picky eaters.

When I was a child, I was labeled that most common of childhood afflictions: picky.

I was never offended by the term. Ok, picky it is. I liked what I liked, namely chocolate cake, hot dogs, and cereal.

Here's what I DIDN'T like that gained me the "picky" designation:

beef (unless it's a burger or a good steak)

broccoli

pork (unless it was sausage)

fish sticks

canned tuna

peas

celery

cantaloupe

lima beans

...

That's it.

And guess what?

I STILL don't like those things. 

Unfortunately for me, those handful of foods I didn't like made appearances in nearly every Midwestern meal. 

Church potlucks were the absolute worst. Everything was some kind of hotdish that involved one or more of the things I didn't like held together with cream of mushroom soup. And don't even get me started on Midwestern "salads."

School lunch could be a challenge, as well. My least favorite meal was tuna gravy and biscuit day, which was a frequent flyer on Fridays during Lent. Not only was there tuna in the gravy, but there were peas as well. Woof.

I assumed I didn't like Mexican food because the only kind I had ever been exposed to was school lunch Mexican - hard shell tacos with ground beef. 

I assumed I wouldn't like Chinese food because I had never had it.

I knew I liked Italian food because it's mostly pasta and cheese. 

I don't remember when I started trying more food - I know it was well into college, because James (who I have now known for 18 years) remembers thinking of me as a picky eater. 

Turns out? I'm actually not a picky eater at all.

I just hadn't been exposed to many different types of food.

It helped to be dating James, who likes almost everything. When we'd go somewhere, he'd always offer to let me try his food. And I always did. That was the turning point for me. Doors were opened.

I thought I didn't like fish until we had salmon at a friend's house. 

I thought I didn't like Mexican until we went to an actual Mexican restaurant.

And so on.

I love Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Thai food. I've had limited experience with Indian food, but I like what I've had so far. I would eat Mexican all day, every day. I still like Italian food, but now I get way more stuff in it.

I can't think of a single cuisine that I would group into an "I don't like this" category. There are certain things I'll avoid, but there's always something for me. 

Funny story: I was in Berlin a few years back for a grad school class. Our professor had lived there a few years back, and he was excited to take us to some of his favorite restaurants. He asked what we would like - there were 12 of us - and one student said, "I don't like Asian." Our professor hesitated for a second and said, "...any Asian? That's a big cuisine." The student replied: "I don't like how it smells."

(That trip to Berlin involved stops in Iceland and Denmark and introduced me to such delights as currywurst, döner kebab, Aperol, smørrebrød, and pears on pizza. Chef's kiss.)

Vacations are when I find the best food. I was in weird fruit heaven when we went to Jamaica: lychee, Jamaican apples, passionfruit, guava, soursop. 

One of my all-time favorite meals was in Massachusetts, and it was squid-ink pasta. I dream about that dish. 

That same trip, I tried my first lobster outside of a single bite at Red Lobster decades ago. I also dream about lobster.

I will admit I do have a hard time trying weird meat. I've tried plenty of unusual (to me) seafood (shark, octopus, squid, eel, crawfish), but I'd be hard-pressed to try a Rocky Mountain Oyster. I have had alligator and rabbit, but they were in sausage and pasta, respectively. I did try James's ostrich hot dog last year, and I have regrets.

Shark. 0/10 recommend.

But the good discoveries just keep coming! Until about a year ago, I thought I didn't like sushi - not because of the raw fish aspect, but because I couldn't handle the seaweed taste. A friend introduced me to the incredible concept of soy paper, and my life was changed. Now I love sushi.

Now that James and I have a tiny person of our own, we're doing our best to expose him to all kinds of food. People have commented that they wouldn't have thought to give whatever kind of food to a kid, but we want him to have a broad culinary experience. Phineas is super into seafood: he loves shrimp more than anyone I know, and he'll dig into salmon and catfish. He likes food pretty spicy, like andouille sausage. He loves Chinese food. He eats whole bell peppers like apples. 

Moral of the story: I was never actually picky - I just didn't (and don't) like traditionally Midwestern-style food. Sorry to all the hotdish aficionados out there.

the church cookbook

We have been in our house for more than three years now, and the process of decluttering is never-ending. I've been thinning out my book collection steadily over the years because - duh - I'm a librarian and can find whatever book I want for free. The books I'm keeping are those that are particularly special or that I know I'll read again and again.

Anyway, the latest victim of my book weed was the 100th Anniversary Trinity Lutheran Church cookbook.

I believe it was published in 2004 or 2005, and I don't think I've looked at it since then for two reasons.

The big one: I don't cook.

The secondary one: the recipes are so adorably Midwestern. So much ground beef, so little flavor.

I did read it cover to cover last night, though, in search of some familiar names. And I found SO much more than that.

