-towners. But I shudder to think about the hoops the city will force them to jump through – good thing Ari, Tom, and staff have always appeared to be comfortable with thinking long term.

Moon Over A2

12 degrees on the thermometer and a rare, clear February night in Ann Arbor. After indulging in "monky toes" (read: mojitos) last night, a friend and I emerged from Cafe Habana to find the lunar eclipse in full swing. Up and down Washington Street, denizens of the restaurants and bars were out on the sidewalks gazing skyward. Saturn and Regulus are just visible nearby - not sure what the third star is.

Saints Valentine and Joseph

After 15 days in the hospital, The Button was discharged Tuesday. Thank St. Joseph, St. Valentine–ALL the saints–she appears not much worse for the wear. Six or seven pounds lighter and still too shaky to go to school, but healthy enough to contradict me every third or fourth sentence.

So consider this a Valentine to the pediatric nurses and doctors at St. Joseph Mercy Hospital, who helped make sure that the one person who will always be the greatest love of my life is sitting beside me now, healthy and happily IMing her friends.

In particular, the nurses of "Peds" (below right) demonstrated why their profession is a unique calling. After two weeks we came to know and appreciate these amazing ladies, and from hugs to homemade milkshakes they did their best to comfort and reassure us during one of the most stressful situations a family can ever face.

Now, if they would only make house calls when The Button starts Driver's Ed in April.

Notes From a Hospital Room at 3am

Jamie and Lynn Spears were not the only ones who had to hustle their daughter off to the hospital this week. But whether fortunately or unfortunately, a mental breakdown is not the reason that a room in the pediatric ward at St. Joe’s has become our second home.
Last Saturday, The Button began complaining that her stomach hurt. With a flu bug going around, I didn’t think much about it. I kept her quiet at home, commiserated with a friend who is a nurse, and figured we’d get her into the pediatrician on Monday if it hadn’t cleared up by then. The biggest concern was that Sunday night she missed the much-anticipated AIDS relief dance open to all the high school students in town.

But on Monday morning, when it came time head to Dr. Dumont’s, The Button told me “Mom, my right side and leg hurt too bad – I don’t think I can walk.” Uh oh. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to call 911, and certainly never for an ambulance. When Craig and Jenny the EMTs arrived, we went through all the expected questions until they got to “has she had her appendix out?” When I replied no, Craig gave Jenny and me the look over the top of The Button's head . “Okay,” he said, “time to get her in the truck.”

Once in the pediatric emergency ward at St. Joe’s, we waited a couple hours for a CT scan. “If she were a boy, we’d send her straight into surgery,” Dr. Patal explained, “but since she’s a girl, there’s too much plumbing down there, so we need to eliminate other possibilities before we go poking around.” They gave The Button some pain meds, but right before wheeling her in for the scan, her temperature went from 98 degrees to almost 103.

“Her appendix has ruptured,” Dr. Polley, the chief pediatric surgeon, told us. “In the old days, we would have operated and there would have been a pretty high likelihood of complications, “ he continued. “But today, because antibiotics are so strong, we flood her with those, get the infection cleared up, and then bring her back in six to eight weeks to take it out.”

“She’s not in any danger, but don’t let me kid you. You guys are going to be here for a while.”

So here we are. Days 1, 2, and 3 on the third floor of the new patient tower at St. Joe’s were quite simply frightening. Tubes and IVs everywhere, and the toxic -looking green goop coming out of her stomach via an NG tube would make Rambo blanche. We kept having bad luck with the NG tube, but the nurses told us they’d never had a patient – adult or child – who handled insertions so stoically. But at one point on Wednesday, as I sat at her bedside holding her hand, big tears welled up in The Button’s eyes and spilled down, puddling around the tape and tubing. “Mom,” she cried, “I just want to go home.”

