The Rake Magazine

Month: April 2007

  • Plains Tasty

    It’s dusk, and there’s an unmistakable whiff of charcoal in the air. It’s the sign of the outdoor cooking season, and is as eagerly awaited as the return of the red-winged blackbirds to the tree by my driveway. I look at my own shining, gray monster on the deck and I start thinking of the burgers and the steaks to come. Ah, the possibilities of a burger: the pile of avocado, the hint of blue cheese, the accent of arugula. Recently, though, I’ve been thinking less about what’s going on my burger than what’s going in it.

    Of late, there’s been much talk about what your meat eats. Has it spent its life roaming hills of grassy green, or has it been crowded into a pen munching on corn? How does that simple distinction affect nutritive value; how does it affect the world at large? And, most important, how does it affect the taste? After all, soybeans may be healthy, but you won’t see any McSoy Huts popping up anytime soon.

    Used to be, most cattle were raised and fed on the pasture grasses that covered the better part of the United States. As the population grew, so did the demand for beef. Certain efficiencies became necessary. Beef cattle were taken off the grassy hills and relegated to feedlots, where they were penned and fed a diet of corn and other grains. This allowed them to gain weight rapidly and be ready for slaughter sooner. Today, the majority of beef comes from these lots.

    But because of increasing interest in organic and traditional agriculture, grass-fed beef is making a comeback. The guiding principle behind the grass-fed movement is rather simple: Cattle are designed to eat grass. Cows, like sheep and other cloven-hoofed herbivores, are called “ruminants” because their bodies possess a rumen, a tank in which grasses are converted to proteins and fats. When the animals are fed corn and other grains, their bodies react with rapid growth and increased fat production, but only with the aid of supplements, antibiotics, and growth hormones. Without the supplements, it’s likely that the cattle wouldn’t be able to live on corn. Moreover, grain-fed cattle have a higher intestinal acidity, which provides a great breeding environment for the pathogenic E. coli bacteria. And that’s not good for people who love rare burgers.

    Grass-fed fans will quickly point out that their beef is not only less likely to make you ill, but it might just make you feel better. Many a doctor has extolled the virtues of grass-fed beef. It is lower in cholesterol and that nasty saturated fat. Meat from grass-fed beef is higher in omega-3 fats, the necessary fats that are also found in nuts, fish, and soybeans. Then there’s the fact that it’s four times higher in vitamin E than grain-fed beef, and considerably higher in conjugated linoleic acid (CLA), which is associated with lower cancer risk. And of course, grass-fed cattle, which never eat genetically produced or flesh-based feed, are far less likely to become “mad cows.”
    There are many environmental arguments that can be made for pasture-raised beef. The energy it takes to feed corn to a cow is considerable, especially when compared with an animal that forages off natural growth. While a wandering animal drops waste as it goes, providing natural fertilizer for the next season’s grasses, a feedlot cow’s waste heaps about her, creating polluted air and water.

    Locally, the standard for grass-fed beef has become the farmers who make up Thousand Hills Cattle Company out of Cannon Falls. Inspired by Michael Pollan’s New York Times account of the horrific life of feedlot animals, Todd Churchill decided to do what he could to bring pasture-raised beef to everyone’s attention. Their pastures are all-natural, never sprayed with synthetic pesticides or herbicides, and their livestock are never fed any corn, grain, or animal byproducts. Currently the chef’s favorite, you can find Thousand Hills products at many city co-ops, Kowalski’s, and Simon Delivers.

    Finally, to the meat of the issue: Grass-fed beef does have a different taste than the meat you may be used to. Because of many factors, such as the higher concentration of omega-3 fats, the natural variability of grasses ingested, and the different breeds of cows being raised, the beef tends to have a stronger flavor that some may not recognize. What’s remarkable is that, even without the usually high-fat marbling seen in other beef, properly cooked pasture-raised beef remains tender, juicy, and flavorful.

    Some chefs believe that the best way to treat the beef is to cook it slowly. Cafe Brenda, which has been the natural-food standard of the Twin Cities for twenty years, recently added grass-fed beef to the menu. On the night I was there, it arrived in the form of a richly turned pot roast. The flavor of the beef was softened by the long cooking process but was teased out beautifully with the red wine sauce.

    Scott Pampuch of Corner Table prefers braising. You’d agree if you ate his braised short ribs with earthy barley in a porcini broth.

