KC’s Breakfast Club

KC’s Breakfast Club
115 Seltice Way,
Post Falls, 773-3764.

Claire Standish: "Can I eat?"
John Bender: "I don't know. Give it a try."

I’m truly a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie when it comes to anything ‘80’s, so when I heard the name “KC’s Breakfast Club”, the first thing that popped into my head was Molly Ringwald skillfully applying her lipstick from a tube stuck deep in her cleavage, then pouting and rolling her eyes at sleazebag Judd Nelson’s “hot beef injection.” John Hughes’ 1985 coming-of-age flick “The Breakfast Club” was an essential component of my generation’s teen years.

Trapped for eight hours in a high school library for Saturday detention, five teenagers from opposing “cliques” learn to put aside their differences and take on “the Man”, in this case, school principal Richard “Dick” Vernon, portrayed with egotistical, loudmouth perfection by the late Paul Gleason. The film taught me important life lessons like never to put a lot of stock in false supremacy, how important it is to see beyond stereotypes, and how to make a delicious Wonder Bread, butter, Cap’n Crunch and Pixy Stix sandwich.

Actually, that might just be about the only thing that’s not on the menu at KC’s Breakfast Club. Q. and I had to send the waitress away twice while we attempted to absorb the plethora of items causing a quiver in our breakfast-bones and come to a final decision. We were enjoyably distracted, eavesdropping on a nearby table full of catty hairdressers. Apparently Satan’s House of Beauty is somewhere in Post Falls, because that’s how totally vicious they were, ranting about an absent co-worker for whom they clearly had no love. “She looks like a dog,” drawled one woman. Another girl cackled, “Yeah, her face matches her stinky poodle perm. She’s just low-class 80’s trash.”

Q and I had to chuckle at that last quip, considering that these girls themselves were not exactly Paris runway material themselves; in fact they looked quite like they could have appeared as extras in some other random totally tubular Ringwald flick from way back. Their conversation faded into the general chaos of the room as our waitress re-filled our coffee mugs and asked again “Did you have a chance to decide?” Um, just one more minute please!

I sugared my coffee generously, telling Q. how I always give a restaurant bonus points if they serve sugar in an old-fashioned glass silver-top sugar dispenser rather than the annoying tear-open packets. Those packets are such a pet peeve of mine, favored by cheapskate restaurateurs unwilling to pay for their customer’s sugar freedom. If you tear open more than two at a time, you feel guilty, gluttonous. The dispenser, on the other hand, says “Go ahead, have as much sugar as you like. Knock yourself out, kiddo.”

Okay, focus! The waitress pointed an eyeball in our direction again, so we were finally forced to decide on what we wanted to eat. I was really waffling so a waffle it was. I opted for the “Belgian Waffle Breakfast” and Q. found the solution to his indecisiveness in the form of a “Make Your Own Scramble” type of affair. The all-inclusive KC’s menu comes on like a copy of the popular travel guide “Europe Through the Back Door”, with about as many pages and boasting so many uncommon breakfast dishes that selecting only one is as arduous as choosing whether to spend May on the beaches of southern France or in the serene mountains of Switzerland.

All hungry tummies aboard the Trans-Europe Express! Swedish Pancakes, flat and fruitful as the mighty valleys of Lapland. German Pancakes, oven baked and light as custard, served with tart lemon wedges. French Toast, golden like a rich Nice sunset and sprinkled with powdered sugar clouds. Belgian Waffles creating fruit-topping possibilities and whipped cream smiles. An Italian Scramble uniting diced Italian sausage and Swiss cheese together in a romantic cabin somewhere in the Alps.Wait, that’s just one portion of the globe; KC’s also offers a spicy Mexican Omelet as well as good old Country-style American classics such as Chicken Fried Steak, Biscuits and Gravy, and “Eggs Benny”, all served with home-fries, hash browns, or a fruit cup.

Certainly the most attention-grabbing dish is the mighty Apple Pancake, described as “made in the tradition of a soufflé, baked in our oven ‘til golden brown, and covered with a pure brown sugar, cinnamon glaze, served with our homemade apple syrup.” I’m kicking myself now for not trying it, although I can’t complain one bit about what did soon land in front of me.

Despite warnings on the menu that everything was made fresh from scratch and so be extra patient, our food appeared impressively quick. I’d opted for a berry overload on my waffle with fresh sliced strawberries doused in warm homemade blueberry syrup. Utter perfection. My scrambled eggs were ace, and the bacon was surreal, flat and rectangular like cartoon bacon, fully crisp and scrumptious. I tasted Q.’s scramble and as usual, burned my lips off from his beloved combination of jalapeños and Tabasco.

KC’s owner’s Ken and Carolyn Jackson were working the room, stopping by our table separately to crack a few jokes and make sure we weren’t turning green or anything. I always enjoy having a couple of friendly human faces to associate with a restaurant; it lends a lot of personality to the overall experience. Their good cheer and enthusiasm was infectious, and in only one month they’ve already built up enough clientele to be packed with hungry faces even on a sleepy grey weekday mid-morning.

