Grumpy's

Grumpy’s Restaurant
726 N. 4th Street,
Coeur d’Alene.
(208) 667-1717.

It was kind of like the good old days, at least closer than I’d thought I’d ever get again. When my mother asked me a few weeks ago where I’d like her and my stepdad to take me for my birthday dinner, I absolutely had to go with Grumpy’s, a new restaurant located in midtown Coeur d’Alene. It was the perfect choice not only because birthdays do tend to make me grumpy, but also because long ago, every family birthday and special occasion meant getting together for a meal and celebratory drink or two (or five) at Henry’s, a now-defunct eatery once owned by Grumpy’s co-owner Joe Chapman.

It’s been close to ten years since Henry’s sautéed it’s last buttery prawn and poured that last double shot of bourbon, neat. I’m not overdramatizing much when I say that its closure effectively ended an era, displacing a tight-knit family of very regular regulars, the “Old Henry’s Gang” as we now say.

Chapman and my mother had been pals since high school and when I turned 15 and was deemed ready for my first real job, she had him put me to work at Henry’s. I made my big entry into the working world with a stint as a Cleanliness Facilitator of Culinary Implements, otherwise known as a dishwasher. I don’t think I’ve ever worked harder in my life as I did back then on a buy weekend night, when the waitresses’ shriek of “Silverware!” never seemed to cease no matter how many loads of forks and spoons I’d send flying through that steamy beast of a machine.

My Henry’s career didn’t last that long before I realized that sweaty kitchen work wasn’t my forte and found employment at a record shop instead. Still, it remained a go-to place to eat at least once a week, and became a regular neighborhood night-spot, dimly-lit and frequented by a boisterously entertaining crowd of local movers and shakers. It was truly a great place to watch local politicos and business bigwigs get completely blotto and cause uproar. The scene could get rowdy, but like Las Vegas, what happened at Henry’s stayed at Henry’s. No one cared; it was all in good fun.

It’s fun to see some of the old Henry’s décor make a re-appearance at Grumpy’s, as well as certain favorite menu items. However, along with the lack of a full bar and lounge area, the new place is missing certain irreplaceable elements that were vital to making Henry’s what it was, certain people. Stacy the waiter and Hap the bartender have since run off to that great walk-in cooler in the sky and sometimes it still feels like they’ll be right back out with a chilled bowl of cherries. Certainly, they’ll not soon be forgotten. In fact, I ran into another old Henry’s regular recently who was convinced that the frowny-face logo on the new Grumpy’s sign must be a tribute to Hap’s endearingly gruff mannerisms.

After Henry’s closed, Chapman began devoting his time to his career as a designer, and set about re-beautifying several historic downtown storefronts. He also completely reformatted a hovel we used to refer to as “the crack Laundromat” into high-end Italian eatery Bambino’s. Bambino’s didn’t quite catch fire so lease owner Dana Musick joined forces with Chapman to open up Grumpy’s in the converted corner building. The duo teamed up with head chef Garad Crawford, who was raised in the Silver Valley and then spent over a dozen years mastering his skills in the finest kitchens of San Francisco.

Thankfully, my mother was smart enough to make reservations that night or we would have been celebrating at Denny’s instead. Saturday evening had every table inside Grumpy’s full and lively, and it’s quite a cozy space to begin with. I found my mom and stepdad‘s faces in the crowd and pulled up to the table. They must have tipped off the waitress, who showed up immediately with a nice frosty pint of Happy Birthday beer. I looked around, immediately recognizing not only the cozy brass fireplace and framed artworks on the wall, but also a few familiar faces, all brought back into action from the old Henry’s.

It was hard to focus on the menu with all the activity in the air. I noticed a few dishes resurrected from the old haunt; the “world-famous” halibut and chips, the teriyaki chicken burger, the seafood pasta alfredo. My mom pointed out that her all-time-favorite Henry’s chicken wagon-wheel pasta salad with honey-mustard dressing was absent, which led me to question the current existence of honey mustard dressing. Was it just a fuzzy memory from the 80’s?

Another old Henry’s specialty causing flashbacks is the Magic Mushroom Burger, which unfortunately does not induce euphoria or hallucinations, but will at least give a hefty dose of burger satisfaction. Even more gargantuan is the Dobson burger, named after local real estate icon Joe Dobson, and served with this disclaimer; “Double meat, double bacon, double cheese and a nap.” A day bed is not provided, and while the grassy yard of the nearby Yates Funeral Home would make a great place to stretch out and catch some post-lunch Z’s, you don’t want to end up mistaken for one of their clients, especially if you’re a heavy sleeper.

