Holiday greetings

Ah yes. By the time you read this, the bloat of Thanksgiving will have passed (hopefully), all leftovers eaten, discarded or given away. And the ramp up for the remainder of holiday season will have begun.

Thanksgiving in my family has always been unusual and inconsistent. Given how the “unusual” has worked out, I appreciate that the celebration has been inconsistent. It’s allowed me to explore and develop other Thanksgiving opportunities. Last year, I spent the holiday with a neighbor and his collection of PhD candidates from the University of Minnesota’s geography department.

It was an extremely cold day, I recall, because we spent a good part of it outside in our building’s parking lot, with a large deep fryer. We ignored all the scare-tactic broadcasts by local television news—you know the ones, the clips of big fryers producing six-foot flames, engulfing patio furniture, decks, and inevitably the home.

C’mon. We had the situation covered—we had alcohol to drink and a fire extinguisher at the ready.

The fryer experiment started out very well. My neighbor began heating the oil in the fryer hours earlier. Once the oil was heated to the appropriate temperature, and we all had downed at least a couple drinks in our defense against the cold, we started to drop stuff in the hot oil, beginning with breaded brie, which turned out fantastic. Guests began to arrive, and more appetizers were tossed into the fryer, including some mystery concoctions folded into pastry dough.

Finally, it was time for the turkey. My neighbor brought out the bird, which he had injected with a maple syrup “marinade,” placed it into the basket and lowered it into the oil. All good, except that there was not enough oil in the fryer. This is where a poor decision was made. More oil was dumped into the fryer—oil that was sitting outside in the frigid cold as long as we were.

Needless to say, the oil temperature dropped significantly. Checking it a short time later, it sat at about 270 degrees, a good 80 degrees from where it should be. We were boiling the turkey in oil, not frying it.

Still, we persevered. Did I mention we had alcohol?

But the best thing about these kinds of Thanksgivings is that they are potluck. A couple vegan friends prepared gravy, a lentil loaf, sautéed some green beans and made a pumpkin pie. Another couple made sushi rolls (which we later tried to deep fry). A Turkish couple brought a pan of borek, a Turkish dish of pastry, spinach and feta cheese. Someone else brought a maple-smoked ham.

Eventually, we declared the turkey cooked, but it wasn’t anything like the rave reviews we’d heard about deep-fried turkeys. Moist? Yes. Crispy on the outside? No. But we learned our lesson. Don’t drink too much while you’re outside fumbling with a deep fryer. We redeemed ourselves somewhat when my neighbor tossed some butternut squash ravioli into the oil—now up to the appropriate temperature—after we yanked the bird. They turned out very nice.

But that’s part of what Thanksgiving is all about, isn’t it? Some part of the meal MUST fail. This type of get-together, with wine flowing and people locked in various conversations tops any holiday family meltdown I’ve endured in the past. I was even a nice guy—I didn’t tell the vegans that the batch of garlic mashed potatoes I made (and they ate two helpings of) were laden with butter and fresh parmesan.

This year, however, I’m traveling up north to Minocqua, Wis. to spend the holiday with the lady friend and her parents. Just the four of us, and we all get along, so it should be a peaceful gorging.


Speaking of up north

It’s an interesting place up there in Minocqua. Once the summer tourists leave, it’s very much a “North Woods” town. For an urban dweller used to walking down the street and having multiple restaurants to choose from, the dining options up there are slim, to say the least. A quality dining experience is possible, however. A very good restaurant is Jacobi’s, just south of Minocqua, with its garlic infused beef tenderloin that’s as good as any in a high-priced steak house in the Twin Cities.

But the last time I visited, we didn’t go there. A half-hour from Minocqua is Eagle River, a town of about 1,400, and near there is Michael’s Italian Restaurant. Within the roadhouse exterior there are few surprises, although among those is the claim of “authentic Italian cuisine.”

With a surprise like Jacobi’s already experienced, I was willing to believe. But first, there was a lesson to be learned with my drink order, a whiskey sour. The server asked, “Do you want that blended, or…”

“Or what?” I asked.
“Do you want your whiskey, and the sour?” she asked.
“Yes, a whiskey sour.”
“But do you want the whiskey and then the sour,” she said.
“Like separated? Like on the side?” I asked, clearly befuddled.
“Yeah. We’re up North here.”
“Oh. Blended, please.”

I’d been up North. Was born up even further North. And I’d never heard of drinking whiskey with a side of sour. Beer and a bump, sure. But the bump and a sour? When my drink arrived a long time later, it was the fanciest whiskey sour I’d ever seen, shaken in a mixer, I believe (there were shards of crushed ice floating in it) and poured into a small martini glass with crushed ice and a Marciano cherry.

The bar was typical North Woods: large, wooden and comfortable with TVs hanging in the corners. The dining room was slightly more…well, like a dining room. Dim lighting, tablecloths, cutlery.

Tables emptied and filled while we sat—it’s a popular joint—and what was coming out of the kitchen looked to be your classic American take on Italian food: pasta and marinara sauce topped with cheese, steaks and potatoes and chicken alfredo.

The menu highlighted a 14-ounce steak and a chicken dish prepared “Sicilian style,” other beef cuts could be prepared in the same fashion for an extra two bucks. I asked our server to define Michael’s “Sicilian-style,” which she described as crushed Ritz crackers and garlic butter piled on top of the char-broiled meat and baked for a bit. I did not know that the Ritz cracker method was of Sicilian origin. Do the Sicilians know that?

I ordered the steak. It was cooked to my specifications (medium rare) and it wasn’t bad served in that “Sicilian” style. Proof that there are pseudo-international dining adventures awaiting us everywhere.


A Wine Affair

A shameless plug for Three Sons Signature Cuisine and their wine tasting event, A Wine Affair, held the second Thursday of each month at the St. Anthony Main Event Centre. Thirty bucks is a bargain for this caliber wine and food-pairing event. I’ve attended a few of them, and can call it an educational experience.

And the food? Very, very good. That’s the highlight for me, really. Served in small plate samples, last month’s grub included pan-seared foie gras with caramelized shallot puree and poached pear, thyme crusted veal chop with caramelized fennel shallot confit, and the sample that disappeared the fastest (well, the fastest next to the chocolate dessert concoctions) was the brown butter seared beef tenderloin. December 14’s Wine Affair is champagne and sparkling wines with food pairings.

Also, the company is holding its annual New Year’s Eve Gala. See Pat Lindquist’s column for further details, and to order tickets for either event, visit http://www.threesonskitchen.com/.