In that area near the corner of Spokane Street and Seltice Way, breakfast competition is quite fierce, but judging by the number of dreamy, satisfied eyes I spied around the crowded dining room, KC’s is poised to become THE morning hotspot of Idaho’s booming River City. If they’d just put that Cap’n Crunch sandwich on the menu, they’d be entirely flawless.

KC’s also serves a full and equally creative lunch menu, and is open from 6 a.m.-2 p.m. all week except Sundays, which are 7a.m.-3 p.m.

Hideaway Café

Hideaway Café
6248 W. Maine St.,
Spirit Lake,
(208) 623-2409.

Exhibit 453a: Cobb Salad.
Exhibit 632c: French Dip Sandwich.
Exhibit 338f: Belgian Waffle.

The Smithsonian Institute was signed into existence in 1847 with the mighty, wild-haired pen stroke of “Old Hickory” a.k.a. President Andrew Jackson. Its mission was to record essential historical minutiae such as Andrew Jackson’s nickname, and to spread knowledge through the preservation of artifacts like prehistoric Sloth Dung or a life size bust of late comedian Milton Berle. For many of their museum exhibits, they’ve meticulously disassembled, then reassembled noteworthy places, like they did in 2002 when they put Julia Child’s original TV kitchen on display, including every spatula, nut grinder, and half-imbibed bottle of cooking sherry.

On a recent crisp and sunshiny morning, Q. and I stumbled upon, quite by accident, a place that the Smithsonian folks might be interested in preserving as an example of a classic Northwestern American café with an attached barroom. Upon thorough examination, the Hideaway Café in Spirit Lake is a perfect specimen in nearly every detail; a place which, for aficionados of small-town old-fashioned diner/taverns, is equivalent to an avid birdwatcher unexpectedly spotting a rare Yellow-throated warbler and managing to snap a photo. Both discoveries inspire delight and awe and provoke an urge to capture them before they finally hit extinction.

We made the northern trek that day with the idea of investigating a new Mexican place suggested to me by a work friend. We got out of the truck and looked around, soaking in the historic charm of downtown Spirit Lake. “Cute” is an adjective which I seldom-to-never let escape from my lips or typing fingers, but I can’t think of a better word to describe Spirit Lake’s tiny-but-impactful collection of multi-sized and multi-colored restaurants, bars, and massage therapists. It’s cute like a Danbury Mint series of old-timey miniature light-up ceramic buildings ordered through the mail in fun, once-a-month packages until the entire town was complete.

We now realized that although Mexican did sound nice and all, there were several other dining options before us, and after a moment of deliberation, we both agreed that the Hideaway Café had some sort of gravitational pull, a curious sense of fate. Indeed it was “hidden away”, tucked back between two much larger buildings. Walking up to its lacquered wooden door and grasping the handle, we took an anticipatory breath not knowing exactly what we were about to walk into; I pictured some sweaty Betty slinging grits and pouring pitchers of Olympia for a roomful of sloppy-drunk lumberjacks. Not quite.

The place was utterly deserted save for one petit brunette woman who looked eerily like she was somehow already expecting us. “Hi guys, sit anywhere you like,” she croaked cheerfully, so we chose a corner table near the kitchen. We looked around, amazed at the precision perfect rustic Idaho-ness of the place, complete with knotty wooden walls, colorful bouquets of fake wildflowers, and a giant wagon wheel, reformatted effectively as a light fixture. This type of decorating motif can often encourage a sense of dreary grey dustiness, but the rafters and crannies of the Hideaway Café are kept noticeably clean and sparkly.

Even Dolly, our hostess, seemed like a delightful relic from the Old West in her elaborately bedazzled red cowgirl shirt and blue jeans. Q. gets queasy easy when we accidentally end up dining someplace where the chef appears to be maybe a drug-addled ex-con, strong b.o., missing fingers, history of animal abuse, whatever. With Q., no kitchen staff are safe from suspicion, so it was quite nice to hear him declare that the middle aged gentleman behind the Hideaway grill looked “real nice and clean,” even leading him to say “Wow, I’m not even scared of eating what he makes, you know, what he touches.” We’d soon realize that just like a certain Mr. Goldfinger, the man had a Midas touch, a magic way with classic, delicious American cuisine, done unpretentiously and with pride.

The dinner special for the evening was written up on the dry-erase board; Steak or Chicken Oscar with King Crab, Asparagus, and Hollandaise. Yum! For under ten bucks even. Amazing. The dinner menu reads in similarly rich-but-affordable fashion, highlighted by BBQ Pork Ribs, Pot Roast, and Cajun Shrimp Linguine. With the attached White Horse Saloon just an open doorway away, deep-fried bar faves such as Nachos and Jalapeño Poppers are plentiful as well. Any true cheap beer and cigs experience is incomplete without deep fried pickles, and the Hideaway’s got ‘em.

