Tag Archives: Book Review

From garden to soup pot: Autumn lessons

Nothing transforms vegetables like roasting them in a hot oven. And a run through the blender. Gotta have the blender.

I’m obsessed with roasting vegetables. Thirty minutes in a hot oven brings out the natural sweetness of savory stuff in a way that makes you forget what you’re eating is good for you. And it’s so dagnabb’ed easy, too.

If you’re keeping track, you’re just now realizing you haven’t heard much lately from Minnesota Wonderer (or Minnesota Transplant, whatever she’s calling herself). Yup, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in insurance paperwork. Not for myself, Lord no, for various clients who require insuring (which is pretty much all of us, if you’re being legal or you’re just plain risk-averse). In any case, I haven’t been blogging.

Oh, and there’s this other big project I have on the horizon. By big, I mean ginormous. Like, the only thing bigger in terms of financial commitment and time frame would be having a child. But I’m not quite ready to share that project. When I am ready, you’ll hear about it, I assure you.

In the meantime, I took a breath from paperwork on Saturday, and I made a pot of soup. And it was some kind of soup. So I feel compelled to share. Just in case you, too, have a garden of junk peppers you’re considering letting go to Jack Frost.

Animal VegetableI’m reading this book, you see. In between paperwork and project planning and meal prep, I’m reading Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. The fiction author wrote this memoir with her husband Steven L. Hopp and her daughter Camille Kingsolver to share their family’s experience with eating local for a year, that is, consuming only food that was produced locally. That meant a lot of gardening, farmer’s markets and organic chicken. And no bananas or avocados.

Her premise is that locally produced food is better for the environment, society and the human body, and she makes her point in a pretty compelling way. I mean, I’m not going to become a gardener or make my own cheese, but I’m inspired to pay better attention to where the food I’m putting in my mouth comes from.

banana-peppers.jpg

So I paid a visit to a friend’s garden on Saturday afternoon and picked all of his overripe banana peppers (with his permission). Did you know those lime green peppers turn red after a while? Me neither, but they do. The sun was shining in a way that it might not do again for six months or more, and we haven’t had a hard frost yet this autumn. I also picked one — one! — red hot jalapeno pepper. While I was picking my way through the overgrown weeds, I spied a few red-and-green tomatoes, too. Upon inspection, I discovered they weren’t perfect but they were pretty much free of bugs.

Thus inspired, I dug through the crisper drawer and found a stalk of celery, a carrot, a half of a yellow sweet pepper, a half an onion and two cloves of garlic. I can’t vouch for their local provenance, but I’d already purchased them so I was wasting-not-wanting not.

roasted veggies

A little bit of chopping (a very little bit) left me with this pan of vegetables to roast. I doused them in olive oil, salt and pepper, set the oven to 425 degrees, and I headed for the shower.

spicy red pepper soupThirty minutes later, I dumped the whole mess into the blender, added a cup of water, a teaspoon or so of Better Than Boullion and a dash of tomato paste I saved from the previous day’s chili (that’s the cheap Minnesotan in me, I can’t throw away perfectly good food, even a tablespoon of tomato paste). Whirr, whirr, and I had the world’s tastiest, couldn’t-be-better-for-you Spicy Red Pepper Soup (all I needed was the one — one! — jalapeno pepper for the spice; I suspect jalapenos left on the vine this long might be hotter than the season’s early fare). I simmered it a bit on top the stove (just so I could enjoy the aroma, but it didn’t hurt to let it spend some time melding flavors). I added a bit more olive oil (because … olive oil! It’s good for you and tastes delicious, too). Then I ladeled it into a bowl, sprinkled it with parmesan cheese and freshly ground pepper, and dug in. Wow, was it good.