My mom, who also is not a fan of cooking, did indeed submit one recipe - and it's something she still makes today. It's also one of the only soups/chowders that I like.

I also found quite a few recipes from my grandma Sheila, who LOVED to cook. She is best known for her baked goods, of which she shared several:

I do have a bone to pick with Grandma: anything with that many ingredients doesn't seem "easy" to me. I do love the exclamations she includes, though ("very yummy!" "outstanding!").

Funny story: I don't remember having any of these desserts. I was probably more focused in her cinnamon bread.

Grandma also included a couple of meat-based recipes, which absolutely sum up Midwestern flavor.

I love my grandma, and I love the Midwest... but typical Midwestern food is something else.

As you can see from these excellent examples, the base of a typical small town Midwestern diet is ground beef. I don't like ground beef in any form except a burger. I never have. That immediately got me labeled as "picky." 

As a kid, I accepted the label. I didn't enjoy 95% of the food at potlucks, and I didn't go for everything on the dinner table at home. Ground beef, broccoli, cream of mushroom soup, any Jello-based "salad"... not for me. I survived on a diet of cereal and hot dogs.

But as I got older, I found out there is a TON of food out there I enjoy. I love seafood. I love all fruit (except melons. melons are a bullshit fruit). I love sushi. I haven't met a cuisine (Japanese, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Argentinian, etc) that I don't like. One of my all-time favorite meals was made with squid ink pasta. 

So I'll let you decide if I'm truly picky.

Besides the endless ground beef-based dishes, there were more treasures to behold - many of which left me shaking my head. I present: the cheesecake with no traditional cheesecake filling.

(I have removed the submitter's name to protect the less-than-innocent.)

I read this a couple of times to make sure I didn't miss anything. I'm no purist, but I feel like a cheesecake with no cream cheese isn't a cheesecake. Or mascarpone. Or sour cream. Or Greek yogurt. Or ricotta. Or any of the endless things you can use as a substitute to get the "cheese" in "cheesecake." This is just pudding with coffee in it.

Ketchup is a huge part of the Midwestern diet. Or, as the Kingsbury County Pork Producers would say, catsup. 

When was the last time you heard someone refer to ketchup as catsup? I forgot that was even a word.

Of course, you can't have a small town church cookbook without some mild racism:

Oof. You can say "they grew up in a different time" and "this was 20 years ago" all you want, but I would bet a large sum of money the old ladies who submitted these back in 2004 would see no problem with the names of the dishes today.

My absolute favorite recipes are those submitted by the wedding committee. According to the cookbook, which gave helpful definitions as to what committees did what, the wedding committee was responsible for serving refreshments in the fellowship hall after a wedding. I don't know how many people head to the fellowship hall after their weddings any more, so I don't know if the wedding committee still exists. But their recipes live on.

Meat salads. My nightmare.

The absolute best, though, was the punch section. There is a LITERAL two-page spread about red punch.

I had no idea of the possibilities.

It's even funnier when you look at the index:

After reading this cookbook, I don't think I can get rid of it any more. It's too hilarious. I feel like this would be a great party theme: everyone pick a section and a dish from said section, except make it good. 

If you are in the need for some bland Midwestern recipes, you let me know - I've got you covered. Especially if it's red punch.

kids YouTube: a diatribe.

Remember a couple of months ago when I complained a bunch about Paw Patrol?

I take it all back.

I thought that was as close to the bottom of the barrel in the children's entertainment universe I was going to get.

HOO BOY was I wrong.

I'm talking YouTube.

We've all ventured into YouTube. There is some truly amazing stuff on there - you can watch long-lost TV shows, learn how to do almost anything, listen to music... it's pretty great.

Every video platform has its problems, though - people have been known to post some pretty horrific things. The stuff of nightmares.

I am not what you'd call an avid YouTube user. I'll go on it every now and again, but I'm definitely visiting YouTube just a couple of times a month. James, on the other hand, is a YouTube addict. He watches the most boring videos I have ever come across - watch repair, old toy restoration, trumpets... snore. 

Unfortunately, James passed his love of YouTube onto Phineas.

It started off innocent enough. There are all sorts of videos aiming to help kids with colors, numbers, and shapes, so James showed Phineas a few of those. 

Once you find something on YouTube you like, you'll get suggestions for other videos in the same vein. That's how you fall down the rabbit hole.

Phineas's color videos came to my attention one day when James pulled up YouTube on the TV and started one of Phineas's favorite videos. This particular video is a part of a massive YouTube channel called Genevieve's Playhouse, which is basically a grown-ass man playing with children's toys and providing narration in his creepy grown-ass man voice.

This particular video is said grown-ass man feeding gumballs to one of those PlayDoh heads where you make his teeth out of PlayDoh. The premise of the video is this guy eating too many gumballs (his teeth turn a different color for each gumball) and having to have his teeth replaced. This video is like 20 minutes long.