As we progressed through Day 4, she was pain and fever free, though still very weak and with that awful stuff pumping out of her tummy. And her Dad and I were becoming more accustomed to the rhythms of the ward. “The Tour Group” is Dr. Polley’s staff of doctors who roll through every morning around 7am. Nurse Lynn, his chief nurse, stops by later, insisting each visit that she normally accompanies the doctor on his rounds but that this time they somehow got separated. Dr. Polley comes in around lunch time, and we have experienced first-hand the hospital Murphy’s Law that if you leave to go to the bathroom, that’s when the doctor will show up.

We’ve also worked our way through several rotations of nurses, and I’m sure it’s no surprise that these ladies are our heroes. We’re getting to know some of them a bit – Margot is experienced and motherly, Marcia is no-nonsense but allows a quirky sense of humor to peak out occasionally, Amy (above right) talks a blue streak, and Jenny is quiet and compassionate through the overnight shifts.

And now it’s dawn on the morning of Day 6 and we have had two good nights in a row, a real blessing. Over the past two days members of “The Posse,” The Button’s school friends, have been visiting and some of the tubes are starting to come out – huge morale boosters. She has also started reading, another good sign. I feel like we’ve turned a corner, and can envision a day in the next week or so when she will leave this place a relatively happy, healthy young girl with two extremely relieved parents in tow.

Mr. And Mrs. Spears should be so lucky.

MLK Symposium

“America is at it’s best when times are the worst,” actor Louis Gossett, Jr. told the audience, referring to the aftermath of 9/11 and Katrina. “But when it’s done, we go home and close the doors. We have to learn to keep the doors open in our hearts and minds.”

“It’s Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day every day, 24/7, for the rest of time.”The Button, her dad, and I were in the second row at Hill Auditorium this morning for the opening lecture of the University’s 22nd Annual MLK Symposium. Though calling it a “lecture” was a bit of a stretch. On stepping up to the lectern, Mr. Gossett admitted that he hadn’t brought a speech or any notes. “If I don’t know what to say by now…” he said, shrugging.

And at first, it was a bit like watching your dad ramble off track during the toast at your sister’s wedding. The award-winning actor was all over the map. But he ultimately found his path.Mr. Gossett told the audience of about 1,000 people about growing up in Brooklyn in the 1940s and 1950s, when the strong matriarchal influence–starting with his great-grandmother –provided the “connective tissue” that passed on values and strength to the children.

He also explained how he and other children benefited from being taught by educators fleeing the Black List in New York City, as well as sharing classes with the children of those men and women. Today, Mr. Gossett said, many of those children have grown up to be leaders in society. How did you do it? he asked. “We learned it’s a sin not to dream,” a friend explained.

Clearly wishing to underscore the parallel to Dr. King’s most inspiring speech, this brought Mr. Gossett to his main point. “Teaching in the home is not happening!” he exclaimed. “Where do our young men learn that it’s okay to have babies with different women, or to ‘cap’ someone?” he asked, “they don’t pick that up all by themselves!”

“Grandmothers. Family. Men. They all should be teaching a values system in the home,” he said. “We need to take responsibility for our own.” And we need to be teaching our children that it’s a sin not to dream.Mr. Gossett closed his talk with the Prayer of St. Francis for peace (view clip). “Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace…that where there are shadows, I may bring light.”

“Martin Luther King had a dream, and we must keep the dream alive,” Mr. Gossett concluded. “and remember, it is more than Dr. Martin Luther King’s day, or Black History month. It’s a 365 day, 24/7 job!”

The Cheese Whisperer

“You’ve got to let the milk tell you what it wants,” we were told. “When making cheese, you can’t speed it up, and you can’t slow it down.”

That’s what cheese expert Simone Jenkins explained to the twelve folks participating in the “Introduction to Cheese” class at Morgan & York on a recent cold Tuesday night. Only Simone wasn’t exactly whispering. Actually, she was talking rather loudly and animatedly in an adorable Australian accent. So imagine the Cheese Whisperer meets the Crocodile Hunter, and you'll have a better picture.
Morgan & York specializes in “farmhouse,” or “artisan,” cheeses and Simone was looking to spread the gospel. To start, we learned that the three most important elements in cheese making are the land, the animals, and the craft. I was intrigued by the animals. “Where are all the goats that produce the goat cheese we eat?” I asked, perplexed. We see cows everywhere, but it’s not like you drive down the road and see herds of goats that often. Simone explained that it doesn’t take many goats to produce the cheese, and that goat farming tends to occur more in the west. And the east part of the country is known for sheeps’s milk cheese.

