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I Want the Bleus

I big puffy heart love bleu cheese. Crumbled over a tossed salad, stuffed inside a roasted chicken breast, thinly sliced on a wedge of ripe, juicy pear — it doesn’t matter how you cut the (bleu) cheese, I am going to eat it. Devour it. Bathe in it, if I could.

My husband doesn’t feel the same. He thinks bleu cheese smells like old gym shoes and tastes even worse. He is repulsed. Sickened. Grossed out by the idea of this soft, ripened cheese. He won’t even kiss me after I have eaten bleu cheese, unless I first brush my teeth.

If you side with me, rather than Hubs, you will want to try this Bleu Cheese and Bacon Potato Salad. The crumbles of cheese are tossed with boiled potatoes in a creamy sauce. Bacon and chives bring the salad to the realm of a cool, summer version of a loaded baked potato, and who doesn’t love those? (Unless you don’t love tangy bleu cheese. *eyeroll*)

So, throw a couple thick, South Dakota raised rib eyes on the grill, roast a few ears of fresh from the field sweet corn, slice up a Forestburg melon, and whip up this salad for a great summer dinner on the patio … and I will keep my toothbrush handy so that I can get a little smooch for dessert.


Bleu Cheese and Bacon Potato Salad

(adapted from Martha Stewart)

1 1/2 pounds small, red potatoes

3 tablespoons kosher salt

1 1/2 ounces bleu cheese, plus more for garnish

1/2 cup buttermilk

2 tablespoons heavy cream

1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon fresh chives, minced, plus more for garnish

8 bacon strips, cooked until crisp and crumbled

Depending on the size of the potatoes, cube or halve into a uniform size.

Boil the potatoes in salted water until tender.

Drain and allow to cool slightly.

Meanwhile, mix bleu cheese, buttermilk, cream, vinegar and mustard until well combined.

Toss potatoes with dressing, chives, and about half of the bacon.

Garnish with the remaining cheese, chives, and bacon. (Serves 4-6)

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their two dogs ranch near Colome.

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A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream

Hark! What light through yon window breaks? Could it be the dawn, arriving before my weary mind hath been anointed with the sweet oil of slumber? Or, perchance, a fiery bolt of lightning from the hand of Zeus, herald of a summer tempest that will rend the dome of heaven and unleash upon this earth …

Wait … it’s just a car driving by on the gravel road. That’s the third one since I’ve been lying here awake. What in the world are these people doing out and about at 3:48 a.m.?

Make that 3:49 a.m.

These are the times when a man peers deep into his soul and wonders. Am I a good husband? Will my children always be healthy? Do I smell gas? What’s that twinge? Could it be cancer? Will the Vikings ever get a decent quarterback?

In addition to these universal concerns, there is one more question that torments me on these long summer nights. As I lie hot and miserable in a cloud of my own perspiration I ask: Should this be the year I break down and buy an air conditioner?

Every year at our house the same thing happens. When really hot weather starts coming on we launch Operation No Sweat. Open up the windows at night, close them in the morning, pull the window shades down on the south side, etc. etc. This works — sort of.

For a few days the house stays pretty cool. We walk around pleased with ourselves, mentally calculating how much we’re not spending on electricity to run an air conditioner. Then it drags into the second week. The house isn’t quite as cool in the morning as it used to be. Our weather standards get lowered considerably. “Good news,” I gasp to my wife, my tongue bloated with heat. “It’s only supposed to be 95 tomorrow instead of 100.”

By the third week the whole family is having feverish hallucinations. When we’re not delirious we’re cranky. In the middle of the night I sit by the bedroom window, listening as the night wind rustles the tall grass outside. “Please, please, please blow this way,” I moan, my nose pressed against the screen.

But the night never listens. “How can that be!” I wail into the inky blackness. “Why can’t the breeze ever blow from this side at night?”

“Shut up,” my wife says lethargically, her lips barely moving.

Fans help — sort of. Provided you sit right in front of them, and don’t think too hard about what is actually going on. I mean, a fan takes 100-degree air from one side of the room and moves it to the other.

Have I missed something here?

Besides, there is only one way that fans and kids can safely coexist in the same house. Lock up every stick, pencil, ruler, screwdriver — in short, anything long and skinny — for the summer. Otherwise, when you least expect it, you’ll be startled by a”burrububbuppp-schwinggggg,” followed by a wailing sound from the kid.

There is a powerful triangular attraction between kids, fans and things that can be poked through the grill. No mere parent can hope to counter it.

Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember what January felt like, hoping that will make me appreciate the heat. This has never even come close to working, but I try it every summer nonetheless.

I can hear all you old timers out there. “Quit your whining! When we were young we didn’t even start sweating until it hit 105! And we couldn’t go to some fancy-schmancy refrigerator and get ice cubes any time we wanted, either. If we wanted an iced cappuccino in July we had to haul ice from the river when it was 400 below and store it underground till then!”

What can I say? Face it, older generation. You raised a bunch of sniveling wimps. It’s YOUR fault. YOU spoiled us!

And another thing. When you were young, nobody else had air conditioning either — except for the stores that had a sign on the door saying, “Come on in! It’s KOOL inside!” and a penguin smoking a cigarette showing you the way. You older types didn’t know what you were missing. Everybody was miserable.

Not me, though. As I lie here at night, heating up like a potato in a microwave, I know there’s a better way. If I weren’t so cheap I could buy me a window unit and ….

Hold on a minute. I’m getting an idea here. Work with me people! If none of you had air conditioning either, it wouldn’t make me any cooler. But I would feel better about being hot if I knew you were all suffering, too. Let’s try that. Everybody turn off your air conditioners, and then maybe I can get some sleep.

Ready. Set. Unplug!


