Sara Kerr

Enchanted Broccoli Forest

December 9, 2017
Julia Child, Crescent Dragonwagon and Betty Crocker

I bought junk food today: pizza rolls, frozen pizza and hot dogs with white buns. Other than the occasional can of refried beans and tortilla chips, I’m a real food person. I like peeling oranges and snapping beans. But this week, I’ll miss three dinners, which is unusual even with my crazy schedule. Yes, there are veggies in the freezer and Cuties in the fridge, but I doubted my people would think to go there. And I’m tired. I’m just not in the mood to leave instructions and prep ingredients.

Expect More

Pasta with Marinara, mixed veg in cheese sauce; dinner was basic. Of all the things I’ve made recently, they loved the cheesy mixed veggies–not the fluffy quiche or squash tangine. Nope, it was the Birdseye box lost in the freezer that appealed.

“Of course,” says the cookbook collector, “making a cheese sauce is easy. There’s broccoli in the fridge. You can make it for dinner this week.”

Really?!

Faster than you can say “ice cream,” they popped up and each grabbed a cookbook. Obviously, Julia Child, Crescent Dragonwagon and Betty Crocker would give them direction. However, this was not the time to explain the basics of a béchamel sauce.

Tête de Veau

“People eat brains?!”

Maybe the next time they sniff at riced cauliflower and sausage, I’ll threaten them with Julia Child! Actually, we had a lovely conversation about many of the things I have cooked that they ate, remembered and requested.

Remember that time you made bœuf bourguignon?

What was the enchanted broccoli forest, again?

Hey look! It’s a hand-written recipe for biscotti! Are we making pizzelle tonight?
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Do We Have to Eat That…?

December 8, 2017
Carrots, Kids and Dinner

Oops. During our heatwave last weekend, I dug up the carrots I’d planted in August. (I’d heard that leaving them in the ground post-frost made them sweeter, so maybe I really didn’t forget them.) Of course, I didn’t bring them in on Sunday, either. And it snowed.

Dinner

With the fridge nearly empty, I dug some herbs out of the snow and found the mound of carrots. Frozen, muddy, misshapen; they were never going to star on Pinterest.

I put dinner in the oven (quiche) and attacked the carrots. There’s something very relaxing about chopping veggies with music you love blasting from the other room. That is until your fiercest critics express themselves.

Um, what’s for dinner?

What are those?

Do we have to eat that?!

The quiche didn’t look to bad after that.
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Burgers and Besties

December 7, 2017
Al Franken resigned today. I’m disappointed in his behavior and I’m disappointed in the political machinations that forced him to resign. He did a lot of good for Minnesota and women, in general.

The future will belong to those who have passion and are willing to work hard to make our country better.

Paul Wellstone

However, I’m grateful to have friends that I can lunch and talk with about sexual harassment and workplace culture and all the shitty things that can happen between people. Men and women can be friends; the pop songs are wrong.

Not All French Fries are Created Alike

Neither are all friends. There are few people that I can share what I really think about #MeToo and #BalanceTonPorc. Thank you.
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The Word of the Day is Snow

December 5, 2017
(And Ice. And Wind.)

Crunch. Scrape. Crackle. The party is over, Minnesota! In typical midwestern fashion, the newscasts are all saying, “It could be worse,” before they segue to the Ventura, California wild fires.

After all, there is no bad weather, just poor clothing choices. (I’m sure some meteorologist said that.)
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Driving my Dad

December 4, 2017
I love driving. I love sports cars. I love stick shifts. I’ve never experienced a mani-pedi or a week at a spa, but I know every hill and curvy road in St. Paul. I’d much rather drive my ’73 MGB (“The Little Girl”) to the farmers market or practice how efficiently I can circumvent a traffic circle in the Fiat (“Puff”) than splurge on sparkly nails.

Roads of Dreams

I grew up in Iowa, where my Dad swore there were no speed limits in the country. He’d cram all of us into some British roadster and we’d fly to my grandparents’ farm near La Porte City to help out (and eat pie). I can still feel the wind whipping my hair around and the sheer joy flying past the endless miles of corn and cows. My dad no longer drives. Nowadays, we kids pick him up to run errands and go out to lunch.

I can’t say I’m the only one of us that inherited the car bug, but I’m certainly the most vocal about it. Invariably, when I pick him up, my dad’s got something to say about the Fiat. They’re always complimentary. He likes the shiny red exterior, the engine’s purr (turbo!), the interior details, and of course riding around with me. The first ride last year, he kept trying to brake from the passenger’s seat. He’s given up on that folly, so instead, he just gives me helpful advice:

I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a ticket yet.

Turn here, but slow down first.

When, I drive with you, I feel like we’re going to take off.

My response to the last comment was, “Well, who in the world taught me to drive?!” (For the record, it was my older brother in a 5-speed red Camaro, but my dad laughed anyway.)

Every Day is a Gift

Yes, I love my car, but I love my dad even more. As he approaches 90, every day playing hooky with him is a gift.

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Earnestness

December 2, 2017
Earnestness: that conviction and passion for a cause you see on college campuses.

I joined Amnesty International in college. My best friend and I started the AI chapter at the University of Minnesota-Morris. We wrote letters, drank beer and commiserated about the many political prisoners around the world. Nelson Mandela was top of mind. He was released 11 February 1990 from Victor Verster Prison. I remember watching the live broadcast in France. Did my letter make a difference? Who knows. I felt better for having written it. Nowadays, I mostly donate and Tweet my outrage. I’m such a slactovist.