Breakfast is served up until noon, which was about twenty minutes before our grand entrance. We pointed our attention at the lunch list and Dolly returned fast with tall Pepsis and to take our order. I settled on a simple Grilled Turkey Avocado Melt, and chose onion rings as my side selection, fully ignoring the imaginary Richard Simmons-esque diet imp popping up behind my shoulder nagging “Get a salad!” Glad I didn’t. These were Smithsonian Institute onion rings, and my sandwich was a Smithsonian Institute sandwich, as if they should be shellacked, catalogued and encased in glass as perfect textbook examples. It was lunch as Pop Art.

Moist turkey piled high, crisp tomato slices, vibrant green lettuce, thick avocado chunks and lightly melted Swiss cheese tucked between buttered slices of Texas toast and all held together with one of those toothpicks with the spangly plastic end. I wondered aloud if there were greenhouses out back, everything was so fresh. Q. was in mad love with his Oly Burger, a giant beast that he finished to very last bite, a rarity.

It was Valentine’s Day and since neither one of us actually had a Valentine this year, we decided to follow Dolly’s suggestion and have a guilt-free ménage a trois with one of their home-made Peanut Butter Brownie Hot Fudge Sundaes. The warm gushiness of the brownie tangoed with the coldness of the peanut butter ice cream under hot chocolate syrup, and across the universe, a distant star exploded in ecstasy. Like everything else at the Hideaway Café, it was another museum-worthy triumph of luscious Americana.

Local Music New Release: Scatterbox - Enemies

Officially released on Feb 10, Enemies, the latest disc by veteran Coeur d'Alene punk quintet Scatterbox is full of throbbing Eurodisco and light-hearted synthesizer pop. Just kidding. It's brimming with the same raw hardcore circa-81 punk that's filled all their albums to date. It's really a classic case of "if it ain't fucking broke, don't fucking fix it." Thing is, the more they keep fucking doing it, they better they get at fucking doing it. And they're pretty fucking good.

Actually, there are a handful of new production flourishes such as the Satanic back-up voice on "Null" and the relatively loose arrangement of opener "Barf Lies", which at over three minutes is positively epic for Scatterbox, whose songs usually rattle by swiftly under the two minute mark. The tempo is fast throughout, and fans of pop crud like Cobie Callat or One Republic might as well just stay at the mall; this is classic punk at it's most raw and visceral.

Highlights include "Skull", which has some great catchy hooks hiding under the shouting and noise, and the mockingly dark "Scenester Do's and Don'ts", in which (I think) singer Tom White rants about all those cheeky little emo kids who think they're so all that. White's not having it, and frankly neither am I, because all that "emo" crapola truly pales next to the angsty, amphetamine drumming and pissed-off power riffs of Enemies. Coeur d'Alene residents should be damn proud to have these guys representing their town in the punk rock races.

Enemies is available at The Long Ear record shop in Cd'A and via their label Blackhouse Records,
as well as Amazon.com, CD Universe, etc. It's bigtime, folks.

Listen to a preview of Enemies tracks here.

Scatterbox MySpace here.

Random Bits: Bread Crumbs and Tuna Chunks

New restaurant scoop! Local eyes are moist with joy, or at least mine are, with the news that former Henry's owner/architect Joe Chapman is returning to the Coeur d'Alene restaurant scene soon when Grumpy's opens for business in the former Bambino's location in midtown Cd'A, which for aeons before that housed a cracked-out all-nite laundromat. If you know Joe at all, you'll know that Grumpy's is THE perfect name for his new culinary endeavor. As I've mentioned before, Joe was my first boss and an old family friend; I washed dishes there at age 15, and it was a default hang-out spot for several decades. I kinda grew up there, in other words. It was depressing when Joe finally sold the old place five or so years ago and I'm excited to see what he's got in store for the new digs. I'd say that it could be just like old times, but sadly too many of the old Henry's gang have gone onto the great bistro in the sky.

Anyway, I'm not sure of an opening date or concrete details at this point, but I'm hoping to see the return of several long-missed Henry's menu items. Joe's Special (pictured) is a spinach, hamburger and scrambled egg concoction that must be smothered with plenty of ketchup to be fully appreciated. Also, the original Henry's seafood fettuccine was what made that dish my fff: favorite food forever, and I can't seem to find anyplace that does it quite the same unforgettable way.

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Commenting on Last Week's 12 Dead Restaurants post via Huckleberries Online, a certain "Lynne" shared a rather scandalous memory of Papino's:

"Only ate there once but the owner also managed some apartments I lived in and I came home to find her snooping in my windows more than once."

To clear up the matter once and for all, former Papino's associate Andi responded via this blog:

"To those of you that remember Papino's fondly, we the family thank you. It was a pleasure to cook and serve our family recipes. Over the years we made many friends through our little restaurant. It was "Our home" away from home. We not only had family working there, we also had dear friends that we had grown up with, working side by side with us, that helped to make Papino's what it was.