My mom tried to convince me to order along with them and go the juicy steak route. I decided to go for an old favorite I hadn’t seen available anywhere since Henry’s shut its doors. Joe’s Special is a dish that was made popular in the 1960’s at a place called Original Joe’s in San Jose, and is a scramble consisting of eggs, ground sirloin, spinach leaves, mushrooms and onions. The waitress tried to clue me into some kind of special sauce to go with it, but for me its best topped with copious amounts of plain old ketchup. Served with some crusty, buttered bread, it’s one of the most soul-satisfying meals one could have.

A few more birthday brews and some mid-meal chit-chat with people we hadn’t seen in many moons, and suddenly I was stuffed. Initially I refused dessert, since my mom had brought me a plate full of chocolate frosted cupcakes that were already calling my name. However, the waitress wasn’t going to let this birthday boy leave without a treat. There was no arm-twisting involved when she arrived at our table with a dish of crème brulee. All three of us dug in, cracking into the delicate burnt sugar crust with our spoons. We groaned with delight at the rich flavor and creamy, elegant texture of the light custard. With that it was cemented; a new birthday tradition was born.

Grumpy's is open from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Monday through Saturday. Dinner reservations are encouraged

I ♥ KHQ News Saturday

For some geeky, bizarre reason, one of my favorite weekly rituals is sleeping in a bit on Saturdays (which for me lately is until about 7 a.m.), then tuning into Channel 6 for KHQ's 3-hour morining amateur news blab-fest.

First of all, love goes to whoever DJs and selects the tracks to broadcast during the transitions to commercial breaks. (Update: Ana just thanked Blake in the sound booth for the music.) Today so far, I've heard David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold the World", The Cure's "A Forest", and "Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin among other slightly off-base non-hits that are just perfect for today's gloomy mood and overcast skies. They always seem to perfectly match the mood of the weather with their picks for inbetween-tunes. "Walking on Sunshine" or "Here Comes the Sun" are always sunny-day favorites, for example.

Also, they manage to dig up some terribly interesting local musicians for in-studio live performances. Last weekend was the Tropical Pengiuns, a Brady-esque group of teenage sisters and brothers who said they named themselves in tribute to their favorite band, UK act the Arctic Monkeys. They actually sounded pretty good. Today, Q6 audiences were treated to the pleasure of Too Many Men, six rather butch looking women in hockey gear playing a shaky-guitar, lyrically altered version of "Ice Ice Baby." Actually, every song they performed was a cover with the lyrics changed to a hockey theme. Too Many Men played their instruments with all the skill and prowess of a band that's been together since March. Raw and delightful.

Hostess Ana Cabrera is my favorite news gal ever. She's pretty, down-to-earth and sincere, not overly made up and scattery like Sunshine Shelly or uberdetached like Concerned-Eyebrow Queen Stephanie Vigil. She likes to make little dorky jokes, little comments on the music. She's somebody you'd want to hang out with anyway, mix up some International Delights coffee, stretch out on the couch and paint each other's toenails while catching up on the week's news and gossip. Lately her foil has been Tom Durian, who I do like in kind of a mellow, Eeyore sort of way, but I miss the jazz and high energy of her usual co-host Sean Owsley. Sean, Sean, where have you gone?

Q6 must save Saturday morning for the rookie crew, the interns, and the fuck-ups. Cameras point at the wrong host, cues are missed, audio drops in and out, people walk by right in front of the action. It can be chaotic, but that's what's so entertaining about it. You never know for sure what insane thing might occur. Ana might be out on the street interviewing a homeless poodle or the Tomato Lady and suddenly, the camera will cut to the weather girl at her desk with a pastry in her mouth and a look of shock as soon as she realizes she's accidentally on TV. Oops, wrong button!

I also like the Happy Birthday rundown, the amateur photos of flowers that people send in, the endless camera shots of I90 traffic, the long-winded chats with representatives from whatever charity or animal shelter. Also, most of the news stories they show are just re-runs and re-caps of the last week, so it's a great way to catch up on local stories you might have missed the first go-round. Like a strange dream, it's all over at 10 a.m., just when I'm starting to get sick of TV and ready for the next weekly ritual, the Thrift Store circuit.

