Ritual Cafe, Thanks for the Quarters

So many adventures, so little time to blog. Last Wednesday, the Iowa: An Explorer's Guide Roadshow (that's me, my pen, and some candy corn) attended the Iowa Author's Fair at the Des Moines Public Library. What a great event! There were librarians, authors, and the people that love both milling around. I was sitting with Keith Ratzlaff, a fabulous poet from Central College in Pella. There were so many nice people, free desserts, and tons of Geek the Library shwag.

Before I hit the fair, though, I needed chain for the meter. They read them until six pm downtown (and I've already got one ticket to pay). I stopped into the Ritual Cafe and asked for change. They don't normally give away change, unless you are buying a coffee or food, but because I was wearing my "Des Moines, Hell Yeah," so the gal took pity on me. I promised I would stop back when I had more time. And will I ever. Des Moines has a great coffee shop culture (Java Joes, Zanzibars, Mars Cafe), and Ritual is a part of that rich, caffinated landscape that keeps the Starbucks zombies at bay.

And it tasted Savery

Blogging faux pas: catching up on blogs all at once. Apologies.

Last Monday, I went to the Hotel Savery on Locust in downtown Des Moines. The Savery is going to host the TYCA 2010 conference. Get excited because early in October of next year, the streets of this fair city will be bustling with English teachers at Two Year Colleges from around the Mid-west. Par-tay.

The Savery is a nice hotel, as nice as a historic hotel can be when it was bought out by Marriott. The lobby is almost too hip to stand, and the rooms are both ornate and functional. I was sad to hear that the Herbert Hoover ballroom was too much of a mouthful for many guests. They had to rename the ballroom the Terrace Ballroom.

I did learn a lot about event planning, specifically who chooses the food that gets served at conference luncheons and why.

Adventure: A Love Story

This dispatch comes from the "When it Rains It Pours Department."

Sunday afternoon, after a long brunch catching up with busy friends, Billy, my darling companion, and I found ourselves with no agenda, no plans, no commitments. Yes, the house needed cleaned, and we could have shopped for the upcoming week, but the mid-October sunshine called and the promise of an unplanned day of adventuring whispered sweet nothings in our ears. We hopped in the car, pointed it east, and were on our way.

First stop: An open house. Don't you just love open houses? Even when you are not in the market to buy a house, it is so pleasant to imagine you are going to buy a house. The simple act of poking around in a stranger's abode and mentally arranging my furniture is an entire Sunday afternoon's worth of entertainment. The house we stopped at, on Chickasaw Drive I believe, featured a pretty swinging downstairs boudoir complete with wood paneling and a jaguar sculpture. When we left there was an enormous tabby cat seated on the roof of the car, like one of those lazy-ass lions you see in National Geographic movies that relocate their lounging to the roof of a safari jeep, to the delight and then dismay of the travelers inside. We took it as a good sign.

Next, the Majestic Lion antique store. It's probably good that I don't have all the money I could spend, because I would have left the Majestic Lion with a massive oak fireplace mantel, an enormous bust of Ab Lincoln, and a taxidermy alligator head. I kept my wallet in my pocket, but Billy found some Ben Franklin coins.

Then Billy wanted to go the country, so we drove to Polk City, where I had never been.

Third Stop: Big Creek State Park. It was a breezy autumn day so the busy beach was empty, the parking lot abandoned, and the stands all bundled up for the winter. But, there were a handful of people wind surfing, can you imagine? They zipped and glided back and forth across the choppy water just as easy as you please. Who knew you could wind surf in Iowa in October?

Fourth Stop: The Boone and Scenic Valley Railroad in Boone Iowa. Billy, I don't know if you know this, is all about trains. We snooped around the train station, and Billy, climbed aboard one of the engines. He fears nothing and he's not afraid of getting kicked out of places. He invites us. And, it's that attitude that gets us into some great adventures.

Fifth Stop: Wilson's Tap in Boone. They advertised games on the front sign. And Billy loves, loves, loves pinball, so we had to stop. We had a beer, played pinball and then pool (which I hate, for the record) and put some beloved songs on the juke box.

