A Taste of Ann Arbor

Let us deal with the elephant in the room first: USC’s “stunning” loss to Washington yesterday. It shouldn’t have been that surprising; die-hard USC fans like myself, Kurt, and my dad (Mouse) saw it coming. Dad, Jim Keatley (jimkeat), and I even went so far as to pick it in the pool. Although I would suspect that Jim’s status as UW alum had a little more to do with the pick, dad and I found that 23 points helps to ease the pain of getting knocked out of the BCS championship . . . again. Why did we see this coming? USC always stumbles against an unranked league opponent, Matt Barkley and Taylor Mays were hurt and their status was questionable, and, oh, yeah, UW is coached by USC’s former Offensive AND Defensive Coordinators. So, they kinda knew pretty much exactly what we would do. I hope USC’s offense gets better in a big hurry, because we have a few tougher games than Washington ahead- like the entire month of October (Cal, Oregon State, Oregon, and Notre Dame).


I would prefer to spend the rest of this week’s musings on a topic more enjoyable- my visit this weekend to Ann Arbor and the orgy of football and food that followed. On the flight here I started reading The Billionaire’s Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace, the amazing true story about the sale of wine purported to be owned by Thomas Jefferson. Wallace’s descriptions of wine flavors and connoisseurship of ridiculously old vintages of Bordeaux wines (100, 150, or even 200 year old wines being opened and tasted) reminded me of almost capricious nature of “official” tasting notes. While an expert may be able to detect hickory, lychee, blueberry, slate, chocolate, tobacco, and bacon all in the same drink, the rest of us will just nod and say, “I don’t know – it tastes pretty good to me.” Which is fine, unless we’re chewing gum while we’re trying to taste it. While I’ve tried to absorb and describe the layers of subtle flavors in a tasting, I find that an impressionist critique is much more satisfying. If a wine invokes a memory of a summer picnic and licking the chocolate off a dripped strawberry, just go with that. And why just stick to wine- try it with beer, whiskey, or anything else.

With this in mind, my hosts for the weekend, Steve (GoBlue) and Beth, took me out upon my arrival to The Black Pearl, an elegant but not ostentatious martini bar on Main Street. Main Street in Ann Arbor is an impressive collection of art galleries and fine eateries. It’s just one of the several reasons that this, along with Madison and Iowa City, is one of my favorite towns in the Midwest (and it’s a lot friendlier than Columbus). We sat down to a late evening / post-call meal of lobster bisque (dad’s is still the best), tuna tartar, and fried calamari (always makes me remember the Plaza Mayor in Madrid). I sampled a set of their signature martinis:

• “The Black Pearl Martini”: A pear-blueberry martini with elderflower that tasted like an upscale sex on the beach, so how about a "sex in a beach cabaña"

• “Espresso Martini”: Vodka and kahlua with espresso served over streaks of chocolate. This is what The Dude would drink if he had class.

• “Pomojito”: A minty, tart, and sweet concoction that vacillated between tropical fruit and cough medicine. It tasted like having a sore throat on vacation in Aruba.

Saturday morning brought a groggy walk across the street for game day pancakes and a stop at the local barber shop for a game day haircut. Chatting with the second-generation barbershop owner, he told me about Michigan’s fierce dedication to tradition, with alums displaying a natural aversion to change. This helps in part explains some of the hostility towards new coach Rich Rodriguez. But the Wolverine offense is awaking, as displayed by their performance on the field against Eastern Michigan. We enjoyed the game in the uncannily quiet Big House under perfect weather (it is weird how not loud 108,000 people can be). But we left early in the 4th quarter, because we wanted to be sure to get a good seat at the sports bar for the incredible college football smorgasbord due on at 3:30 eastern.

We settled in to a large table at Buffalo Wild Wings. OK, yes, it’s a chain restaurant that completely lacks any local color, but they had the highest sheer number of screens per square inch, so it was perfect for our purposes. And our purpose was to watch as much of the afternoon games as possible. In one time slot, we saw Nebraska-Virginia Tech, Oregon-Utah, Michigan State- Notre Dame, Arizona- Iowa, Tennessee and, of course, USC- Washington. All amazing games, and several being decided in the final minutes.