    Grass-fed beef can be treated simply or elegantly. At Café Minnesota at the Minnesota History Center, a roast beef sandwich with local blue cheese has the perfect salty bite that rings with tanginess. Chef Alexander Roberts of Restaurant Alma prefers to treat it a little more delicately. His grass-fed beef carpaccio is a graceful dish with a creamy celery root aioli, grated horseradish, and spicy arugula. A sprinkling of fleur de sel brings it together. Finally, a classic grass-fed filet at Cue is complemented with oyster butter to balance the flavor, and set with braised escarole and lentils.

    There’s some doubt that I will be able to turn this season wholly over to grass-fed beef, if last year’s attempt at a total whole-grain conversion is any indication. But if I start with a burger—maybe the season’s first burger—I might be able to convince my family that the almost-forgotten flavor of traditional beef is well worth recalling at every opportunity.

    Tips For Cooking Grass-fed Beef
    From Rachel Rubin, executive chef of Thousand Hills Cattle Co.
    Grass-fed beef shouldn’t be cooked beyond medium. Internal temp for grilling should be between 120° (rare) and 145° (med). To check doneness, press steak with your finger. Medium-cooked will be slightly firm, but still springy to the touch. Or simply cut into the steak to gauge whether you’ve achieved the desired pinkness.

    Marinade
    1/2 cup olive oil
    1/2 cup lemon juice
    4 cloves chopped garlic
    1/2 tsp kosher salt
    1/2 tsp cracked black pepper
    Yields one cup. Increase as needed for size of cut. Combine all ingredients and mix well. Pour over beef, cover, and refrigerate. Small cuts can marinate for up to three hours, large roasts for up to three days.

    SHOP TALK

    When you think of May, think fresh fish in the park. Minnehaha Park’s Sea Salt Eatery is open for another season, offering killer oyster po’ boys and clam fries, y’all … St. Paul’s District del Sol will host it’s twenty-fifth Cinco de Mayo celebration May 4-5. If your mouth can’t find a big enough boost during the annual salsa competition, head over to the seventy-fifth Festival of Nations at RiverCentre, which is held the very same weekend as Cinco de Mayo. There, you’ll find at least thirty-five global cafés, ready to feed your cravings in any language … Think your Mom’s crumb cake was the ultimate? Prove it! Submit a recipe and brief essay on dear old mom to the Mother’s Day Recipe Contest sponsored by Let’s Cook. Dishes will be judged on May 10 during a benefit for the Domestic Abuse Project … For fans of the morel mushroom, May means two things: early morning forages through state parks and a visit to the Bayport Cookery for an ever-magical morel dinner, offered only in the springtime.

    CUISINE SUPREME

    Osaka
    Sometimes faded strip malls hide the best treasures. Osaka is one such gem, tucked as it is inside the old Time Square mall in Apple Valley. Walk into the bar for a drink or sushi; the blue lanterns cast a modern glow against the dark mahogany walls. The great room beyond holds a gathering of hibachi tables, expertly manned by smiling, knife-wielding pros. Working their blades, they turn a great meal. Sushi lovers will find their favorites, plus some interesting special rolls like the Black Dragon with lobster, eel, and avocado. The Love Boat is literally a boatload of raw fish, artfully arranged and, of course, freshly cut. 7537 148th St. W., Apple Valley; (952) 432-6155.

    Duplex
    Many brunches, especially in the Uptown area, are designed to help patrons refuel after wild nights on the town—a feat that is usually achieved with starchy or extra-sweet foods without a lot of character. Duplex hosts a brunch for the rest of us, those who wish to be awakened by the freshness and flavor of the day’s first meal. Eggs star on the menu, as with the poached eggs Florentine with a creamy and tangy bleu cheese hollandaise. The East Coast scramble gives us light and fluffy eggs with soft and salty smoked salmon, while the Argentine chorizo hash offers a more robust start to the day. Those craving a taste of something sweet will enjoy the hot, crunchy Belgian waffle doused with pure maple syrup. 2516 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-381-0700.

    Ngon Vietnamese Bistro
    This rather meager space, formerly known as Pho Anh, has received something of a French kiss. The hanging sign hasn’t changed, but the new name on the University Avenue door reads “Ngon Vietnamese Bistro,” and the vibe reads French Colonial. Bright, welcoming walls, bamboo flooring and colonial chandeliers and ceiling fans add something the space was sorely lacking—ambience. But it’s the food that adds the spark. Traditional dishes like broken rice, pho, and lemongrass beef are made with fresh, quality ingredients. Don’t miss the non-traditional daily specials, such as fish with a spicy ginger glaze or pork tenderloin with tangy aioli. With any luck, these dishes will play more prominent roles as the menu evolves. 799 University Ave. W., St. Paul; 651-222-3301.