It's been a downward spiral since then. 

I have watched one too many of these types of video, and as I'm watching them, I feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience. Like - is this it? Did I finally lose my mind? Am I accidentally on drugs?

Phineas's current favorite is a super long one where various objects get dipped in colors. Eventually, a rather disturbing animated baby shows up and dances.

Soccer ball ice cream scoops. Makes perfect sense.

Phineas is super into videos with unsettling animated children. They all have gigantic eyes and talk like they are aliens trying to trick us into believing they’re human. 

At first, James was reluctant to heed my pleas to end this kids YouTube garbage. "It's educational!" he said. "So are books!" I said. But even James was driven over the edge by the dancing baby, so we are redirecting Phineas to basically anything but YouTube.

So... Paw Patrol, here I come. And I will be grateful. 

the perfect last bite.

I'm here today to talk about something dear to my culinary heart. Something that shapes every dining experience I've ever had.

The perfect last bite. 

It's when you are enjoying a particularly good meal and you make sure your very last bite of said meal is nothing short of flawless. It could be just the right amount of sauce on a french fry or the perfect bun-to-meat ratio on a burger. It's that last bite you take that makes you close your eyes with pleasure. The last bite that leaves you absolutely satisfied.

It's essential you don't eat anything else after the perfect last bite. You might have the perfect last bite of your steak and then be tempted to pick at those last few mashed potatoes, but this invalidates the perfect bite. The perfect last bite must be just that: last. It's the last bite of your favorite thing in the meal.

The last perfect bite I had was at Crawford's in Sioux Falls.

Every January, downtown Sioux Falls businesses compete in the Burger Battle, which is a freaking delight. The burger at Crawford's had a pretzel bun, tomato pepper jam, jalapeno bacon, and black truffle cheese. It was phenomenal. And the last bite? Nothing but perfection.

I'm wondering if this is something just I do, or is it a universal thing? James hadn't thought of a perfect last bite before I told him it was something I do, and now he is a sworn believer.

Clearly, I am of the "live to eat" variety versus "eat to live." Eating delicious food is pretty much my favorite thing to do - the best part about going on vacation is all the new and exciting food options. 

As the great Sophia Loren once said: "I'd rather eat pasta and drink wine than be a size zero."

cute shit Phineas says.

Parenthood, man. 

Don't let that sweet face fool you. One second, he was
roaring like a dinosaur. The next, he was kicking me
in the gut.

Phineas will be three in March, and I feel like we're in the trenches. He's this small person with BIG feelings and not quite the words to express them yet. There's a lot of screaming (from him - I'm only screaming on the inside) and a lot of frustrating days. 

Sometimes, though, Phineas will say or do something funny that helps me forget about the bad days. 

Here are some of the things he says. 

TRYING NOT TO GO TO BED

• You're beautiful!
• (pets my hair) I'm comforting!
• Let’s snuggle just a little bit more.

NAMES

• Gramma-rama
• I love Cawwa!

OUT OF THE BLUE

• You're not a monster.
• Your butt is probably tired.
• My bones are crackin!
• Let's do this.
• Thank you for giving me kisses. I love kisses.

NAMES OF THINGS:

• mac 'n roni: macaroni and cheese
• plugger: outlet
• presso: espresso (he likes to pretend to make espresso for James)
• minty: toothpaste
• whisker: whisk
• tormado: tornado/tomato
• bonker: hammer

MISC

• (in reference to farting) My butt burped.
• (in reference to my tattoo) That's your pontoon.
• (gives me the side-eye) What's up with you?
• (while hiking) I'm DOIN' it!
• (what he thinks is a joke) You work at school! Dad works at library! Hehehehehehe!
• (hearing that my dad's combine got fixed) Go farmer Grandpa!
• (hearing James and me talk about parenthood burnout) I’m burned out, too.

Phineas does a lot of things that make us laugh. He eats lemons and limes - just plain. 

He plays the recorder, and he's halfway decent. He loves to sweep with the power sweeper, and he loves to help James cook. He sees pictures of me as a kid and says, "That's Phineas!" He sees pictures of my mom in her 30s and says "that's mama!" He loves animals and is obsessed with spiderwebs. One of the best days of his life was when the garbage man waved at him from the truck. His first multi-syllable word was "brewery." 

Now that Phineas's goofy antics are written down, maybe they'll bring me a bit of joy if I reread them on a bad day. Just writing this after a bad week made me smile. These kinds of things are hard to remember in the moment, but hopefully I will remember that they are there.

sexist jewelry store ads: a rant.

My least favorite store is one I have never been in.

It's a jewelry store in Brookings called Wink's.