So the lessons here are many:

  • Don’t believe you’re ever too busy to make dinner. It’s good for the soul and the body to chop and roast and be creative.
  • Don’t let an abundance of garden harvest go to waste. Think of a new way to consume it. Or invite a friend to scour for vegetable jewels.
  • Roasting and blending makes anything better. Sure, fresh is good, and who doesn’t like a good salad? Well, a lot of people don’t like salad, let’s be honest. But it’s harder to find soup haters. Smells good, warms the tummy, takes all the hard edges off produce. Roasted vegetable soup can inspire a lot of admirers. Get cookin’.

full on spicy red pepper soup

 

 

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Ready to chuck your life in the ‘burbs? Consider full-time glamping

It’s not everyone’s wish for their retirement, but a lot of Americans dream of touring the country full-time in an RV.

I know, crazy, right? Middle-aged folks spend years working like maniacs in order to buy more couches/paint/600-count sheets for their McMansions. But when they think of retirement, they want to travel instead of spending time mowing their perfectly manicured lawns.

Honestly, living full-time in an RV has a lot of appeal for a person tired of acquiring stuff and interested in cultivating experiences.

pacearrowNow, let me just state for the record: By “RV,” I don’t necessarily mean the 1983 Pace Arrow that my Beloved and I enjoyed for many happy months one winter (click here for what remains my favorite story about one of our Pace Arrow trip). That motor home was a great deal, but it was, well, a little old. And sort of cramped. And very, very harvest gold. I mean, it was pretty dependable for the most part, but then, my Beloved is pretty handy with a wrench, too. When I say “RV” in the context of “full-time RVing,” I mean those modern campers with slide-outs. And flat-screen TVs. And king-sized beds. It’s glamping (glamorous camping), not camping. You get the picture, right?

Full-time living in a modern RV is appealing because it forces you to decide what’s really important to carry with you (probably not those rarely worn evening dresses or those ratty towels you can’t bear to donate or toss). It gives you the freedom to clean only one bathroom. And it gives you the opportunity to foist the responsibility for most dinners on your grill-master mate.

Plus, because the RV has wheels, you can explore a new place every day (or week or month).

IMG_5665IMG_5664Author Anita S. Henehan explores this lifestyle in two books I picked up recently at the RV/Motor Home Hall of Fame in Elkhart, Ind.: How to Run Away from Home After 50: A True RV Adventure and Tales from the Road: Adventures of Mid-Life Runaways.

Henehan’s books are a bit uneven. She’s got an amazing back story, and her writing has a nice “letters from home” style, but there’s not a lot of “how to” in How to Run Away from Home After 50. Her second book (Tales from the Road) is probably more useful for folks considering the full-time RV lifestyle because the second half is filled with details about all the can’t-miss sites a traveler, well, can’t miss. Interestingly, Henehan managed to write the books and keep her toe in her art business while traveling full-time. Talk about an inspiration!

In any case, Henehan succeeds in portraying full-time RVing as an appealing and doable lifestyle. Makes me wanna to go glamping!

The setting is war, but the story is pulse-poundingly beautiful

It won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction this year, so I don’t need to waste my breath telling you it’s a good book, but I will share a tiny shred of some of the writing that makes All the Light We Cannot See so lovely to read:

Doerr“Don’t you miss the world?”

He is quiet; so is she. Both ride spirals of memory.

“I have the whole world here,” he says, and taps the cover of [a book by] Darwin. “And in my radios. Right at my fingertips.”

Her uncle seems almost a child, monastic in the modesty of his needs and wholly independent of any sort of temporal obligations. And yet she can tell he is visited by fears so immense, so multiple, that she can almost feel the terror pulsing inside him. As though some beast breathes all the time at the window panes of his mind.

Anthony Doerr’s novel is summarized thusly by the Pulitzer Prize committee: “an imaginative and intricate novel inspired by the horrors of World War II and written in short, elegant chapters that explore human nature and the contradictory power of technology.”

I don’t always agree with folks who award Pulitzers (see my review of The Pale King by David Foster Wallace, a book I hated quite passionately despite its status as a Pulitzer Prize finalist in 2012), but in this case, I concur with the powers that be. All the Light We Cannot See is haunting and beautiful, and I enjoyed reading it very much. You might, too.