    Read Stephanie March’s blog; and find more restaurant reviews.

  • Epistle Packin’

    “Mom and I are standing in front of the Church on Spilled Blood in St. Petersburg, Russia,” wrote Ann Bernstein of Minneapolis.

    “The church was built on the very spot where Emperor Alexander II was assassinated on March 1, 1881. The Literary issue was a perfect travel companion in this country, where things seem familiar until you look a little closer, and then they become strange.”

    Actually, after looking closely at this photograph, we noticed that the Bernsteins (mother, Edna, and daughter, Ann) are posed with our May 2006 Guns issue. Though the Emperor was assassinated with a bomb, not a handgun, this strikes us as somehow appropriate.

    Send along your Rakish travel snaps by snail mail or to prodmail@rakemag.com, and if we publish yours, we’ll send you a nonthermal, nonextreme Rake T-shirt and a $25 gift certificate from West Photo (21 University Ave. N.E., Minneapolis).

    Ann Bernstein

  • Man Versus Beast

    Fifty years ago I was a young bride planning to rent an old Iowa farmhouse. My rural mother-in-law shared her successful bedbug remedy [“A Bedtime Preyer,” April].

    She said: “Wash and air-dry all bedclothes. Center the bed in the middle of the room. Put each leg (bed leg) in a pail of turpentine. Don’t smoke. Sleep.”

    Perhaps the vermin died running up to the feast; perhaps they died crawling down to their bedrooms. Having never needed this old-time advice, I’ll share for the future.

    Sharon Sawyer, St. Paul

  • A Fatal Lack of Judgment

    There are two things I’ve learned from reading and talking about the decline of modern newspapers: The average consumer doesn’t give a damn, and a key survival strategy of those who remain in mainstream newspapers is denying the self-inflicted wounds of compromised news judgment.

    To the first, there isn’t much I or any other ex-newspaper drone can do to whip up a frenzy of public pity. Too many other industries have been gutted in recent years, and to your typical forty-hour-week wage slave, newspapering always seemed like light lifting and comparative fun.

    On the second point, though—despite the blame placed on greedy investors milking papers for ridiculously unsustainable profits, and indifferent twenty-year-olds getting their faux news from the Internet—there’s the question of how well newspapers are performing their fundamental function of being the primary driver of news.

    A case in point is the Star Tribune’s curious handling of whether former U.S. Attorney Tom Heffelfinger was in any way part of the now well-documented purge of attorneys around the country, and whether his replacement, Rachel Paulose, was in any way linked to the White House or Justice Department officials who were coordinating the process.

    By the time you read this, all questions may have been resolved. Ms. Paulose may have demonstrated newfound competence in her job, and it may have been confirmed that there was never any connection of any kind between her and Justice Department officers like Deputy Attorney General Paul McNulty and the Justice Department White House liaison Monica Goodling, people she once worked closely with and who are believed to be central to the firings. But I doubt it. The story appears to have both legs and unusual depth, which is why the Star Tribune’s laissez-faire, punch-pulling approach through the winter and into early April is so striking.

    What is knowable is that the Star Tribune’s former Washington, D.C., correspondents, primarily Greg Gordon, filed at least two provocative reports—the first on January 26—detailing the unusual political nature of replacement U.S. attorneys around the country, with specific mention of Paulose. And yet the Star Tribune declined to run not just those pieces, but anything at all on what clearly was a relevant, tantalizing story until columnist Nick Coleman weighed in on March 31. Coleman’s column came after several weeks of badgering his editors to first get someone to do a straight news piece, at least on whether Heffelfinger might have been on a 2006 list of prosecutors to be moved out for more “loyal” replacements.

    The fact that the Star Tribune was not alone in showing insufficient urgency for this story is central to my point. Besieged by new competition and gutted by their parent companies, big metro daily newspapers are still, for better and worse, the primary legitimizer of what is news in their home cities. They continue to set the news agenda—particularly on slow-evolving stories with complex bureaucratic twists.

    TV reporters and news directors who say they don’t generate assignments off the morning papers are flat-out lying. The Twin Cities have the unique advantage of Minnesota Public Radio’s presence, with its comparatively large reporting staff. But MPR’s game is depth, not breadth. More to the point, MPR lacks the nerve to lead on a story like this, what with the first-ever female U.S. attorney in Minnesota—and a minority at that—as the central figure.

