Sunday, July 2, 2017

Meals al fresco, lord of the literal flies through No. 14 ...

Meal No. 13 was doubly important, as it was a dinner al fresco as well as a hotdog of Instagram. #summergoals
It's been weeks since the night when an attempt to eat outside was thwarted by a swarm of nasty, salmon-loving flies who circled cartoonishly above our plates. We unset the bistro table faster than you can say "every time a fly lands it pukes on whatever it landed on, according to nature." Turns out the salmon was thicker, meatier than any of us really like anyway, so.

We tried again a few weeks later. On this occasion, we had received a bunch of bok choy from our CSA. I brushed it with a mix of butter and spicy-spices, then we grilled it on both sides and hot diggity dog was that amazing. We also roasted the radishes and turnips and again attempted salmon. Here's what I've learned in our third year of getting mega-loads of vegetables: If you can't use it in a salad, juice it. And if you can't juice it, grill it. (I italicized this because it's closer to a bit of needlepoint wisdom that should be captured on a throw pillow.) We also had salmon because we're basically one-meat ponies. Also: on Saturdays I eat gluten. Actually, Fridays, too.

Perfect Duluth Day turned 14 so we went to its birthday-slash-all you can eat coleslaw party on the patio Sir Benedict's Tavern on the Lake. One local hero downed more than a dozen coleslaw shots, sometimes sloshing the ramekins with beer to make it go down more smoothly. I missed this part, but was able to get the fever of the flavor on The Snapper. Me, I just had a bratwurst with raw onions and mustard and a noticeable absence of relish and sauerkraut. Anyway, there were also baked beans and coleslaw -- either creamy or vinegar-y. I opted for the former. Meanwhile, Chach really latched on to the word "Tavern" and can't stop talking about the concept.

We had plans to surprise Chach with a Family Fun Day trip to the local parking lot carnival. Last year she liked it so much, she rage barfed pizza all over the back seat when we told her it was time to leave. (This year she contends that she had to poop last year, and it had made her extra cantankerous.) Anyway, we went back to Sir Ben's for dinner because Wednesday was such a mega-success, palate-wise. I had a tomato-pesto sandwich that was right on and we accidentally sat under a speaker, which was blaring a live, in-house musician playing violin alongside recordings of pop hits from all the decades. Think: "Final Countdown." Chuck called it "violoke." The server turned down our speaker, so I was finally able to hear the crunch of my own Kettle Chips in my head. We might eat every meal on this patio until December.

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