When it lasted all day we would blast it all day.

Dear Food Diary,

Spring is here.  You and I have had our doubts for weeks, but it's not going to snow anymore.  We're free.

The ducks believe it.

The geese believe it.

The trees believe it.

I believe it.

Why won't you?

Every delight bloom we're marching through.

Dear Food Diary,

I've been spending a lot of time outside over the past month, getting ready to plant the garden and relandscape the front yard.  I dug up a ton (or two) of landscaping rock, then got a replacement ton (or two) of black dirt and carted that around, shoveling and raking it into a slope in the front yard.  I built another garden box, and a trellis, then hauled the leftover dirt into the backyard and shoveled some more.

Why the garden boxes?  Because our backyard is filled with hungry and terrifying creatures.  The individual creatures aren't both hungry and terrifying, BTW -- there are some that are hungry (rabbits) and some that are terrifying (mutant ninja squirrel, giant woodchuck).

The garden boxes are a defense against the rabbits, who over the past winter ate all of our front-yard shrubs, three arborvetae, two grape vines, a blueberry bush, and most of an apple tree.

I really like having rabbits in the backyard, on account of their cuteness.  But after they ate everything we own, I considered evicting them from the under-shed holes.  Turns out, I didn't need to.  A huge woodchuck moved in a couple weeks ago and started hanging out under our shed -- the rabbits also stuck around, eating the freshly green grass and casting spiteful glances at the woodchuck.

At first I was pretty thrilled to have an honest-to-goodness groundhog living in our backyard, then Sarah mentioned that she's seen how much wood a woodchuck would chuck -- and it's lots.  It had to go.

So I bought some woodchuck mace (yes, there is such a thing) and sprinked it near the entrance of the hovel holes.  The following morning I decided to flood him out, usher him out the front gate, then cement up the holes.

Woodchucks are fast.  And you can tell when they're pissed.  After about a half hour of tunnel flooding, the thing emerged, shook itself off, looked at me, and bolted for under the deck.  I chased it, not really thinking about what I'd do if I actually caught it.  It was moot, anyway, 'cause it scurried under the deck lattice, laughed, and gave me the finger.

I spent the next hour building a woodchuck corral and disassembling the deck lattice.  Eventually I was able to spook him out from under the deck, through the corral, out the gate, and into our neighbor's backyard.  Mission accomplished.

Wow.  That was a long story.  I've gotta get outside and start working on the firepit.

Last thing.  We went to the Twins game Monday, the home opener, and took the Northstar train.

Our view from the very last row of the rightfield-line upper deck.  Not too bad.

Lookie-loos looking on from the rooftop across the way from Target Plaza (behind rightfield).

Major League Baseball's fourth-largest HD replay screen.

Sarah's view of Major League Baseball's fourth most-giant dude.  It was hard to see the action (unless you count the dude as "action"), so we left our seats after the 5th and went wandering. 

After a minor feast at the Townball Tavern, we ended up downstairs, hanging out next to a column, with this view.

I'm gonna turn dining back into eating.

Antipasto plate from a couple weeks back:

Now that's it's warm, we've been grilling (and eating on the porch) nearly every damn day.  Grilled chicken satay with garlic broccoli and Bell's Two-Hearted:

Early weekday breakfast:

Murray's steak sandwich and fresh kettle chips from the Townball Tavern at Target Field:

That was from tonight's opener.  More on that later.  Also, woodchuck madness, rock-raking weekends, homebrewing...

...and, like the rest of us, you got those old eternity blues.

If they don't win it's okay...

Dear Food Diary,


We hit up the Twins' exhibition game last night and got our second up-close look at the new ballpark.  It's a lot more exciting (and a little more annoying) completely packed with people than it was mostly empty at the open house a few weeks back.  Equally pretty, though.

The Cardinals felt right at home:

Much to your delight and/or stern disappointment, they have food at Target Field.

Oh right -- also they play baseball there.

MSTF3K:

I actually have a lot more to tell you, but I need to get outside and start some springtime chores.  It's been a crazy glorious few days (aside from a little rain yesterday afternoon).  Remind me to tell you about these things:


Mutant squirrel 
What happened to Sarah's hair in Mexico
Lots of food
Spent a half hour last Saturday chasing a woodchuck


Most sincerely yours,
Matt

Is this the best idea?

So that first picture from the other day -- of the tacos?  They were made using the Puerta Vallarta equivalent of a  gyro spit.  There was a stack of mystery pork cuts, heavily seasoned and tightly pressed together onto a vertical rotisserie.  That spun slowly in front of a charcoal chimney with a thin slot of super-heated coals.  And smoke came out of it, glorious smoke that seasoned the pineapple that rested on top of the pork spit.


I told Sarah, and I was serious, that that one meal was worth our entire trip.  I don't really mean the cost of the trip, though the other fun and experiences were worth that, but the ordeal -- the airport lines, the removing of our shoes, belts, and basic dignity (sidenote:  though Sarah apparently looks like a tweeker, I'm happy to report she was found to be drug-free and not a flight risk).  All of that was worth it just for the new experience of those tacos.  I'm hoping to find a way to recreate them here this summer.


We'd expected Puerto Vallarta to be less touristy than other relatively popular Mexican vacation spots.  That's what we'd heard, at least.  And it's weird how it was.  There was a polar divide between the very-touristy spots/shops (the Malecon, the beach front resorts, etc) and the decidedly non-touristy rest of downtown.  One side of a block would have Senior Frogs (actually one side of every block seemed to have a Senior Frogs), but then just across the street would be a second-hand shop, a farmacia, an animal farmacia, and three empty storefronts.  Then some graffiti and a stray dog.  Then a trinket shop, a beautiful gallery full of skull art, another farmacia, and a nice set of row houses with literal shacks alongside.


The patience for English varied widely, which I actually appreciated.  The hotel and nicer restaurants were fine with it, but a few blocks back from the ocean or at any of the taco stands it was a different story.  I felt like an asshole a lot of the time with my very limited Spanish, but I also felt good about not being accommodated for.  I didn't want to be the Ugly American (insomuch as I could avoid it) expecting to be met on my own terms.  So there was a lot of gesturing and polite nodding, on both sides, often.

Maybe you should travel with me.

Fuimos a México. Comí como una cabra.