Mama's Pizza, St Paul MN

It was a bitter cold Saturday night on the corner of Front and Rice Street in St Paul’s east side. We had never been here before;pulling up outside Mama’s Pizza, but we had heard so many good things from so many locals, including the governor, no less, that we decided it was time. During these days of covid it’s just an order-and-pick-up deal so we’ll have to wait to sit in and soak up the ambience. We resigned ourselves to running in out of the icy dark and warming up while we waited our turn, and the smell of cooking pizza that enveloped us was a welcome bonus on a Winter night.

It’s definitely the cozy kind of place where, under normal circumstances, you could hang out and linger over dinner. Super friendly staff and old-school decor put you right at ease, but that would have to wait for another time. We grabbed our order and headed home, all the while being slowly tortured by the aromas emanating from that flat innocent looking box. Ommigod we gotta get this thing home and dive in….

..which we did in record time, but let me back up. I’m gonna start with one word - cheese. There was lots of it, which is fine by me. It smelled snd looked amazing, melting over that rich red tomato sauce, their mixed aromas filling the house. Oh boy.

i knew this was gonna be good. I also knew it was going to be bad- yes, it’s not exactly health food. I briefly had a vision of a young Freddy Mercury sitting at his piano singing “ Mama’s just killed a man” and wondered if that might have been the original lyric, inspired by a post-gig pizza stop in St Paul maybe?

But enough of such thoughts- it was time to dive in. The crust is pretty thin and firm with a soft crunch. That tomato sauce has really rounded flavors of garlic and Italian seasonings- I’m no expert but it tasted like something that was perfected over years.

Bottom line, I’m looking forward to getting back there sooner rather than later. If you haven’t been there, do yourself a favor: go to Mama’s. Meet the friendly folks working there. Soak up the atmosphere and the smells. Take a pizza home and eat the hell outta that thing. You can thank me later, and apologize to your fitness regime. The diet starts tomorrow, as they say.

Crosby, MN

Heading north through Minnesota, the towns get a little smaller and a little more spread out. Having snaked through Garrison on the shores of a frozen Mille Lacs, and on through Deerwood, the few miles through the tall pines on route 6 lead you onto a main street flanked on either side by a selection of mom 'n' pop stores, restaurants, bars and cafes, until you get to a stop sign. There you have two choices; take a left to Brainerd or a right to Emily. We decided to do neither. Looking up at the sign across the street that said Welcome to Crosby, we pulled over, parked up and went back along that main street on foot, taking our time and exploring what Crosby's welcome had to offer. Truth be told I'd passed through here a few times on my travels but this time, my wife and I decided to slow down and smell the fresh cold January air. Crosby is a town on the Iron Range, and was built for the sole purpose of mining. Proud of its roots, the town still boasts a lot of the original buildings on the main street, many of which are now homes to new local businesses eager to adapt and develop on what the town's history has left behind. The scarred landscape that is the trademark of any former mining industrial site became the foundation for a vast web of bike trails that is now world famous. The Cuyuna biking trails now attract bike enthusiasts from around the world. Me, I'm a casual.biker at best, but that didn't stop me checking out the Red Raven Bike shop, repair shop and coffee house at the end of main street. I admit I was mostly attracted by the coffee, given the early morning hour, but I couldn't help but be impressed by the fine array of bikes, parts, bike wear and accesories they stocked, not to mention the super friendly staff and yummy food smells. So coffee in hand we stepped out of the Red Raven and back to strolling around on a cold, crisp and sunny January morning. The streets of this small snow covered northern town were quiet and peaceful, and made waking up easy with a leisurely stretch of the legs, and a sharp eye on the icy patches beneath our feet. I wandered into an antique store, found a few bins with old vinyl LPs (it's a thing I do) and dove in, just to see what untold gems might be hidden there. I find a few things and pay at the register, where the lady ringing me up tells me she's a Tanya Tucker fan, herself, and she too likes to rifle through the vinyl bins - a kindred spirit. I tell her I can give up anytime I want, but I suspect she knew I was lying, and with a friendly "have a good day now" I'm back on the main street, my brand new old treasure tucked under my arm. The Cuyuna brewing company is, at this writing just a few years old, but already a big hit with locals and visiting bike enthusiasts alike, and with good reason; the building oozes character, having once been a bank in Crosby's early mining days, and it still houses the original safe from that time. The tap room is at once openn plan and cozy - perfect for social distancing, something the brewery is hyper vigilant about. Super friendly and knowledgeable bar staff make the whole experience extremely pleasant and very conducive to having "just one more", which we did. Maybe more than once. As the sun sets on these small northern towns, it brings with it a blanket of silence which only occasionally ripples with the whish of a car sailing through the slushy main street. The snowy roofs turn a light shade of blue against the night sky, and the stars poke through the inky blue, glistening like suspended smowflakes. The plan solidifies: let's eat something and turn in. We stayed at Crosby Lofts, which is conveniently located above Rafferty's Pizza. Two birds . One location. Nice. The pizza is delicious. We sat in, the place being completely empty due to current 50% capacity regulations, and we watched a steady flow of pick up traffic keep a fully staffed restaurant on their toes - in these current times, that in itself is a fine thing to witness. Pizza gone. Up the stairs and into bed. The Lofts are a completely hands-off, here's-the-security-code kind of affair. It was clean and comfortable and I slept like a rock. We left Crosby with an intention to come back and explore some more, or indeed just to sit down, kick back and soak up the easy pace of life in a northern town. I'm pretty sure it won't be too long in thefuture. Looking forward to it.