Then, after a big day of both nothing, and everything, we pointed the car towards home. Billy made dinner. I washed the dishes. They say compatibility is the most important feature in a relationship. For me, that means, having someone who doesn't mind seeing what's around the next corner or getting into a little trouble. If you've got someone who can enjoy a cold beer and pinball in a dive bar forty minutes from home, just because it's there, you've really got someone.

Not for all the Parking Spaces in the World

I am one of those lucky few who with a "reverse-commute." I live in the heart of the city, but I work in the suburbs. The rush-15 minutes is in the opposite direction. In theory, I understand why people move out to the hinter lands of Ankeny and Waukee: new-development housing, plenty of parking, and all the big-box stores a shopper could hope for.

In practice, though, I just don't see the appeal. Who wants to buy their groceries in the same place they buy underwear or tires? It's nice to find a parking spot, but really, when a store is tens of thousands of square feet, are you really saving any walking, or time, or energy?

But, answering those types of questions, at least for myself, is what this crazy-adventure-every-day quest is all about. So, before I headed home during reverse rush-hour, I availed myself of the shopping experience that is East 14th Street, whoops, I mean Ankeny Boulevard.

First stop. Super Target. Well, Super is right. They've got it all. Glasses. Portraits. Hardware. Bath Products. Clothes. Coffee. Movies. Toys. Stationary. Everything. It was like a small town crammed into one warehouse-style building. Wait. Glasses. Portraits. Hardware. Clothes. Coffee. Movies. Stationary. That sounds like my neighborhood. There are shops for all of those items and more in Beaverdale, but the dedicated shopper would have to depart one building and re-enter another. The horror.

Second stop. Tuesday Morning. When I lived in New Orleans, and had television at my house, I remember seeing commercials for Tuesday Morning. They featured a batty old rich lady and her driver, who were simply mad for the deals at Tuesday Morning. Well, I love me some deals too, but I was surprised to find Tuesday Morning both dumpy and spendy. Billy, my darling companion, described it as the Big Lots of department stores. Yikes. Imagine some old gal, sifting through piles of do-dads and Nittney Lions to find the cheapest possible goblet. No thanks.

Sure, everyone needs a Target every once in a while, and it is nice to have the new-house smell, and I am sure a lot of soul searching happens during those slow fifteen minutes of backed-up traffic on I-235, but, for me, I'm going to do my best to shop locally, street-parking and all.

Reading, and Rims!

This fall a great travesty befell the people of Beaverdale. The Franklin Library, which possesses the largest circulation of books in the system, closed and relocated to the Merle Hay Mall. They are building the new library, and they don't need a bunch of books and toddlers running around amid the support beams and sheets of glass, I guess.

I am partial to the Franklin Library; a good deal of my book was written at a square table near the one and only outlet. My friend Nikki worked there, and it is just blocks from my apartment. I am partial to the Central Library (though I miss the old building on the river), though I hate the parking--who wants to spend only 2 hours at the library?

There is a library hole in my life. I need books. I need media. I don't need Mall-time. I've heard the temporary location in the mall is fine, but I just can't bring myself to stop by. Who wants to pick out books in what used to be a Gap? Forest has done in a pinch, but there is about one work table in the entire joint, and the South and East side libraries are just too far away.

Nowadays (my students love that word), I've been driving to work on 2nd Avenue through Highland Park, which has opened up a whole new neighborhood for me. Chuck's is practically a haunt, and so, I figured it was about time I found my way to the North Side Library. Do you know what they have plenty of at the North Side Library? Rims. There were four cars in the parking lot with extra-fancy rim jobs. But, they've got a lot of other stuff as well: plenty of books on CD, which I listen to in the car, plenty of books in general, a handful of tables, too little space for kids to get a running start, and a meeting room with historical displays. I was charmed.

Perhaps, this would be my library of choice from now on? Perhaps all along, I've been compromising on my library choices (parking versus books versus tables versus mall-walkers), when no compromise is necessary. Perhaps that is the lesson of adventuring--perhaps, waiting out there for you is what you've been looking for all the time. I can see that this is going to be addicting.