    Two Star Tribune reporters, who asked not to be identified for fear of reprisals, tell of being lectured once by McClatchy corporate types on the need to avoid the appearance of liberal bias. There probably isn’t a reporter alive who’d listen to something like that without taking offense. But the two Stribbers took even greater umbrage because the McClatchy-ite didn’t bother to offer examples of any of them engaging in bias, liberal or otherwise. What the two took away from the episode was the suspicion that “liberal bias” was really a marketing problem, and it’d be better for marketing if “we pulled punches on Republicans,” as one of them described it.

    The appearance in the Paulose story is one of news judgment compromised by political and marketing concerns. For those who would hope that news judgment was above such considerations, this is just another bit of evidence that self-censorship and editorial timidity are compounding the effects of investor greed and the Internet. At the very least, newspapers could stop accelerating their own demise by killing off their lone remaining competitive advantage.

    Read more Brian Lambert online.

  • Echoes of the Empire

    I shall spend a lot of this summer reading Polybius. The rise and fall of empires is in the air, and Polybius is the most coherent historian of the rise of Rome—not least because he was a Greek and smart. When Polybius describes how the Roman general Titus Flaminius accomplished his mission in the Second Macedonian War of 200-196 B.C. and then promptly promised that the Roman army would withdraw so that Greece might now be free, one cannot avoid a sense of déjà vu all over again.

    Such Roman blandishments did not on the whole fool Polybius, but, in general, the old Greek admired Rome; he saw it as the new world called into existence to redress the balance of the old. What other people considered Roman aggressiveness he extolled as efficiency; what others deemed their unthinking arrogance, he thought of as honest confidence. For all Polybius’ praise of Roman discipline, I admire more the Romans’ fierce adversaries, the bright-eyed Celts who threw themselves in waves against the solid wall of Roman shields at the Battle of Telamon in 224 B.C., ululating their wild war cries, wearing nothing but their weapons, their long hair, and the gold collars round their necks.

    Of course not all empires are the same, either in the trajectory of their rise and decline, or in the spirit animating them. It would be hard to find in Roman imperial verse such a sense of the fragility of human aspiration as that expressed in the High Victorian ode that Sir Edward Elgar turned into his cantata “The Music Makers.”

    One man with a dream, at pleasure,
    Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
    And three with a new song’s measure
    Can trample an empire down.

    More remarkable still for its humility is “Recessional,” the ode written to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897 by Rudyard Kipling, the archpoet of Empire:

    Far-called, our navies melt away—
    On dune and headland sinks the fire—
    Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
    Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

    Try getting a Roman emperor (or American president) to utter the final couplet of “Recessional”:

    For frantic boast and foolish word,
    Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

    Of course no empire ever entirely dies. The Romans brought the cherry to Italy and the grape to France, and they seem to have survived. Go to Nîmes in Provence and admire the Roman temple known as the Maison Carée, which still has its Roman roof. Then head out on the old pilgrim road to Compostela ’til you come to pebbled slopes facing south across the marshes of the Camargue, famous for its wild gray horses and pink flamingoes (naturally pink, not kept that way by being fed carrots or shrimp shells like the ones in zoos). Here are the vines of Château L’Ermitage, makers of a wonderful white wine that can be had for around eleven dollars hereabouts.

    The 2005 vintage of Chateau l’Ermitage has a trajectory like that of an empire. In the beginning, the color is clear and cloudless, the immediate aroma redolent of flowers from the south. I was reminded of a snuff I used to take that was scented with North African carnations. The initial taste is fresh and light, like melons, almost like watery Chenin Blanc, followed by no sharpness but lots of low and dirty tannins, like Melba toast. Wait, though. The wine grows upon your very tongue. Roussanne grapes, a rather rare variety grown mostly along the Rhône, contribute half of the juice in this vintage (the rest is Grenache and a little Viognier) and in a warm year they produce wine of great richness. The flowery first impression and the forceful tannins fuse into a flavor that is full bodied, powerful, and pungent like gunflint. Enjoy it with old-home chicken—potatoes, garlic, onions, and boneless breasts of chicken (never understood that—I thought most breasts were boneless), fried together and mixed with yogurt just before dishing up. (Make sure you use the plain yogurt, not the strawberry flavor.) Eventually, a day or two after the wine has been exposed to the open air, acid will creep in round the edges. Sic transit gloria mundi. Time to open another bottle.