We also spent quite a bit of time discussing the craft, particularly how cheese is made in the farmhouse (farmer makes the cheese from milk from his own cows) and cooperative (cheesemaker makes the product from milk delivered by farmers) traditions. But, it’s always the slightly gross stuff that’s most intriguing. For instance, “How do you know if it’s good mold or bad mold on the cheese?” a fellow student asked. Simone explained that molds in the green, blue, and slightly mauve shades are okay to eat, while pink and orange are bad. And, she added “if you see mold in the shape of a fingerprint, that’s bad news.” No kidding.
Basic background covered, we turned to the twelve little samples of cheese Simone had laid out for each of us. We started with fairly mild, soft cheeses and progressed until closing the evening with some fairly stinky (but yummy) examples of the cheesemakers’ craft. The fresh ricotta ($8/lb) from S Serra Cheese in Clinton Township was revelatory– sweet and buttery, it didn’t taste anything like the stuff I bought at the grocery the last time I made lasagna. The Jasper Hill Cabot Cheddar ($30/lb) had a wonderfully layered, full flavor. And we learned about that little crystally, crunchiness you sometimes encounter in such cheeses. I happen to like that texture, but I’ve never been sure if it’s in fact considered a good thing. It turns out that those little crunchies are crystallized amino acids, and they're an indication that the cheese has been aged for at least a year.

My favorite cheese of the evening was a Tomme de Savoie ($18/lb). It’s “semi-firm” which means new enough to still be slightly soft, but not quite as gooey as a brie. This cheese had the most fantastic mouthfeel! It was like biting into the perfect summer cantaloupe, only the flavors that sprang into your mouth were nutty, buttery, and earthy.

We wrapped up with the Colston Bassett Stilton ($28/lb) and the Roquefort Carles ($36/lb). Blue cheeses like these are created when the wheels of cheese are pierced with needles to allow the mold to grow inside. With the Roquefort, the mold is introduced from old rye bread. Simone told us that Monsieur Carles is the only cheese producer in France who still actually uses bread loaves to introduce the mold to his cheese, rather than a commercially produced, powdered mold product. I liked the Stilton well enough, easily imagining it gracing the top of a lovely strip steak. But, with apologies to M. Carles, the Roquefort was honestly just a bit too strong for my taste.

Speaking of mold, have you ever wondered if you’re supposed to eat the moldy rind on the outside of the cheese? According to Simone, in the cities of France they’d be quite distressed if you ate the rind. But for the most part, it’s okay. Particularly with soft cheeses like brie. With the harder cheeses, Simone pointed out that you really “get the taste of the farm” in the rind. To me, that sounds suspiciously like a euphemism for “tastes like cow poop.” So I’ll just take the Cheese Whisperer’s word for it.

For more information about farmhouse cheeses go to the American Cheese Society. Or contact Simone Jenkins, the Cheese Whisperer, directly at simone@morganandyork.com.

The Un-Primary

A once-in-a-lifetime sight at Kerrytown this Saturday morning? Hopefully...

What a Great Time to Be a Democrat!

I have to admit I didn’t even pay attention to the Republican debate Saturday night. It was on in the background as I caught up on some reading, tho I did raise my head now and then to garner a few superficial impressions. For instance, while Fred Thompson may give great gravitas on “Law & Order,” the glaring lights of live TV are not his friends (especially in HD). John McCain is funny on "The Daily Show" and late-night TV, but he worries me in these “debates.” He’s like your uncle at Christmas dinner – funny and charming until he asks you when you’re going to lose a few pounds. And honestly, is there some way that we as a State can disown Mitt Romney? Ick.