According to their website, it's been in Brookings for 60+ years. From what I have heard, the original owner (whose last name was Winkelman) was a gem. (Get it? Gem?) But the guy who bought it in the 80s? Not so much.

There are a few stories floating around about that guy, and they all revolve around how much one is willing to spend on jewelry. For example: a guy came in looking for a gift for his wife. When he was shown only items outside his budget, he asked to look at something less expensive. The owner said, "Well, why don't you just take her to McDonald's, then, and be done with it?"

I have never set foot in Wink's because of these stories - my dad has a similar one, so their bad attitude has gone down in Bjorklund family history. Whenever we go to Nick's Hamburgers (which is located just around the corner from Wink's), we all make a point to park in front of Wink's. Dad calls it his "tiny rebellion" - taking up that parking space might make it that much more difficult for business. Maybe, maybe not, but it makes us feel good.

What really gets me, though, is their advertising.

I have never seen a SINGLE ad of theirs that isn't completely sexist. Only in recent years have I begun to document them, but the true number of these bullshit ads far exceeds my photographic evidence.

A while ago, I wrote an essay about my wedding ring and how the size of the stone in no way represents James's love for me. Wink's very clearly operates on that premise. 

Makepeace in Watertown is no different. I think they must use the same ad agency as Wink's. 

Every one of the ads from these two stores operates on the same premise: men are dumb and constantly need to get out of "trouble," and buying a woman jewelry will solve everything and give said man a free pass to do anything. 

I'll let the gallery speak for itself:

(you can tell which ones are Wink's ads because I'm flipping them off)

I also distinctly remember another Wink's ad that said something like "your daughter shouldn't have a bigger ring than your wife."

Ick.

Now, I do feel a little bit bad hating on these stores because they are small businesses. I am a supporter of shopping small and shopping local. 

However.

Being a small business is no excuse for being horribly sexist and outdated.

There are plenty of jewelers who are small business owners and do not have sexist ads. Should I be in the market for fine jewelry (which, let's be honest, will probably be never), I'll choose one of those.

Paw Patrol: a diatribe.

I have learned an awful lot about parenthood since Phineas was born. Before you become a parent, there's a certain about you know to be true, but there are other things you don't/can't know until you're in the thick of it.

One of those things is how truly fucking awful kids' TV is.

And why would I know this pre-parenthood? The only children's TV I was familiar with was the stuff I watched as a child 30+ years ago. I thought my small child and I would be gleefully watching Sesame Street and Mr Rogers and learning our colors and letters and taking tours of factories.

What an idiot.

Phineas's TV drug of choice is Paw Patrol.

I had to basically sit on him so we could watch 10 freaking minutes
of James's indoor concert before Phineas switched it to Paw Patrol.

I'm imagining parents of children anywhere near Phineas's age are letting out a collective groan.

For the uninitiated (be SO THANKFUL), Paw Patrol is a kids' show about this kid and his rescue squad of puppies who are constantly saving their town from disasters large and small. Sounds harmless, right?

NO.

Paw Patrol is some of the dumbest shit I've ever seen, and I've seen a LOT of Adam Sandler movies.

The premise is not terrible, and the puppies themselves are pretty innocuous. The worst part about them is the constant stream of terrible puns.

It's the humans in the show that are the real problem.

You have to be a complete fucking moron to be a human in the Paw Patrol universe.

Every time freaking ANYTHING happens, they're like "better call the Paw Patrol." Flat tire? Call the Paw Patrol. Can't find their glasses? Call the Paw Patrol. Their shoe is untied? OH MY GOD CALL THE PAW PATROL.

Most of the problems arise from the two dumbest mayors in all of the fiction universe. One mayor is the evil mayor from the next town who mostly just wants shit the other town has. Like "they're having a contest to see who has the biggest watermelon and I must steal the biggest watermelon and win muahahaha." Of course, these plots always fail thanks to the Paw Patrol. Somehow, he remains mayor even though he is legit NEVER in his own town doing mayor stuff.

The "good" mayor is the mayor of the town the Paw Patrol is based in, and she is just incapable of everything. She has THE most annoying voice (like opera singer/great aunt combo) and carries around a chicken who is always somehow getting into trouble. Hence - her calls to the Paw Patrol are always about that stupid chicken. This lady can't even hang onto a chicken, let alone run a town. Who elected these nincompoops?

But Phineas EATS it up. He sings the theme song, knows all the characters by name, and gets very concerned with things start to look a little hairy. He hates to watch Paw Patrol alone because he likes to talk it out with a companion, so James and/or I are his faithful couch buddies. 

Phineas has been sick this week, so we have been letting him watch more TV than usual. That means more Paw Patrol than usual. He is not interested in any other shows. He's not even interested in the Paw Patrol movie, which is leaps and bounds better than the show (but still sucks). I am losing my mind.