    Oliver Nicholson is a classicist at the University of Minnesota and former secretary of the Wine Committee at Wolfson College, Oxford.

    Read more of Oliver Nicholson’s wine selects.

  • Yippee: A Journey to Jewish Joy

    “When you wake up in the morning, don’t kvetch! Say ‘Yippee’!” So suggests the wisdom of this happy collective of Hasidic Jews in this delightful, if somewhat workmanlike, documentary from Paul Mazursky. Mazursky, once a presence in Hollywood (he created the outstanding Enemies: A Love Story before flushing his career down the toilet with some of the worst straight-to-video fare a great director has ever made), leads us by the arm to Uman, a Ukrainian city that just so happens to be the burial place of nineteenth-century Rabbi Nachman. Each Rosh Hashanah, Hasidic Jews from around the globe flock to this town for a rollicking celebration of faith. Funny thing is the event looks more like a Grateful Dead concert than a pilgrimage. The rumpled Mazursky is a wonderful guide—arm in a sling, unshaven, telling the same damn jokes over and over and insisting to anyone who will listen that he is a “famous American director.” But he doesn’t hog the lens, choosing instead to provoke stories and humor from the people who are only too eager to lean into the camera, eyes glistening, and tell why they’ve come to this corner of the world to dance and sing and laugh. This screening is part of the fourteenth Annual Jewish Film Festival. Hopkins Cinema 6, 1118 Mainstreet W., Hopkins; 952-931-7992.

  • The Valet

    François Pignon (the Moroccan-born Jewish actor Gad Elmaleh) has it pretty rough. He’s a good-natured but horse-faced valet who can’t convince the love of his life to marry him. Out moping one afternoon, he is caught on film while standing on a street corner, by chance next to a supermodel who’s out on a romantic interlude with a very-married perfume magnate. When paparazzi break news of this illicit affair, the cheating hubby (played by a very funny Daniel Auteuil) cooks up a plan to have the supermodel move in with the poor bloke, so that his wife (Kristin Scott Thomas, speaking fluent French) will be convinced of his innocence. Director Francis Veber’s broad comedy is sweet and charming, much like his earlier films The Dinner Game and The Closet. The Valet is a swell springtime diversion, a movie to enjoy with your date before strolling around the lakes. Edina Cinema, 651-649-4416.

  • It Came From Another World!

    In this purposefully ridiculous sequel to his popular The Monster of Phantom Lake, Christopher R. Mihm offers yet another send-up of ’50s B-movies. This Ed Wood-like quality is achieved with grainy black-and-white images, a hambone cast, and special effects that look as though created from random objects found in the garage—which, in fact, is often the case. In It Came From Another World!, our hero, Professor Jackson, a Meerschaum pipe-smoking square, must save the world—again—when aliens land in Small Town, USA. Mihm’s films don’t withstand repeated viewing by adults used to quality filmmaking, but they are imaginative and fun—the perfect summer drive-in fare. And they’re like to inspire more budding filmmakers than the new Pirates movie. The premiere is at the Heights Theatre, and most tickets are available by invitation only via the website. Heights Theatre, 3951 Central Ave. N.E., Columbia Heights; 763-788-9079.

  • Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

    It takes guts for an established band to keep messing with fans’ expectations. BRMC began with the punkish scruff-and-fuzz of Jesus and Mary Chain, took a harder rock edge on the follow-up, totally corkscrewed into rootsy Americana ditties inlaid with gospel and blues on their third, and now charge again into blistering pop-rock on their latest, Baby 81. Along the way, the California trio was unceremoniously dropped by a major label, were resigned by another one, lost and regained their drummer, confused the hell out of everybody, and continued to churn out restlessly creative, compelling music regardless of style or critical response. First Avenue, 612-332-1775.

  • Ben Gibbard

    Critics have called him a nauseatingly romantic wuss, a badge-of-honor Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard has worn through three Grammy nominations, six critically acclaimed albums, and a performance on Saturday Night Live. Everything this soft-spoken, melodic alt-rocker has touched in the ten years since he founded Death Cab, including his side project The Postal Service, has turned gold. This is a rare opportunity for Gibbard fans to check out the singer/songwriter performing solo and acoustic—no better way to hear the depressing yet soulful and ironically titled hit “SuchGreat Heights.” First Avenue, 612-332-1775.