Jeffers Petroglyphs, MN

At the crossroads below my hotel window,  the lights go from red to green in the inky black. Lives speed through or wait or turn, each disappearing into the the night; the boyfriend heading to his girl's house.  The weary shift worker thinking about bed.  The drunk thinking about back roads.  Asphalt underneath. Neon over head. Concrete either side.
Next morning I'm standing on an outcrop of Souix quartzite that juts  out of the grass prairie. The Tallgrass stretches far off into an overcast horizon. Grey watercolor  clouds gradiate  into each other forming a loose rippling blanket over the swaying green. Once or twice, a lone Bur Oak will reach up, punctuating  the seam of grass and sky. On the low humming breeze, birdsong wafts in and out of earshot. Insect wings flutter from flower to leaf, bud to green  blade. All together, it's an aural color-palette that demands silence in order to be heard. The noise of a restless mind is enough to obscure it. No crossroads here. No need for one, when all you have to do is stop.

Raleigh/Durham NC

Got in late for a gig the next day. The air is warm and a little soupy, with a light breeze blowing.
Despite the late hour, birds chirped intermittently in the trees, sounding more like a slowly waking dawn chorus than a midnight motel parking lot.
The next morning, a short walk around the area revealed the shopping precinct with its ubiquitous hum of traffic to and fro.
All the while , out of the thick sunny air, mockingbirds, cardinals and a host of others unrecognizable to me held sway in the air directly above us, their chatter occasionally piercing the low hum of engines.
Surrounding us on every side, lush green forested hills rose gently to the horizon, still, like giant cupped hands holding the hustle and bustle in safety as it rolled in and out between its fingers.

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Raleigh/Durham NC

New Orleans

New Orleans. Overseeing volunteers in the Lower ninth ward.
The neighborhood's narrow streets are spotted with banana trees and lined with grass margins and shotgun-style homes, some still completely ransacked by the hurricanes, others beautifully rehabbed.
Theday was spent sanding and priming - chatting and laughing with the others made the day pass quickly. Afterward, the shower coulda used a traffic light. The French volunteers made dinner and it disappeared in seconds . Now the downtime - a cup of coffee and a game of cards and the hours unwind with an easy rapport unfolding between everybody.
Plenty more to do tomorrow .




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Cafe Hawelka

Cafe Hawelka, in Vienna is as much a part of the city as the city is a part of European history.
First opened in 1939 , it has changed little over the following decades and since that time has been operated by the Hawelka family, handed down from generation to generation. Through the twentieth century it was and remains a meeting point for writers and artists to share ideas over a melange or two, and maybe one of the famous pastries that are still made in house from recipes handed down directly from the matriarch Josefin Hawelka.
Among the artists, housewives take a break from their errands. Businessmen take lunch, or random blow-ins like me come in to look at them.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon, the dark wood and dim lighting invite the weary pedestrian to hang their coat and follow the maitre d' to a booth or table. From the deep colored wallpaper hang photographs of the family through the century and some beautiful original artworks - some original paintings hang from once unknown painters who, without the money to pay for their lunch, would offer a work of art instead. These hang proudly , some of them now priceless, in a room with no music or radio or any vestige of the modern world ,; a place to view art, enjoy coffee, and hear the low chatter of one of Europe's most elegant cities, and allow a small portion of the day to tick down at its own chosen speed.


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