Side Street Place

Side Street Place
1780 E Schneidmiller Ave., Post Falls
(208) 777-8444

I guess they could have decided to name it "Some Random Space" or "Building on a Road" or something even more inconclusive. In a way, the name "Side Street Place" is refreshingly unpretentious, but at least for me it's a little on the hard-to-remember side. In fact, when I sat down to rattle off this review a couple of  days after stopping in for lunch, I had to dig in my wallet to find the receipt so I could look up the name before I started typing out my thoughts.

To the credit of the sociable waitstaff and the mighty kitchen wizards at Side Street Place, the name is fortunately the only thing unremarkable about this new entry into the Post Falls diner scene. Housed in the shell of a former Wingers fail, new owner Betty Romps has kept the menu nearly identical as that of as the restaurant's most recent former incarnation, The Breakfast Nook. Nothing wrong with that, really - why get artsy fartsy and mess around with a line up of breakfast and lunch items that's perfectly classic and complete already? And there was no reason to take out the original Wingers interior decor situation of dark green and off-white checkered tile, a fifties style open kitchen and bar-stool lunch counter, and an eye-dazzling ceiling of faux-retro shiny silver hammered pattern squares. It still works.

If you've been to the Breakfast Nook, you already get it - variety of omelets, pancakes, waffles, biscuits and gravy, minced ham scram, Cobb salad, a smattering of burgers, chicken fried steak, tuna melt, French dip, and so forth, and so on. Side Street Place even keeps the Nook's oddball attractions, like the calamari burger and the breaded razor clams with eggs, potatoes and toast. (Clams for breakfast? Really? Why not, I guess.)  

I'll admit, although my last few visits there haven't necessarily been anything to cackle and caw about, I do love me some Breakfast Nook action, at least in its Coeur d'Alene Fourth Street incarnation (I never did have a chance to check them out in Post Falls), but I'm going to just be blunt and throw this right on out there - the meal I was served at Side Street Place kicked the Breakfast Nook's roostery little bum.

A friend and I were talking just the other day about how dining out solo can sometimes seem a little awkward. You always wonder in the back of your mind if the hostess is thinking, "oh, this poor lonely chump must have some kind of hot, fresh B.O. or perhaps an anti-social personality disorder and can't even find another soul willing to share the same table space".

We decided it was worth it. Once you get over the initial party-of-one weirdness, it can be a quite enjoyable thing to sit down, relax, maybe read the newspaper, and just take in a dining experience without the distraction of friends and family yammering directly at your face while you're trying to eat.

I'm quite used to chowing solo anyways, and actually, the hostess at the Side Street Place didn't make me feel like it was such a big deal - the place was quite busy with a Sunday lunch rush with an after-church vibe (large groups), but she still sat me at a huge window booth with a gorgeous view of Interstate 90 and the freshly snow coated mounted behind it. All to myself, where I could just sit and eavesdrop in peace.

My waitress offered me a cup of coffee and naturally I said yes! I was fueling up for a day of Post Falls thrift shopping and I needed my caffeine to get the job done. And a damn good cup of coffee it was. After a few moments of vague indecision, my girl returned a few minutes later and I ordered the Breaded Pork Cutlet with eggs, hash brown and toast. I think it was the power of suggestion about the inclusion of applesauce that made me choose it over the Denver Omelet (what I usually order off ye olde Breakfast Nook menu.) The phrase just kept echoing in my brain in a a funny Bogart-ish accent: "porkchopsh and appleshaush, porkchopsh and appleshaush". Blame it on the Brady Bunch, I guess.

I did have a Sunday newspaper handy while I awaited for my meal to arrive, but I didn't actually get into it at all. I was too interested in letting my mind go adrift into the conversations of the other folks around me. A father was patiently doing basic math problems with his elementary school aged daughter. The glitzy looking older couple next to me were wearily planning yet another trip cross country in their RV, how blah, like they'd seen it all before.

A group of ladies working a Menonite Chic sort of look were excitedly discussing their impending Big Lots shopping trip. Some old graying hippie held up my waitresses for what seemed like an eternity between coffee refills, going on about how he used to play in the Jimi Hendrix Band way back before Jimi Hendrix was Jimi Hendrix.

I was fully enjoying getting caught up in the business of total strangers, but the spell was completely broken when my waitress dropped a plate of food in front of me that made me declare "good gravy!" My pork cutlet platter was amazing to the eyes, soothing to the brain, tasty on the tongue, and totally tubular in the tummy.

A tender pork slice delivered in a golden crust of breading and with a ladle of country gravy plopped on top., a delicately folded, bright yellow rectangle of scrambled eggs, a giant hill of superbly crispy hash brown action - the most amazingly perfect specimen of crispy shredded hash browns I've come across since the grunge era, in fact. A side plate of buttery sourdough toast (with a jelly bonus), and that all-important ramekin of applesauce.

It was delish, and I was so hungry and enamored with my meal that I can't believe I ate the whole mothertrucking thing! Except for the applesauce. I was saving it for last, and honestly, I got way too full after my last forkful of hash browns that I just couldn't fit any more in me. So sorry, Peter Brady, I couldn't do it. Anyway, the purpose of the applesauce seemed more decorative more than anything else, two tablespoons of the stuff just doesn't balance with the mondo pork-egg-potato-toast quotient.

Side Street Place, even with its mentally slippery name and its lingering Breakfast Nookiness, was quite a few notches above what I was actually expecting, offering an inviting, neighborly place to eavesdrop solo or dine en masse and make plates of golden grub disappear forever in bliss.



