The secret key to the perfect summer meal

One of the humble, unacknowledged elements that really kind of finishes a summer day to perfection is shredded cabbage and dressing. In a word: slaw. There's sweet and simple, there's tangy and biting, there's green cabbage, there's red cabbage.

If anything competes with lemonade for the true taste of summer, it's the crunch of ice-cold cole slaw.

Any self-respecting BBQ joint around town serves it in a little ramekin alongside slabs of ribs and baked beans and those starchy potato wedges they call french fries. Most are perfectly serviceable and toothsome. But we found the best cup of slaw in an unexpected place: At the Tin Fish, Lake Calhoun's odd little fish and chips stand. (Odd, because it's kinda pricey, but definitely the dough, for a paper plate of fresh salmon, calamari, haddock, or salmon and yummy criss-cross-cut fries.)

Tin Fish's slaw is of the vinegar-based variety, with a light treatment of parsley. It's simple and straightforward, and it's precisely the thing to clear the palate when you're finished with your delicious breaded and fried greaseplate.

Hipsters and chipsters unite!

Are you forever on the lookout for the perfect tortilla chip? You've been eating Little Bear Bearitos and Frontera for a while now—the organic white and yellow corn chips that come from somewhere in California or Colorado. And the truth is, you occasionally break down and buy a monster bag of agribusiness because that's all you can find at the corner store.

But the other day you found a new brand on sale at the co-op: Whole Grain Milling Company tortilla chips. It turns out these organic, non-GMO, high-protein tortilla chips are the bomb, and you are not the first to notice: They were mentioned in McSweeney's, the hipster literary quarterly and webzine sprung from Dave Eggers' forehead. There they have been called "the most unbelievable and delicious yellow corn tortilla chips ever to feed mankind." We agree. They're delicately crunchy on the tooth, slightly oily on the tongue, with a hint of salt to perfection. They're like sunshine fried in unsalted butter.

And they're made right here, by the Hilgendorf family in Welcome, Minnesota!

You don't need to know where Welcome, Minnesota is. We don't. But we know you can get these chips at the Wedge and at Linden Hills coop, and you should go and get them now. Unfortunately, we have not yet discovered a salsa that is equal to these chips, but we've been known to gobble a whole bag without so much as a sip of water.

Ralph Hilgendorf, Whole Grain Milling Co., Box 78, Welcome, MN, 612.644.6265

Road trip for the best donuts in Minnesota

What is it about Tobie's in Hinckley? The huge sprawling complex now includes a bakery, a restaurant, a lounge, a gas station, and a carwash. You can hardly fail to notice it just off Highway 35 north, halfway to Duluth. Perhaps it's the proximity to Casino Country. Perhaps it's the natural place to gas-up and grab a bite. Perhaps it's the homemade old-fashioned donuts, which are just about the best to be found anywhere in the state.

A trip to Spirit Mountain this weekend gave us a reason to stop in and have breakfast. The fare is about what you'd expect from a breakfast-all-day joint. The garish interior is "Country Goose 1984," and the patronage is heavy on flannel and blaze orange. There were bloody marys in more than one booth, and our server was a young man with detailed and available knowledge of snowmobiles.

This immersion into a busy, wholesome, northern Minnesota enclave made us hungry for one thing: those old-fashioned donuts. Hold the frosting, the nuts, the sprinkles, and the filling: You don't want to be distracted from the pure, unadulterated genius of a Tobie's donut. The toothsome little ridge of crunchiness, the melt-in-your-mouth yellow interior, the hint of cardamom.

Yes, the heart of Tobie's is round and brown and has a hole in the middle.

Tobie's, Interstate 35 at Hinckley, http://www.tobies.com/

Why the "e" key is crunchy

You don't need an excuse to visit the city's monumental new gathering spot—the downtown Minneapolis Library, with its fjiord of glass and birch. But here's an unexpected one: go for the snacks. In particular, we've recently become addicted to Dunn Bros' 7-layer bar, a deeply decadent, deadly sweet confection baked by Mrs. Feldman's Desserts in Nordeast.

This isn't the only public library with a coffee joint attached, but it certainly is the most elegant, with its tall ceilings and leather easy chairs. The free wi-fi brings out the city's hipsters. It's a chic urban crowd; unfortunately the somewhat steep prices ( a small cup of joe and aforementioned little brick of gold will run you close to a fiver) keep the normal, inspiring diversity of the central library's patrons just outside the cafe door, flowing through the scandinavian canyon.

In the summer, the libe's wi-fi carries nicely outside. We like to peck our little notes from the sunny courtyard outside the Eastern facade. But if you get addicted like we did, you can eventually expect a somewhat crunchy keyboard.

Minneapolis Public Library, http://www.mpls.lib.mn.us/
Mrs. Feldman's 7-Layer Bars at Dunn Bros, http://www.dunnbros.com/