Our Dad

Yesterday was the first Father’s Day I spent with my dad since I moved to Florida. This also means it was the first one I was around for since my dad got remarried and officially became a “dad” again. I have been meaning to write this post for a long time now, and it seems in light of Father’s Day that this is as good a time as any.

For those of you who may not know, my stepsister was adopted from China by my stepmother, who was unmarried at the time. So technically she’s my stepsister because my dad married her mom, but because she doesn’t have any other dad but mine (well, now ours), she’s really closer to being like a half-sister. And even though my dad and stepmom got married just a couple years ago, they had been together quite a while, making my dad the only one my stepsister has really ever had. My dad and my stepsister always had a good relationship, but when my dad and stepmom finally got married, the roles of “father” and “daughter” really solidified. I always feel a little weird, growing up as an only child and now at 27 having an 11 year-old sister. But my dad was really young the first time around and now this second time around, he’s got experience under his belt.

If I wanted to write about my stepsister, I’d tell you about how she’s thoughtful, bubbly, witty, affectionate, and sweet. But what I mostly wanted to write about was fathers and daughters. Normally, I’d generalize as “kids” but it should be noted that my dad has always been a man surrounded by strong women, and my stepsister is certainly no exception. And recently, after watching stepsis try to style Dad’s hair, I asked him if he’d ever wished he could have tried raising a boy, he assertively replied, “not for a second.”

Now that I’m a grown woman, I really just like to observe dad and stepsis. I love to watch him be a dad again, see him take the same approach that he did with me so many years ago. I see the same gentleness and patience and feel so happy that stepsis can grow up with the same dad I did. At the age of 11, I can see how much she knows this already. One really good thing about the age difference is that I never feel in direct competition with stepsis. My turn is done, and now it’s her turn. While my dad’s personality and outlook hasn’t changed much over the years, life has a way of changing everything around us. This often makes me reflect on the differences stepsis and I have had growing up. By this I mean our childhood homes, our extended families, our pets, the frequented restaurants, (not to mention our moms…). But Dad’s a constant. And I feel lucky to be able to watch my dad be a father through adult eyes, it makes me appreciate my own childhood with him so much more. Maybe in a few years when stepsis is closer to being grown, and there’s another batch of little ones running around, she’ll be able to know what I’m talking about.

Cheese Curds 101

Well, look at me. I’ve been in Minnesota for five weeks now, and already I assume everyone else in the world knows what fried cheese curds are. Apparently some people need an introductory course because if they actually knew what fried cheese curds were and what they tasted like, they would not be scoffing at them. I will now attempt to briefly describe a fried cheese curd and put them into context with Minnesota culture.

First of all, lefty_grrrl is right- cheese curds are curdled. But all cheese is. I don’t want to get into the details of making cheese because it is pretty gross but basically an enzyme is added to the liquid cheese mixture to make it curdle into little clumps or curds about the size and shape of peanuts in a shell. Think of a carton of cottage cheese on a much larger scale. Typically, after the curds are formed, they are strained out of the cheese mixture, and compressed into blocks and then packaged which is what most of you associate with cheese. Cheese curds are before that stage and because the farmers don’t have to do any more processing at that point, the curds can be cheaply sold to county and state fairs to be battered and deep-fried. They are mostly sold at fairs and events in the Midwest (rather than groceries stores all over the country) because their age is key to their taste and texture. The best curds are extremely fresh and even shipping ruins the essence of the curd. Hard-core Midwesterners like the taste so much that they prefer them raw since their flavor is so distinct from typical store-bought cheese.

Usually the cheese curds you get at events up here are cheddar curds- they would otherwise go on to live life as part of a block of cheddar cheese. But they don’t really taste like cheddar cheese because they are still too fresh to get that sharp, “aged” taste. So they’re actually very mild and taste sorta like a cross between mild cheddar and mozzarella. Only WAY better. Another key to a good fried cheese curd is preparation. They must always be battered (NOT breaded like so many mozzarella sticks) and surprisingly too much batter kills the taste. You want just a thin layer of batter on there before frying it so the grease can be absorbed and cook the cheese but not so the grease is overpowering the fresh flavor of the curd.

Here’s a good example I found:

And you’re right, minnesotablue and mr. schprock- they are loaded with fat and grease and sodium and all the word’s evils. But they are so rich and intense that I don’t think I know anyone who could eat the whole serving shown above. Dean (who deeply enjoys his dairy products and fried foods) wouldn’t even tackle a whole serving. I think I actually ate more than he did.