Editor’s Note: This column is revised from the July/August 1997 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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West River Stormy Skies

“The Black Hills, Badlands, Mount Rushmore, and Crazy Horse seem to be big labels when you think of South Dakota, but in a matter of minutes Mother Nature can transform the most barren of landscapes into scenery that will leave you in a trance,” says Cody Lere, Rapid City.”The wrath of Mother Nature can be scary, but it’s really amazing when you can sit back from a distance and take it in. It’s hard to beat the sight of lightning on a warm summer night in South Dakota.” See more of Lere’s work at www.facebook.com/CodyLerePhotoAndDesign and www.codylerephotodesign.com.

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Friends or Foes?

When we purchased our home, there was an overgrown flowerbed at the back of the house full of old fashioned poppies, tulips, peonies, irises, a lilac bush and several garter snakes. Eventually, many of the flowers were transplanted and the lilac bush was pulled out in favor of a patio for summer lounging, dining and sunning. The snakes moved to other areas of the yard and, friend or foe, weren’t given much thought.

As I became more interested in gardening, we installed raised beds along the property line for my herbs, vegetables and a few flowers. Soaker hoses seemed to be the most effective watering method, and created a damp, cool oasis beneath the lush foliage of cilantro and tomatoes. The snakes were happy and came back. Again, aside from jumping a little when one would slither away as I harvested basil for pesto, I didn’t give them much thought. After all, garter snakes eat bugs, right? It was a natural ecosystem for my garden.

In time, the raised beds were expanded to include a double-tiered area for strawberries and rhubarb. Here was the perfect environment for the garter snakes. The shade of the broad strawberry and rhubarb leaves in combination with crevices between the railroad ties was their new home. My neighbors squeamishly kept their distance, but I would just brush the berry plants with my feet to warn random snakes to move before I reached in to pluck the ripe berries. I was one with nature. The snakes were my friends. Or, so I thought ….

Last weekend, Hubs and I were doing some spring gardening and chores to ready the yard for a Memorial Day cookout when I suddenly, and without a doubt, lost all love for the stealthy lurkers in my garden. As we passed the outside of the fence where the double-tiered beds are planted with strawberries and rhubarb, there, gloriously sunning themselves was a huge ball of snakes. Most were only about a foot long, but squirmed and twisted together in a mass of more than a dozen garter snakes. I was speechless. I was horrified. Instantly, those snakes that I have allowed to feast and flourish in my garden became my foes.

I don’t know exactly what we are going to do about these snakes, but my stomach is in knots just thinking about the den that must be living beneath my berries. They have to go. I can’t be raising garter snakes, no matter how harmless they may be, in my garden. A random snake here and there to rid us of slugs, crickets and ants is great. An undulating mass of snakes must go.

My strawberries aren’t yet flowering, and berry harvest is still a month or so away, but even with my nerves of steel, I might take volunteers for picking if the snakes aren’t eradicated. I can tell you that I don’t go out to cut rhubarb without a sharp butcher knife. I wouldn’t wish this predicament on my worst foe.

If I share strawberry rhubarb crumble bars with you this summer, you can count yourself among my friends. You will know the battle I have waged to harvest those sweet summer berries and tart rhubarb. You will know that the snakes have not won when you taste the buttery shortbread crust, and when crumbs of streusel fall into your lap with each bite you will know the garden is still mine.

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their two dogs ranch near Colome.


Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble Bars

(adapted from Everyday Food and A Farmgirl’s Dabbles)

streusel:

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1-1/4 cup flour

bars:

1/2 pound rhubarb, chopped

1/2 pound strawberries, sliced

2 tablespoon brown sugar

1-1/2 cups flour, divided

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

3/4 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

1-1/2 cups powdered sugar

3 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9-inch square baking pan with parchment paper, leaving 2-inch overhang. Butter and flour parchment paper and pan, tapping out the excess flour. Set aside.

Whisk together the melted butter, brown sugar and salt. Add flour and mix with a fork until large crumbs form. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Combine rhubarb, strawberries, brown sugar, and 1/4 cup of the flour. In another bowl, whisk the remaining 1 1/4 cup of flour, baking powder and salt. Using a mixer beat butter and powdered sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. With mixer on low, beat in vanilla, then flour mixture. Spread batter in prepared pan. Top with rhubarb and strawberry mixture, then top with prepared streusel.

Bake until golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a bit of moist crumbs attached, about 50 to 55 minutes. Let cool completely in pan. Run a knife around the edge of the pan and, using the parchment paper overhang, lift cake from pan. Cut into bars. (Yield: 16-20 bars.)

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One Stormy Night

Scott Korsten shared these photos of a storm passing through Sioux Falls on August 31st. “We were in the city limits of Sioux Falls that Saturday night,” Korsten says. “Our niece had just moved into her new house. Although there was golf ball and baseball-sized hail in some places, her brand new home was spared any damage.”

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Summer’s End

Sylvan Lake is considered Custer State Park’s crown jewel. It was created in 1881 when Theodore Reder built a dam across Sunday Gulch. It’s now a popular destination for swimming, hiking, rock climbing and fishing.

Michele Richter shared these photos from her weekend visit. “The lake was busy with people enjoying their last summer day,” Richter says. Visit this link to see more of her work.

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South Dakota Sky

Scott Korsten shared these photos of rural Sioux Falls. “Like so many other South Dakotans, my eyes are drawn to the sky, especially when the weather is active or changing,” Korsten says. “My favorite images come from times when the three C’s are present in varied degrees — clouds, color and change.”

Korsten considers himself a “photo hobbyist.” He regularly volunteers his photography efforts to Children’s Home Society and the South Dakota Symphony Orchestra. Korsten is one of the founding partners of Showplace Wood Products and is director of marketing for their cabinet company.