 






With a green and white tile and panel contemporary decor, the place (originally a Wingers restaurant) seats about 100 guests in booths and at tables and a bar. New owner Betty Romps renamed the eatery to separate it from the Breakfast Nook in Coeur d'Alene. She has previous restaurant experience in Newbury, Calif., where she moved from with husband Howard who discovered North Idaho while stationed at the former Farragut Naval Base on Lake Pend Oreille.

Jonesy's Breakfast and Lunch

Jonesy's Breakfast and Lunch
816 Sherman Ave., Coeur d'Alene
(208) 666-1641

Personally, I've never really had a nickname that stuck with me. When I was just a wee moppet, my mother would occasionally refer to me fondly as her little "Stinky McGooberkins", but if anyone called me that now, they'd most likely get shanked in the spleen with the business end of a broken bottle of Jägermeister. On the other hand, Tim Mitchell, owner of downtown Coeur d'Alene's newly opened Jonesy's restaurant had a childhood nickname that he thinks still rocks. According to the Jonesy's Facebook info, the name on the sunny yellow sign out front is what has always made Mitchell's head turn and say "huh?" every time someone says it. Kind of like how I usually respond when someone says "hey, bitch".

I've already spilled a ton of pixels on this blog about the black luck voodoo curse that seems to hang over this particular downtown building. Last September, the disastrous Sherman Junction was just opening its doors for a sad two and half month flounce, and I wrote optimistically, "Welcome Sherman Junction, and thanks for providing the chance to return to an old favorite place so we can once again enjoy a relaxing meal and take in that iconic, comforting old view of Sherman Avenue from behind those enormous picture windows."

It wasn't a complete surprise when they went tits-up. At least a dozen good intentions have been laid to waste over the years within the corridors of 816 Sherman Avenue since it was constructed in the mid 1970's. My recent visit to Jonesy's did give me a serious case of deja vu all over again, but I'm a positive kinda guy, so I'm going to repeat myself (literally) and say, "Welcome Jonesy's, and thanks for providing the chance to return to an old favorite place so we can once again enjoy a relaxing meal and take in that iconic, comforting old view of Sherman Avenue from behind those enormous picture windows." 

It may be too early to get a good feel about whether or not Joney's is on the right path to betray the hex, but I will say that as far as I can tell, they're off to a generally fine, if a bit jittery start. While I can't come up with anything to be directly catty about, my Sunday morning solo breakfast there didn't necessarily compel me to perform ecstatic delectation rituals for Ganesha either.

Jonesy's might be smart not to have invested in any renovations or major redecorations right off the bat. I've seen way too many places fail epically because the owners invested nearly their entire wad of cash on making their place all Fancy Nancy, then going out of business because they have no money to keep running the show.

It might just be me, but I can't really see where Jonesy's has really done anything different with what Sherman Junction had going on interior-wise. The 4000 square foot eatery kept the same ho hum pale yellow walls, washed-out moss green valances and generic grey berber loop-pile carpeting.

It's not uncomfortable at all, in fact in a way, the space's simplicity and lack of hype is somewhat refreshing,  it just seems slightly devoid of personality and could seriously use some magic swishery from David Bromstad, host of HGTV's makeover show "Colorsplash", who often proves that it doesn't take a lot of cash to create a unique interior. However, Jonesy's still wins bonus flair points for the huge, colorful chalk mural of their menu that greets diners upon entry.

The nifty wooden counter is also a holdover, and that's where I chose to land rather than wait the approximately 15 minutes to get a booth by the window. The place was pretty hopping and it was entertaining to watch the cook and his prep guy scamper about quite effectively directly across from me in the open kitchen. I ordered the Country Fried Steak and my order arrived fast, landing on my rooster place mat with a reassuring thud.

"Alright, here you go, and I'll grab your toast in just a sec", said my waiter and walked away, out onto the floor to take a few long orders from other diners. A bit odd, especially since I saw a small plate of sourdough toast (they type I had ordered) sitting across from me under the heat lamp looking quite lonely. With my tummy all a-rumble and a plate of steaming breakfast in front, I noticed another minor problem right away: I had no utensils to eat with.

I sat there looking at my food forlornly and a little bewildered until after a few minutes, the guy sitting at the counter next to me, a total stranger, noticed my dilemma and offered to give me his rolled up napkin full of knife, fork, and spoon. Charitable indeed, and I nearly felt like handing him my waiter's future tip for his troubles, but I resisted asking him if I could have his toast too.

My waiter swooshed by behind me at one point and I asked to my toast, please. He disappeared back into the kitchen and made a few fresh slices himself, leaving the rejecto toast withering under the lamp. He was friendly enough, and once I started digging into my food, I was in a forgiving state of mind.

Not that the my breakfast was overly divine, but it was winning for the most part. Everything was quite obviously home made from scratch, no frozen hash browns or mysterious eggs poured from a carton here. Some might call the country steak a bit on the wee side, but personally, I don't always like having some huge monster in front of me that makes me feel like I have to finish it all and end up feeling Kirstie-Alley-at-the-Chinese-Buffet full.

I didn't leave hungry, let's put it that way, and it was doing the job of hitting the spot - tender cube steak, not at chewy, a thick, crispy coating of deep fried goodness, and a dollop of rich gravy smothering it like a creamy puddle of love (that sounded way wrong, but I'm keeping it). It's hard to mess up scrambled eggs, and they didn't.