One of the bloggers mentioned something about one of the owners managing apartments building's, and coming home to find her looking into her window's. Let me please set the record straight!!!!! No one in the Papino's family ever managed apartments. Frankly, we never had the inclination to do so, and most definitely we never would have had the time. I think that the blogger, a fore mentioned, has us confused with a women that once worked for us. Her name was Monica, and she indeed did manage apartments. I just felt the need to clear that up !!! Our family, would hate to think that our former customer, would read this site, and think that we were a bunch of peeping tom's !!! LOL.

Thanks for your loyalty. The Papino family."

So. There you go. Drama over as fast as it began.

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What the %*@# was a Medidi Monkey anyway? I never did venture in that bad California-lady acid trip of a furniture boutique with the silly name, which briefly held existence in the old Ponderosa motors building on in Midtown Cd'A. Something much better is moving in, or rather moving on up. The Idaho Youth Ranch Thrift Store is relocating one block north on 4th street somewhere toward the end of this month. Their current spot will become a pile of rubble to make way for some "affordable urban" condos. Hm.

This is a little sad for two reasons.

One: I'm enough of a geezer to remember when that building was the mighty Sears Catalog Store, before Coeur d'Alene was actually big enough to merit an actual Sears store. The Sears catalog was a massive and delightful tome, and the Christmas "Wish Book" was an annual event for the whole fam. I remember poring through them for hours, picking out school clothes then going in that store with my mom to stand in line and order, returning in a few days to stand in line again and pick up our order in grey paper packages. Seems like they had a ton of washers and dryers and maybe a TV or two on site, but that was it. I'll miss being able to visit that space.

Two: they'll have to tear down the huge Rock-n-Roll mural that takes up the entire south exterior wall. Visit quickly and ponder whether the twit in the tutu is supposed to be Gwen Stefani or Madonna.

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Speaking of tutus, I thought this was a pretty original idea for a party theme: Tubin' in Tutus. You'd be forgiven for thinking this sounded suspiciously like an illicit act performed by drag queens. Actually, it's a ski-type event hosted by Silver Mountain this upcoming Saturday, February 21. Good times, especially after a hot scotch toddy or six in the lodge. If you're like me, and all your tutus are so last season, they do provide.

Not limited to the primary activity of sliding rapidly down hills on giant innertubes in ballerina gear, the festivities also include: Gondola Rides, Wine Tasting, Silent Auction, Hors d'oeuvres, Raffle, Karaoke, Hot Cocoa, and a "swag bag", all for thiry wee dollars.

Best of all, it's good for your kitty karma, since all proceeds go to the Shoshone Pet Rescue.

PDF with full info here.

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Mark your calendars, African dance mavens. On Thursday February 19, the Black Student Association of NIC presents a free concert by "Friends of Sironka": "A talented group of 9 Maasai dancers from Kenya." Reception follows with traditional Maasai jewelry available for purchase. Things kick off at 6 p.m. at The Human Rights Education Institute - 414 1/2 Mullan Avenue by City Park, downtown Coeur d'Alene (208) 292-2359.

Watch this video and mentally picture this action happening right there in the middle of Cd'A city park. It seems a little (very?) incongruous perhaps, but it certainly promises to be festive and fascinating.

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Had this comment on another random, un-related post recently

Kris said...
Hey! There is a great new restaurant in town called 315 Martinis and Tapas! They have a wonderful menu, awesome atmosphere and live music Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. I see you do have them on the music portion of the blog, but nothing relating to the restaurant at the Greenbriar Inn, downtown Coeur d'Alene.

Hey! Thanks for the tip, Kris. I've actually heard of that place, in fact I've heard nothing but complimentary things about it. What a coincidence that the owner's name is Kris, too! I've heard there's a local food reviewer for the SR who also runs a super cool website. Maybe one of these nights when he's feeling spendy he'll come and check out that totally awesome new 315 place you like so much, located at the Greenbriar Inn, downtown Coeur d'Alene. Actually,maybe the 315 lady would be interested in buying some advertising space on his website, he could sure could use the cash. Anyway my dear, why are we referring to ourselves in third person? Hope to see you soon.

East Sherman Valentine's Day Getaway

Treat Your Valentine to a Tryst on the East Side

Irish author and notorious wit Oscar Wilde once observed “Who, being loved, is poor?” In this long cold winter of recession, even with your sweetheart to keep you warm, the quick answer to that question is, well, just about everybody. Still, it’s Valentine’s Day and you want to do something special to show your true love exactly how much they put your gizzy in a twirl without going too far in the red.

You sent away for a Gold Kit envelope, and returned it filled with the tacky jewelry you inherited from your great Aunt Fanny. The local Coin Star machine repairman knows you on a first name basis. You cut off your long, gorgeous hair and sold it on the black market to a drag queen in desperate need of a weave. Now you’ve finally got some cash together, but how can you take your sweetie on a whirlwind trip to the moon for $187? Why not stay right here in Coeur d’Alene and have a Romantic East Sherman Valentine’s Day getaway?

