You know what Tennyson said about Spring. It's when a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of telepathic children in TV shows that have been off the air for two years. And so, like the swallows alighting upon Mission San Juan Capistrano, I turn my thoughts once again to figuring out just what the heck Walt's deal was on Lost.

We all wanted Walt's creepy is-it-a-superpower control of the world around him to be fleshed out more. The birds slamming into the window of his stepfather's home in Australia, the polar bear that he just might have telepathically summoned, the Others' fascination with him (hello, Room 23) -- all of those things and more made Walt a pretty tantalizing segment of the mythology of Lost.

It'd be easy to say that he had to be written out of the show because he was hitting his growth spurt and the year-after-year filming schedule couldn't accommodate the changes to his appearance and voice considering a narrative schedule of a couple Island days per episode. But I don't think the showrunners, all strapping lads themselves, were so blind to human biology as to not see puberty coming. I take Damon Lindelof at his word: "We've always known Malcolm was going to grow faster than we could shoot the show. And we planned for it. Trust us."

So let's consider what actually made the cut before Walt left the regular cast. There's a specific question that we all found pretty fascinating back then that I think points to what was going on with Walt and the Others and all those tests. Beatrice Klugh, interrogating Michael, asks him about his son, "Did Walt ever appear in a place he wasn't supposed to be?" This just about sums it up if you ask me.

Walt and Michael are allowed to leave the Island at the end of Season 2, just as we find out that people are looking for the Island (most notably, Desmond's gal Penny). Throughout his lifetime, Walt is shown drawing things to him with the apparent power of his mind, or will. Things happen when he wants them to happen, if he really wants them to happen.

What would happen if he really wanted someone to find the Island?

Now you see why Ben and the Others were so terrified of him. First, they wanted everyone to stay on the Island so no one could disclose its location. But then they got wind of Walt. They wanted to test his abilities, discern the liability to their need to keep the Island's location a secret, and then pound it all out of him with Room 23-style brainwashing if necessary. When they found this wouldn't work, they cut him loose -- and in such a way that neither he nor his father could ever reveal anything about the Island.

And at the end of Season 3, when a freighter approached the Island and discovery of its location was imminent, who showed up on the Island, where he wasn't supposed to be?

Boom.

L O S T

(Unless you think the manifestation of Walt standing over that DHARMA grave wasn't actually Walt, but I digress...)

I think it's a great way to write an arc for an actor you know can't last out the full sweep of that arc. In a show full of stories told but never really concluded, I don't know that the Walt story could have been handled any better.

Though, I should probably get around to finally watching "The New Man in Charge" before I say that. I'm just not sure I want the show to end.

January was a banner month, a bumper crop of dining experiences to write about. In February, things cooled off -- culinarily, at least. Our absurdly mild winter continued last month (he writes while wearing shorts on St. Patrick's Day weekend), and that probably led to spending more time at home. The spring cleaning bug bit.

So down as written in the title of this post can stand for the quantity of meals out. Down also refers to some less than exemplary experiences out there; there were some dropped balls in February, and surprising ones. (By contrast, the dishes sampled during my review of Crema Cafe were terrific, as the food so often is in that spot.) And the "out"? What's that all about? For that, you'll have to stay tuned to the Isthmus Dining magazine that comes out later this spring. I'll have a story there that I had a lot of fun writing.


Fail

In a short month (and with fewer restaurant trips than days, at that), the stumbles stand out. Takumi -- once again packed to the, ahem, gills -- had a rare screw-up; the role of Kristine's beloved spicy tuna roll was played by an unrequested California roll instead. The gyoza were something of a letdown as well, lacking the usual punchy flavor and crispy sear.

The house-made sausage and goat cheese pie at Salvatore's wasn't quite up to its initial performance; the crust was doughier, and the sausage seemed wanting for a little Maillard. But a step down from a great pizza is still a pretty solid pizza effort. Nothing could have been more disappointing than Inka Heritage. We returned after some time away, with a friend whose only previous visit had been negative. This did not persuade her otherwise, and certainly hurt my estimation of the restaurant.