My only beef was with the hash browns - I always prefer the option  of O'Brien style action, and these were the shredded kind, a bit too on the un-crispy side with a bit that stringy, soggy, par-hard texture in the middle that I just can never really get with. Like the decor, my meal was agreeable and un-fussy, but lacked a noticeable amount of jazz and personality. Will I be back? Most likely, yes.

The menu itself, printed in a plain black font on plain white paper, covers the typical waterfront of reasonably priced breakfast and lunch diner items, but also suffers from an absence of anything dynamic. Denver Omelet, Western Scramble, Biscuits and Gravy, Spaghetti & Meatballs, Tuna Melt, Club Sandwich, Fish & Chips, Chef Salad.  Classics all, but quite bare bones, although in a way I do admire the direct approach to naming items, contrary to many places which cause eyerolls galore with their flowery approach to naming the basics.

The one place where they do strike gold on this front is with the burgers, which according to the menu were "named after some of our favorite people". I've no idea who Rooster, Nae Nae, Best Bud and the "Veg-a-nater" (I'm not touching that one) are, but at least they've inspired some fun in an otherwise overly basic production.

Jonesy's is open for business from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. daily (closed Mondays).

McDonald's

McDonald's
Various Locations
www.macdonalds.com

Lady McDonald and the Great McGriddle Dilemma

McDonald’s really is the perfect sexy bitch, a red and yellow pleather clad, Sharpie-browed dominatrix-for-hire whose loving abuse is a product for which you will happily pay, despite any moral protestations. That old queen Ronald McDonald himself seems to feign some form of retro innocence but still he continues to scare children to death with his detached gaze and he is slowly but surely destroying everyone’s lives from the inside out.

Ronald fronts like a benevolent, fire-haired Rihanna wannabe working the corner on fast food row, all glitter and dazzle, prancing around in a soft-focus orange glow, but we all basically suspect that despite the euphoric smile and eye-candy quotient, something much darker and much sluttier lurks behind her come-hitherings.

Her peerless omnipresence corrupts every other major street in every town everywhere, her skull-crushing media barrage is sublime and eternal, and her continuous unavoidable brainwash has children from Chi-town to China speaking “happy meal” as their first words. Lady McDonald’s food source mysteries, management methods, and mind-blowing ability to exactly replicate every food product they offer in each one of their 31,000 stores have turned nearly every global industry upside down several times, and not really in a tickly, giggly sort of way.

I’ve watched the fat boy documentaries. I’ve seen the corporate flim-flammery that surrounds the fast food industry in general and basically, everything is wrong wrong wrong. Saline-bloated chickens raised in boxes not much bigger than the package my mother’s bottle of “White Diamonds” by Elizabeth Taylor comes in, cows that eat corn (a food not meant for cows) until they puke and die from malnourishment, and potatoes produced by farmers under duress, victims of McDonald’s mafia-like overlording. The cherry on the hot fudge sundae is their notoriously shifty, heavy-handed handling of their mostly adolescent or geriatric workforce.

Still, time and again we always eventually manage to end up in some middle-of-nowheresville ghetto suburban McDonald’s situation. A visit can happen sometimes seemingly by complete accident, maybe during a flash of nostalgia or possibly desperation. While there are McDonald’s outlets literally everywhere crusting the planet, Americans especially are notorious for so mindlessly chewing on the dirty Micky D’s marketing sponge, an object which some would say has a similar flavor and texture as the food they pump out. Tastes like bleh.

But confess! Despite strong evidence that what MacDonald’s serves has a longer half-life than Keith Richards’ liver and that one of their cheeseburgers isn’t planning on sticking around Hotel Duodenum but just passing by, for many people their food isn’t without its occasional allure.

Like many others who grew up in the TV '70s and beyond, too much of my childhood was spent at the local McDonald’s store (I even had birthday parties in the urine scented log cabin that used to be in front of the Coeur d'Alene store - see left photo), but the visits have become more and more infrequent over the years. Really, I was over it for the most part in my late teens and haven't had a craving for even a single famous French fry since, but the one aspect of the McDonald’s racket I just can’t seem to quit is their breakfast situation. To me, the biggest coup the company has had in possibly their entire history was in 2003, with the invention of the impossibly addictive McGriddle sandwich.

At first, the idea seemed bizarre and a little obscene. A Sausage, Egg, and Cheese McMuffin made with two small pancakes instead of an English muffin! And the pancakes already have maple syrup cooked right inside! AND, for the shock and awe of it all, the pancakes are imprinted with the famous McDonald’s golden arches! What an amazing and delicious time we live in, where we can hold an entire convenient, corporate branded breakfast in our hot little hand and eat it mess-free while driving to the proctologist’s office for our annual check up.

It’s a tasty, perfect little ball of fat and carbohydrates, and what could possibly be wrong with ingesting 600 calories worth of artificial eggs, polythene cheese, delicious sugary hotcakes, and sausage that was reconstituted from meat industry leftovers, soaked in ammonia, injected with artificial flavors and colors, and then reformed into the shape of a patty? I mean, why not? Judge all you want, my uppity culinary parvenus, as rotten as it may seem on paper (or in this case pixels), the McGriddle is the peerless heavyweight champion of fast breakfasts.

Over the last few years, I’ve improved my eating habits dramatically; eliminating basically all fast food, shopping at Pilgrim’s Market for veggies, kombucha and gluten-free jazz, and paying obsessive attention to nutritional labels, but the McGriddle is the one rebel moment I occasionally allow myself to have guilt-free. I’ve got it down to about once every four months, but there are those mornings when my appetite is pulsating with the idea of making the trip of shame through McDonald’s reliably speedy, efficient drive-thru window for some hot, precious McGriddle love action.

