Summer and Food- Part 2

I have already taken a trip down a short memory lane where summer memories mix with winsome food thoughts to create some 'gotta have it' times for those warm and fleeting months. In MN, summer is short, sweet and full of great foods to dig your way through. It's the time of outdoor picnics, outdoor restaurant dining and outdoor festivals. People want to eat outdoors, and will do so under some pretty strange conditions. Many years ago a report was published in our newspaper about a certain popular area of town and how it's air pollution counts were extraordinarily high. Apparently it didn't create too many problems for a certain hip restaurant on the most polluted corner to frantically attempt to accomodate the horde of diners who vied nightly for one of their coveted outdoor tables. I couldn't figure out how people could eat at a sidewalk table just mere feet from idling cabs, cars jockeying for meter positions, and for that matter, masses of people elbowing their way down a perpetually crowded street. It just seemed wrong. But it's summertime, and this is what was done. Many restaurants in the Twin Cities have outdoor dining, and to me it just isn't very appetizing to sit and eat along a busy roadway under whatever conditions, whether polluted or just congested with traffic. No manner of fancy umbrellas, either over my head or on my cocktail will make any difference.

Outdoor festivals are fun though. The people watching is first rate, and the more food available, the better. Our State Fair every August in legendary in that regard. Everyone goes for the food, the more items on a stick and deep fried, the better. They even have a deep fried Snickers bar. I won't go there, I love my arteries too much. But wave a greasy cardboard container of deep fried cheese curds under my nose and I might follow you around a little. Just one bite won't hurt. Food in the open air just seems to taste different, don't you think? Maybe because the smell entices you in from every angle. You'll be walking innocently through a crowd at one of the many festivals Minnesota is known for in the summer and your senses will be assaulted by any number of amazing and wonderful smells. You just HAVE to know what that is!!!! When I was really young, my sister and I would regularly go with my mother to a local city lake where they held outdoor concerts. Her favorite band to watch was a dixieland jazz band. She would sit and joyfully listen to the music, and my sister and I would run all around the bandshell area, tottering out onto the ancient boat docks to watch the ducks and fish, and around the even more ancient concession stand, thoroughly taken away by the smells coming from within those walls. The best was the popcorn. They would make popcorn by the bushel- and load it with real butter. I have never tasted anything so good. We could watch while they dumped the kernels into the gigantic spinning popper, and soon the mountains of white fluff would be disgorged from inside, filling a large bin beneath. The worker would take a pitcher of melted butter off the back of a stove and pour a generous amount over the soft mound, then scoop and toss and mix it until it was just right. The smell drove me mad, and we always had to wait until the concert was over to get our box. Me being the food lover even then, I would wolf it down, cramming big handfuls into my mouth and loving the sensation of those airy kernels collapsing in a crunchy, buttery mass on my tongue. My sister, ever the restrained one, would eat hers kernel by kernel. I can't understand that mentality, I mean, popcorn tastes best when your mouth is so full you can hardly contain the mass. It deflates to nearly nothing, so what's the big deal?? One piece at a time and you hardly get the flavor, much less the crunch. But, to each their own. I, of course, being the pesky younger sister, would always try to get her to give me some of hers when my own box was gone. But not only was she restrained, she was also more stubborn than me, and I never won. Even now, when I hear that familiar jazz sound of dixieland, I can shut my eyes and see the crumbling old bandshell, the rickety docks and sense the smells in the air. The lake, with it's weedy, watery smell mixed with the gas and oil scent of boats and the dry coarse smell of the dirt worn down by generations of foot traffic. I can see and feel the old benches, how they would scratch my skinny bare legs, and how my sister and I would run back to my mom every once in a while to check in, and find her sitting there, enraptured and smiling, her feet tapping and hands clapping to the sound. The smells from the concession stands: hot dogs, mustard, white buns and ice cream, and the overpowering grainy aroma of hot buttered popcorn, freshly tipped from the huge popper. The bandshell and concession stand were rebuilt many years ago with a brighter and more workable design, and although nothing remains from those childhood summer nights except the memories, it's pleasing to know that you can still hear concerts there, and smell the same old smells. You see, they retained all the food from those days, and added some new items to bring in a more modern fare, but the huge poppers are still there churning out barrel after barrel of white fluffy popcorn. And thankfully, it's still covered in real butter.