Fried cheese curds, as I mentioned, are a staple at county fairs, special events and the Minnesota State Fair, where they are usually sold out of a trailer that looks like this:

The State Fair is known for serving excellent dairy (there’s a building devoted to dairy products including statues carved from butter and a long line for the best milk shakes in the state) and for its fried food. Cheese curds are at the intersection of these temptations and a must for any fair goers. But the other fried food is awesome, they come out with new stuff every year. It used to be that when my mom and stepdad would go, they would email me a list of the new fried foods there, and I’d forward it to Randy who’d get a huge kick out of it. Past experiments have included fried candy bars, pickles, Twinkies and spaghetti and meatballs. If you want anything much more exotic than that, you’ll have to go to Wisconsin.

If Cheese Curds are Wrong, then I don't Want to be Right

Dean was in town this past weekend. He left this morning, and just now I have been able to pull myself together and tell you all what a fun weekend we had. Wednesday night of last week, I went down to the in-laws to stay with them and so I could be around when we went and picked Dean up from the airport. He didn’t come in until very late, and despite my attempts to nap before we even left to go the airport, I was wound up all night and got very little sleep. Friday, after practically requiring a coffee IV drip, I went to work and gave my first presentation since starting. It was basically just a summary of what I have gotten done so far which turned out to be very well received. It gave me a little boost.

Friday night Dean and his family went to Dean’s brother’s HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION. Yes, we had some geriatric moments this weekend seeing Kent and all his friends graduate when they were supposed to still be playing little league. Darn. I had to work too late, so I beat them home and watched while the Twins get spanked by the Nats. Yes, I worded that correctly.

Saturday, I helped Sylvia around the house while she was trying to get Kent’s graduation party in order. After coming frighteningly close to going postal over some deviled eggs, Dean whisked me away for a date at the Twins game. Now, despite the fact that it was Joe Mauer Batting Title Bobblehead Night, we did not wait in line. We are both adults with good paying jobs whose time is worth more than sitting in line and cringing every time the people in back of us tell someone about how their niece’s best friend’s sister was little Joe’s babysitter, don’t cha know. That’s exactly what ebay is for, thank you. Around 2:30pm we drove to the Mall of America and jumped on the light rail to avoid downtown traffic and parking. That got us to the ‘Dome about a half an hour before gates opened. The lines for the bobblehead were so long that they all just wrapped around the stadium and nobody could tell which line was going where. For a fraction of a second we thought about getting in line on the off chance we weren’t too late. However, it was strolling hand in hand down the plaza that the unmistakable aroma of deep-fried concessions seduced our noses just like the nebulous finger-under-the-nose from the cartoons. We each got a corn dog and then split the heavenliest of all the fried foods: cheese curds. It was while I was chewing one of these perfect little nuggets, my mouth wide open to dissipate the heat from the fryer and grease running down my arm that I commented, “This is SO wrong.” My loving husband’s reply: “If cheese curds are wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Truer words have never been spoken.

After we annihilated the cheese curds, we grabbed beers and got in line just as the gates were to be opened. We figured it would be awhile before we actually made it to the door. It turned out we were only about 25 people away from getting in when they ran out of bobbleheads. We were a little bummed because if we were going to miss it, we wanted it to be by a lot. But as a consolation, we got two raffle tickets for the second chance bobbleheads, which would give me something to do between innings. We still didn’t regret our choice: they don’t sell deep fried cheese curds on ebay.

The game was fun, Johan had his stuff even though he got the loss due to our ridiculous looking offense. We sat in front of a nearly-albino family from Fargo whose lack of baseball knowledge was making Dean visibly uneasy. To keep from being too upset by the Twins’ dismal outing, I kept drinking beer and watching the second chance bobblehead raffle. It paid off too because I won one! Admittedly, the beer made it seem like winning a Joe Mauer bobblehead was the highlight of my life (we already have several), but in retrospect it gave the evening more of a surreal glow, collecting my prize with a noticeable beer buzz and a feeling the night would never have to end.

After the game we met up with a friend of Dean’s where I took it upon myself to switch from beer to mixed drinks, because hell, winning a bobblehead makes you impervious to hangovers, right?

