SOLON—My first reaction to Salt Fork Kitchen was accurate— except the part about struggling in the old, well used space. Great food will make the restaurant, even if the old church pews are uncomfortable, and the cheap, stackable restaurant chairs don’t rise to the food’s quality. Bent forks and all, the restaurant has become a popular stopping spot at 112 E. Main St. It’s because of the food.
Breakfast is the foundation of the restaurant according to their website. “Salt Fork Kitchen is a made-from-scratch, locally sourced restaurant that works with area farmers to provide exceptional, in-season food. We believe in quality first at a fair price.” They are open from 7 a.m. until 2 p.m. Tuesday through Sunday. On Saturdays from 9 a.m. until noon they offer a market of farm fresh products which supplements their sales at the nearby Iowa City Farmer’s Market. They also offer farm-to-table dinners on special occasions for a fixed price. A list of their local food sources is here.
Breakfast is a meal best made at home, but from time to time, people want a place to meet, or overnight company needs an easy transition to a road trip home. Salt Fork Kitchen serves these basic needs. If you stop there for breakfast or lunch, don’t expect fancy— just great food.
Read my previous posts about Salt Fork Kitchen here, here, here, and here.
NORTH LIBERTY— One of my part time jobs is working at a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm a few hours each week. The jobs are always interesting. Yesterday I delivered the first shares to customers in the parking lot of the First United Methodist Church. The nearby food pantry receives three shares plus any extra produce or unclaimed shares. This week’s share was baby bok choy, garlic chives, asparagus, lettuce, mixed greens, and for those that ordered them, a dozen eggs. Our customers are always pretty cool, and were talkative last night.
Asparagus
The quality of vegetables is always surprising and consistent. The sorting and packing takes most of a day’s work, and it is remarkable how much of care goes into each weekly share. While field workers in the Central Valley of California, Mexico, Peru or Immokalee, Florida may exercise care in their harvests, it is the personal and special treatment of CSA workers that makes a difference. We know the face of our farmer and that makes it personal.
Garlic Chives
I checked the garden and it is sopping wet still. We have had 1.61 inches of rain during the last seven days. The seeds are germinating, and it looks pretty good so far. However, the ground needs digging up, lettuce and kohlrabi transplanted, and fences put up. It will just have to wait until the ground dries out.
In the meanwhile, our kitchen is active this morning, making a breakfast stir fry that includes some bok choy, mixed greens and other delicious vegetables, mostly from local sources.
Asian Greens in Scrambled Eggs with Vermont Cheese and Pickled Bits and Pieces
LAKE MACBRIDE— The first share from the Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm was ready yesterday— asparagus, lettuce, baby bok choy and Asian greens. Anticipation over spring and summer cooking is building, even if living on bits and pieces from the pantry will continue until the full flow of local produce is unleashed. Picking up the share at the farm was a fine beginning.
We had more than two inches of rain since Earth Day, so outdoor plants are growing. The garden is too wet to work, although as soon as the soil dries, seedlings are ready to go into the ground. Meanwhile I will go on living in society, and that is today’s topic.
The phrase “in society” has a particular usage here. It is part of a spectrum of relationships with people that contrasts with “chez nous,” the French term that refers to “at home” or “with us.” Maybe there is something else on this jumping green sphere (thanks Lord Buckley for this phrase), “outside society” or “foreign,” but most of our lives are spent chez nous or in society. My tag “homelife” could be changed to “chez nous” and sustain the meaning.
Living in society is that set of relationships which sustains a life on the plains. It includes friends, family, neighbors, workplaces, institutions, retail establishments, and organizations with which we associate or interact. The relationships are interpersonal, that is, specific people are associated with each part of society— it is not an abstraction.
When young, we don’t see our life in society this way. We had an ability to live in the moment without a history of interpersonal relationships, anchoring us into something else. As we age, we are more like a character in a William Faulkner novel that must work to suppress the endless flow of memory.
If experience connects us, the way we live in society is based on thousands of previous interactions. For example, someone ran for the U.S. Senate after a long, productive life. If I saw him today in any of a number of settings— at a retail store, at the retirement village, at a literature reading, at a veterans meeting, at a public demonstration— I would think of the courage he displayed by taking on personal debt to challenge an entrenched incumbent politician who would otherwise have run unopposed. I would also think of our many conversations over a period of years. Our relationship is driven by my respect for his courage, and I picture him when I think about the associations we share. When I use the phrase “in society,” it might be referring to an interaction we had, or one like it with someone else.
My usage of the phrase “in society” may have been explained by others who are smarter, but because it is organic there is a peculiar sense to it on this blog. It is personal, but not really, because is it also public.
I am entering one of the richest periods of personal interaction in life. Old enough to have had experience, and young enough to gain new ones. Each day’s potential is vast midst the galaxy of people with whom I interact. Favoring the phrase “in society” enables me to talk about them without revealing where the specific interaction may have occurred. This protects people from unwanted intrusion into their lives, and enables the writing I do for a couple of hours each day.