We stumbled out onto State Street a few hours later, bellies laden with buffalo wings and hearts heavy with sorrow. The best therapy? Hot fudge sundaes at Ben and Jerry’s. This was followed by the second best therapy: whiskey and beer at Ashley’s. Ashley’s is quite simply one of my most favorite bars in the whole world. It’s right up there with the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz in Paris, The Sanctuary in Iowa City, The Salisbury in London, and Pat O’Brien’s in New Orleans. Ashley’s beer list is uncompromising, extensive, and thoroughly annotated. And the 50 single-malt scotches they also serve doesn’t hurt, either. I started with a couple of local brews from Holland, Michigan:

• New Holland Dragons Milk: A strong ale with a bourbon flavor and malty aroma. It was like drinking chilled Kentucky Bourbon in a European nightclub.

• Dragonmead Lionhearted Ale: Very sour, yet had a surprisingly great depth in flavor. Like breaking up with a high school sweetheart only to hook up with the head cheerleader the next night

Then I finished with a vertical tasting of whiskeys. I sampled 4 different blends of the same distillery, Glenmorangie.

• 10 Year Old Single Malt: This was battery acid, but tasty battery acid, like being slapped in the face for saying something very clever yet offensive.

• Sherry Wood Cask: This one had a strong vinyl aroma, like stretching out naked in the back seat of a freshly polished ‘72 Cadillac

• Maderia Wood Finsh: The aromas of oaks and smoke blended with a sweet brown sugar flavor. It was my favorite of the night, conjuring up images of running like hell out of a Portuguese wine cellar because it's on fire.

• Port Wood Cask: This was battery acid that smells like port wine. A rich full flavored whiskey that still burns the hell out of your tongue. Like toasting your mortal enemy with a glass of port in a moment of truce only to discover that your glass is laced with cyanide.

Drunk and full, we capped off the night with a showing of Inglorious Basterds by Quentin Tarantino. Tarantino’s homage to WW II movies and Spaghetti Westerns, The movie was indulgent, dramatic, over-the-top, and rife with male fantasy. A perfect reflection of our entire day.

Fight On,

Hans

PS: Another really cool ting about Ann Arbor- they have little fairy doors arranged at random places around downtown.  Weird, but cool.  Sophie would love this place.  http://urban-fairies.com/

Bad Manners

Over the past years, I have made a number of road trips. I have attended USC road games from coast to coast. I have had the pleasure of enjoying Big-10 games in Iowa, Minnesota, Penn State, Michigan, and Northwestern. In my travels, I have seen beautiful campuses, huge stadiums, talented bands, and entertaining traditions. I have also experienced the best and worst in campus hospitality.


The best places to visit as an opposing team are:

1. Nebraska

2. Notre Dame

3. Arkansas , Alabama (tie)



The Nebraska fans are amazing. I can’t count how many tailgate parties I was invited to. Every single person I met welcomed me to Lincoln. I can’t wait to go back. Notre Dame is my favorite Trojans rival to hate. But South Bend is my favorite road trip. Gorgeous campus, fabulous traditions, and the students are always so eager to make your visit more pleasant. Too bad their team sucks. I will never forget our trip to Arkansas in 2006- Southern Hospitality is not a cliché in Fayetteville. My dad has seen USC play at Alabama twice (1970, 1978), and confirms this hospitality was warm and welcoming there as well. I have fellow USC alums that attended the game in Auburn in 2003 and commented on the classy fans they encountered. I am tempted to think that this applies to entire SEC, but then I remind myself of LSU (see below).



The worst places to visit, I am sorry to say are:

1. Ohio St

2. Virginia Tech

3. LSU



Considering I just got back from Columbus, I feel qualified to comment specifically on the Buckeye’s well-known reputation for hostility to visitors. The details in a moment. Elsewhere, Virginia Tech fans are awful. OK- this is based on two games in DC, but there is no way I am ever going to Blacksburg after the snide comments, open hostility, and druken myopia I’ve experienced. Maybe LSU fans are civil to anyone not named Nick Saban, but as far as Trojans are concerned they just can’t let go of the split national title in 2004. In fact, if you dare print the words “2004 split national title” in a periodical or newspaper, you will immediately receive reams of nasty emails from Baton Rouge.



This weekend, we held a mini family reunion in Columbus. The epic contest between the Buckeyes and Trojans was conveniently located within driving distance of three family epicenters (Iowa City, Ann Arbor, and State College). I have had the displeasure of entertaining Buckeye fans in Iowa City for Hawkeye games and I have heard from others that the Crimson and Grey are usually a bit obnoxious. I assumed it would be worse on their home turf, but I tried to approach the visit with an open mind. I knew I would be reporting my findings here in this column.