Leading into the Democratic debate, George Stephanopolous pointed out that Clinton needs to “show some passion about the economy.” Unfortunately, ABC moderator Charlie Gibson didn’t give ANY of the candidates an opening on this topic. Come on Charlie, 20 minutes on nuclear terrorism? In New Hampshire?

For Once, Three Great–and Smart–Candidates

Like many women in my demographic, I’ve been struggling with my feelings for Hillary Clinton. The other night, a friend asked me “would you want to have a beer with her?” Well, to be honest, no. But the bigger issue is that, country-wide, she’s just too polarizing. Yes, Democrats are just pissed off enough that we could probably get her into office. But, then what?

At least a couple times a day, friends/acquaintances who should know better drop cheap-shot, political joke emails into my inbox. And Hillary Clinton is the butt of the majority of them. Some of them are out-right sexist, which of course makes me fume. But many have to do with her record, and her husband’s past. A commentator on “Meet the Press” this morning said that Clinton represents old-school politics. For non-Democrats who also want change, there’s just too much baggage in the Clinton camp, and that’s not what our country needs.

To quote The Daily Kos “the fact is, people want change, and there's really nothing she (Clinton) can do to present herself as a greater representative or symbol of change than either Barack Obama or John Edwards.” I couldn't agree more, and let me tell you, I love the message of change and the pure charisma of Barack Obama. I saw him in a restaurant in Washington DC last summer, and he was like a rock star. His victory speech after the Iowa caucus was a thing of beauty to behold. If I can’t in good conscience cast my ballot for the first female chief executive, I’d love to vote for the first African American president. So, if a year from now we’re referring to President-Elect Obama, you could count me a happy camper.

But…

John Edwards Understands "It's the Economy"

We all know charisma doesn’t necessarily equal substance. I’ve spent a bit of time noodling around the candidates’ websites, and John Edwards (and presumably his campaign manager David Bonior) has done his homework. Edwards’ plans have actual budget figures and deadlines. I’m not savvy enough to know if they are realistic, but heck, at least they tried to include hard numbers.

It’s not particularly sexy, but I like Edwards’ ideas for dealing with predatory mortgages and credit card companies, and for helping people build their savings and get low-cost emergency loans. And in particular, his health care plan, with its “Health Care Markets” concept, is innovative and makes sense (see Susan Blumenthal on The Huffington Post for a great comparison of the Democratic candidates’ health care plans). Make healthcare insurance REQUIRED, make it competitive, and make it standardized across the country.

Pundits call it his appeal populist, but I like that Edwards isn’t afraid to use the word “poverty,” and that he has a plan to cut it by one-third in 10 years. What does “populist” mean, anyway? Is populist the woman who skips getting her teeth cleaned this year because she lost her dental coverage? Is populist the guy who took a buyout, but isn’t sure what he’ll do when that money runs out? Is populist the family that’s paying two mortgages because they can’t sell their first house? When so many are just one life-changing event away from being unable to pay their bills, the term “populist” seems to apply to more people than it did even five years ago.

So run, John, run. I can’t vote for you on January 15 (thank you very much, Michigan Democratic Party and Democratic National Committee), but I’ll be “uncommitted” for ya.

It's the Economy, Stupid

Yesterday’s above-the-fold, front page headline in the Ann Arbor Snews screamed “Foreclosure Rate Jumps 90%.”

Every weekend I scan the real estate listings and am reminded of how the value of my home has shrunk (thank heavens–and the good sense lessons of my ex-husband–that I didn’t buy my townhouse last year with an ARM mortgage). I pay $300 a month for health care insurance. I drop probably $100 a week at Busch’s. Last night it cost me $40 to fill up the tank of my little car.

I had imagined the economy was a regionalized problem, that we here in Michigan are feeling the hurt the most and it’s not as big an issue in other parts of the country. But whether you’re living in Anchorage or Tampa, I think economic stresses are impacting everyone’s day-to-day lives. It’s our anxiety touchstone. At the close of last night’s facebook-sponsored debates in New Hampshire, a live poll asked facebook members which topic they wished the Democratic candidates had talked more about. 42%, the largest group, said they wished the candidates had talked more about the economy.