Keep your damn Quarter Pounders out of my face, flush your Big Macs, and shove your McNuggets where the sun don’t shine, but give me my Sausage, Egg, and Cheese McGriddle or give me death. And most likely, death is actually an ingredient found in trace amounts inside McDonald’s sausage patties, so hey – I guess I’m getting the best of both worlds.

An afterthought: whatever became of the Hamburglar, Mayor McCheese, and that loveable purple blob Grimace. Did that whore Ronald McDonald go and poison them with toxic McGriddles?

Fedora Pub & Grille

Fedora Pub & Grille
1726 W. Kathleen Ave., Coeur d’Alene
(208) 765-8888

"Cock your hat - angles are attitudes." ~ Frank Sinatra

For many people, the mention of a Fedora-style hat brings to mind images of Gene Kelly singing in the rain or a moody Humphrey Bogart gazing into the eyes of Ingrid Bergman in “Casablanca”. I may be hopelessly lost in the ‘80s, but when I think “Fedora”, I immediately picture Duran Duran’s Simon Le Bon tearing his way through the jungle in the music video for “Hungry Like The Wolf”.

While the latter idea would most likely provide some interesting inspiration for the theme and décor of an eating establishment, it’s the golden era of the ‘20s and ‘30s which gives Coeur d’Alene’s newly opened Fedora Pub and Grill its ambience. Fedora owner Donita Mattern has done away with the dreary, wide open cafeteria vibe of former tenant Wangner’s Hofbrau, and created a far more classy and intimate, dim-lit space with forest green booths, faux-mahogany paneling and tinted glass room dividers.

In a clever local twist on the good-old-days theme, Fedora’s walls are decorated with enlarged, canvas-mounted photographs and postcards of Coeur d’Alene’s distant past. I’m kind of a collector nerd for that kind of crusty, old local ephemera, and I thought their appearance was a memorable touch.

The pub area of the restaurant, housing an abundance of Northwest wines and nearly twenty different microbrews, has been remodeled into its own enclosed space, and its lanky wooden bar, lounge sofas and shadowy corners are nearly enough to make you feel comfortably trapped in an old film noir sequence, minus the haze of cigarettes.

Open for slightly over a month, the Fedora’s positive word-of-mouth seems to have people already scrambling to check it out. “I have been there three times already and have not been disappointed...the service, the food, the whole new look. Great job” wrote one new convert on Fedora’s Facebook page. Another fan gushed “Yes! You have amazing food!” Perhaps the owners bribed people with free Guinness to sprinkle the internet with their glowing reviews, but it obviously worked because my first attempt to investigate the place was thwarted by a mad sea of cars congesting their parking lot which made me say “too crowded, another time.”

Returning on a week day during a mid-morning lull, I was greeted at the door by a smiling member of Fedora’s friendly staff and was given the choice of either a table near the TV showing old movies or a booth near the TV showing sports. I do prefer old movies, but I wanted a booth so sports it was. I wasn’t paying attention anyway, too caught up in deciding what to choose to satisfy my breakfast yen.

Mattern and her head chef, Brad Case, have created a strictly-from-scratch menu that tackles all three meals with a creative originality that sets it well above the usual blah family restaurant fare while still retaining a sense of the familiar. Steaks and pasta dishes make up the top end of the menu, but perhaps most excitingly, Monte Cristo cultists can add another haunt to the short list of local eateries that feature the beloved battered and deep-fried sandwich. The Portobello and Brie Sandwich on Foccacia bread is sure to cause one’s umami receptors to shudder with joy, and Gourmet Cheese Burger goes French by smearing on a thick, creamy layer of garlic herbed Boursin.

The Steamer Clams with a garlic-herb butter, red chili flake and chardonnay sauce would make for a luscious appetizer or a full meal, as would the Texas Chicken Eggrolls with Thai chili sauce and sour cream, and the Green Bluff Peach Salad (grilled chicken, peaches, candied walnuts, brie cheese and fresh greens in a vinaigrette) is described as “just what you need to imagine yourself dining on a big front porch on a hot summer night”. Indeed.

For a cool autumn morning, breakfast was the active plan, and after a bit of deliberation, I ordered their Eggs Benedict. It took exactly enough time for my exceedingly affable server Suzi to refill my coffee cup once before my food arrived, and with its colorful garnish of cantaloupe, casaba melon, and pineapple slices, it was a cheerful sight to behold.

Normally, runny eggs freak me out, but as my fork made its way through the layers of homemade hollandaise, thin-sliced ham and toasted English muffin, an explosion of bright yellow yolk came flowing out. Once said fork brought the concoction to my salivating tongue, any runny egg paranoia drifted away in a cloud of rich, dreamy flavor. The accompanying hash browns were unique, a mound of small, thin-sliced potato chunks cooked to a light, hearty crunchiness and not swimming in grease.

Despite the hype, I’d wondered whether the Fedora could thrive in such a relatively out-of-the-way location where another restaurant had already died a slow, painful death after only a little over a year. After experiencing their impressively high level of service and sampling their singular cuisine, the reason for the buzz is clear. The Fedora is poised to become one of the area’s signature dining destinations.

Sherman Junction

Sherman Junction
819 E. Sherman Ave., Coeur d’Alene
(208) 664-3287

It seems like the choo-choo train from Flavortown took its own sweet time to arrive at downtown Coeur d’Alene’s newly-opened Sherman Junction restaurant. Rumors began swirling about the return of a diner to the former Rustlers Roost/Apple Barrel/Sambos building not long after the travel agency that had occupied the building disappeared a few summers ago. Late last year, clues gradually began to appear; some visible remodeling, the addition of booths and tables, a blurb in the newspaper.