White Pines Café

White Pines Café
(Inside Cabela’s)
101 N. Cabela Way,
Post Falls, ID
208-777-6300

It Ain't Easy to Eat Bison With One of Them Looking You Right in the Eye.

I’m not the hunting type at all. I will likely never create any kind of bang in the vicinity of an innocent bushy-tailed buck. Still, I was ultimately expecting more bang for my buck at the White Pines Café, tucked inside the northeast corner of hunting and outdoor outfitting behemoth Cabela’s. The massive hype and excitement that accompanied the late 2007 opening of the burly sporting goods supercenter has waned enough that Q. and I finally felt brave and bored enough to check it out on a recent gloomy Monday afternoon.

I’d been packing around a Cabela’s gift card in my wallet for ages after having earned it from my bank as a result of spending $2000 using my debit card. I browsed their website but couldn’t find anything that grabbed me for under $20 besides a four foot long, stuffed rainbow trout pillow. I really don’t have a need for yet another one of those, so I decided to treat Q. to a meal at Cabela’s in-house cafe.

Cabela’s had us feeling slightly out of our element. By nature, Q and I are creatures that are much more comfortable in retail environments like Nordstrom, Old Navy, IKEA, even Target. Thrift stores, at least for me, are where I’m truly centered and at peace shopping-wise, elbows-deep in the bins of clothing, piles of records balanced in my arms. Ask Q. where he likes to spend lots of time and he’s guaranteed to say Abercrombie & Finch, whose spendy-trendy clothing and catalogs of fit, semi-clad young men frolicking playfully together are enough to cause the typical Cabela’s regular to drop their rods and reels deep into the river of confusion. Basically, the only times when either one of us have ever frequented this type of store over the years have been those times when camouflage is back in style.

Our tummies were growling like Canadian lynx, but as we walked in the towering doorway, we were immediately drawn to the rock mountain of taxidermy in the middle of the store. Actually, I was even more immediately drawn to the men’s room with a screamingly full bladder, but I have to say what a gorgeous men’s room it was. I found Q. blending in with a small family of Japanese tourists, smiling and pointing and snapping pictures of the dead stuffed critters garishly displayed within the artificial wilderness. Impulsively, I pulled out my camera phone and started clicking away, not sure exactly why I really needed pictures of frozen-in-time prairie dogs with startled looks on their little faces. I took some shots of Q. with his head buried in the mouths of various deadly beasts, faux panic on his face. “Come on Elmer Fudd,” I told him. “I’m so starving I could eat that stuffed wascally wabbit over there. Might be a little dry, but it should be okay with a little ketchup.”

I guess when I’d heard that Cabela’s had a restaurant inside I’d thought of something a little more formal, a place with actual menus and table service. I pictured a more experimental menu full of wild game dishes with a local flair, something more impressive and unique like what they cook up for the annual NIC Wild Game Feast. The White Pines Café, as it’s called, is more reminiscent of the old K-Mart cafeteria scene. Not the ultra-cool K-Mart cafeteria era of the 70’s and 80’s when everything came covered in brown gravy and cost $1.39, but the later 90’s K-Mart Cafeteria era when it became more of a hot-dogs and fries kind of affair.

At the entryway to the dining room are two hand-scrawled neon dry-erase boards which serve as the menu. The first words that popped out at me were “ostrich”, “wild boar”, and “elk”, all listed as deli sandwich options of all things. Aw, mom; not sliced ostrich and provolone on rye again! Also available on the semi-exotic side are the venison and bison brats and the Safari Salad, which I’d imagine is topped with a chopped mish-mash of all these unusual meats.

Otherwise, the White Pines serves up a standard diner mix of burgers, chili dogs, and pizza by the slice. Fryer foods are of the essence here, with everything from onion rings and jalapeno poppers to beer-battered cheese curds swimming upstream in baskets of hot oil. The two soups of the day were “Whitey’s Beef” and “Whitey’s Chicken”, perhaps not the most politically correct soup names ever, but “somehow perfect for this place” as Q. not-so-tactfully put it.