It was, sadly, worse than I expected. Outside the stadium, in the two hours prior to kickoff, I was physically assaulted at least twice (two blatant, unprovoked shoves and one shoulder bump that might have been accidental). We heard dozens of insults and trash talking. Mostly along the lines of “You’re going to have a long night tonight” and “USC sucks.” All the more impressive considering that we won 35-3 the previous year. Enough beer has a fascinating effect on reason and perspective. In all that time, we only met two people that were friendly and interested in carrying on a conversation with us beyond a mascot-related slur. One was the mayor of a small town (professional nice) and one was totally blitzed (chemically nice). We even got fleeced by the parking lot dude- he demanded $40 despite standing near a sign clearly saying $20. (why didn’t we just leave and park somewhere else? I wasn’t behind the wheel and wasn’t paying the bill).  Their sign outside the hospital proudly proclaimed that they made it to the "top 21" hospitals in America.  Top 21?  21?   Really?  I can't imagine what spot they got on that list.



We walked along the river (or is it an open sewer?) to the stadium, which is just huge. By the way, after I visit Texas and Tennessee, I will have attended a game in each of the 8 largest football stadiums in the country. Inside the stadium, the pre-game festivities were impressive. The “dotting of the I” done at the end of Script Ohio is the coolest marching band routine I’ve ever seen. And watching the Navy ROTC work the mainsheet of the giant American flag in the end zone, raising it like a spinnaker sail for the national anthem, was also very cool. But my admiration for the Buckeyes ends there. I was very happy to see USC play them tight. I was elated and literally jumped for joy when Joe McKnight saved our butts on the final drive. Matt Barkley grew up in a big hurry in those 95 yards! I was so happy to have won, so glad to hear the silence of 102,000, and so eager to get the Hell out of dodge.

Then I realized we might have to face these bozos again in Pasadena on New Years Day. Crap.



Fight On,

Hans

Boston for the Harvest Moon

That was quite a dream...and its funny because I had a very similiar dream. Although my dream ended with a herd of Rams running all over a heard a Buffalo.

Boston in Early October with the Harvest Moon is as good as it gets...believe me.

Earth and Skye

The air is starting to turn cooler here in Iowa. I am keeping my eye out for change in the foliage color. The first to turn is the soybeans in the fields, and I saw a few patches of yellow on Thursday. Although summer’s heat has faded, the evenings are still pleasant enough for long moonlit walks with the dogs. The moon this week has been simply amazing. It turned full just the other day, shining with a bright, blue glow that drenches the countryside in its magical spotlight. I was amazed to see my garden lit up like a jewel at 2 in the morning. And Jupiter, a steady white spot in the southern sky, has been riding along with his daughter Diana all week. I have been able to enjoy this celestial spectacle because I recently worked a string of night shifts, adopting a temporarily nocturnal schedule. The lack of normal sleep is worth it- my walks with Skye and Denali through this dreamy landscape are about as vivid and enchanting as any real dream could be.

Saturday, however, I had a real dream- one of the most amazing dreams in recent memory. I had nestled myself into the angle of my sectional leather sofa, with my trusted guardian Westie, Skye, at my feet. The pain of the previous evening’s ER shift was settling in my head: the drunks, the assaults, the suicide attempts. The best therapy for 8 hours of sorting through the worst of human anger and neurosis is a long and peaceful sleep. On this wonderful, beautiful, bright and clear Saturday, I looked forward to washing away a night’s work with a long journey through the dreamscape.



My dream began with Navy pushing Ohio State to the brink in the Horseshoe. Then Iowa blocking not one but two last-second game winning field goals by Northern Iowa. My dream went on, becoming more bizarre: I saw Michigan win a season opener. Then, Notre Dame displayed a potent offense. I dreamt of a USC starting a true Freshman quarterback, and looking good while doing it. The dreamscape turned south- I saw Cowboys beat up on Bulldogs and set up themselves for a run at the title. Then, the dream turned nightmarish- Sam Bradford falls awkwardly onto his throwing shoulder, tearing ligaments, diminishing chances at a repeat Heisman trophy, and crushing BCS hopes for the Sooners. At the same time, there was triumph: BYU pushed the Mountain West Conference just a little closer to ending the monopoly by the BCS’s big six. In the few precious moments just as the dream ends yet reality has yet to become lucid, I saw Bama struggling with Virgina Tech and LSU being tested by Washington.



I can only hope for more of this dream season!



