The Corona Diaries Vol. 91: Deep-fried cheese is the true universal language

(late-May 2023)

(Watch the prelude.)

My boss is not always the most prompt person. He expects us to show up early and finish our work before it's due but he has a much more lenient sense of punctuality and timeliness when it comes to his own responsibilities. For instance, while we all appreciate that he takes out our entire unit out for a year-end holiday lunch, the meal is not always taken near Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, and whatnot in December. I think our celebratory meal came when the year was well underway last April and this year it came in May. Soon things will come full circle and we'll actually have this lunch in the proper month.

Just as we did last spring, we went to Petra Bakery & Restaurant this month, a Middle Eastern joint on Madison’s west side.

To start the meal, we had the deep-fried halloumi (cheese made from goat and sheep milk) which was really tasty with a crispy outside and a smooth, creamy inside. This being Wisconsin, land of the fried cheese curd, I assume this is a big seller. Deep fried cheese seems to be something that transcends cultures. It's like a universal culinary language. Well, at least amongst those of us who are neither vegetarians nor vegans.

For the next round of Vorspeise, we were treated to stuffed falafel, deep fried balls of chickpea filled with onion, sumac, and chili paste. Oh, these were excellent too, I can assure you. Not very spicy but they did have a little bite. They reminded me that we have a jar of sumac at home so I must figure out some way to cook with it.

For my main course, I ordered a Fattoush salad topped with chicken shawarma.

While I probably, well, definitely, didn’t need the large size, I cleaned my plate anyway. Without any flatbread, rice, or other starch, I figured that I wouldn't slip into a particularly deep food coma when I got back to my desk. Underneath all of that chicken was the salad comprised of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber dressed with olive oil, garlic, maybe some sumac, and lots of lemon juice. Quite tasty and just perfect for a rather warm day.

In a feat worthy of Hercules, I restrained myself and did not order any baklava for dessert despite it looking very alluring and highly tasty in a display case that, curiously enough, is close to the entrance and catches your attention right as you walk in the door.

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When the work week ended last Friday, my Frau and I went out on a date night to the North Street Cabaret, just a couple miles from home. For one of Chicago’s finest bands, The Claudettes, were in town.

They are led by Johnny Iguana, a pianist with a blues pedigree. While there is a definite element of blues, barrelhouse and otherwise, in some of their songs, particularly their older material, there is much besides including R&B, cabaret pop, hints of New Wave, et al.

With them was their new singer, the willowy Rachel Williams. 

I am kicking myself for not having snagged a copy of the setlist but I can confidently say they did a mix of originals and covers.

Bassist/guitarist Zach Verdoorn sang on a fine rendition of “Cosmic Dancer”, originally done by T. Rex, while the night ended with a rockin’ “See Saw”, a classic Aretha Franklin song. The band composition “Pull Closer to Me” was dedicated to a friend of my Frau who was sitting next to us. She has seen them several times and they now recognize her as a fixture of their Madison shows. And they've gotten to know her favorite songs.

“Terms and Conditions” brought tears to the Frau's eyes while we both laughed out loud to a song poking fun at a CNN reporter who, when reporting on the death of the bassist of the band Bon Jovi, pronounced his job title like the fish and not the musical instrument.

Iguana augmented his wonderful tinkling of the ivories with humorous between song banter; Verdoorn effortlessly switched between bass and electric guitar, his playing tasteful throughout. Drummer Michael Caskey kept things moving along and did some great work on the toms. Plus he has the best facial expressions. One moment he’d be pounding away on his kit with a maniacal look on his face, as if he was going to hurt someone, and the next he is smiling and laughing like he'd just been told the world's funniest joke.

For her part, Williams looked to be having fun. This was one of her first gigs as the new singer and so there were times when she appeared to be working on her front lady routine. Similarly, the band seemed to be figuring out just which songs from their back catalogue suited her best. Williams' predecessor, Berit Ulseth, was no less talented but had a Scandinavian reserve to her while Williams seemed more inclined to let go occasionally and just belt it out.

I ended up buying 3 CDs and Johnny Iguana came over to chat with us after the show. My inner fan boy was like, “It’s the guy who played piano on ‘Infernal Piano Plot...HATCHED!’!” That being the first song of theirs I heard back in 2014 or so and got me hooked on them.