I decided to walk just slightly on the wild side and chose the ½ pound Bison Burger and a small order of the cheese curds. Q. sneered at the idea of anything but cow and ordered a regular old Bacon Cheeseburger. The flow of traffic is set up so that you have to have your finished, cooked meal with you before you can even cross through the pay station and sit down. In other words, they require you to stand around idly for ten or more minutes at the counter while you watch them slowly grill your burger. This isn’t the most customer-friendly way to do things. People began pouring in the small ordering area behind us, crowding in on us uncomfortably while we waited for what seemed like an eternity for our burgers to finalize. When they finally did, they were just hoisted over the counter at us with a grunt and a snarl.

My Bison burger was fine; rich, meaty, and flavorful, but with a dissolving bun that led me to give up about halfway through and just eat the patty itself. I’ve had a few bison burgers in my day and this wasn’t really anything to blow my duck call about, passable but ultimately boring on a plain plastic throwaway plate with three weak onion slices and a wither of leaf lettuce. On the other hand, Q. had high praise for his Bacon Cheeseburger, saying it was “perfectly done” and we both did enjoy the golden-brown beer-battered cheese curd nuggets.

I suppose my high expectations were unrealistic, but it wouldn’t take much for Cabela’s to bring their “White Pines” up a few notches on the classiness scale and make it as much of a novel destination spot as the store itself.

Fluky Friday Find: My Dear Helen

Found: Weird anonymous note on ugly stationary.

Where: Tucked in back cover of 70's kids' picture book about US Presidents found on 10 cent book clearance shelf, Idaho Youth Ranch Thrift Store.

What: Scrawly, incoherent writing and bizarre, disconnected content of letter indicates writer was under the influence of liquor or perhaps some type of hallucinogen. What were they trying to get across to poor Helen and how did she take it? It reads:

"My dear Helen,
I'm bedazzled and bedridden and have forsaken the most unholly (sic) Christmas and whole sake (?) the most d... Helen, oh helen, I know in my sixth grade you were the one, I've been waiting for you. All this time I have. Risked the sunset for oceans lost, but Helen, you know how to punish my holes. You knew but I haven't forgotten. Helen, oh Helen, I'll repair your sink. And only your pizzas will sufice (sic) the cold war. Don't forget I remember and all is warm..."

Cd'A Bar Scene: Smoking Ban

No-Smoking Wave Hits Cd'A Hard, Might As Well Just Quit.

Coming of age in the 70’s and 80’s, I’ve witnessed first hand the now-nearly-complete cultural transformation wherein the once-adoring public decided to go healthy and turn their backs on cigarette smoking for good. At least here in North Idaho, smokers got away with things back then that seem completely unhinged today. I started high school at a time when there were actually smoking areas inside every school building, for teachers and students both. Couldn’t find a sitter? It wouldn’t have been unheard of to drag your child along to the bar while you sat for hours, smoking Tareytons and getting sozzled with the gang. That’s what pinball machines, then video games were for, to keep the kids from nagging you while you ordered another shot of whiskey for the road.

Smoking was glamorous, associated with movie stars and high sophistication. People smoked openly everywhere, and if you complained about it you were an un-American communist. At the grocery store, in the doctor’s office waiting area, during job interviews; everyone smoked their way happily through life. Through the seventies, especially in bars, taverns, lounges and nightclubs, smoking was practically mandatory despite the occasional oversprayed or jheri-curled hairdo going up in flames from lit ciggies waving around on the dancefloor. It was all part of the adventure.

Then, at some point during the disco comedown era, scientists had to go and ruin our smoky fun with all their research naming tobacco as the primary cause of approximately 2, 457 diseases and ailments. With that news, the atmosphere began to change. First thing on the agenda was to scare the nation’s children with anti-smoking fear tactics. I vividly remember a gentleman from the lung cancer association visiting my third-grade class and telling us that if we really loved our smoker mommies and daddies we should go home and tell them how much we were worried because certainly they were going to die if they didn’t quit. My mommy happened to be a proud smoker and she laughed uproariously when I told her this, a tear welling up in my eye.”Oh, really? How cute, now they’re trying to brainwash the kids now too,” she cackled.

Non-smoking sections came into vogue, and with them came righteous non-smokers sneering down their noses at those who lit up, coughing and waving their hands dramatically as if one whiff of second hand smoke was the devil’s plan to infect them with an instant black death. Cigarette advertisements were pulled from TV, and today it’s verboten to even show anyone sneaking so much as a puff on the small screen, for fear some impressionable youth might find the idea cool and appealing. These days it’s not exactly hip and there’s nearly no place left for teens or anyone else to smoke anyway. Soon, the law will likely only allow anyone to smoke on the rooftops of odd-numbered buildings after midnight.