Chez nous, we would have had breakfast of Asian greens mixed with scrambled eggs, Vermont cheddar cheese and pickled veggies from last season. In society I am part of the local food movement and post photos of my breakfast. Maybe I am drawing a fine line, but it is an important one for a writer.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The ambient outdoor temperature was 50 degrees at 3 a.m., creating a yearning to work in the yard and garden. Other work, however, kept me busy this weekend. So much so, that when each day was done, bedtime couldn’t come soon enough— outdoors had to wait.
I’m okay with that, but I’m not.
When first feeling the urge to be a writer, many years ago, I had no idea what that meant. Now there is a full slate of writing jobs, some paid and some not, and meeting deadlines has become more of an issue. Writing and proof reading our weekly newspaper can’t be described as a stressful job, but beginning on Fridays, it’s crunch time.
The supervisory work at the warehouse also occurs on weekends, so there is little time for extras in the arc from Friday through Monday. The result has been to hang with a new, and very different group of people from the academicians, political activists, public figures, and peace and justice crowd that had become staples of my social life.
American lives move from a fixed point in time toward insularity. Frederick Jackson Turner wrote in 1893,
As each generation of pioneers moved 50 to 100 miles west, they abandoned useless European practices, institutions and ideas, and instead found new solutions to new problems created by their new environment. Over multiple generations, the frontier produced characteristics of informality, violence, crudeness, democracy and initiative that the world recognized as “American.”
The degree to which one takes issue with the frontier thesis asserted by Turner in The Significance of the Frontier in American History, there is no denying the bent toward utopianism that exists in daily life. People don’t care about money as much as they want to be able to pay their bills and live their lives. In doing so, they create an island of utopianism carved out of a complicated society. Perhaps I am corrupting what it means to be utopian, but that too is an American idea.
I heard a woman say she wanted the man to make the decisions for her last week. I was stunned. Only an insular life can espouse such a world view. One that lacks a basic connection to a greater society, and exists in the rarefied air of a peculiar social network.
“Ugggghhhhh. That’s depressing,” said one friend.
“Thank goodness she’s in the minority,” said another.
“A sample of one does not a movement make,” said an activist I know.
Whatever repulsion there is to a woman who wants her man to do the thinking, it is part of the diversity of life which has become a context for my writing.
A writer must necessarily become isolated while working. At the same time, there is a constant want and need for contact with humanity in all of its diversity. Writers must break from the swaddling of the familiar and dive in— it’s as close to utopia as American living gets.
SOLON— The restaurant crawl has been intentionally avoiding a trip to the Subway restaurant located in a strip mall at the edge of town. That there would be one is not surprising, although the only thing local about it is the employees and its iteration of industrial food architecture.
According to the chain’s website, Subway has 41,348 restaurants in 104 countries. It’s as popular as any, with about ten patrons when I stopped by at lunch time. Another chain restaurant had opened in a strip mall across the highway, but closed soon after the grand opening— Subway seems to have better staying power.
More than any other local eatery, Subway sits at the retail end of a processed food manufacturing supply chain. I picked a foot long sandwich for $5, and Subway is all about picking from their large stable of proprietary sandwich options. The fare is well advertised, with an ever changing menu. The current promotion is for Flatizzas, a piece of flat bread topped with tomato sauce, cheese and toppings from the sandwich bar, served like a pizza. It all looks the same to me.
Gone are the nostalgic images of the New York subway system that decorated the early stores. The dominant features were the sandwich bar, clean rest rooms and adequate table seating for guests. I noticed one of the sandwich artists changed plastic gloves twice while I was going through the line. Once after a trip to the store room to get something, and once to take money at the cash register. Like most big companies, Subway can’t afford to get on the wrong side of the public health department.
That’s really the saving grace about Subway. Because their processes are designed in a central location and trained locally, the products we buy in Solon are little different from what might be found anywhere else in the United States. Travelers want something familiar and consistent, and Subway meets that need.
I submit that the Solon Subway is no better or worse than any of its outlets worldwide. If that’s what trips your trigger, then there it is on Highway One south of town.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Falling snow whited out the world beyond our driveway. Isolated, it was hard to avoid wondering what was happening out there. The pipeline of data packets delivered to a screen beckoned us to leave our wonder, and engage with society beyond the driveway. At some point, I turned the computer off and set the mobile phone in another room.
Should a writer write what one knows, or what one wonders or imagines? And who is this writing to be about? If it is narcissistic preening, then why not take the whole endeavor off-line, get a paper journal, and write there— because who cares but the individual? Unless we write what we imagine society could be, and how we fit into the greater aspects of it, there is little reason to post on the Internet.
Apple Trees in a Winter Storm
I believe food is a connection to the rest of society and that’s why I write about it. At once it encompasses personal experience, labor, production, the environment, soil quality, botany, chemistry, biology, consumerism, preservation and packaging, distribution, cooking and eating— the whole enchilada of sustaining a life. Since everyone has to eat, food culture has been and remains a fertile field for the imagination, and a practical way to connect with people. That said, why care about what I cooked in the kitchen last night? One needn’t.