Lamott book of essays inspires laughter, tears

I appreciate author Anne Lamott because she writes about faith so simply and directly: “Jesus had an affinity for prisoners. He had been one, after all.” Or she writes something so honest, you just want to hug her because she seems to understand you: “I have sometimes considered writing a book called All the People I Still Hate: A Christian Perspective, but readers would recoil.”

Small VictoriesSo I loved her collection of essays, Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace. Lamott just has a way of finding truth — and humor — in otherwise bland everyday moments like skiing poorly and airplane turbulence. Reading her work is like sipping tea; I joyfully savor it.

My favorite pieces in the book were “Forgiven,” about her Enemy Lite, a seemingly perfect parent of another child in her son’s first grade class,  and “Dad” which moved me to tears when she wrote about reading her father’s journal decades after his death. I also enjoyed “Matches,” about online dating (most of the time, I feel Lamott is my simpatico, but when she wrote that sex “is not on the women’s bucket lists. I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” I literally said out loud, “Ah .. no. You are not speaking for all women”).

One other small niggle: She regularly railed against President George W. Bush (apparently a number of the essays were written during his administration). I don’t particularly like him either, but her strongly negative feelings sometimes got in the way of her point. I began to wonder if the title of the book was a statement about the 2000 election. I imagine some readers might not be able to get past her politics.

Still, if you’re looking for a dose of hope, joy and grace served up with a dash of humor and honesty, you might like Small Victories.

Apocalyptic novel is an action-packed Revelation

In a quick perusal of the table of contents, author Roger Colby’s “This Broken Earth” looks like an adventure story crossing the world told from rotating points of view, but at its heart, it’s the story of Clayton, a survivor of the demise of the United States as we know it.

This Broken Earth“This Broken Earth” concerns itself with “what’s next,” but without giving too much away, this story is an apocalyptic one not a post-apocalyptic one. Cue “The End” by the Doors: “This is the end, my only friend, the end.”

Clayton is a reluctant evangelist on a mission. On his way, he encounters a meteor shower, gun battles and miracles that some of his fellow travelers find unbelievable.

The novel comes in three parts described as “Book 1,” “Book 2” and “Book 3”: “U.S. of After,” “The U.S.S. Ronald Reagan” and “Babylon the Great.” They’re really parts of the same book. Reading only one part would be highly unsatisfactory.

I picked up “This Broken Earth” for three reasons:

  1. Colby describes himself as a Christian writer in the same vein as C.S. Lewis.
  2. He writes an interesting blog about self-publishing at “Writing is Hard Work.”
  3. I got the Kindle version for free. Who doesn’t like free? (Even now, the Kindle version is only $2.99).

As Colby alludes to in his reader’s note, I think “This Broken Earth” is meant to be one man’s version of the Bible’s Book of Revelation, which I find nearly impossible to digest with all its symbolism and allegorical language. Instead, “This Broken Earth” reads almost like documented eye-witness accounts of all the characters, sort of like the narrative fictionalization of Jonathan Kirsch without the historical background.

Colby’s use of rotating points of view is unevenly successful. Sometimes, the non-stop action bulldozes character development, the female characters are a bit cardboard (they’re nice window dressing, but they’re single-dimensional) and I had no time for some of the minor characters such as Howard, Hafiz and Hui. But I especially like Clayton and Gideon.

Evangelical Christians will appreciate that the Holy Spirit speaks like the Old Testament, and gun enthusiasts will appreciate the attention to detail — I couldn’t care less what kind of gun was being wielded.

By the time you get to Book 3, you won’t be able to put “This Broken Earth” down.

If anger were only so predictable

I read author Lorna Landvik novels because they’re often set in Minnesota. While I also like diving into foreign and exotic lives when I read memoir, I enjoy the familiarity of my home state in Landvik’s fiction.

However, plot is not her strong point.

