I had some of this this summer, but I was on vacation. I meant to tell you about it later, but the thing about dinner it there’s always another one and it’s hard to play catch-up.
“This” isn’t the butternut squash or roasted brussels sprouts or sauteed kale with garlic and chies pictured above. “This” is the wild duck next to them. It’s the reason fancy-schmancy restaurant duck almost always disappoints me. Where, I find myself asking, is the flavor?
We had them for my dad’s birthday dinner. I made the vegetables listed above, my brother and his wife brought the carrot cake, my mom marinated the birds, and my dad shot and grilled his own dinner. Happy Birthday!
But wait! There’s more. My mom also made spare ribs & sauerkraut. Odd, right? Seems like a lot, even too much, food, doesn’t it? Here’s what I’ve been able to piece together: The first time we met my sister-in-law, the lovely Heidi (in order to avoid troll-like comparisons I don’t like to stand next to her in pictures), was at the now-defunct Minneapolis outpost of Aquavit. Her dislike of salmon came up because the Scandi menu was so very salmon-heavy. At several other junctures our family has served or ordered food she had never had before–not didn’t like, not wouldn’t try, just never had. From this pastiche of experience, my mother has somehow deduced that Heidi is a picky eater. (I’m just guessing here, stay with me.) So she made the mouth-watering, falling-off-the-bone ribs under the assumption/guess/worry that Heidi doesn’t like duck. She’s a good host and wants her guests well fed and happy.
But for the record: I saw Heidi eat the duck. She was sitting across from me. Did she strip the bones clean of all flesh as my son and I did? No. She’s a lady. But she did eat it. A lot of it. And she tried all the sauces (hoisin, plum, hot mustard–oh my!) that were on offer. And she ate her vegetables, too.
Along with the treat of a super sustainable duck dinner (hey, the “slaughter” also counts as recreation–it’s a real win-win), my quick visit to Minnesota had several other moments of joy. One was watching as Ernest surprised my dad while trick-or-treating. You see, my dad didn’t know we were coming. It was a birthday surprise. Sure, we’ve visited on his birthday for three of the past four years. Sure, two of those visits were “surprises.” But he’s not one to suspect, my dad. Or pick up on clues. Or, for such a history buff, even notice historical patterns.
Ernest rang the bell, my dad answered the door and said, “Well hello there. What a cute trick-or-treater. What are you?” They stared at each other for a moment before Ernest removed his hood (not mask, mind you, his face was fully visible at all times) and proudly declared, “I’m Ernest!”
We all laughed and hugged and went inside to eat spicy chili.
Another joyful moment occurred as I walked around a very fancy neighborhood in Minneapolis. Big houses, vast lawns, lake views. Lots of money. You’d think Republican-making money. But almost every lawn had an Obama sign. And not just an Obama sign. Signs for higher taxes to support local public schools (“strong schools for a strong city”) and signs for higher taxes to support clean air and “legacy management,” which I pieced together is for arts funding. I heard a comedian once refer to Minnesota as a “progressive Lutheran police state,” and there’s an element of truth to that. I don’t know the first thing about either of these measures or propositions, whether they’re well written and properly funded and mandated. But coming from a state that for over 30 years has refused to revisit a tax-cap that has devastated its public schools, it was heartening to see people posting signs that essentially said “I’ll pay higher taxes for good schools and a nice place to live.”
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