Ring the bells, the restaurants issue is done! I must say, I think it's going to be a sweet package, and if you want to get all the goods, you should come to our Best Of Party which will be a BASH of food snacking and fun. I have very little brain left after checking and rechecking and squishing and adding and deleting, so this Fresh Forkin' Friday I'm heading to happy hour. Early.

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I'll admit that I watch the Super Bowl for the ads. And the snacks. I mean come on, any event that calls for mountains of munchies while hunkering down on the couch for the day is all right in my book. And fellow food freaks shouldn't dismay, there's no need to succumb to toxic-orange cheese from a jar. Whether you take iit or make it, you have options my friends.

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  Today is my birthday. I'm a bit of a birthday slut, so yeah, Happy Birthday to me, Oprah, Tom Selleck, my childhood soccer buddy Jenny Brickley, and any other vivacious Aquarians born this day! Usually I'd take the day off and stroll around town eating whatever I felt like (mmmm, grinder from Broder's, double-scoop Oreo from Sebastian Joe's, Kitchen Sink burger from TTD, bourbon and bacon from Manny's, mmmm) but I am in the thick of production for the March restaurant issue, so this Fresh Forkin' (not yet 40) Friday, I'll be at my desk digging a bag of Cheez-Its between panic attacks. It's cool, that way I'll save room for the birthday dinner which will feature an ungodly supply of raw fish and copious amounts of wasabi.

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Because of my newish status of fatherhood I have had to alter my dining experiences. Generally that means my dining is now relegated to the casual/neighborhood experience. This realm is fraught with many service foibles, but one stands out to me more than others and confounds me to no end.

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What's with all the pond hockey? I know a couple of man-boys who are playing in the Pond Hockey North America championship in Excelsior this weekend. And my flight attendant friend has confirmed gaggles of rowdies coming in from all over for the US Pond Hockey championships this weekend on Nokomis. This Fresh Forkin' Friday, I'm just pledging my support to my puck-lovin' pals, as long as there are snack and libations involved. For instance, no chance I'm going to stand in the driving sleet at Nokomis unless I have a fat meatball hoagie from Fat Lorenzo's in my mittened fingers. And unless there's a promised pint of Guinness from Jake O' Connors after the game, I might have car trouble. But even though Famous Dave's is manning the concessions tent, I might not make it to Hockey Day Hermantown 2010.

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A few weeks ago my father-in-law, Bryan, asked if I would make head cheese for him because he would have the head from a pig he was buying from a friend. Being the good boy and having a penchant for the stuff, I agreed. Later that week, Bryan called me all atwitter asking if I would meet him in Alexandria so he could drop-off the pig heads with me. I said heads, what do you mean heads? I thought you bought one pig? He began to hem and haw a bit and relayed to me that when he told the boys that his son-in-law was making head cheese the boys all chipped in their pork melons so I could make cheese for them as well! Again, not wanting to be a heel, I said I would come to his house and make the head cheese, in his heated garage.

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If you are an observer of the restaurant game, you’ve certainly followed recent reports of ex-Cargill exec Jim Ringo’s plans to open his first two restaurants in successive months this spring. Ringo’s bold gambit has the food and restaurant community abuzz. You gotta be awed by ambition this bold:

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At the end of the month, there will be an Art Sled Rally in Powderhorn Park. Raucous and righteous, the goal is to cruise down the slope in an artfully crafted sled of your own making. Oh, there have been some doozies. A Tie Fighter? Yes. A giant orange coffee cup? Sure. A flying porkchop? Not yet. I'm seriously considering my homage to tasty porcine flight, this Fresh Forkin' Friday, as I begin sketching out my entry. Wouldn't it be great to somehow manage a smoker in the back so that, as I flew down the hill, I would bathe the onlookers in the glorious smells of smoked ribs? I picture everyone silently salivating, almost wishing my zippy chop were real. Maybe when I crash at the end I can leave a trail of BBQ sauce. If you're still working on ideas or need materials, the cool kids at Studio Bricolage/Leonardo's Basement have an art sled workshop this weekend to get the fires burning. Maybe I can get Tim Fischer to sponsor me.

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Do you think members of the IFOCE make resolutions for the new year? Do you think they swear off salads and promise themselves not to eat under seven servings in a meal? "This year, bacon at every meal!"

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This is the fastest month of the year. It seems to go by in a quick blur, this last week verily evaporated in front of me. I'm shocked to find myself here on Fresh Forkin' Friday, pleased, but shocked. Maybe it's the hunker-down nature of January's weather, like quasi-hibernation, by the time you come to your senses it's February and they're shutting the outdoor rinks down by President's Day. Or maybe it's just a braising-induced stupor from all the beef in Guinness I've been consuming.

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