Yes, the war in Iraq and national security are still important. Yes, we’re still worried about healthcare and the environment. But nine months from now, as we enter the home stretch of the presidential election, the economy is going to be the top issue.

2-Bit Review: Mis Saigon

One or two visits. A few hundred words. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

In what is perhaps the space’s second or third incarnation, Mis Saigon is tucked in the corner of the strip mall at the intersection of Stone School and Ellsworth. We visit the tidy little Vietnamese/Chinese restaurant at least once a week, usually picking up an order to go.

Among the appetizers, The Button and I prefer the cream cheese puffs. They contain two of her favorite food groups– cheese and bread- in a perfectly serviceable Asian interpretation. I usually don’t order a soup, but the other day when the thermometer hit 20 I strayed and had the hot and sour. What surprise! It had just the right amount of bite, lots of chicken (not pork), tofu, and mushrooms, and didn’t have that oiliness that is too common at other restaurants.

Aficionados of Vietnamese food (which I am not) will probably be unsurprised that the Pho Ga (soup with chicken, photo left) is my favorite dish, and Mis Saigon's is outstanding. With Pho, the ingredients arrive in two separate dishes. The “dry” ingredients of rice noodles, chicken, fresh bean sprouts, onion, and basil in one large bowl, and the broth in another. Add the broth to the dry bowl, throw in a generous dash of chili and hoisin sauce along with a splash of fresh lemon, and you’ve got hundreds of years of Vietnamese comfort food in one dish. I kid you not, I have this wonderful meal at least once a week. My only caveat is that I would recommend you request a knife to slice the rice noodles into a more manageable length, otherwise they’re hard to wrangle and you splash soup everywhere.

The Button has been a vegetarian for almost two years, but we were able to convince her to concede to eating shellfish as a protein source. So we’ve ordered shrimp in just about every iteration you can imagine from half the restaurants in Ann Arbor. Her favorite meal from Mis Saigon is one of their Chinese dishes, the Shrimp with Garlic Sauce. Lots of plump shrimp in a spicy sauce, with the usual mix of vegetables like broccoli, baby corn, and water chestnuts.

Mis Saigon is a family operation. Mai and Thuy Le are the owners, their outgoing niece Trang often waits tables, and I think there are usually several family members back in the kitchen. One day I asked Mai about their most popular dish. “Definitely the Pho,” she told me, “but the noodles are really popular, too. Especially in the summer.” I’ve had the Bun Ga (noodles with chicken) before, and was a little underwhelmed, so I decided to give it another go and ordered the Bun Bo (noodles with beef, photo above right) with Lemon Grass. This dish was definitely a success. With a judicious splash of the vinegar sauce, I appreciated how the lettuce made it seem as though the meal wasn’t a total artery-clogging experience.

Over the course of our visits to Mis Saigon, we’ve gotten to know Mai (pictured below) and Trang a bit and always enjoy chatting, often catching up on school and the neighborhood activities. And one of my favorite customer service stories involves these friendly folks. A while back, Pepper was suffering from a bad cold. Too worn out to scare up dinner for her brood, she called Mis Saigon to order carry out. Mai recognized Pepper as a regular, could tell immediately that she was under the weather, and thus sent husband Thuy to deliver the order.

When was the last time you heard a story like that?

A Brouhaha New Year!

Midnight, New Year's Eve, in snowy downtown Ann Arbor.
Heather O'Neal and her companions arrive at the Corner Brewery in Ypsilanti after "trekking" along the Huron River from Ann Arbor. The hikers left Heather's house on the Old West Side at 5pm in the afternoon, and made it to Ypsi just as the snow started really coming down.
Candice and Rachel hoist rather large glasses during the festivities at Corner Brewery.A noisemaker at Corner Brewery...Chris Pawlicki, owner of Old Town, did NOT save a glass of champagne for me!Cheers to a great 2008 Ann Arbor, and Go Blue!