Entering an empty -- and I mean empty -- restaurant and still having to wait for service is one thing. The apparent removal of the addictively delicious fried corn amuse bouche from the menu would be reason enough to drop a star from your Yelp review. But our service remained slow, almost vacant, throughout the meal. One dish was completely wrong, and another (mine, the mar pacifico) featured overcooked and really dirty prawns--you know what I mean. The aji de gallina was superb, but one out of three is really only acceptable in baseball.


Win

A rare (for us) whole-pizza takeout order from Ian's Pizza on Frances started February off on a cartoonishly huge foot. But the half mac and cheese, half Italian sausage and penne pie hit the spot. A couple wonderful trips to Papa Bear's BBQ can be generally accepted as mandatory at this point. And Tipsy Cow's revision of the PBR fish taco has finally come very nearly up to the standard set by King & Mane. (And the service has been shored up, at last!)

The end of the month was where the action was at. These successes, coincidentally, owe their finding to my good friend Alex of Mighty Distractible; one was enjoyed with her, and the other was enjoyed at her full-throated recommendation. I'm going to skip right ahead to the next section, because that's just how good they were.


The best thing I ate

Two dishes, alike in dignity, vie for February's Best Thing recognition. They are, simply, the Haus Beef from Dumpling Haus and the smoked pork tenderloin sandwich from Stalzy's Deli. During my trip to Dumpling Haus, Alex and I sampled the seafood shaomai (a daily special, pretty good), the shrimp dumplings (yes), the tart cabbage and pork noodle soup (really, yes), and the remarkable Haus Beef. Tiger-striped with melt-in-your-mouth layers of fat, this meat was cooked in truly amazing fashion, an almost-rare texture with gorgeous color and seasoning. A luxurious portion for only nine dollars.

The smoked pork sandwich at Stalzy's was ordered at Alex's suggestion, but there's little persuading that needs to be done there. Kristine got the double-smoked brisket sandwich (mentioned in this section back in December), and I went pork as I so often do. It's actually a variant on their Rachel sandwich, topped with coleslaw, Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing. It was juicy, it was tender, it was subtly smoky. When Stalzy's gets the smoker firing, they're batting 1.000. (That's good.)

But I've got to give this month's kudos to the Haus Beef. Beef just doesn't do what it does in that dish without a lot of love, and I was most definitely feeling it.


Post-script.

If you hadn't heard me talk about it, or seen the links on Facebook or Twitter, or aren't a regular reader of Isthmus, a story I wrote with Laurie Stark of Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat was featured as the cover story of last week's print edition. My part of the piece is about Shopbop, the online fashion retailer that started as a little denim shop in Madison. Obviously, the subject matter is a departure for me; I hope you'll give it a look. (It's linked way up at the top of the page.) I'm happy with how both halves turned out.

The Internet has a habit of latching on to innocent phenomena and turning them into A) punching bags, B) cautionary tales, or C) dead horses. Today's checkmark in perhaps all three boxes is the earnest review of the new Olive Garden restaurant in Grand Forks, North Dakota, by long-time Grand Forks Herald staffer Marilyn Hagerty. Her grandmotherly face is spreading like wildfire across the screens and keyboards of snarkists and the higher-minded consumers of food and food criticism. The poor dear.

A case can be made for the virtue of Ms. Hagerty's review, which is but one of many she has written over the years, covering local restaurants and chains, unique and pedestrian. A town of fewer than 60,000 residents isn't going to have the same kind of tidal surge of new restaurants to cover as even a small city like Madison. If her paper's readers want food coverage, they get to read about what's there. If that means The Olive Garden, then that's what they're going to get. And if they like such coverage, then who has the right to tell them their opinions are wrong? The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes it wants unlimited salad and breadsticks.

