Bob Dylan in Fargo

Last night, Bob Dylan played in the Fargo Civic Center. The place was jammers, filled with people of every age, and the general excitement was showing on the faces gathered before the stage. A common question throughout the crowd was 'have you seen him before?' Most said yes. One particularly enthusiastic fellow claims an amazing twenty three Dylan shows, and had just come back from three shows, in a row, in different states. Now, that's a fan.

The lights dimmed and out came the band, and the man himself. All dressed in black, hair slicked back, facial hair carved into dark shapes, crowd roaring in front of them, they looked like magicians from vaudeville, a cross between bluesmen and gypsies. The stage lights up front threw their shadows onto the back wall, a hovering, jolting crowd of menacing figures in broad-rimmed hats. Pure, old-fashioned stagecraft.

Dylan himself, bare-headed, opened his throat to let out a voice so gravelly, you'd swear he was gargling stones. Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat, Girl From the North Country, Things Have Changed, Tangled Up In Blue. The band worked tightly, musicians giving one another the nod when moving into solos, always keeping an eye on Bob. Dylan himself moved back and forth across the stage, from guitar to piano to harmonica, seeming to decide at the moment what instrument he'd play next. His vocal delivery smoothed out over the course of the concert, and he smiled into the microphone as the lyrics came.

A couple, easily in their 70s, danced the night away, and danced their way out of the auditorium at the end of the concert. A couple of teenagers nearby did the same.

After the show, standing on the lawn, you could watch everyone come streaming out of the doors, and look over the faces of people who'd seen a living legend up close. Some singing,, some drunk, some tired... all smiling.

In praise of the farmer's market

On a Saturday, one of the best places to be in any town is at the farmer's market.

Fresh corn spilling out from a truck bed; bags and bags of cucumbers ready to be brought home and drowned in vinegar and spice; tender zucchini, yellow and green; shallots folded in their papery skins.

Today in Bismarck, vendors were bundled up against the wind and momentary cloudbursts. Market umbrellas were gripped tightly, threatening to turn their holders into a prairie version of Mary Poppins, and some came very close to blowing right across the tables. Coffee and talk were flowing as locals hunted down the summer's garden treasures.

There is such a short window of time on the northern plains when people can grow vegetables, little more than three months, sometimes less, so everyone knows to make the most of it. A truck bed mounded full corn is emptied in two hours; tomatoes (if they're ready) disappear into shopping bags as the buyer gasps their delight with finding them at all so early in the season. People talk of canning, and the taste of homegrown fruits in the middle of a January deep-freeze.

The question, 'what do you do with that?' passes between everyone's lips: kitchen conspirators, all.

Santiago tarts and other related items...

If you ever find yourself in Galicia, in the northwestern corner of Spain, you'll probably wander the cobbled streets of its small towns, where pescaderias display octopus propped up in the windows, tentacles twisting to display pinky white suction cups, tapering as the arms reach towards the glass. Along the same streets, full of sunlight and pedestrians, are bakeries with deep window shelves proudly displaying the Tarta de Santiago. It's yellowish, round surface will be dusted in a snow of powdered sugar, and it will most likely be resting atop a paper doily. Its presentation, along with its price tag will tell you that this is something special.

And it is special. It is an especialidad of Galician bakeries, touted on Spanish restaurant menus next to the arroz con leche and the crema catalan. Galicians use powdered sugar to brand it with the cross of St James, a dagger-like cross with fleur-de-liz tips. In misty, mountainous, Celtic, impoverished Galicia, where old people toil by hand in their fields and store crops in stone drying houses, both the cross and the tart are ubiquitous, symbols of its most famed city: Santiago de Compostela.

Yes, people walk five hundred miles for a slice. It's that good.

Wait, what? Walk five hundred miles? We need to hear more about this at some point...

But really, how many people want to walk five hundred miles for a slice of cake when you can make it right in your own kitchen? It's easy. Six or seven ingredients, forty five minutes in the oven, and you'll have a piece of soft, heavenly, gluten-free tradition to enjoy with your coffee. 

Here's how you can do it: you can click here for a complete recipe. Pictures of an actual baking adventure follow below...

First, you'll need almonds - about a cup and a half. Let them sit in boiled water for about two minutes, then drain them, pat dry and slip their skins off. 

Easy.

Then grind the almonds finely, into what's basically a flour. Almond flour is easy to come across in Europe, but not seen often on American shelves, so this is a handy trick to keep up your sleeve. A food processor should do it nicely.

Gorgeous.

Right. Egg yolks and sugar:

Whipped together into a light coloured creamy goo:

Add the almond flour

Whip the egg whites into stiff peaks (which takes much longer than your home ec teacher told you) and then fold into the almond mixture

And bake. Voila! A delicious Tarta de Santiago. 

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The above does not look exactly like the famous tarts in Santiago de Compostela. It lacks the distinctive cross dusted in powdered sugar, but it definitely tastes just as good as the real deal. And you didn't even get a blister from walking across the entire Iberian peninsula! 

Well done, you.

Coming soon: more on the Camino de Santiago.