BonBonsHer books are character driven, so readers need to enjoy the journey, not necessarily the destination. Unfortunately, the characters in “Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons” tended toward the stereotypical, the plot hinged on by-the-numbers predictability and I missed the sense of place I normally find in her books. Though set in a suburb of Minneapolis, it could have been set in almost any suburb in America.

I liked the book and Landvik’s writing, don’t get me wrong, but there were no surprises. “Angry Housewives” tells the life stories of five women who get to know each other in the neighborhood book club which meets monthly for 30 years from 1968 to 1998. We cover all kinds of familiar ground: Vietnam War, protests, gay rights, the suburban shame of domestic violence, young mothers popping out babies like so much champagne, secret adoption, mothers going back to work, mothers who mourn their lost youth when their children graduate and move away, etc., etc. Oh, and as usual in a Landvik novel, someone dies. Or almost dies. It’s foreshadowed in the prologue, so I’m not giving anything away.

With so many characters, it took a good 100 pages for me to keep them straight. By then, though, I was interested in how things turned out. I read most of this book while on the stepmill, and it was perfect for that — the sort of story that distracts you without requiring a lot of thinking. I’d recommend if you’re looking for a beach read this week.

‘Butter’ captures the small-town flavor of the 1970s

At 46, I sort of dread shopping. I hate the long drive to any store worth visiting, the enormous parking lots with accidents hiding behind every sight-line-blocking minivan, the other shoppers who don’t get out of my way and the underpaid, impatient clerks.

OK, not all the other shoppers are rude and not all the clerks are uncaring, but I hope you understand my point: Modern-day shopping in the suburbs lacks joy.

But it wasn’t that way 30 years ago. Back when kids walked to school uphill both ways, malls were special and rare. Teenagers like me who grew up in small Midwestern towns shopped on Main Street where local merchants owned and operated the stores. In Wadena, where I grew up, there were stores like Zosel’s Hardware, Brink’s Jewelry and Krause Drug.

Ah, Krause Drug, a sprawling pharmacy and gift shop offering everything from crystal candlesticks and greeting cards to aspirin and nail polish. I remember a lot of 1 p.m. Saturday afternoon dates with my girlfriends when we walked downtown (yes, walked), window shopped and coveted the Maybelline makeup near the counter at Krause Drug.

butterThat’s just one of the reasons I enjoyed reading author Anne Panning’s novel “Butter.” She gets the details right. Set in small-town Minnesota in the 1970s, Panning’s novel is a love note to little towns growing up – or dying – amidst the corn fields of a different time. The coming-of-age story is about Iris, an 11-year-old whose parents’ marriage is disintegrating. You will fall in love with Iris even if you don’t love the story, described by some reviewers as “disquieting.” Here’s an excerpt:

Sylvie and I celebrated by hanging around downtown and taking our time browsing through all the stores. We looked at colored pens on strings with scented ink at Walt’s Drugstore. We checked out the barrettes and Slinkys at Ben Franklin, and bought big full-size Charleston Chews, strawberry and chocolate. We even took our shoes off on the walk home and felt the warm grainy sidewalk so nice under our bare feet.

Iris’ father runs a creamery, and Panning writes about full-fat milk products with beauty and reverence, thus the title “Butter.” Like his marriage, Iris’ father’s creamery is losing traction as convenience stores with names like “Stop & Go” gain popularity (“My father never liked it when people called it a store. It always had to be the creamery. A store was there you bought dog food and toilet paper, he used to say”).

Like the small town in which it’s set, the story doesn’t stretch too far. There are no vampires or doomsday scenarios, but Panning successfully captures the warmth of family and the sorrow of losing it. Anyone who enjoys fiction would love it, but especially readers who know anything about small towns, Minnesota or the ’70s.

More about “Butter”:

  • I appreciated Panning’s handling of adoption and family so much, I’m guest blogging about it today on author Laura Dennis’ blog “The Adaptable (Adopted) Ex-Pat Mommy.” Check that out here.
  • And, while I’m tackling a manuscript about the year I turned 15, I’m writing about the voice of young narrators on my author blog here.