But in choosing to submit words, paragraphs, inches, to the larger entity that is food writing, Ms. Hagerty is not immune to criticism on the merits of that genre just because she's a sweet old lady. So if someone wanted to knock her review (or reviews, as this appears to be a common occurrence) for only discussing one trip to the restaurant instead of the customary three, one could rightfully do that. If someone were to point out that there are only a small handful of sentences dedicated to discussion of the actual food -- this The Eatbeat, not an interior décor column, after all -- that person would not be out of place. An unimpressed reader could even argue that the review isn't particularly well-written, but again: if it’s the style that gets eyeballs and clicks in Grand Forks, then there's little reason for rhetorical flourishes and witty wordplay. The world needs ditch-diggers, too, as the man once said.

It's a five-to-one ratio out there (in my circles, anyway), with the majority taking mildly perverse pleasure in the review's weaknesses. I think most of those titterers would probably acknowledge that it's a dark laugh they're having. As someone who has covered the arrival of a shiny-and-new chain shop in town, I can sympathize with the struggle to give such a story integrity and value. So let us all share in Olive Garden's spirit of Italian generosity, and allow for the cynics and the scolds alike.

But not the haters sending shitty emails to poor Marilyn; no hospitaliano for them.

So, was it just really obvious, or am I getting good at this finally? Paul was one of my guys from the get-go, and at the top of my odds from gate to gate. Congratulations Paul Qui; you're Top Chef.

It works that maybe the quietest, meekest chef to win this competition served some a final meal of fairly soft, squishy dishes. Chawanmushi, congee, and ice cream topped with foam? Sounds pretty good, but Paul's skills with textural punctuation (puffed rice, pea shoots) were what kept his courses from being mush after unrelenting mush. The congee, noted as weakest by most of the judges, had the least dimension.

I won't slight Sarah for her output in the finale. She did a pretty solid job, with a first course that deviated startlingly from her usual milieu. Squid ink and coconut are not the usual tools in German/Italian/Chicagoan/Texan Sarah Gruenberg's toolbox. She and Paul both carried themselves really admirably in the kitchen during this challenge. For being easily the most starstruck chef I can recall ("OHMIGOD ITS ________ !!"), Sarah got her shit together and ran a tight and professional ship in Vancouver.

As far as narrative, it couldn't have been written any better than to have Tyler -- he of the toothy smarm and exceptionally poor butchering skills -- not only reappear in the finale, but be blind-selected as one of the competing chefs' teammates. He didn't, at least, appear to submarine Sarah's efforts, but how much better would her team have been with the unselected Master Chef Marco Canora? Paul seemed to really thrive thanks in part to Master Chef Barbara Lynch's presence.

Final thoughts. Smarty Paul bought those prawns when he didn't need them -- and then he needed them. (What exactly happened to that crab anyway?) It would have been great to see Nyesha competing in the finale rather than assisting. I think Paul would have really been given a run for his money with her, even as well as Sarah performed. A lot of this year's challenges were pretty mediocre. I don't think Top Chef should return to the "Last Chance Kitchen" concept, if for no other reason than because it won't carry the same surprise. (And this season's surprise was blunted by, I think, chefs who were just plain worn out by the season's rigors.)

Go forth, Paul Qui -- executive chef at one of GQ's 10 Best New Restaurants of 2011, and now Top Chef -- and bask in your new fame. And dude, don't sit anywhere between Heather and Beverly during the reunion special.

[Blogger note: the February post, as well as my thoughts on the Top Chef finale will be coming in the next couple days.]

Listen. This post is like a month overdue, but I gotta tell you: January feels less like a month ago, and more like a year ago. For some reason, my notes read like ancient history. It's a bit of a challenge to come up with a theme for meals and visits that lie under this fog.

What I think works best is taking a look at all the most ambitious restaurants I visited in January. Between Madison and a trip to the Twin Cities, I was fortunate to enjoy some high-test product served by buzzy kitchens.