PS: If anyone is interested, I will be at the Central Library this Wednesday night for the Iowa Library Association Iowa Writer's Fair (6-8). Come by the table and say hello. There will be candy corn.

Rock the Casbah: Nagi Mediterranean Grocery

Where to go? Where to go? Monday night, 7:15. I'd gotten sucked into an hour and a half of "Project Runway" at my mom's house (shameful, I know, but what can I say? I don't have tv at my house, so I have no natural immunity to bad reality programing.) Not much is open on a Monday night besides restaurants (but I did not want to eat out) and bars (I didn't want to drink alone, and Billy was at the Y). I could have gone to the hospital where my step-sister was in labor with her first child (but both hospitals and babies scare me. I would rather wait the babies are cleaned up and have use of their thumbs and vomit reflex at like age 25). So I took the long way home, getting more resigned to the fact that there would be no adventure that day.

Then, less than a mile from home, I spot it out of the corner of my eye, the new Mediterranean Grocery store in the shops at 42nd and University. I'd seen the grand opening sign a few weeks before and then forgot about the shop immediately. I'm not all the keen on Mediterranean food. I mean, I like it in theory. Olive oil, good. Olives, good. Bread, good. Cucumbers and tomatoes, okay. But, I was burned by a bad can of hummus from the Arabian grocery on 28th Street and University, and honestly, does anyone really like tabbouleh?

The Nagi Mediterranean Grocery is a humble affair, like a grocery store in a foreign country: clean, well-organized, and a bit spartan. Who needs four choices of brand-name jumbo lima beans anyway, the shelves scream? This will work, so take what you can get. And, it is clear that when they say "Mediterranean," they don't mean My-Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding-Mediterranean. They mean the other side of the Mediterranean, with camels, and veiled-ladies, and, it turns out, sesame fudge.

Well, I skipped the sesame fudge (tempting as it was, a quick glance at the nutritional content made me drop it like it's hot). But, I was surprised with how many items that I actually wanted: dried dates, dried figs, Kefir, and olive oil. Hey! I needed olive oil. And everything was reasonably priced. My friend Jessica has been making delicious cheese-stuff, bacon wrapped, grilled figs, but the cost of buying those high-in-fiber wonders at the Gateway is cost-prohibitive. Not anymore.

While I was shopping, the shop keeper's daughter (geez, that sounds like the title of one of those many, best-selling novels that keep coming out, doesn't it?), who was a darling, kept asking her daddy, who was working diligently at the shop computer and leaving me alone (another thing I like about grocery stores in foreign countries; there are no smile-plastered teenagers in Dockers and cheap button-down shirts asking me how I am. I am at the grocery store, of course I am terrible. Now, where's the friggin' corn meal?) if she could have a) mango juice or b) candy. She alternated between the two. He kept saying no, that they were going home soon, over and over, with a patience that I envied.

As I was paying for my olive oil, ($4.99) I asked if I could take some pictures. The shop keeper's daughter, who introduced herself as Imam, graced one shot with a dance. Imam and her father were total sweet-hearts, and the shop is not only a welcome addition to the neighborhood, but also a sign of the changes that are taking place in Des Moines, especially in the Drake area. More and more families from the "Mediterranean" are moving to the neighborhood, and they need figs, and Kefir, and olive oil too. And, as they shop, and send their kids to school, (and try to get them to eat less candy), and live regular lives, they are changing the way we define it means to be Mediterranean and what it means to be American. That change, I think, can only be for the better.

Something Old, Something New

Perhaps this doesn't count, but on Thursday, Billy and I went down el Bait Shop for Jimmy Carter Happy Hour. We've been meaning to go ever since we started dating. Billy is a home-brewer at heart, and I love both Jimmy Carter and beer. Often, the J.C. Happy Hour, which features free samples of home-brew from local brewers, is over before we can rally and get out of the door.

So, I've been to el Bait Shop plenty of time, but I've never been for this particular event. And, it was pretty fun--more low key than I thought it would be. We had a sample and then went next store for broasted chicken. Something old, something new, I guess.