God Bless The Groundhog

Mr. C says, "Happy Spring!"

Identity Crisis

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Or Edina?

When we were in San Francisco last weekend our friend The Producer said he read my blog. I was surprised, not to mention quite flattered. Why would Mr. Hollywood want to read about what happens in suburban Minneapolis? Or the Midwest for that fact. He actually said it was some pretty good stuff, but that I needed to focus more, spotlight our cool little community, work some angles. Basically he was saying in a very polite way (surprising after twelve Manhattans) that I had a blog identity crisis. It's no secret I am a touch (OK, a lot) ADD. My interests, thoughts, rants, raves, peeves, you name it, are all over the board. But, The Producer had a point. I mean, this is the guy that was pulled into a swimming pool by Angelina Jolie after she won the Golden Globe for Gia. He's worked on every evening news entertainment show imaginable, and well, he's been around the block in Hollywood and knows a thing or two. So he said, "I want to hear more about Edina." Well, OK, I can try that. Seems most of my posts are about "The Bubble" anyway, so why not give it a try?

He said to give him a little "Real Housewives of Edina".

Hmmm....be careful what you ask for. There's some pretty good dirt in these parts.

Just not sure I could convince my crew...what do you think Gusto, Vanessa, Fuq, Jules, Shanaynay, K-Dawg, Tchutspk, Demanda?

Grittier then New York? More fun then Orange County? Definitely less plastic surgery then Beverly Hills.

I think we need to call Andy Cohen. Stat.

Brett Dennen - Darling Do Not Fear

This boy can move

Enjoy this while you read...

I am supposed to be at the grocery store right now, but obviously I'm not. I've got a dinner party tomorrow night and my Friday is packed from beginning to end but I got caught up. See, me and my littlest guy spend a lot of time together. He is a fantastic companion who makes me laugh no less then a dozen times a day and he is a true joy. But at the same time he is three, and three year old boys are not always the most cooperative of companions, but today we had a moment. An absolutely private, bring tears to your eyes moment where you realize what it's all about.

We were enjoying our grilled cheese for lunch together like we do on so many days. But today was different. It is freezing outside and through the window I was studying what is my garden buried deep beneath the snow and wondering how long it is going to take for the snow around the BBQ to melt so that we can actually use it again. As I was sitting there literally soaking it all in, this Brett Dennen song came on the iPOD. Cooper and I do this a lot, eat our lunch together and listen to tunes. He loves music and is quite an accomplished dancer and knows every word to Usher and Nelly. So today in the sun we decided to play DJ while we ate. This song came on and we found ourselves playing it over and over singing, "Darlin' " to each other. It was one of those sweet, dream catcher type of moments that you can't walk away from and you pray it will never end. I was mesmerized at the sight of my littlest guy dancing in the sunshine with his sandwich singing to me. Pure magic. The entire moment was so truly delicious that I never wanted that lunch to be finished because with that last bite, "Poof." He would run off and it would be over. Just like our days together now, soon they will be a memory and he will be gone and head off on the school bus to join his brothers all day.

But for now, at this very moment in time, I am going to ignore everything else I have to do so that I can capture this feeling in words. And a song.

I Heart a Great Meal

Busy few days ahead.

Friday evening we are cooking for a table full of food and wine people (can you say one renowned local chef and his wife, one pair of seriously seasoned eaters and drinkers, a VP of one of the largest food service purveyors and her partner who just happens to be the owner of one of the biggest restaurant groups in the Twin Cities) and I am a little nervous about what I might have gotten us into. Mr. C loves a challenge like this, but in my book there is nothing worse then having a meal flop when you have a table full of professional eaters with big expectations. So I am sitting down for a little menu planning session and not feeling a ton of inspiration on this freezing morning.

Lamb, beef tenderloin, pork? No clue which direction to go with this group.

Mr. C wants to serve the magnum of Goldeneye Pinot Noir from the Anderson Valley that we have been waiting to try and back it up with our favorite Alain Graillot Crozes Hermitage. Do we even need to serve food? Can't we just drink our dinner? Probably not. Stay tuned and see where this menu planning actually takes me as we slide into Friday evening....

Now looking ahead to Valentine's Day. I must admit this is a date the two of us don't celebrate to the fullest. It's kind of akin to New Year's Eve- a little amateurish in my book. The only Valentine tradition I wholeheartedly support is the inclusion of Bubbles. As in Billecart Salmon, Louis Roederer, Krug- but why not go a little nuts with something like Champagne Chartogne-Taillet? This is a tiny producer in the Merfy region of Champagne that is doing some delicately delicious stuff with bubbles. That to me is special. Why would I want to go to the local steakhouse with a room full of people about to get engaged and leave with a single stemmed red rose from the maitre'd?

Not my kinda night.

We are tossing around the idea of a cooking class at Cooks of Crocus Hill that comes with a pretty decent wine pairing, but who knows? I would be up for a night at Piccolo, Tosca, Vincent, but more then likely Mr. C will want to uncork something special at home and prepare a great meal. Once again, stay tuned.

Cheers to a great weekend!

Forty and Fabulous

The Gang turns 40 this year
Mr. C, JR, Uncle Vito, The Producer, & Anchorman

This past weekend we ventured back to our old hometown of San Francisco for the first of many 40th birthday celebrations this year. It is no secret that The City by the Bay holds a very large piece of my heart- it is where I met and fell in love with Mr. C, got my first "real" job and my first apartment. I lived on Union Street in Russian Hill and woke each morning to foghorns, cable cars, and the most contagious energy any mid western girl could hope for by moving to the west coast. San Francisco was like a bright, shiny penny bringing me luck and love at every turn and I loved her for it. She could do no wrong and even with the thousands of dollars in parking tickets I racked up over the years, this was my city, and to a certain extent, it still is.

But in time, we all age. I have some lines under my eyes and I certainly don't look 24 any longer. San Francisco, she's got the same thing goin' on. She is no longer shaking her booty with IPO's and massive expense accounts. She isn't showboating her million dollar lofts and $700 downtown parking spaces any longer. She has a few vacancies and continues to struggle with managing her horrendous traffic and homeless population, but does that mean she's not beautiful? No way. She is more gorgeous then ever, especially on a 75 degree day in February.
But does my old girl SF need a little Botox? A little chin lift? Perhaps.

She could use a little nip and tuck here and there, but she's still hot.
Her restaurants are packed, neighborhoods are still vibrant and young people still transplant themselves here from all over the country in hopes of finding what I did nearly 17 years ago. She has survived this recession and her real estate bubble burst with a pop that nearly started an earthquake.
But she endured.

And like us, with this year of 40th birthday celebrations, we hope to do the same.
But I'm crossing my fingers on the Botox...