To put it in the nicest way possible, the neighborhood around Sherman Avenue from 15th to Fernan Lake is full of well-seasoned, funky architectural charm and lively folks with a large amount of local color. To put in a way that’s possibly not very nice, the neighborhood is frequently perceived as run down, raggedy, full of seedy motels and dive bars and rowdy folks in various states of chemical alteration. The truth, as it usually does, falls somewhere in between. Maybe the local tourist boards don’t spend enough time touting the amenities of our fabled East Side, but if you’re open-minded, creative, and a little brave, you and your significant other can pull off a quirky and memorable mini-vacation.

The La Quinta is the Ritz-Carlton of East Sherman, the only motel in the neighborhood with an indoor pool and possibly functioning luggage carts. It’s certainly the area’s most modern facility and features a great view of the crumbling St. Thomas cemetery, but it does lack some of the old-school charm of other nearby inns. You need a place with outdated curtains, at least. A favorite is the El Rancho Motel, affectionately known by locals as the “El Rauncho” Motel. At some point in time it must have been a glorious destination, its giant, stylized green sign luring in travelers with the promise of “tubs, showers, TV”, as if these were rare luxury extras, not virtual necessities. Many of the area’s motels thrived when Highway 10 ran through here, but now show rapid signs of age and are likely to be renting rooms either by the week or by the hour. Not every Valentine’s romance was meant to last forever.

Amorous couples into mother-obsessed, cross-dressing psycho killers should certainly get a kick out of the Bates Motel. A word of warning; several East Sherman motels have been recently been converted into transitional, low-income living facilities by local charities with few visible changes. If the front desk clerk asks you and your sweetie to donate your shoes, you’ll know you may have accidentally stumbled into one of these.

Once you settle into your chosen accommodations, venture out on a walk and absorb some of the neighborhood’s unique thrills. Take your steady to the Fernan Ranger Station, pick up some Smokey the Bear propaganda and see if they’ll let you change the “Fire Danger Today” sign to “Extreme” long enough to snap a photo of yourselves kissing in front of it. Treat her to a relaxing session at the Siloam Acupuncture Clinic, and while she’s facilitating her vital flow of qi via the insertion of filiform needles, he can go shopping across the street at the Fins and Feathers Tackle Shop. Wouldn’t she just adore a nice, dangly pair of fishing lure earrings? Tell her it’s the latest trend, that Paris Hilton was seen wearing a pair on the red carpet and when Joan Rivers raved and asked her about the designer, she just winked her wonky eye and said “Arbogast.”

Or maybe chocolate, candy and spirits will help you to stay in your lover’s heart. Visit Piggie’s Deli & Market, where you can pick him up a king size NutRageous, some Atomic Fireballs and a forty of Old English 800. There’s at least one tattoo shop in the neighborhood and your paramour will writhe with delight when you suggest sitting together for some ink, especially when you tell him your idea about matching Katie Couric neck tattoos.

You’ll probably want to take your Valentine out for a classy, candle-lit dinner in a place that offers more than Nachos and Corndogs. Too bad, because the Tesoro gas station is pretty much the area’s only hot food option after 2 p.m. Of course, The Moon Time always comes with high recommendations, but it’s too upscale to fit into the ghetto spirit of our getaway. Anyway, it’s best to save your appetite for the morning after when Michael D’s will serve you up a breakfast so tremendous, you’ll want to break-up with your darling and marry the cook.

On the night before the morning after, you can cuddle in your sleazy motel room and watch “Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown” or you can go bar hopping. If you choose the latter option, a good place to start is O’Shays Irish Pub for mushy love-talk in a quiet corner and a couple of chocolaty pints of Guinness. Next, slink into Chillers, a notoriously rowdy night spot that’s hosting Valentine’s Day Karaoke. What a perfect opportunity to woo your sweetie with a heartfelt rendition of the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You.”

Finally, an East Sherman experience wouldn’t be complete without a pitcher of beer and some foosball at the Powder River Saloon, an ancient, dimly lit biker-bar. If your sweetheart is inflicted with Coprolalia and can’t control her spontaneous foul utterances, better just steer clear or come armed with rolls of quarters. Despite it’s tough rep, the prudish Powder River charges a penalty of 25 cents per four-letter word they catch you utter. It’s just one of many soft spots you and your Valentine will discover in East Sherman’s hard outer crust.