Soundtrack
- The Replacements, “Bastards Of Young”
- U2, “MLK” (Paris, 1987)
- Green Day, “American Idiot” and Minority”
- Tracy Chapman, Behind the Wall (Wembeley, 1988)
- Josh Ritter, “Girl In The War”
- Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, “Ohio”
- N.W.A., “Straight Outta Compton”
- Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band, “American Skin (41 Shots)”
- Billie Holiday, “Strange Fruit”
- Brother Ali, “Uncle Sam Goddamn”
- The Black Eyed Peas, “Where Is The Love?”
- Steve Earle, “The Revolution Starts Now”
- Arcade Fire, “Intervention”
- Buffalo Springfield, “For What It’s Worth”
- James Brown, “Say It Loud ~ I’m Black & I’m Proud”
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December skies

December 1, 2017
I love December. The lights. The early darkness. The snow. Fireplaces. Hot Tea. Ice skating. Cross-country skiing. Winter vacation. No school for two whole weeks! I think I’m starting to sound like a Scandinavian who likes to Hygge!

The only problem with December is it’s followed by January and February, not April and May, which is what I’m in the mood for by January 3.

“hygge,” a Danish term defined as “a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being.” Pronounced “hoo-guh,” the word is said to have no direct translation in English, though “cozy” come close. (The New Yorker)

Apparently, I’m a year late, too. I’ve never been trendy, so this almost makes me an “early adopter,” don’t you think?
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Less than perfect

November 30, 2017
I had intended to write about how much I love persimmons. How you can buy two kinds in Minnesota, the mushy ones, and the firm ones. They’re gorgeous. I love the color, the texture, and how sweet they are. The mushy ones (Hachiya) are particularly good smashed on toast. But if you’re impatient like me, buy the Fuyu, which can be eaten firm–almost like an apple.

But I forgot this particular piece of fruit on the buffet. And now it’s very much less than perfect, just like the kumquat, book and chipped plate it’s with. I’ll still eat it because I hate food waste. And while not photoshoot ready, it’ll still taste good. If I’m wrong and it’s truly horrible, it’ll be a nice snack for my chickens.

Eat it anyway

The sign on my local bus states Americans waste 40% of their food. I’m pretty sure that refers to the food we let rot in our refrigerators and pantries and excludes the ugly fruit and vegetables that no one wants to buy.

I’ll think on that when I buy groceries today.
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Unami Yumminess

August 22, 2017
Thankfully the only wars raging in Minnesota include Japanese beetles vs. everyone’s garden and who serves the best Juicy Lucy. I suppose I could name a few other feuds (best twin city, best new food at the fair, best food on the Green Line, etc.), but I’m here to talk about the best cheeseburger in town. I’m not a fan of Juicy Lucy’s, so I’m referring to a classic grilled beef patty with cheese on top.

The economics side of me definitely prefers Monday night burgers at the Groveland Tap for $3 each. Even with the recent 50¢ price increase, I can order 6 burgers and a basket of fries for less than $40. No, I don’t eat them all myself.

But there might be a new champion burger in my life.

The other day, I wandered down West 7th and popped into Burger Moe’s with some friends. The Bleu Sky Burger with grilled mushrooms, caramelized balsamic onions and dripping with blue cheese still haunts me. Its unami yumminess — that 5th taste found in parmesan cheese, Japanese dashi (kelp) stock and caramelized veggies — is so satisfying. Unfortunately, it’s huge, so I’ve yet to finish one and remembered to bring my leftovers home. Now if only they served Fresh French Fries, I’d be in culinary heaven.

The burger’s so good, I forgot to take a photo.
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Music, Marriage, and Compromise

April 24, 2017
Hüsker Dü, a band we both love.

“Candy Apple Grey, is our home’s name,” I announced at dinner the other night. We named our dining room table, Alex Chilton, so we needed to name our house, too. The front door is candy apple red, the house will be gray as soon as it’s warm enough to paint, and “Candy Apple Grey” is one of our favorite records. I know many families discuss their day’s high (and low) points and what they’re grateful for, etc., but my mind doesn’t work that way. We talk about music a lot and new ideas for projects that came to mind that day.

Hüsker Dü and I go way back. I spent a lot of time hanging out at their all-ages shows at First Ave when I was in high school. I wasn’t exactly what you’d call popular with musical taste like that. So when I met my future husband and learned he loved their music too, how could I say no? (Cue “Could you be the one?”) Hüsker Dü is one about half a dozen bands that we both love. It’s a shared spectrum of music — the bands we both love, the bands I love and he kind of likes (and vice versa) and the dreaded few that one of us hates and the other loves or at least likes. That’s why, I explained to the kids, that relationships are built on shared passions and a lot of compromise. I don’t make him listen to Dessa and Adele and he doesn’t play Al Stewart and Elton John when I’m around.

My teen years were tough, so the über depressing punk music of Hüsker Dü (and new wave old Cure) let me know I was not alone in how I felt.

Punk?

“Hüsker Dü was a punk band?” our eldest asked?

“Yes,” I answered, “Until they morphed into power pop and that Bob’s songs were better.”

Thus we felt the need to explain to our adult child the profound difference between Bob Mould’s songs vs. Grant Hart’s. Until my better half mentioned that Grant wrote “Sorry Somehow.” And I didn’t believe him until found my cheaters and read the liner notes. That, I explained to my son, was what marriage is all about. Not “Trust but verify” but caring enough about one another to debate and find joy in common interests, and admit when you’re wrong.
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