A flyer thrust in my hand at the 4th of July Parade made it seem like the place was almost ready to swing open its doors, but the expiration date on the attached coupon came and went and still, no action. After nearly 14 months on the long railroad track to openness, the slow locomotive finally rolled quietly into Sherman Junction earlier this month.

Owner Leisa Wagner, also responsible for Post Falls’ Corner Café, couldn’t have chosen a better location for her second entry into the world of comfort-food dining. When Rustler’s Roost (now in Hayden) occupied the place back in the nineties, it was a lively hub of activity fueled on Pike Street tea, tangy BBQ Sauce, and a set of loveably sassy waitresses, the kind of place where people went every single day to meet friends, family and business associates, a place that was near and dear to the hearts of anyone who was around town at the time.

Naturally, a new restaurant opening up in the former shell of a diner that’s remembered so fondly by the general public has a lot to live up to and it’s easy to want to compare the two establishments. My two recent visits provided little of the high-octane buzz and personality of the old Roost, but the potential for the place to grow into something more dynamic was encouraging, and the overall food and service level was good enough to warrant many happy returns.

The atmosphere in the main dining area of Sherman Junction is generally comfortable but glaringly sparse and rather in need of a bit more style. My lunch partner described it as “Grandma didn’t really know how to decorate her new house so she went to Big Lots and just found a couple of things to throw on the walls so they didn’t seem completely bare.” The color scheme seems beiger than beige, and the lack of any background music makes the space seem even more stark than it is.

Wait staff and management hover around the place almost robotically, clad in all-black uniforms, adding to the ultra-efficient, somewhat clinical vibe. Still, that’s not to say they weren’t friendly and accommodating, in fact Bunny, the waitress on my first visit, nearly overwhelmed me with her sunshiny attitude and seeming obsession with the fullness of my coffee cup on an otherwise rainy, gloomy morning.

Sherman Junction’s menu is where most of their personality can be found. Creative breakfast offerings include the massive Sherman Burrito (a tomato basil tortilla. filled with chorizo, potatoes, scrambled eggs, and covered in chili verde and shredded cheese), the thigh-bulging Stuffed French Toast (sourdough slices stuffed with sweetened cream cheese, deep fried, and topped with whipped cream and strawberries or triple berries) and the Cardinal Skillet (handmade chicken fried steak strips, potatoes, onions, peppers, and a sprinkle of cheese, topped with two eggs)

The latter sounded guilt-inducing to the max, so of course I had to give it a whirl. It was a fine and tasty breakfast, with a layer of eggs hiding chunky seasoned potatoes and crunchy double-fried breaded cube steak bits swirled in molten cheddar and served with a fresh-baked biscuit and sausage gravy. It was just enough food to be filling, and a great value at only $6.99

Meat loaf, liver and onions, pork tenderloin medallions and macaroni & cheese are a few of the classic comfort foods available post-noontime, but perhaps their most memorable item is the “Tubbs Hill Challenge”. For ten bucks you get a full pound of ground beef (in three patties), ham, bacon and three cheeses which are held together, most outrageously, not by boring old buns, but by two thick grilled cheese sandwiches. They do acknowledge the potential deadliness of this behemoth with a disclaimer: “If you take this challenge, we are not responsible for any medical emergencies resulting from consuming this burger, including a ride to KMC.”

On my second trip to Sherman Junction, I wasn’t really in the mood to risk meeting my maker, so I opted for the Woolworth’s Fire Burger instead, which with its deep fried jalapenos, pepper-jack cheese and chipotle mayo still managed to nearly kill me to death with fire. However, I can handle the heat, and it was a tall, delicious treat and the accompanying garlic fries were utterly habit-forming.

Welcome Sherman Junction, and thanks for providing the chance to return to an old favorite place so we can once again enjoy a relaxing meal and take in that iconic, comforting old view of Sherman Avenue from behind those enormous picture windows.

Iron Horse Bar and Grill

Iron Horse Bar and Grill
407 E. Sherman Ave., Coeur d’Alene
(208) 667-7314

Several years ago I did a few columns reviewing the ancient history of Coeur d’Alene’s restaurant and bar scene, and I made mention of the Iron Horse’s former incarnation, the legendary Brunswick Café. Brunswick owner Bill Webster had always claimed that his food made him famous, especially his cheese soup and his cleverly named “Awful Awful Burger”, both of which were carried over when the place morphed into the easternmost room of the Iron Horse in 1972.

My exact quote was “The Brunswick’s trademark ‘Awful Awful’ burger is still served at the location, which is now the Iron Horse, but unfortunately I hear the burger is now just plain awful.” Just a joke, but the restaurant’s owners weren’t laughing, and word came down the pipeline that in the future they preferred that I not mention the place ever again, nor should I bother to drop by.

Whether my comment was funny or not is arguable, but it wasn’t entirely based in humor. My prior experiences at the Iron Horse hadn’t been so fantastic. Lackadaisical service, questionable cleanliness, and unremarkable cuisine were the main issues, and really, what’s left to love after that? Perhaps they were just having a bad day or two, perhaps a bad year or two, but I can’t say I was too broken up about getting 86’d for good.