The night got quite blurry when Dean had to pour me back into the light rail, amongst the other downtown party goers and late shift workers. He had sobered up well before he needed to take us home from the mall, but he still had sympathy-drunk pangs and stopped for Taco Bell. Unfortunately, going home drunk didn’t mean going back to our ghetto apartment and spilling cat food all over the floor because it is way past dinner. It meant going back to the in-laws' house the night before Kent’s graduation party. Dean’s charming, lovely, perfect wife woke up the household, including a much-bemused new graduate. I’m sure Sylvia hadn’t gotten to sleep much before that but I definitely woke her up with my flailing and insistence that yes, I most definitely ordered hard-shelled tacos; the employee must have had it out for me.

So I was moving a little slow on Sunday for the party but I didn’t let it stop me from enjoying the beautiful weather, the fantastic food and the company of family and friends. It was nice to catch up with people I hadn’t seen in awhile and meet new people I’d heard stories about for years. And when it ended seemingly just moments after it began, Dean’s parents and brother got to enjoy having him around for his last couple of days. But for me, going back to work on Monday was like pulling teeth. I was inconsolable all day despite the fact that Dean hadn’t even left yet. It was the anticipation of saying good bye for three more weeks that caused the waterworks to come on full blast. And even though we had a fun time last night, there was a thick “good bye” rain cloud looming over us the whole time. So today although the worst of the storm has passed, isolated showers have occurred and are bound to persist until I see him again on the fourth of July.

Minima Ochre

Several months back when I redid my template, I started with this picture of Nellie, and found a simplistic blogger template I could modify. I thought "Minima Ochre" was very nice, inoffensive, neutral, overall pleasing to the eye. I wasn't very familiar with what the color "ochre" was, but Wikipedia defines it as "a color, usually described as golden-yellow or light yellow brown." Fair enough.

So I was shocked the very first time that I worked up the courage to look at my blog at my new job. The background color wasn't at all the same on this crappy CRT monitor that it is on my lovely LCD screen on my laptop. Rather than the sort of khaki color I was used to, it looked more like urine the morning after a long night of drinking. U.G.L.Y. So I don't know what to do. I don't have a lot of time to post let alone mess around with changing my whole template. But I just have to know, what color is my background on your computer?

Letter B

Do you remember watching Sesame Street when you were young and seeing the Beatle-esque muppets singing “Letter B”? That’s the first thing I thought of when runnergirl assigned me B as my letter for her letter meme. I’m supposed to name my ten favorite things that start with B. Let’s 'B'-gin!

1. Baseball. Duh. As a corollary,



2. Baseball Players’ Behinds. It doesn’t get much finer than watching practice in the sun and seeing all those specimens. Okay, enough with the dirty stuff.



3. Books. Again, duh, but I couldn’t not put it on my list. Let me just clarify though that as much as I love reading, I love books themselves. I love brand spanking new books with intact spines. I love old musty library books. I can stare at my own books for an absurd amount of time, taking ones I haven’t read off of the shelves and rereading the backs in anticipation of getting to them someday. Here’s what I’m reading now. I highly recommend it, for those who aren’t squeamish.
   
   
   
4. B, the magnetic induction vector. I can’t work in magnetism and not include the fundamental quantity that we measure!



5. Babies. Not just human babies, pretty much baby anything. I think you all know how much I love my “babies” back home (here’s a picture of Wrigley as a baby!), and even my outside babies. Not to mention the human baby fever that has possessed me with a vengeance over the last months. But really I say baby anything because I could just sit and watch baby animals all. Day. Long.



6. Bling. I’m not really known for being particularly girly or flashy but I love me some jewelry. I love looking at it online, or on other people. I was in heaven picking out my engagement ring and my wedding ring. You may not really think that being a physicist and loving jewelry is an obvious match, but any scientist can tell you about the miraculous properties of diamond. And I selected the stone in my engagement ring especially for its superior faceting and the way its angles reflect the maximum amount of light.



7. Beaches.Still my favorite thing about Florida is living by so many great beaches. We don’t go nearly as much as we used to, but we still try and stay at a beach hotel every year for my birthday. The serenity of listening to the rhythmic lapping of the ocean, and being unable to discern the water from the sky are what it’s all about. Throw in a pina colada and an umbrella and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be at any given time.
   
   
   
8. Barack. Love. Him. I read The Audacity of Hope after I got it for a Christmas present and let me just say I am firmly planted on the Obama bandwagon. ‘Nuff said.



9. Baked Goods. I have an unbelievable sweet tooth and nothing satisfies it like home made cookies, cakes, brownies and bars. I had to squeeze in something food, and this encompasses so many of my favorite things.



10. Being Dean’s wife. Lame? I don’t care. Any list of favorite things has to have him on it!

There you have it. If anyone else wants to partake in this fun, let me know and I’ll assign you a letter!