Critic's Corner – County Highway

Departments

Best New Immigrant Dishes Using State Animals and Birds

By The Editors

Alabama — Black Bear Pepián Alaska — Whale Mantu Arizona — Ringtail Tacos Arkansas — Northern Mockingbird Pupusa California — California Quail Adobo Colorado — Bighorn Sheep Criollo Connecticut — American Robin Moambé Delaware — Gray Fox Callaloo Florida — Manatee Griot Georgia — Right Whale Curry Hawaii — Miso Monk Seal Idaho — Bluebird in chocolate sauce Illinois — White-Tailed Deer Bigos Indiana — Northern Cardinal Thar Hin Iowa — Muskrat with Salatat Dakwa Kansas — Bison Borscht Kentucky — Grey Squirrel Jalfrezi Louisiana — Pelican Chuco Maine — Coon Fufu Maryland — Calico Cat with Jollof Rice Massachusetts — Morgan Horse Cachupa Michigan — White-Tailed Deer Quzi over seasoned rice Minnesota — Loon Maraq with Anjero Mississippi — Mockingbird Encacahuatado Missouri — Mule Burek Montana — Meadowlark Nqaj Qaab Zib Nebraska — Catfish Masgouf Nevada — Bluebird Tacos New Hampshire — Bobcat Feijoada New Jersey — Goldfinch in Tandoori clay pot New Mexico — Roadrunner Isombe New York — …

Concert

Folk Bitch Trio

Them’s some True Blue folk bitches from Australia with a recording contract, mate

Three divas from Melbourne visit Elliott Smith’s old late-night haunt, then return for an encore

You’ll remember their songs

By Valen Lambert

Shuffling into our booth, Gracie Sinclair marvels at the drink menu with her big, green, Betty Boop eyes. “Question: Is that a happy hour price?” I assure her $7.00 is the cost of an average cocktail in Portland, Oregon — the 32nd stop of Folk Bitch Trio’s debut world tour. “Old Crow whiskey, Baileys, and coffee topped with whipped cream…” she croons. Her bandmates Jeanie Pilkington and Heide Peverelle nod agreeably. The few rusty patrons at the bar crane their heads at the sound of their Australian lilts. They order tea and orange juice, but reassure me it’s not too early for a beer. “We’re a cheap date,” says Gracie. I have brought the Melbourne-based outfit to Elliott Smith’s old haunt, My Father’s Place, a dimly lit brick diner straight out of a Lynchian daydream. I gesture over to the red vinyl stool, the one in front of the taps where Elliott used to sit, which piques the interest of Gracie, who’s just divulged her profound preteen kinship with Kurt Cobain. “I love pathetic man …