So when I decided recently that enough time had passed and hopefully I wouldn’t get beat up or be asked to leave, I arranged to meet a friend at the Iron Horse for lunch. After one of the most enjoyable and relaxing experiences I’ve had dining out in recent memory, I’m happy to finally eat my words and retract anything rotten I’ve said about the downtown landmark in the past.

Our first intention was to dine out on the sidewalk, but after two and a half minutes of scorching 95 degree heat, we opted to scamper into the main bar room to a cooler inside table close enough to the sidewalk where we could still do some good people watching. The openness of the Iron Horse’s summertime layout is one of the most attractive aspects of the place and there’s never any shortage of tourists, beachy boys and girls, and random weirdoes to gawk at.

We fell in love with our bartender/server Janel right away. Her demeanor was casual and warm, like dropping by a familiar pal’s garage party for a couple of beers and a bite to eat. My friend and I were in no hurry, we just wanted to chit-chat and relax and after taking our order, Janel pretty much left us to it, only checking in at the exact moment we needed to order another red beer. In other words, she had to visit our table so many times she probably grew sick of our increasingly jovial faces, but even still, her grace remained intact.

Looking over the lunch menu, we were a bit taken aback by the somewhat lofty price setup, with most sandwich and burger options hovering near the $10 mark. We kind of got over it, figuring that they were comparable to other nearby Sherman Avenue eateries, and as we would soon learn, it’s quite worth the cash spent.

I’d already made up my mind before even looking at the menu. I had to order the Awful Awful burger, the very burger whose name I had smeared so viciously. If it turned out to be fabulous, I could finally atone for my gaffe. If not, meh. We weren’t really sure what to expect, but when Janel returned a few minutes later with our plates, we knew that our lunch was, at the very least, delicious for our eyeballs.

It turned out to be delicious for our tongues, tummies and souls as well. My Awful Awful was two hand formed burger patties, two layers of creamy cheddar cheese, piled high with lettuce, pickle chips and thick slices of onion and tomato. It wasn’t anything tremendously fancy or unusual, but the juicy beef patty was cooked to charred perfection and the toppings were farm-fresh and crisp.

The crunchy golden-brown onion rings sent the whole affair over the top, fresh cut and hand dipped instead of from some frozen miserable bag. My friend said his Vegetarian Sandwich was also so fresh he could barely stand it, piled high with possibly every vegetable in the book of vegetables, barring rutabagas, jicamas and eggplants.

We were rather surprised by how completely impressed and satisfied we were with our lunches, and to recover from the shock we realized we’d have to spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying cold pints of Pabst and Clamato and watching the leisurely world of summertime downtown Coeur d’Alene flash by. It was like a film, one that can only be seen at the Iron Horse, in which nothing much happens and the viewers provide their own witty story lines and narration. It’s a film we plan on seeing again many times in the future.

Kootenai Cafe

Kootenai Café
206 N. 4th St., Coeur d’Alene
(208) 665-KOOT.

In the wise words of that late, great philosopher Aaliyah, “If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again, you can dust it off and try again, try again.” Actually, technically speaking, Michael Hanes first venture into the restaurant world, the 4th St. Pantry, located in the same brick storefront a block and a half north of Sherman Avenue on Fourth Street was quite a success.

The 24-hour diner was quite often packed to standing-room-only proportions, even in the wee hours of the night, and I never heard one complaint from anyone about the food, nor did I receive any e-mails from the usual Negative Nellies telling me how rotten I was for giving it a glowing review (yeah Mom, I’m talking about you).

Then suddenly one dreary morning, the place went dark, the doors were locked and the only clue was a sign saying “closed due to technical difficulties”. Rumors swirled, but basically the reason for the closure boils down to something most of us can certainly relate to: a shortage of moolah. Exact details of Hanes’ financial woes are unknown, but to sum it up, too much cash went into overhead and maintaining an overly large, around-the-clock staff.

“I know exactly what I did wrong and how not to do it again,” Hanes told me on my recent visit to the newly re-opened diner which he rechristened the Kootenai Café, perhaps in an attempt to shake off any lingering bad juju. A reduction in operating hours and staff, along with a strong sense of perspective should hopefully keep the doors open this time. Otherwise, not a lot of changes have taken place, other than the addition of a salad bar area in the back corner and some shuffling around of booths and tables to allow for a bit more seating.

For the time being, Kootenai Café will be a breakfast and lunch only sort of situation, with plans to expand back into a 24-hour diner at some point later on. It may actually happen sooner than later according to Hanes, at least on an occasional basis. “I’ve already got the itch to do that,” he told me, “I just love the excitement of the late night crowd.” That’s a rather nice way to refer to hungry loudmouth drunks, but regardless, Hanes says he might open his doors to them as soon as this weekend and if that goes well, 24-hour weekends might become a regular thing.

The main reason why the 4th Street Pantry became such an instant hit was the addictively high quality of the food and happily, Kootenai Café’s menu is pretty much identical to that of its predecessor. Breakfast highlights include “The Canfield”, which is hash browns covered in country gravy accompanied by a hollandaise smothered ham and cheese omelet, and the “Appleway Cakes” which are pancakes folded with red applesauce and topped with honey cream cheese. The latter was a favorite of mine from the 4th Street Pantry days, since I’m a full-on candy junkie, and the delicious red applesauce is created using melted “Red Hots” cinnamon candies.

Another incomprehensibly divine favorite is their “Kootenai Kristo”, their version of that oh so rare and supreme creation, the Monte Cristo sandwich. Whoever thought up the idea of taking an entire ham, turkey, and cheese sandwich, dipping it in batter and submerging it into the deep fryer ought to have a national holiday named after them. Kootenai Café does theirs perfectly, layering on the batter extra thick, frying it to a crispy golden brown, and serving it with a side of sweet strawberry jam. Your arteries might groan, but your tummy will shriek with delight.