I have multiple personalities when it comes to smoking. Of course, I realize it’s not a good idea to smoke at all, but there’s something about hanging out with friends at the favorite local watering hole, having lively conversation and cold beers, that just goes so well with the urge to chain-puff. I don’t allow smoking in my house or car, even the scent of smoke in public can make me ill some days, causing me to glare angrily like a real non-smoker. I can go days and weeks without the thought of lighting up even crossing my mind, but as soon as I go out on the town, I turn into a regular Bette Davis, lost in a Marlboro Light haze.

Until recently, I was able to indulge this quirk nearly everywhere in town, now only a handful of bars remain where they still have to wash ashtrays when the night is over. Idaho did pass into law several years ago an ordinance banning smoking in restaurants, but have yet to follow many other states by also killing it off in taverns, bars and clubs. Despite the legality of it, the majority of bar owners have decided to voluntarily go non-smoking, the most recent being Mik-n-Mac’s whose ban became effective last week.

Some downtown Coeur d’Alene night spots are lucky enough to have some kind of attached veranda or sidewalk where people can smoke until they gag, like the Iron Horse, Cricket’s, or the Eagles. For others, the idea presents more of a challenge, like the Shore Lounge, where there’s a constant flow of people bringing their elaborate touristy drinks with them through the lobby and up the elevator to the top of the parking garage to get their nicotine fix.

The lack of a convenient smoking area was one of the major factors keeping smoking inside at Mik-n-Mac’s explains owner Rita Mikalatos. She finally decided to ban smoking for good after a poll she placed on the bar’s MySpace page indicated that most people would prefer the popular danceclub to be a smoke-free environment. She feels it’s inevitable that Idaho will follow the trend and ban smoking in bars eventually anyway, and now that she doesn’t have to worry about smoke damage, she’s given the go-ahead to some long-planned renovations.

That’s real nice and all, but the decision really hit home for those of us used to it being basically the last remaining place downtown where one could smoke away guilt-free. Perpetually puffing regulars inconvenienced by the new rule threatened to boycott, jump ship and head north to the Corner Bar, the Sunset or D’Mouse Trap. Yet, there we were anyway on the first smoke-free night, shivering in the cold and conversing loudly over the noise of heavy raindrops on the metal awning, speed smoking in the mist. We’re adaptable creatures, and quickly realized that having to go outside made it a kind-of “special occasion” where we could have bonding moments with other displaced smokers; total strangers sharing in a common cause.

I have to admit, it was nice to come home without smelling like I was attacked by the Ashtray Monster and I’ve found that I only pop outside three times all night to puff, versus the full pack I used plow through, between myself and all the folks that bum. I suppose it’s time to just give in and kick the habit before smoking is entirely outlawed, and that’s likely to happen very soon. Still, I know that even after I quit, I’ll always have a soft spot in my lung for those heady nicotine heydays.

Random Bits: Bread Crumbs and Chicken Chow Mein

Pet Peeve Alert! Frying my synapses lately is the annoying trend for grocery store clerks to hold up the flow of checkout traffic by giving a time consuming, pre-rehearsed spiel that they perform for each and every customer who comes through their line.

For example, yesterday at Alberstons, the girl handed me my receipt and breathlessly announced something like, "Okay sir if you can go ahead and look at your receipt you'll see you can earn a free loaf of bread if you go online and fill out our brief customer service survey and be sure to answer the first question because it's the most important question because it asks you what you thought about your customer service experience here today and we would sure appreciate a good response from you so just go ahead and go to this web address printed right on your receipt and do the survey and we'd sure appreciate it, okay?"

Whew! I couldn't help but feel sorry for the clerk having to say that whole thing over and over again all day long. Actually, being a telemarketer, I can sorta relate. Of course I had to make a pissy comment on this when I filled out the survey later, writing that the service was fine however my experience would have been slightly better had I not been forced to spend the afternoon listening to a survey solicitation by an already overworked employee, thereby making me late for my appointment with Judge Judy and Chester Cheetah.