If we develop a sustainable culture where we live, we will be better able to survive in a turbulent world. We would be less distracted by media and outside factors, and empowered to act with authority on what we know. One needs a cultural platform to serve as a fulcrum for change. If we don’t make one, social progress becomes difficult.
As the snowfall slowed and stopped, the sun came out. The new fallen snow resembled a blanket over life’s previous markings— a chance to start again. Soon, I’ll grab a shovel and dig a path out to the street and a society with which I was always connected, but from which I took a retreat to work toward sustaining a life on the Iowa prairie.
NORTH LIBERTY— On the front page, below the fold, is my first article written for a newspaper— The North Liberty Leader. I have two beats, the Iowa City Community School District Board of Directors, and the Solon City Council. We’ll see how it goes, but the work has been a plus.
Most importantly, I now have an editor who reads what I write and provides feedback. Every writer needs that, although in the era of social media and blogs, few have it. In my evolution as a writer— from high school work in the 1960s, to fledgling efforts in the 1970s, to graduate school, and through today, my writing has gotten better. Now there is a structure for improvement and I like it… a lot.
While life will continue to be busy as a low wage worker, at least part of my time is compensated for doing what I love. That is like Thanksgiving in February.
SOLON— Solon Station is a place to grab the special and go when on Main Street at lunch time. At 1:40 p.m. they were still serving— a cheeseburger basket for $6. I took a seat at the worn wooden bar and checked in on my mobile phone while waiting for the bartender/cook to prepare my plate.
The Special
Pub grub is about our local culture and Solon Station typifies the genre. It is industrial food service fare, cooked fresh, and served up with one’s favorite beverage. The menu is a limited selection of appetizers, sandwiches and pizza. There is a Sam Adams sandwich sign featuring the daily special, which in good weather can be found outside on the sidewalk.
Back Bar
I asked the bartender whether the increased competition for food and beverages on Main Street was affecting business. She said they were doing okay.
Neighborhood bars are a place where the idea of fun is “cold beer on a Friday night. A pair of jeans that fit just right. And the radio on.” Solon Station is a place to go for karaoke, buckets of beer, cup nights, and when one needs a break from the fam. Check out their Facebook page for more reasons to visit.
According to the bartender, the back bar is the original and is lined with bottles of popular spirits like Templeton Rye, Patrón, Jameson, Tanqueray, Stolichnaya and Maker’s Mark. Nothing too fancy here. Solon Station is an example of what remains of neighborhood bars in the area.
Sunlit Alcove
Sunlight illuminates an alcove near the entryway— the place to hold a meeting, or play cards on a slow afternoon. It is reminiscent of small bars and restaurants more likely to be found in Europe than a bedroom community like Solon.
As the saying goes, “come visit Solon Station for great service, cold drinks and hamburgers so good, you’ll become addicted.” In more than twenty years of living outside of town, I haven’t made many trips to a bar. After yesterday’s visit, Solon Station may be a more frequent stop on this native Iowan’s itinerary.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The newspaper where I proofread offered me an opportunity to write a few articles on city council and school board meetings. I filed my first story yesterday morning and it was more work than I anticipated. By the end of a 5-hour writing session, my shoulder was sore, and I was reminded that journalism requires a different kind of energy and intensity. One down and four more to go during an initial, mutually agreed trail period.
I attended the Iowa City Community School District Board of Directors meeting on Jan. 28, and took notes while making a voice recording of the meeting. Getting to the meeting and attending took the better part of four hours. What surprised me was how little work actually got done at the formal board meeting. There was no substantial discussion, only ratification of work that occurred outside the meeting.
The operations committee meeting that occurred after the formal board meeting appealed to my inherent process orientation. It went on for more than two hours, and I felt engaged the entire time.
The budget assumption presentation was particularly enjoyable and I interviewed the district CFO afterward. Because of story length constraints, the budget information ended up on the virtual newsroom floor. What I noticed about the Iowa City school district is they are spending money like they have it. Because of the strong tax base they do have it.
We’ll see how this project goes, but I hope to become more efficient in producing stories, to reduce the investment of time, and to get better at writing news articles. The financial contribution will be, as my editor described it, “pocket change.” It will be another check predestined to go toward sustaining a life on the Iowa prairie.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Journal and blog writing is an open book filled with blank pages and freedom. There are few rules, and readership is limited, even when posting publicly on the Internet. Sometimes a writer wants to be read, and others, not so much. There is a formative urge that drives us to understand our world through language. Not everything we write is suitable for framing, in fact, most isn’t. We are driven to write, and occasionally to be read.
In the darkness of night, by the glow of the laptop, it is quiet. Mistake not this silence and solitude for separation from society. What we sense of the world is from constant acculturation beginning before our birth. If we write well at all, it is because of engagement in a world beyond the walls we see. There are no walls, there is no other, only the one of which we are all a part.
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