Midmod Musings

Texas Modern, Part One

Paul and I recently returned from a trip to Dallas. Our visit was brief, but we crammed in considerable sightseeing and even more antiquing. In this age of eBay, it was refreshing to find antique malls as big as the prairies, chock full of everything from high-end bona fide ant-ee-kews, to classic deco and modern, to kitsch.

Things didn't start off so well. A wrong turn out of the car rental at DFW cost us about 45 minutes in a nightmare world of "that road isn't on this map!" panic. We managed to find the Vineyard Antique Mall in Colleyville. Modernists, avoid this place like mayonnaise after four hours in the sun. Other than one case of really exquisite Heisey glass, this place was a sea of cottage craft, Jesus yard art, and potpourri. We felt like we had been bamboozled, seduced by the promise of an antique mall with a tea room. (It turns out, charmingly, that all the big malls have one.)

After checking in to our hotel, The Stoneleigh - a recently remodeled art deco gem in Oak Lawn - we departed for Fair Park, where the City Arts Festival took place. The art show was large -- some 300 artists in the automobile building -- and we saw many works we would have liked to buy. We ended up taking home a few small glass items. But due to this new location for the festival, and perhaps the foolishness of sticking 300 artists in an un-airconditioned exhibit hall on a picture-perfect day, turnout was low and the artists were griping. We, however, found much to enjoy about the location itself. Fair Park is on the national register of historic places for its unique collection of ca. 1936 art deco architecture. It is the most photogenic state fairground I have experienced, from its newly restored central fountain to the impressive Hall of State. The Women's Museum was a particularly beautiful building. Its symmetry, its fetching two-story nude at the entrance, its colorful geometric mural, its sparkling fountain - they reminded me why my first modern love was American Art Deco.  

Day 2 was all about Deep Ellum and Riverfront antique shops. Century Modern had a nice selection of affordable, well-known designs from the 30s-60s. The owner was pleasantly garrulous, with family ties to Minnesota. He directed us to Lula B's East three blocks away. The store hadn't even officially opened, but it was a treasure trove of mid-mod design and kitsch. Highly recommended! Of course, the name implied that there was a Lula B's West, and the clerk directed us across town, through Dealey Plaza (where a rather morbidly bright yellow sign identifies the Grassy Knoll), to the original store. LBW was even bigger and better, with fantastic kitsch, art, furniture, and more.  

Lula B's was the gateway to a range of large malls crammed with nooks and crannies and -- for those with patience and a willingness to get down on your knees and root around -- some real finds. We didn't buy anything at City View Antique Mall, for instance, but appreciated the one modern dealer's vast selection of Russel Wright, Red Wing Smart Set, and Chase Chrome, among others. It was a treat to see some of Wright's less abundant work in a shop: Knowles Esquire in a variety of patterns; Pinch glassware; Highlight chop plates. The rush of seeing so much uncommon dinnerware buoyed me for the rest of the day, which included a trip to the Dallas Museum of Art and some fantastic sushi at Steel, where a surprising number of Dallasites seemed to have taken their mommies on Mother's Day. The sleek, contemporary interior was elegant, to be sure. But I don't know. As much as I love sushi, it doesn't say "Mother's Day" to me. I can almost hear someone's mother saying, "What, I cooked for you for 18 years and you take me out for raw fish? What the hell kind of 'thank you' is that?"

Time Machine on Johnson Street

Back in high school, sometime during the winter of our senior year, my friend Jen read a review of a Vietnamese restaurant in Northeast Minneapolis called Que Viet Village House. The critic had loved the place, and neither Jen nor I really knew anything about Vietnamese cuisine at the time. After all, we were living in Edina, and our principal hangouts (long before the days of Starbucks) were the Perkins at 50th & 100, and La Terrasse at the Hotel Sofitel, where Scott Peterson (despite his baby face) could order a glass of wine if he got the right waitress. Jen and I decided to drive up to Que Viet one Saturday night to check it out.

The restaurant was on Johnson Street, a little hole in the wall, noteworthy to this suburban youth for being in a storefront sandwiched between old houses rather than in a strip mall. I remember it being exotic, not so much for being Vietnamese but for being other than Perkins. And there were nonwhite people both working and dining there. We might as well have gone to Saigon itself. Edina High School was so monochrome that we “imported” students of color from other cities through a program called ABC - “A Better Chance.”

I don't recall exactly what we ordered. I know we shared fried egg rolls and had separate entrees. I enjoyed the meal immensely – a whole new cuisine, a whole new experience.

The next week at school, it was quite the sensation that we -- or more correctly, I -- had ventured so far from Edina to dine. I remember Mach Arom in particular being stunned that I would do something so "adventurous" as eat Asian food on Johnson Street. It stuck with me, because it wasn't until then that I fully realized the perception that the world, or at least Edina High School (which were interchangeable back then), had of me. I knew I was the safe, nerdy, boring guy who got good grades -- I just did not realize how deeply other people held that view. Yet it was liberating to realize what a small action like going out to eat could do toward shattering that perception. Maybe I wasn't trapped in my identity after all.

Yesterday, I was running errands in Northeast over my lunch hour and I drove by Que Viet. I pulled over, parked, and ran in for a to-go order of chicken chow mein with mushrooms -- a lunch special for $5.75. It was a generous portion with white rice and those crispy noodles, succulent white meat chicken, straw mushrooms, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, and celery. Bland (as all chow mein is), but delicious in a comfort food sort of way. While I waited for my order, I stuck my head in the dining area and picked out the table at which Jen and I had sat 24 years ago. I don't think the decor has changed or been touched up since then!

It was strange to come face-to-face with my 18-year-old self on Johnson Street. But it made me think of Jen and the little rebellion she inspired for me back in 1985.