It was a really fun night and I was impressed with the North Street Cabaret as it was my first time there. While it may be a small joint, it is cozy and colorful with the exposed wood lending a warmth to the atmosphere. In such a space the performance was intimate. The band were right there instead of being indistinct figures off in the distance of an arena. They could see us just as we could see them.

Iguana said he’s trying to land them a spot at the AtwoodFest, a block party an easy bike or bus ride from our house, this July. Fingers crossed.

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My pursuit of the ideal loaf of rye bread continues. I found a promising recipe online that contained cocoa powder and molasses and it was once more unto the breadmaker.

It turned out alright.

The loaf didn’t collapse, which I was proud of. But how did it taste?

It was good. Not great, but good. I liked the earthy bitterness of the cocoa as it made a nice contrast to the wheaty sweetness. Plus, I think the molasses added a little something to bolster that earthy taste as well. The crispy crust was great.

But it just didn't have enough of that spicy rye flavor.

While an improvement on my previous loaves, I still have much to learn of the way of breadmaking.

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My Frau and I went to the Northside Farmers Market on a recent Sunday morning that was grey and a bit glum.

Despite this, there were some lovely colors to be seen.

There were some great looking mushrooms to be had.

The Frau ended up buying summer squash and broccolini. While I was sorely tempted to get some pastrami, I managed some self-restraint. Another time.

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A week or so ago I went south to St. Charles, Illinois to go see the band The Musical Box at the Arcada Theater. I saw them there last year but couldn’t turn down a chance to see them perform The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway once again. Since I wrote about their previous show at the Arcada back in the spring, I won't go on at length here. I will, however, note that it was a great show despite a loud drunk guy a couple seats to my right who would occasionally turn on his phone light to look at the pills he was going to pop.

The guy just kept talking and talking. At one point, he was basically yelling at his friend about something that happened the last time he went to a Roger Waters concert. I felt like Roger Waters at that 1977 concert in Montreal when he went off on the audience.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Stop letting off fireworks and shouting and screaming!"

But I may have witnessed evidence for the existence of a higher power that night. The song that I was most looking forward to hearing was "Silent Sorrow in Empty Boats". I mean, I was looking forward to all of the songs but my musical mind was keen on sitting there in the dim glow of the projections at the back of the stage and just letting those waves of Mellotron chorus wash over me. At previous performances of The Lamb I was eager to feel the rush of air over my face as every instrument came crashing in during "Fly On a Windshield" or to feel that unsettling feeling as the bright lights shine directly into my eyes and Death rises on the screen in back.

This time I just wanted a moment of serenity, of calm. To be overwhelmed by voices. And, by the gods, the drunken loudmouth allowed me that much.

The song was just beautiful.

Despite having been to the Arcada several times, I’d never really investigated St. Charles much and so I availed myself of the opportunity to trek around town the next morning.

It has a very pretty downtown with the Fox River splitting St. Charles in twain.

The St. Charles Municipal Center sits on the shore next to the St. Charles Dam. Built in 1940, it features a neat tower. Is this Art Deco? I’m not sure.

Here’s the Osgood Building with a fine turret, an architectural feature that has sadly (if you ask me) gone out of fashion.

There were murals along one side of it and I just had to take a photo of the one with a cat. The artist has captured the naughty look and demeanor of the feline creature here as this tabby looks ready to cause trouble.

There was a neat ghost sign a few blocks down the street, although the new occupants are in the same business as the old.

I found this mural with some timeless words of advice.

St. Charles is home to Ghoulish Mortals, the source for all of your monster and horror needs. Don’t mess with the flowers outside its windows.

There are lovely paths along river for a scenic stroll.

For dinner, I went to Alter Brewing which called a newer building home.

With my dinner I had a glass of their golden ale, Center Line, which was very tasty. A nice grain flavor with just a dash of fruitiness before the some spicy hops came in for a dry finish. It was light and refreshing and a very pretty brew.

On my way back to the interstate, I passed through Elgin. I don't think I'd ever been there before. It's always just been a sign that meant that I was getting close to Chicago and the traffic is going to get crazy soon. My impression was that it had something of an industrial past, judging by the buildings. St. Charles, on the other hand, seems to have had more of an agricultural history.

Cruising down the highway, I went by a building with a really nice ghost sign. I had to turn around and park to get some photos.

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Bonus photo. Here’s Piper relaxing in the sun while I was hard at work.

(Listen to the postlude.)