Even more disdainful are the checkout aisle charity drives. There's always a photo of some adorable sick child handy. "Would you care to donate a dollar today so that (fill in the charity) can help cure poor little Tommy's tragic case of (fill in the disease)." Now, I'm not totally black hearted and/or cheap. "Yes, of course. Poor Tommy" I said for awhile, I mean it's just a measly dollar, right? I still will donate a buck now and then if I can. Problem is, if it's right before payday and I've got $5 to my name for groceries, I'm not gonna share with poor Tommy. I sometimes drop in the grocery store once a day and I if I donated every time, eventually poor Tommy will have more money than I do, and I'll be in the poorhouse.

"No, not today." The first time I said it I could feel the bitch glares from the people behind me in line. "What a cheap asshole," they were probably thinking. "I mean...poor Tommy!" Still, it felt liberating to say no. At Safeway, they at least spare you the public humiliation by asking shoppers to donate while processing a credit or debit card. Just hit the "no" button with that unwieldy black stylus and it's "Sorry, Tommy. Getcha next time. Maybe."

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Tapas. Seems like only last summer it was all the rage. Wait, it was only last summer that it was all the rage. The trend appears to be waning, if the closure of short-lived Tapas place "Le Piastre" at 5th and Sherman is any indication. I'm thinking there just wasn't enough support from the meat-and-potatoes local crowd during an especially rough winter. I can't speak for the food itself since I never did make it in to check the pace out, but I'd heard from those who had been that it was OK but overpriced.

Bistro on Spruce didn't get the memo that Tapas is so like, nine months ago and maybe that's a good thing because they seem to be doing it right. They've introduced a new
menu of "little plates" that are appetizing, adventurous and affordable and they even appeal to those of us whose idea of gourmet is putting a swipe of Grey Poupon on a chili cheese dog.

Bistro on Spruce Tapas Info (click to enlarge):

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Last month the CDA Press/North Idaho Business Journal came out with it's annual "Best Of" awards for 2009. Supposedly this is voted on by their readers (all 114 of them), but by the number of entities and associates in top spots that happen to fall under the Hagadone corporate umbrella, I'm a wee bit wary of the validity of some categories. Still, it is quaint; kind of a fun read and naturally, I have a few stray thoughts and catty comments:

Best Burger
(1) ARBC Catering
(2) Hudson’s Hamburger

Uh, who?? Ah yes, it's that kooky guy in the blue and yellow truck that I read a bizarre article about about in the CDA Press a few weeks ago. How could I forget; he named his trademark burgers in honor of his two children who died of miscarriages. How's that for appetizing? To top Hudson's in a Coeur d'Alene poll, he must be doing something dramatically fantastic. I've yet to encounter his rig in person but from what I hear he only stops at a handful of workplaces and offices around town, so if you can catch him, you're lucky. I'm going to make it my new mission to track him down so I can try one of these infamous angel-baby burgers..

Best Seafood
(1) Red Lobster
(2) Fisherman’s Market
(3) Cedar’s Floating Restaurant

For reals? Sorry, Red Lobster is straight up nasty, except for those yummy rolls with cheese and onions all up inside 'em. Mmm. Fisherman's Market kicks their corporate booty any old day.

Best Chinese
(1) Bonsai Bistro
(2) Golden Dragon

I really don't get this one. There's little to love about the "Pan-Asian" bland-ola fare at Bonsai Bistro. Also very coincidental that a certain Mr. H owns both this restaurant and this Business Journal, eh? Golden Dragon is closer to a regular Chinese joint, but the Appleway dive doesn't really make me want to scream Hosannas and Hallelujahs either. I'd have thought that 2008 winner Chinese Gardens would have been a shoo-in this year as well what with the new remodel and a much improved menu.

Sushi
(1) Syringa Sushi
(2) Bonsai Bistro

Best Asian
(1) Bonsai Bistro
(2) Thai Bamboo

Three separate categories for Chinese, Asian, and Sushi and somehow Blasé Bistro scores high on each one? Hmmm. Syringa and Thai Bamboo deserve the love, but where's Takara? Pho Thanh? Any local sushi face knows that Travis Whiteside at the Fisherman's Market is king of the scene, hands down.

Best Breakfast
(1) Michael D’s Eatery
(2) Breakfast Nook

This one is exactly correct, actually.