Valentine's Day Happenings

315 Martinis & Tapas, 315 Wallace Ave., Coeur d’Alene, THE JAZZ GUYS (JAZZ) – 6 p.m.
Baja Bargarita, 115 N. Second St., Coeur d’Alene, DJ BENNY (TOP-40/ROCK) – 8 p.m.
Bayview Community Center, Bayview, VALENTINE'S DAY DANCE - 5:30 p.m.
Beverly’s, Coeur d’Alene Resort, Coeur d’Alene, ROBERT VAUGHN (JAZZ) – 8 p.m.
Capone's, 751 N. 4th St., Coeur d'Alene, HEALTHY SCRATCHES (CLASSIC ROCK) - 9 p.m.
Coeur d'Alene CellarsWinery, 3890 N. Schreiber Way, Coeur d'Alene, RED WINE & CHOCOLATE TASTING - 3 p.m.
Curley's, 26433 W. Highway 53, Post Falls, BLUEFIRE DOWN (ROCK/VARIETY) - 9 p.m.,
DiLuna’s Café, 207 Cedar St., Sandpoint, KAREN POGORZELSKI (CLASSICAL/VIOLIN) - 6 p.m.
Greyhound Park and Events Center, Post Falls, TUXEDO JUNCTION (BIG BAND) - SWEETHEART'S BALL - 6:30p.m.
Lake City Playhouse, 1320 E. Garden Ave., Coeur d'Alene, "FOREVER PLAID" (MUSICAL - 7:30 p.m.
Mik-N-Mac’s Lounge, 406 N. 4th St. Coeur d’Alene, DJ JASON (HIP-HOP/TOP-40) – 9 p.m.
Moon Dollars, 609 N Syringa St., Post Falls, KELLY HUGHES BAND (COUNTRY) – 6 p.m.
Nighthawk Lounge, Coeur d’Alene Casino, Highway 95 South, Worley, SHOT FOR SURE (ROCK) – 8 p.m.
O'Shay's, 313 E. Cd'A lake Dr., Coeur d'Alene, DEEP ROOTS WITH ARVID LUNDIN (IRISH FIDDLE) - 7 p.m.
Panida Theater, 300 N.First Ave, Sandpoint, LEROY BELL AND HIS ONLY FRIENDS (ROCK/SOUL) – 8:30p.m.
Rathdrum Grange Hall, Hwy. 41 & Boekel, Rathdrum -VALENTINE'S DANCE - 7 p.m.
Real Life Ministries, 1866 North Cecil Rd., Post Falls, HIS NAME IS VICTORY (CHRISTIAN/METAL) – 6 p.m.
Resort Plaza Shops, 2nd & Sherman, Coeur d'Alene, MARDIS GRAS KIDS CARNIVAL - 10 a.m.
Slab Inn, 800 W. Seltice Way, Post Falls, KENNY WALKER AND THE KNIGHTHAWKS (COUNTRY/ROCK) – 9 p.m.
Song Bird Theater, 315 N. 4th St., Coeur d'Alene, MYSTERY DESSERT THEATER - 7 p.m.
Stage Right Cellars, 302 N. First St., Sandpoint, BLACK ICE (DANCE) – 6 p.m.
St. Bernard, Schweitzer Mountain, 479 Northwest Passage, Sandpoint, FRAME OF MIND (JAM ROCK) – 9 p.m.
Sun Meadow Resort, 30400 Sun Ray Trail, Worley - AL AND EMILY CANTRELL (COUNTRY), 6:30 p.m.
The Grail, 4720 W. Seltice Way, Coeur d'Alene, WITCHBURN/ATOMIC OUTLAWS/ILLUSION 33 (HARD ROCK ) – 8 p.m.
The Hydra, 115 Lake St., Sandpoint, CHARLEY PACKARD (ORIGINALS) - 7 p.m.
Three Glasses, 202 ½ N. First Ave., Sandpoint, OUTPOST (REGGAE/HIP-HOP) – 9 p.m.
Western Pleasure Guest Ranch, 1413 Upper Gold Creek, Sandpoint, JACKIE HENRION (ACOUSTIC) – 6:30 p.m.
Wine Cellar, 313 Sherman Ave., Coeur d’Alene, ALL THAT JAZZ (JAZZ) – 8 p.m.

Susie's Bar & Grill

Susie’s Bar & Grill
10325 N. Government Way,
Hayden, 762-2533.

I got a feel for the we-don’t-mess-around charm and earthy personality of Susie’s Bar & Grill before I’d even stepped in the front door. Directly to the right of the entry sat a local newspaper’s blue vending machine upon which was taped an enormous hand-scrawled note. “Dear Dumbass” it started out endearingly. “Are you making a lot of money from this machine? Apparently you haven’t noticed that something’s amiss, namely that the coin slot is plugged and has been for weeks. Yet you continue to refill it each day with new papers. What gives?” The note itself was a bit tattered as if the newspaper man was un-taping it, refilling and and re-taping it, just to return the dose of snark.

There aren’t many places left in our modern realm that harbor such a rarefied, historic aroma like the one that hits like a whammy upon entrance to the bar portion of Susie’s, where Q. and I landed one recent Saturday morning. It’s a mix of cigarettes, dust, the men’s room, heavy cuisine, beer taint, and loads and loads of time. Not that it’s necessarily a terrible odor, in fact it’s oddly comforting, reminiscent of an era when it was possible to sit down with your neighbors and loved ones and have Whiskey Sours and Pall Mall Lights with your bacon, eggs, and hotcakes. It’s a scent that seems to have been present in nearly every diner/lounge or truck stop I dined at as a child in the 1970’s, the last truly carefree era before health freaks ruined it for everyone with their overwrought concerns about the dangerous effects of second-hand smoke, trans-fat and getting drunk by noon.

