Today, we are in Des Moines, Iowa. We are here to meet with students from Drake University, to talk about our books and our process, to answer their questions, that sort of thing. Our reasons for being here have to do with learning and personal enrichment. But that’s not what I want to talk about right now. Right now I want to talk about the cheeseburger Robbi ate last night. It was extraordinary.

To step back for a moment, yesterday morning, we left Chestertown. We left the kids with our neighbors and dear friends Donald and Ann. When we dropped the kids off, the table was set for lunch.

We were prepared for teary eyes, difficult farewells. Instead, the kids gave us looks that suggested they were really excited to finally eat a proper meal with tablecloths and matching cutlery. We departed the scene without incident, and were on our way.

The trip to Des Moines was highlighted by some colorful signage.

And a blissfully kid-free ride on the O’Hare intra-terminal shuttle bus.

We didn’t know what to do with ourselves without kids. Suddenly, we could sit quietly and read magazines. It was a strange new world. And we really, really liked it.

When we landed in Des Moines, our hosts Amy and Brian asked us if we were hungry. Of course, we said. How hungry, they said. Very, very hungry, we said. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.

As it turns out, if you are hungry late night in Des Moines, there is only one destination: Zombie Burger and Drink Lab. And so we went.

It was terrifying.

But also a little inspiring.

We were so inspired, that we ordered a milkshake made from wedding cake.

But really, it was the burgers that caused the problems. I don’t know exactly who to blame: the late night, the crisp Iowa air, or the preponderance of zombies, but Robbi and I both made foolish, foolish decisions in ordering.

I got the ball rolling with the “The’re Coming to Get You Barbara,” a humble burger billed as “‘two grilled-cheese-sandwich’ bun, American cheese, caramelized onion, bacon, and Zombie sauce.

That’s right. The buns were actually grilled cheese sandwiches. To say I acted irresponsibly is an understatement.

But it was Robbi who truly lost her mind (again, I blame the zombies) in ordering “The Walking Ched,” an unassuming concoction boasting “breaded, deepfried macaroni cheese bun, bacon, cheddar cheese, caramelized and raw onion, macaroni and cheese, and mayonnaise.”

The buns were literally made of mounds of macaroni and cheese, breaded and deep fried. And there was more macaroni and cheese inside. And bacon. And mayo.

I really can’t tell whether it was a dream or a nightmare.

After dinner, we both felt compelled to visit a certain part of the restaurant.

As we did, we noticed that our appearance and motions were not unzombielike.

We knew we had to get out of there. Fortunately, Amy and Brian had the perfect antidote to our deep fried agony. The Pappajohn Sculpture Park.

The park was full of gorgeous, dramatically lit pieces, including this bronze by Deborah Butterfield. It only seems to be made of driftwood.

And this wonderful spider by Louise Bourgeois

At one point, we wondered if the zombies had followed us from the restaurant. But the oversized (creepy) heads by Ugo Rondinone had no interest in eating our brains.

My favorite was this monumental piece by Jaume Piensa, which seemed to beckon us from across the park.

 

Nomade, as it is called, is made of welded letters.

It’s impossible to resist the lure to enter.

I’m glad that we were there at night so that we could see the flat black sky against the flat white letters.

On our way back to the car, we considered stopping at Scott Burton’s “Cafe Table I & Chairs.”

But, apparently, that sort of thing is frowned upon. And so we headed back to our hotel, noting once again, the sweet and stunning silence and calm of a room with no children. And look! I even got my own bed. I didn’t even have to share with Robbi.

What did I do those childless nights of yore, when nothing threatened to wake me except the inevitable alarm? I certainly did not appreciate them at the time.

Now it’s morning in Iowa, and we are heading out to meet the students of Drake University, only slightly hung over from our monstrous burgers, already impressed with Des Moines and its potential to inspire.