Kootenai Café’s lunch spread also includes a California Chicken Sandwich, with avocado, Swiss cheese and honey mustard, a tuna salad stuffed tomato, a monstrous Reuben sandwich, and a Salmon Burger, all served with the same “endless” French fries that became legendary before the close of the Pantry.

With its awesome homestyle cuisine and comfortable atmosphere, it’s quite good to have the place percolating again. Somewhat humbled by his learning experience, Hanes is reinvigorated and back in the ring for round two of the restaurant rumble, and as long as he can stay away from money messes, he’ll have a definite knockout on his hands.

4th Street Pantry

4th Street Pantry

206 N. Fourth St.,
Coeur d’Alene

"When you like something, you should do it all night long."
~ Chavela Vargas

I spent many hours at 24-hour diners in my late teens and early twenties, drinking oceans of coffee, chain smoking and filling notebooks with pretentious poetry. At the time, they were pretty much the only places for the under-21 crowd to meet and socialize without pesky parental units leering over their shoulders.

Our circle of friends started out at Perkins, where we regularly annoyed the waitresses by acting like it was our living room and never buying anything more than a bottomless cup of joe and a large order of fries with a side of ranch dressing. When the management finally got fed up and threw us out for good, we relocated to Denny’s, where they seemed much more receptive to our chaos and where we would see a preview of our future selves; hungry post-bar drunks not quite ready to let the night come to a graceful end.

The new 4th Street Pantry in downtown Coeur d’Alene is set to corner the 24-hour restaurant market, and since Denny’s is still basically the only other place to stuff one’s face during the wee hours, they have a very good chance of success. Owners Michael Hanes and Tanya Dalton have created a warm, comfortable environment that feels like you’ve arrived at a friend’s cozy home for a nice little visit and a satisfying homemade meal.

A friend and I visited the restaurant for lunch recently and overheard Hanes telling a customer that since opening less than a week prior, the overnight shift has been regularly packed with people. It’s not hard to do, considering that the tiny diner currently houses only 7 small booths and two standing counters, but I’ve heard some rumors that they’ve got smart plans to expand into the vacant space next door.

We ducked in on a rainy, sleepy Sunday afternoon to find it percolating with activity and snagged the last available table. Except for one spot occupied by an older, tourist-looking couple, every booth was filled with what my lunch partner dubbed “the emo mafia underground.” In other words, black hoodie clad, eyeliner-wearing boys and girls with long bangs in their eyes and skinny jeans. Was there a Hot Topic convention in town? It was a bit of an unusual crowd, and perhaps a testament to the relaxed, inclusive appeal of the place.

Examining the menu, two words jumped out instantly. Monte Cristo. I’ve waxed romantic before on these pages about my love for this rarely-seen battered and fried ham, turkey and cheese sandwich, and I knew right away I had to give it a whirl. Still, their menu was so full of possibilities. The “Orange Cream Delight” is a French toast sandwich stuffed with orange cream cheese and sounded quite dreamy to me as well.

Breakfast is served 24/7 and also includes more traditional fare like the “Danz the Man” Steak and Eggs, “Harold’s Hash” and “Ol’Man Mike’s” Biscuits and Gravy, which are already creating a buzz as the best in town. Dinner is served from 5-9 p.m. daily, a smattering of comfort classics such as meat loaf, pork chops and a traditional turkey dinner, all for less than ten bucks.

The waitress came to take our order, trailed by the owner’s young daughter Mackenzie who was learning the ropes and helping out a bit. “Monte Cristo, please!” I announced but my heart sank when she apologetically told me they couldn’t serve it due to a snag with the food distributor. “OK, I’ll need another minute to figure it out,” I sighed and focused on the lunch section instead. The hot and cold sandwiches are served on bread from Bakery by the Lake and looked huge, but I was in a burger mood and the Bacon Cheddar Burger seemed like it would do the trick rather nicely.

Our lunches arrived in moments flat. Our burgers were tucked neatly into red plastic baskets and checkered paper, glamorous atop a pile of crisp lettuce, tomato and pickles. It tasted as good as it looked, with perfectly melted cheese oozing out the sides and smoky, crispy bacon that took the whole affair to the highest heights of satisfaction. I had ordered the huge, handmade onion rings which were perfect, enhanced by a side of tartar that little Mackenzie had brought me with a smile. My friend had ordered the “endless” fries, and of course I had to snag a few. Sometimes a French fry is a French fry, but something about these golden brown babies made them rise way above the norm.

We could barely finish the whipped cream covered brownie that the waitress “forced” us into having for dessert. It was dense and rich, almost too delicious. The bill was stunningly easy on the wallet, amazing considering the high quality of food and service. 7 a.m. or midnight, drunk or sober, tourist or emo kid. The 4th Street Pantry seems to have hit upon a formula for success that’s appealing to anyone any time of day; a friendly, comfortable vibe and top-shelf food at ridiculously affordable prices.

Get Out! Mailbag September: Sweet Rolls and Greek Love

Dear Get Out!

Subject: Cardiac Surprise

Enjoy your columns. Maybe do one on hospital food? KMC is pretty good a for hospital.

Bruce

Thanks for reading, Bruce,
I got a laugh out of the subject line of your email. I actually did a "review" of KMC room service food on this blog that never actually ended up in the newspaper. I was snarky, but in retrospect the food wasn't so bad for hospital food. Hopefully, next visit will be on my own free will; no one really likes to visit the hospital, whether you're in for the croup or a friend or relative is shacked up there.

