Spring is Here

So, it's been really warm in Chicago. . . a few days have actually been hot and humid. Over 80 degrees. The kind of weird extended hot spell in March that makes you want to look askance at Rick Santorum when he pshaws global warming as a bad scientific myth.

The last frost date for Chicago is in May, and with my garden coming to life so early, I'm worried things are getting set up to be damaged--especially the newly transplanted irises and lilies. I also am having to fight the pretty daily urge to get out there are get to work. There's no way that the end of cold weather has come to Chicago by St. Patrick's Day.

So, there's that worry, but it's also pretty exciting to see green things popping up all over and knowing that winter will soon be a thing of the past. Plus, Chicago is a magical place in the spring and summer--and last week, as if someone turned a switch on, the streets were filled downtown with slowly strolling folks enjoying the sun and the warmth. There's a party atmosphere in town when its warm, and I can't complain that it's come so soon.

Transplanted Asiatic lilies.

Our neighbors gorgeous tree--blooming a month early.

Good Thing 17

This last December, I vowed to create one post a day to list a thing that improved my life in 2011, despite 2011 being a pretty terrible year. Well, some of 2011 has gotten its claws into 2012. . . and I don't care. Life is good.

But thinking about that, I can't believe I didn't mention this as a good thing at the end of December:


Our dog L.P. He's not what we wanted when we were looking for a dog. We wanted a short-haired, 40-50 lb lady dog. He's not a lady. He's fluffy. He's topped out at 18 lbs. But, man, is he cute and awesome.

I've been thinking about dogs a lot lately, how they improve our lives. It doesn't matter who I disagree with at work. It doesn't matter if jerks were mean during the commute home. When I open that back door, L.P. is standing there waiting for me, tail wagging, hooting his happiness that I'm around.

He's a snuggler. He's a fetcher. Unfortunately, he's a barker and (most unfortunate for men in the 5'10" to 6'2" range) a jumper. He swims. He doesn't know he's a small dog. He hates doorbells and not being included in stuff. His favorite treats are greenies, carrots, and dog food soaked in bacon grease (in that order). If he had to choose between starving to death or never playing fetch again, I fear he wouldn't be long for this world.

He's a star. And he makes both Dan and my life better each day he's in it.

Grimes Video Love

I love everything about this video. She's ridiculously cute dancing with football and motocross crowds. . .



I'm looking for joy wherever I can find it.

It's a Terrible Week for Singing

So, a friend at work shared this with me today and it brightened my day considerably.

A bunch of industrious musically-minded film students at Columbia College Chicago have gotten together with the hopes of putting together a 90-minute musical film about a puppeteer whose life seems to be going from bad to worse.

If the video they created introducing their idea and asking for donations to help fund the film is any indication of what the full-length film will be, I'm in.

How bout you?

It's a Terrible Week for Singing from Evan Mills on Vimeo.

If you want to help these young folks out and donate to their film, click here.

Butternut Squash Ravioli

Homemade Butternut squash ravioli--every bit of it. I made the filling two weeks ago and then the fresh pasta and assemblage last weekend.




Finally assembling the raviolis by the antique light of sunset. Cooking makes me feel connected to something. . . something historical and long-lived. Every piece I learn feels both important and inevitable.

These ravioli are part of a long-term obsession. Years and years ago, I went out for a holiday dinner with my whole work office at the restaurant "A Mano." Sister restaurant to its upstairs neighbor, Bin 36, it was one of the yummiest Italian joints I'd ever visited in Chicago. And the second course was pumpkin ravioli. . . coming at a time in my life when I hated pumpkin soup, butternut squash as a side dish, anything orange and squashy and edible. The only use for pumpkin was a Halloween decoration or pie.

But that ravioli--sweet and rich and buttery--served with walnuts, crisped individual leaves of brussel sprouts and tangy blue cheese changed my mind forever. And eating it, in the warm, sort of cavelike openness of A Mano, after the cold mile walk from work, up over the river, neck craned to take in the Marina Towers, surrounded by friends, I thought I might only want the waiter to bring that course again and again for the rest of the night.

And when A Mano went out of business in 2010, I knew that the only way to get those yummy ravioli again would be to make my own.

I've been working on it ever since.

Is there any conceivable way that this house is not haunted? Is there a universe in which this house is not filled with moldering lace and wavering candle light and the sounds of things going bump in the night?

This house is on the extreme west side of Chicago on a side street just off of Austin. Dan and I discovered it in large part because we had also discovered a great ma&pa butchershop (though, truthfully, it's a bro&bro shop), called the Blue Ribbon Meat Market. The BRMM sells everything, makes their own sausage, will put turducken together for you, and its where I always buy my pork shoulder for pulled pork makin's. And an added benefit of the BRMM, is that there's this amazing street of old monster homes that's fun to take a little walk down as part of the trip.

But this house is the most unusual. . . and undeniably beautiful/really really creepy:



And I have to assume that the owners are okay with their house being super creepsville. . . or they probably wouldn't have bought two stone statues of actual sized people to flank the entryway to their home:

I couldn't stop being domestic today if I tried. I made and froze the filling for butternut squash ravioli. . . ran out of steam before making the pasta, because I had already made homemade chicken potpies (from scratch) and prep-cheffed out for stir fry later in the day.

I cleaned the bathroom. I cleaned the kitchen. I mopped the floor.

But back to that butternut squash. I have made butternut squash soup about 8 times in the last 3 years. That means that I have cleaned about 18-20 of these bad boys--carving and peeling off the tough outside skin and then chopping the squash up into small pieces to then boil in stock to soften. What was I thinking?

The squash pictured above was rubbed with olive oil all over and then brown sugar on the cut faces of the squash and then I baked it in the oven at 375 degrees for an hour with the cut-side down on the cookie. when I took it out, the flesh just scooped right out. Tender. Sweet. AND NEXT TO NO WORK AT ALL!!!!! It was amazing.

Nom nom nom.

Lion. Dragon.

Dan played a show last week in a theater that a had a backdrop that made it look like he was playing Prairie Home Companion. Rock and Roll! He was great.

The Congress Hotel looks like the back-drop for a noir film.

New critters at fivetrees. . .