Best Dance Club
Shore Lounge

Best Karaoke Bar
Shore Lounge

Not even any runners up? The Shore Lounge has the fugliest decor and spendiest, weakest drinks in town. Nothing against Tequila Leah, who runs the Karaoke down at the Shore, but there are SO many other places where karaoke is wild and weird, like the Corner Bar with Marj, or even Mik-n-Mac's. Shore Lounge karaoke night can be crowded, but it's about as rowdy as a school board meeting. Also, referring to the 80's cover bands they hire for the weekends as "Dance music" is stretching it a bit when compared to other local places that have actual Club DJs. Hmm, another Hagadone place...interesting isn't it?

Best Book Store
(1) Borders
(2) Hastings

I'm way more of a Hastings kid than a Borders kid. I still hang there for hours and hours, sitting in the comfy chairs looking at art books or reading magazines. I worked at the Spokane Valley Hastings in my early 20's and was fired for a very silly reason, but I got over my bitterness years ago. Hastings is way cheaper than Borders, plus they carry used books and have incredible clearance deals, a decent selection of vinyl and oddball novelties like blow-up toast and Octomom dolls. I still miss George Nolan's book store; life really hasn't been the same without it.

Best Music Store
(1) Long Ear
(2) Hastings

“We have sassy customer service,which brings people back,” Long Ear employee Danielle Combs is quoted as saying in the accompanying article. Truth. Having switched to mp3s ages ago, I never buy CDs at all anymore. I do go to dig through the vinyl rack or pick up some incense there now and then, but mainly I stop in for the "vibe", that casual friendliness that's been the norm at the Long Ear since I was 10 years old and Terry and Deon were just a couple of lovable old hippies with a mission to bring cool music to North Idaho. Mission definitely accomplished.


Best Candy Store
Wild Idaho Chocolate

Clearly, this honor belongs to Hermine's Old World Confections, the little German candy store I wrote about a few weeks ago. Wild Idaho Chocolate doesn't even exist anymore, thankfully. They used to be located next to Hermine's shop and terrorized her because they didn't like the competition. They relocated to the ghost-townish Resort Plaza shops last year and quickly suffered the curse that leads so many in that mall down the path of doom. Serves 'em right for messing with my homegirl.

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If I don't advertise my birthday, who else who will? Tomorrow, April 11, is the big day and I'll be older than Miley Cyrus but younger than Carol Channing. Somewhere in there. I'm excited because my mother is taking me out to Grumpy's, Joe Chapman's new place which I've yet to visit. I heard the menu is the same as the old Henry's menu, so I'm hoping for the chicken salad with the wagon wheel pasta or that gorgeous seafood fettuccine I used to love like a brotha.

We did a little pre-birthday shindig for Karaoke at Mik-n-Mac's on Tuesday and it was a blast! Q. decorated the place all up in a pink flamingo theme and he made everyone wear a pink shirt. Everyone bought me so many little drinkies, I didn't have to spend a dime and I left SO tipsy (with a sober driver, of course). Billy made pink frosted cupcakes which didn't really have a given flavor per se but definitely tasted "pink". Christa, the best bartender in C-town, even made up a new cocktail called the "Pink Flamingo" to go with the theme.

Mission Inn

Mission Inn
36179 E. Canyon Rd.,
Cataldo, ID.
(208) 682-4435

“Sit wherever you like guys,” the cheerful voice beckoned from somewhere behind the world’s most massive jar of pickled eggs. Our petite but formidable hostess emerged from the bar to deliver our menus and tousle her terrific feathery blonde mane. “The coffee’s hot; I just made a fresh pot.” “Okay, yes, I’ll have a cup,” shot back Q. oddly, as if in trance. “Actually, just an RC for me, thanks,” I ordered, noticing that Q.’s face had suddenly turned an exquisite shade of clam chowder gray.

When she was gone I asked Q. what he was tripping on. “Oh my god, she’s exactly like my mom. It’s uncanny. She has my mom’s same tiny build; she’s got my mom’s nose and eyes, my mom’s tight little buns. She talks like my mom. She even smells like my mom. White Diamonds by Liz Taylor.”

“Weird. Separated at birth?” I offered. Q.’s Fake Mom reappeared swiftly with our beverages, already ready to jot down our order. “A few more minutes please,” I asked. We hadn’t even cracked open our menus yet. Q. doctored his coffee with cream and sugar and took a big sip, his eyes as wide as the day’s sunny blue sky. “You won’t believe this. Her coffee even tastes exactly like my mom’s.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I assured him, having never actually tried his mother’s coffee, or met her at all for that matter, since she resides in a far away state. “Maybe you should call her and make sure she didn’t pull a soap opera maneuver, you know, a tragic head injury causes amnesia which leads to a new life as a waitress in a small town Idaho diner where she has a chance encounter with her long lost son that suddenly triggers flashbacks to the old life she once knew. It could happen.”

