If you’re reading this, you’ve probably heard of Little Szechuan, which was, until very recently, the best Chinese restaurant in the Twin Cities.

Either Pulao or I have talked to you about it or, even more likely, you’ve sat at a table there with us. In fact, considering the readership of 12apostrophes, there is a very good chance you were with us at Grand Szechuan last night.

Little Szechuan, in St. Paul, was a magical place. There I was introduced to things that I now cannot live without, like the Dan Dan Noodle, and the Szechuan peppercorn.

I became part . . .

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I’ve always been fascinated by cows. I suppose being fascinated by cows could be considered a negative indicator of intelligence, but I prefer to think of it as a love of nature, and a reverence for where my hamburgers come from.

As a kid, I helped my cousin in Mississippi get his show cow ready for the fair. “Helped” mainly meant “watched,” as I was a bit of a city slicker, and hadn’t beefed up (sorry!) on my cow fundamentals. But I helped clean and groom the cow, which included a thorough tail bleaching. The tail bleaching, I’ve always remembered, . . .

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I got a fortune cookie the other day that wasn’t really a fortune, but more like advice. This happens to me sometimes. The best fortunes, in my opinion, predict the future, as a good cookie should. But more often than not, I end up with a platitude. “Good things come to those who wait.” Yeah, I want to say, but are good things coming my way or what? When, cookie, when?!

This is what I got:

All right, I thought. I’ll get right on that. I kept the fortune for posterity but I . . .

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At the sign of the loon

Smoking Loon 2005 Cabernet ($7.99 750 ml)

If you’re looking to impress your Three-Buck Chuck-swilling friends with your class at the next party, I’d recommend the Loon as definitely worth the extra bucks.  It’s a dark, opaque purple, concentrated drinking experience, an intriguing, well-balanced blend of potent flavors that can stand up against the spiciest food or the most charbroiled piece of carbon to come off the barbecue.  (Well, maybe not Indian hot, but pretty hot).  My dad recommended this wine, and it confirms my opinion of him as a highly intelligent man with . . .

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Lately, our office smells a lot like pot smoke. 3 days in a row, and then after a meeting today it was particularly strong, and my coworker Jill and I tried to sniff our way through the cubicles, like drug hounds, to track down the source.

We got dizzy the closer we got to the stairwell. Looks like somebody thought the office was empty (or empty enough to get high in) and smoked it up on the stairs. Every day this week.

There’s an alternate theory, though. With the reorganizations going on in my company, the four of us left . . .

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