Fight On,

Hans



PS: The current full moon, although occurring in September, is not really be the Harvest moon- its too early.  The Harvest Moon is the full moon nearest the Autumn equinox (September 22), and that’s when the majority of the harvest actually happens. Depending on the source you read, the current moon is the Corn moon or it doesn’t have a real name. This is the one year out of three when the Harvest moon will occur in October. (October 4th, when I visit Kurt in Boston for some moonlight pints of Guinness in the North end)

All this talk about food is making me hungry

For the last month, NPR and other sources of my news have been obsessed with food and food culture. The current fad on radio magazine programs is to talk about food, food movies, the benefits of fine foods, cooking, the foodie lifestyle, and especially food movies. I didn’t realize that the food movie is a recognized genre. All this foodie craziness stems from the recent release of Nora Ephrom’s Julie and Julia. It tells two stories together- that of Julia Child and her life in France and also about some wanna-be writer with a blog.



Actually, I have been looking forward to this film for a long time. I read Julia Child’s autobiography (My Life in France) in June and fell in love with it on many layers. First, there was the inspiring story of a tall, rather obnoxious American from Pasadena living in Paris and pursuing her dream of bringing French cooking to the USA. What she lacked in grace and beauty she made up for with unyielding fearlessness and an endearing character. Next, I developed an appreciation for a person I could only vaguely recall from my childhood. I knew her better from Dan Akroyd’s classic finger-butchering parody on SNL then from her show on the then-fledgling WGN in Boston. Hearing her words describe cooking in France and the US following World War II, I better understand the context into which her cookbook entered and exploded. Finally, there is the sublime seduction of an American in Paris, describing new foods, sauces, wines, cultures, tastes, accents, words. From the flaky croissant to the ubiquitous baguette, even the most simple of dishes become an art.

In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell tries to identify factors that lead to exceptionally accomplished people. He argues quite convincingly that talent is not simply innate. It is cultivated. In a gross over-simplification of his premise, Gladwell finds that “outliers” have an interest, get a unique opportunity of timing to develop that interest, and practice a ridiculous amount of time (10,000 hours at least). Julia Child, who arrived in France at age 37 without cooking in mind, proves that it is never too late to pursue a second career. Following Gladwell’s principles:

1) Julia developed a taste for world culture while working for the OSS (precursor to the CIA) in China – yes, she was a spy.

2) Julia developed an interest in French cooking when she tasted the Sole Meniere in Rouen, their first stop off the boat

3) Julia found herself in post war Paris, the wife of a embassy worker, and looking for something to do with her time.

4) Julia was surrounded by the greatest chefs, wines, and foods, all eager to share their techniques with this endearing yet loud and tall American

5) She practiced constantly, awaking at 6:30 every morning and would cook until late at night. All day. Every day.

Julia Child became, well, Julia Child. Upon returning home to the USA and selling ridiculous editions of her cookbook, she shattered the trend toward casseroles and TV dinners. She taught America to cook. And we all eat better because of it.

I have visited her kitchen. It’s in the Smithsonian Institution, in the basement of the American History museum. As I stared at her dozens of pots and pans (she was a kitchen gadget freak), a video was playing with highlights from her WGN show. In those few minutes, Julia taught me how to make an omelette. I had been making them for years, of course, but they never turned out quite right. She showed me that with a change in technique, the result is totally different. I now make them like Julia and they are fantastic.

But my favorite dish for breakfast during Autumn has to be Game Day Pancakes. Julia knew that ingredients and measurements are important. But the technique for preparing the dish and the setting for the enjoying the dish are even more important. So, with that in mind, here is my recipe for

Game Day Pancakes:

1 Box Complete Pancake Mix

Filtered Water

Enough butter to harden your arteries on sight

Pure, real maple syrup, from Vermont or Quebec



In a bowl, pour out 1 cup of mix per person in the house not too hungover to eat. Add ¾ cups of water for each cup of mix. Mix batter until smooth. Prepare a griddle (not a frying pan- those are for fish and crowded mushrooms, not pancakes) with medium-high heat. Let it get just hot enough to be dangerous. Gently coat griddle with cooking spray, making sure a little of the spray falls short of the stove top and cascades to the floor where it can be enjoyed by the family Labrador. Drop pancake batter in 4 – 6” rounds across griddle. Turn them when the bubbles on top start popping. Cook the other side briefly, no more than a minute.



Flip completed pancakes onto a waiting plate, piling them at least three stacks high in a little mound. While still hot, smear with enough butter to draw disapproving looks from your wife. Then add a little more. Then drown the whole pile in thick, sweet maple syrup.



Turn on ESPN college game day and enjoy the pile. I suggest pairing the pancakes with a vintage 2009 Florida Noveau Orange, the fresher the better. Then, until Corso dons the headgear, fall asleep and dream of beating the Bruins / Cyclones / Domers / Tigers / Tide / Gators / etc.



Fight On,



Hans