The Mission Inn specializes in traditional American cuisine and while lunch offerings are primarily casual, the dinner line-up is a bit fancier than I might have suspected. Rib Eye Steak tops the list, followed by a New York Strip, Tiger Prawns, Pan-Fried Oysters, and the massive Captain’s Platter, which combines baked cod filets, jumbo shrimp, oysters and scallops into a landlubber’s ocean fantasy. Delightfully, they also serve that trans-fatty lust food known as Chester Fried Chicken, a rarely found favorite which I’ve only ever seen locally at Coeur d’Alene’s Petersons Foods (formerly IGA). It sounded really good to me, but Q. wasn’t so into the idea and I didn’t want to tackle a 4-piece order solo.

Anyway, it was still lunchtime technically, so I turned my gaze toward that section. The Chef Salad, the French Dip, the BLT, the Patty Melt, the Ruben. The good old gang all together again. Only the Maui Chicken Sandwich and Hawaiian Burger dared to do anything slightly out of the box with their wacky pineapple rings, ham and Swiss cheese. The hostess returned after giving us another 45 seconds to decide. Rushed, I spontaneously picked the “Cataldo Burger” which included grilled onions, ham and Swiss and a side of “Joes”, and Q. ordered Keith’s Burger probably because I was paying and it was the most expensive lunch option on the menu.

As soon as Q.’s Fake Mom returned with our lunch, I immediately realized it was worth the money spent just to be able to lay witness to his monstrous creation. The Keith is the burger world equivalent to sandwich land’s “Dagwood”, easily measuring over six inches tall and composed of two thick beef patties, a slice of cheddar, a slice of Swiss, bacon, thin-sliced ham, grilled onions, jalapenos, lettuce, tomato, and pickles. My Cataldo Burger was no small fry either, but it still cowered in the shadows of the cartoonish, colossal Keith. Still, I wasn’t at all disappointed. Mine was just as melty-delicious and the Joes were the best I think I’ve ever had, breaded and double fried to a crunchy consistency outside and a tender mushiness inside.

The Mission Inn has a roadhouse ambience, with beer posters of bikini babes and an 80’s splash paint job on the walls colliding with Old West elements and inexplicably, a large collection of German beer steins. When I went up to the bar to pay, I just had to ask about that huge jar of pickled eggs. Yes, indeed they were made on site from scratch, and if I’d not already been so stuffed I would have attempted one of the gassy little buggers.

In the parking lot, we shared a few moments of spring sunshine with a charmingly gossipy lady who smoked a cig and enlightened us to the fact that the Mission Inn had changed hands recently but that the new owners were happy to retain all staff, including Q.’s Fake Mom who had been there for over a decade. She named us some great out-of-the-way backwoods diners that she insisted we had to check out someday soon. We promised her we would and waved bye-bye before bopping back onto I-90.

Q. had never actually visited the Old Mission State Park, so we decided to make a stop there on the way back. It was a sunny day and there were a couple of random tourists milling around, but sadly the shiny new visitor’s center wasn’t open yet. We sat on the rickety pews inside the church itself for quite awhile, relaxing and enjoying the solemn tranquility and sense of history inherent within Idaho’s oldest standing structure.

Walking down the hill to the old cemetery, Q. managed to slip on some mud and open a bloody gash in his hand while catching his fall on a sacred patch of earth. Afterwards, he kept complaining that he “felt really weird” and wondered if he had inadvertently allowed an evil spirit to enter his body through his open wound. With that, I had to smirk and ask “How could there possibly have been a spirit even more evil than the one that was already inside you?” He chose not to respond but I swear I could hear his eyes rolling in their sockets.

Fluky Friday Find: Manwich Recipe Book

Found: Manwich Recipe Book

Where: Tucked inside an electric skillet box along with a electric skillet purchased at a yard sale in Kellogg, Idaho.

What: Retro recipe book titled "The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Manwich" Published in 1971, 31 pages. Every recipe includes at least one can of Manwich.

Highlights include:
"Help Yourself Sandwich"
"Zingy Meatloaf"
"Patio Dogs"
"Chili Size Happening"
"Teenwich Fun-Do"
"Sassy Coneywich"