Even Susie’s main room is a time-trip back to the hazy, cave-like dining spaces of my childhood. When Q. and I poked our head around the corner to check it out, we were met by the gaze of an elderly couple, the only souls occupying one of the chartreuse vinyl booths. They looked like shipwreck survivors on a desert island, bearded and unwashed liked they’d been stuck there for decades. We had a similarly eerie feeling a few minutes later after we’d returned to our table in the bar zone, when a specter-like gentleman with a full, droopy mustache and old-fashioned cowboy hat appeared seemingly from out of nowhere and floated across the room silently, vanishing behind us. We both looked at each other with unspoken concern. Were we seeing ghosts up in here?

Susie herself was incredibly friendly and chatty and seemed oblivious to the haunting, choosing instead to sing along loudly to the country music beaming in at full blast from the airwaves and entertain a couple of regulars who’d saddled up to the bar for their pre-noon Bull Blasters. I get the impression Susie’s has a ton of regulars, a tight-knit family of Susie fans who return time and time again to enjoy her down-to-earth presence and made-from-scratch cooking.

I’d been tipped off by a couple of different readers that Susie’s served up one of the best burgers around, and I’ve never been able to resist putting that claim to test, so I decided to leave my diet in the car and go for the Mushroom Swiss variety. Q. announced that he was feeling a little spicy, so he ordered Susie’s daily special, a breakfast mess called a “Red Hot Louisiana Sausage Scramble.” Kokanee? No, I was driving, so I had to resist doing as the Romans were doing and got a nice, tall Pepsi instead.

The menu at Susie’s Bar and Grill in Hayden is ripe with mirth and entertaining moments. “Best burgers anywhere,” it boasts, forgetting endless competition and going straight for the crown. “Beef- it’s what’s for dinner” it demands in a bold font, and Susie represents, throwing down your choice of Kentucky Devil Bourbon, Blue Cheese, or Smothered sirloin steaks with optional hand-breaded Jumbo Shrimp just for extra bling. The “SSS Omelet” will have you hissing like you had snakes up in your basket, with it’s brazen combo of spinach, swiss cheese, sausage, and even ‘shrooms.

If you’ve been sitting lonely night after night wondering where to find some juicy beef testicles, you’re finally in luck. Susie’s is one of very few places around featuring that exotic cowboy delicacy Rocky Mountain Oysters on its list of appetizers, complete with spicy cocktail sauce. For those who want to really go all the way with the idea, there’s the House Specialty “Hot Nuts”, which is Rocky Mountain Oysters fried crisp, smothered with green chile sauce and melted cheddar cheese, and served with a tortilla. Normally, I’m gung-ho to try new and bizarre foods, but my still bar-queasy tummy suggested it wasn’t in the mood to experiment. I pointed out to Q. the “Hot Nuts” on the menu and dared him to try them, but he winced and said “Um, no. I’m trying to cut back.”

Our lunch took its own sweet time to arrive, but at Susie’s, everything is made fresh from scratch to order, and when our meals arrived, we forgot all about the wait and time in general. My burger was a five-star specimen, so mammoth I had to take Q’s advice and eat it upside down to keep from spilling melty Swiss and crisp lettuce on my lap. “Best burger anywhere” is arguable, of course, but with a huge, hearty beef patty as succulent as this, it indeed ranks high on the list. Q., on the other hand, wasn’t over-the-moon about his Louisiana Sausage scramble, saying it tasted like “old bar grease.” I tried a few bites, and delightfully, he was right! It was a flavor I actually enjoyed mingled with the dense potatoes and spicy sausage bites.

I’d bet this place gets exceedingly rowdy at night, when the pool balls crack above the din of Country karaoke and patrons work hard at contributing to the aforementioned timeless aroma. On the surface, there’s certainly nothing fancy about this well-worn building that has survived so many decades with dozens of incarnations. It’s Susie, her crew and her crowd of regular visitors that provide the place with its pulsing heart and soul.

Chow List: 12 Dead Restaurants From 1989

I unearthed an old Polk's Cd'A City Directory from 1989 at St.Vincent du Paul Thrift Store recently for one greasy dollar. Wow, 20 years ago! Scanning through the listed restaurants, the memories started trickling back, some pleasant, others not so much (Spats, anyone?). I could write entire columns about some of these ghosty joints, but for now I'll keep it sorta brief. I'd really love to see your comments and obscure memories about these long-gone favorites from 20 years ago...

