We are expecting a major announcement today, first previewed in this blog a couple weeks ago, from Chambers Kitchen and the Chambers Hotel. The expectation is that Jean-Georges Vongerichten's organization is out, and D'Amico & Partners is in, on a relatively quick timetable that will have the Twin Cities most celebrated restaurant operator taking over all food service operations at the hotel in less than a month.

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It's Fresh Forkin' Friday, and I'm still thinking about last night's sneak preview of the Butcher Block, which officially opens today. In the old Fugaise space, which hasn't been changed that much, we were served a sampling from the Italian menu: crostini, light and fresh salads, smoky pastas, and a choice of braised short ribs or chicken. Everyone was lovely, the place had a nice buzz, but I was sad to see not a single wing on the sample menu. I mean, if you go around saying you're going to offer 29 flavors of wings, come on, let's dance. But don't worry, there's time, they plan to stay open until 4 a.m. from Thursday through Saturday (which actually then rolls into Sunday, not that you'd notice with your wing fingers all nasty in the best ways).

 

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I'll admit I get a little geeked out when I see an unfamiliar beer bottle label sporting the floaty red owl, signifying a Hitachino that I haven't tried. I'm already an ardent fan of the white ale, and the espresso stout fully occupies the lower shelf of my wine cooler.

The sweet baby I found was the Real Ginger Brew.

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This Fresh Forkin' Friday, I'm wondering why dads get grilling while moms get brunch? I'm not quite sure you can measure a bloody good steak against a chafing dish full of crusty scrambled eggs. And what if the dad is a vegetarian? What if he wants to scream at the sight of the another sad skewer of mushroom/zuchini/onion/tomato? Homemade Pizza company is thinking outside the beefy grill pardigm, they want you to grill your pizza. They're selling stones that pop easily on the top of your Webber, making your grill a perfect pizza-maker. Grab one of its all-natural pies, made with fresh ingredients (I'm a fan of the whole-wheat crust and spinach pie), and let your dad know you'd never let him become a meat cliche.

 

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So there we were, my brood and I, whooping it up around the bonfire last weekend. Everyone has a different love of the fire: some of them coat my big metal serving spoons with bug spray, lighting them as torches; others are content to make smoke sticks and draw their names in the air. Me, I'm all about the marshmallows.

 

 

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Last night I enjoyed the perks of the job. I was invited to be on a panel of cocktail judges for the impending Indian restaurant OM. Hey, I work hard for the money, so hard honey honey. It was our task to sip and ponder ten cocktails whose recipes were submitted in an internet contest, the winner to be featured on the menu. The idea was to create a drink that was pretty, easy to make, and used some essence of Indian flavor: we saw mango puree, saffron infused vodka, and lots of ginger. Chef Raghavan Iyer commented on the importance of balance in Indian cooking and a few of the drinks actually hit the mark. So I feel inspired, this Fresh Forkin' Friday, to come up with my own late afternoon sipper: vodka with orange bitters and gulab jal (rosewater)? bourbon with tamarind? Pimm's and garam masala? Canton ginger liqueur with mint? It's a tough job, but I'm up to the task.

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Due to the weather, all I wanted to do on Sunday night was burrow into my couch and avoid the world. Instead, I had dinner in a pole barn.

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Fest season was officially kicked off by Grand Old Day yesterday, and although it was rather Portland-esque for a June summer festival, reports are that it was jamming. Now that the cheese curds are flowing through your veins, it's time to map out your summer food festival pilgrimage

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It's been a crazy week, and I can't help but use one of my favorite words this Fresh Forkin' Friday: kerfuffle. It's right up there with galoshes, ishkabibble, and suspantuous (a totally made-up word that I like to slip into conversation with snooty people, just to give them a moment of pause, that maybe they don't know everything).

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My hammock was swinging this weekend as I ate up the rest of Giulia Melucci's I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti, basically a chick lit book with recipes, reminiscent of Hesser's Cooking for Mr. Latte. I have to say I liked Hesser's recipes better, but Melucci is a looser, more fun writer.

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