Away


Early January saw Kristine and I travel to the Minneapolis area for a wedding in her extended family. As to her immediate family, the word is out; I'm now charged with making dining recommendations pretty much any time we're with them. That's fine, but I seem to hit a Parasole restaurant during every trip to the Twin Cities. (Parasole's got a dubious relationship with its staff.) This time, it was Good Earth in Roseville. It felt like a former Perkins, and the bison burger (farmed in Wisconsin!) was equally sloppy. Fairly tasty, though, and the service was nice.

Once the festivities were over, though, we set out on our own. Saturday night, after checking in to the Graves 601 in downtown Minneapolis, we drove south to visit Tilia, home of James Beard Best Chef Midwest semifinalist Steven Brown. It was as amazing an experience as you'd hope a restaurant of that profile would provide.

We sat at the bar and enjoyed potted duck rillettes, a juicy pork tenderloin with rioutously flavorful brussels sprouts, and beef cheeks as good as at Mission Chinese atop chestnut polenta. The desserts -- a butterscotch pot de crème and a pear tart with goat milk panna cotta -- were rich, sweet, and stellar. Brunch the next morning at Hell's Kitchen was pretty great too (Surly on tap, lemon ricotta hotcakes, ham and pear crisp sandwich), but we were still in a daze from that packed and bustling dining room in Linden Hills.


Home


Lest you think I'm tooting the horn of foreign glory, we've got plenty of James Beard short-listers here in Madison. Brunch at Tory Miller's Graze (2011 Best Chef Midwest finalist) with good friends and their adorable kiddo was polished and enjoyable; the loaded breakfast sandwich (like the ham and pear at Hell's Kitchen) managed to not be amply but not overly cheesy. And this year, Beard is giving an award for outstanding bar program; The Old Fashioned has made the inaugural shortlist. We stopped there on the day the Recall Walker petitions were delivered. New Glarus Belgian Red was on special, and my Wisconsin Burger was packed with flavor and cheese -- and sharp onions, whew. (I also had my first Barrie burger at AJ Bombers, which was not in fact the best peanut butter-topped burger I've had, but was served on the absolute perfect potato roll.)

Three restaurants of European descent made impressions in January. Two trips to Brasserie V closed out the month: one for lunch (croque monsieur sil vous plaits) and one for an ad hoc sliders-n-Piraat party. Both as pleasant as always. A lot of the same Piraat drinkers were also present at Salvatore's Tomato Pies in Sun Prairie. A large party gave the young kitchen a stress test, and it did quite well. The sausage pie with goat cheese is a thing of beauty, and the crust there might be the area's best outside of Ian's.

Near the end of the month, I took my wife out for a lovely date that also served as pay-out for her beating me in the last NCAA basketball pool. We went to Nostrano -- a first trip delayed too long. The atmosphere is right up our alley (hers in particular), and we were in that night's target demographic (lots of couples, ordering charcuterie boards). I ordered rabbit two ways; the confit was flavorful, the gnocchi pillowy, and the boudin blanc falling-apart moist. And we couldn't have been happier with the tortino, a chestnut cake with bourbon gelato and moonglow pears (our favorite kind!); it was a dessert that showed the pastry chops on which Elizabeth Dahl's reputation in Chicago was built. But we couldn't help but compare Nostrano to Tilia. Nostrano was very pleasant, and exceptional at points -- but Tilia was a meal-of-the-year kind of experience, and Nostrano was almost twice as expensive.


The best thing I ate


The restaurants of January were too good to cut down to just one thing. Let's make it a meal -- a big one. For starters, the Bloody Mary at Graze. Holy man. Spice, enough horseradish to make your grandpa's eyes water, and a cheese curd. Like I said, holy man.  Next, the house-made sausage and goat cheese pie at Salvatore's. If you haven't trekked out to Sun Prairie for these mostly-regular-pizzas-but-not-quite, you're missing something pretty special. Pat's got something going on in his ovens. And lastly: Tilia's roasted pork tenderloin. I mean, you're looking at the picture. Look at the pink, juicy interior. The char on the sprouts. This entire meal was a joy. If you can get there, get there.