1. Mr. Steak (605 Emma Ave.)
Now: medical center parking lot
It was every family's default gathering spot for after church, funerals, grandparents day, and best of all, your steak dinner was free on your birthday. I miss this place still; the green polyester napkins, the baskets of hard rolls with gold foil butter packs, the bouffant waitresses sporting some kind of barfy plaid get-up. Mr. Steak was a stone cold classic: cheap, satifying and totally utilitarian.

2. Ritz Cafe (501 W. Appleway)
Now: Mattress Land
This was an attempt at a '50's rock-n-roll themed 24-hour diner that was a big hit for a while, especially among us teenagers who would sit and drink coffee for hours and hours on end and eat baskets of french fries with ranch dressing and chain smoke. They didn't seem to mind us, even when we harassed the seniors who also seemed to hang out forever. Bright blue and red neon and endless golden oldies. A fun place.

3. Henry's (1001 Sherman Ave.)
Now: Dan Davis Realty
With Henry's, my roots run deep. My mother's old high school co-hort established this plush bar and bistro, and she worked there as a hostess for many years. She dated the bartender for a while, her best girlfriend was the house manager, and her best friend/gay sidekick was a waiter there. My very first job was as a dishwasher/prep cook at Henry's at age 15 and I hated it. I loved the food however, most memorably Joe's Special with spinach and scrambled eggs and the Wagon Wheel chicken pasta salad that I still crave occasionally. It closed suddenly and a tight-knit family of staff and regulars was tragically shattered.

4. Jimmy D's Cafe (320 Sherman Ave.)
Now: Pita Pit
This was the most popular eatery downtown for a while and deservedly so, it was elegant but affordable, had a relaxed jazzy atmosphere, and endless bottles of local wines years before that kind of thing was really trendy. Eventually relocated across the street as "Jimmy D's Wine Cellar" before Jim Duncan retired and they shortened the name to its present state.

5. Log Cabin Restaurant (213 W. Appleway)
Now: Kelly Services/Appleway Chiropractic
Liver and Onions. Ugh! My parents loved it and I specifically remember trips to the Log Cabin Restaurant just for that reason. Pretty sure I had spaghetti instead. Seems like it was a fairly chi-chi kinda place at first, but by 1989 it was just another breakfast/lunch hash house, and it didn't survive too long into the '90's.

6. The Atrium (757 W. Appleway)
Now: Top of China Buffet
In the 80's, it was still halfway classy, the last remnant of the singles lounge 70's. A few years later it would devolve into mega-sleazy dance club "Players", a total meat market that could actually be fun once in a while. Scary but fun.

7. Bonanza (221 W. Appleway)
Now: Tomato Street
Memories of this one are so fuzzy, but it seems like this was sort of a cross between a prototype Applebees and a farm-themed hospital cafeteria. my mind conjures phosphorescently lit images of fake plastic steaks and grilled chicken, photogenic baked potatoes with chives and bacon bits, and bland white macaroni salad. Actually, I'm pretty sure a whole salad bar was involved and it wasn't pretty.

8. Father Guido's (400 Northwest Boulevard)
Now: Kootenai County Offices
Born as Pappy's Pizza, this was one of the last of it's kind, a pizza place where the whole family could keep entertained complete with video games, a jukebox, shag carpeting, pitchers of cold beer, wrought iron railings to climb on, big loud televisions. Soon Pizza Hut, Godfathers and the other chains would come along to ruin all our fun with their corporate homogenization and speedy home delivery.

9. Papino's (315 Walnut Ave.)
Now: Anthony's Midtown Bistro
Ground zero for killer Italian food for a very long time in Cd'A, I don't think anyone will ever be able to replicate the manicotti and garlic bread they served up in times of joy and crisis. I have the saliva-inducing scent of walking into Papino's lobby forever etched into my brain.

10. Rosauers Family Restaurant (225 W.Appleway)
Now: Tuesday Morning
The food was never very good, but there was something homey and loveable about this geriatrically inclined family diner. Meat and potatoes and gravy and everything was squishy and bland. She didn't age gracefully at all and she was looking pretty ghetto, but I was a faithful devotee, especially for breakfast, until the bitter end three years ago when they shuttered the Cd'A Rosauers store for good. Lordy, bring it back!

11. Topper Too (2812 N. Government Way)
Now: Les Schwab parking lot
Paul Bunyan's burgers etc. are somewhat similar, maybe cousins to the greasy lovebombs served by the hefty girls of the Topper Too, but not twins. The cuisine at the Topper was even more gung-ho and pro on the trans-fatty tip. Where else could you get a Pineapple Coke? It was a miracle that the drive-up squawk box outside ordering system still even functioned at the end. Still crying hippo tears to think I'll never taste those onion rings again. Sigh.

12. 3rd Street Cantina (201 N.3rd)
Now: Los Palmitas
It was like a cross between a Mexican gay discotheque and an island safari with yak leather chairs, mirrored walls, bamboo huts, stuffed zebras, giant ceramic parrots hanging from gold hoops, and white shag carpeting. Woah, was our little town ready for it? Great concept, great food, and legendary in it's heyday.