I have a friend who works the night shift doing prep for the KMC cafeteria and I keep telling him I'm going to come in and meet him for breakfast or lunch one of these crazy days so I can do a write-up. He says they try really hard to fight the popular notion that hospital cafeteria food is bland or generally inedible. I'm kinda hoping for possibly some Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam. We shall see.

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Dear Get Out!

I often read your column. The one that appeared in the Sunday Spokesman-Review was very informative and included some surprises. I had no idea that Athol was so significant in the early 1900's.

However, I feel you might have been in error when you ended your article regarding what is in Athol today. There isn't much there...

There is one cafe that serves only breakfast and lunch (always busy, so the food must be good), Rib Ranch Restaurant with tavern attached, a small restaurant that burned down in Spring/Summer 2008, one more tavern, beauty salon, auto parts and repair, fire station, post office, elementary school, 'city center' with park, excellent veterinarian, Conoco with A&W inside, a small pizza joint with arcade, very small grocery store, small motel, Veteran's Lodge, 7th Day Adventist Church. There might be another tavern on Hwy 95, just north of the intersection of Hwy 95 and 54.

All of this totals about 2-3 'city' blocks, approximately 2 miles NW of Silverwood. The sign just west of town, near the veterinarian's office, shows Population: 676. Most of us with Athol mailing address live outside the 'city limits'.

Any other diners that you may have found are most likely part of Bayview.

Julia

Hi Julia,

Holy hemorrhoids, there's a lot of stuff around Athol, it's practically bulging out! I certainly didn't mean to imply there was a lot of action up there, but now that you pointed out all the businesses in town, I realize I might have been wrong. Heck, if there's a pizza place with video games, two and a half places to get sozzled and a place to get your hair did, what more would anyone need?

Also, I noticed you neglected to mention the Country Boy Cafe on your list. Don't freak me out, Julia - it's still there, right?

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Dear Get Out!

I couldn't agree more about JB's. My wife and I have eaten there many times over the past decades and have enjoyed it very much, especially the breakfast buffet. We feel the staff deserves an award for being the most outgoing staff in the area. There's always a friendly face... Thanks for the great article.

Bill

Cheers Bill,
Certainly, JB's flies a little under the radar on the local restaurant scene, but those in the know (and there are quite a few judging from the constant crowds) realize that their breakfast bar is unique in this town. Many buffets serve rubbery, nasty eggs, bacon and French Toast but those cats manage to keep everything hot and fresh.

The waitresses there crack me up; they carry on like they're oblivious to the fact that there are customers sitting there who can hear everything. I've heard them yammering loudly and very candidly at each other about other employees, making fun of customers who've just left, getting in arguments with each other, complaining about this and that and just generally going off. It adds to the amusing "neighborhood coffee clutch in Aunt Franny's kitchen" vibe of the place.

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Dearest Friend of The Olympia,

The story you wrote was amazing. We would LOVE to buy you lunch and a bottle of Ritcina. We'll Greek up your fries anytime and we are so glad you are back!! We love you!

Your Friends at The New Olympia

I love you too, Olympia!

There must be something about the Mediterranean that makes folks from there so very lovey. I'm thinking of The White House in Post Falls whose motto is "We love garlic! We love you!"

I did get some pretty steamed reactions to that review, and I have a sneaking suspicious that they might have been all from the same person, probably someone in cahoots with the old Olympia owners who I pretty much dissed. I actually had to delete about four of the comments - the sweetheart told me I must have been dropped on my head as a child among other things. I will be in soon for lunch and a bottle of Ritcina, even though I have no idea what that is (and I even tried Googling it). Can I have a few delicious slices of baklava instead?

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Dear Get Out!

I would be interested in information about the old Fore n' Aft Lounge. Are any of the old employees or regulars still around? I worked there when Mike Caldero and Tiny Wilson were the owners. That was in the 80's and it was literally a "blast". Jackie, Cindy, Susanna, Colleen and myself, Carole, were bartenders. There many more, those are just the ones that come to mind right now. Chris & Cheryl Ruffner were "regulars" and Cheryl also worked at Henry's. My name then was Carole Meyer...but that has changed (only to protect the innocent!!).

Thanks, Carole...now in the Boise area.

Sounds like good times Carole,

I remember the Fore n' Aft was on the same block as JC Penny, where the Resort Plaza shops now sit. I was actually way too young to have actually visited the place, but I know my mom hung out there. I will run the names you mentioned past her and see if she knows any of them. The chances are pretty good, since she knows basically everyone who lived in Cd'A back in the day. I worked at Henry's when I was a teenager and the name Cheryl sounds vaguely familar to me from that time. There certainly aren't very many places from back then that are still a going prospect - there's the Iron Horse, the Corner Bar (formerly the Regina), Chillers (formerly Beta's) and possibly the Sunset on Appleway.

Readers, anyone out there have any insight into Carole's Fore n' Aft memories?

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Dear Get Out!

I just recently read your article on the Sunshine Inn located in Kellogg, Idaho and I find that you have overstepped your bounds a bit as a reporter. I feel that you used your status as a reporter to try and bring down a great business and humiliate the management team, employees, owners and this community because you can. You should be ashamed of yourself! No one likes to be humiliated and condemned before they have a chance to redeem themselves and you never gave anyone a chance too.

I have known the owners since they first came to this valley and your one time visit was unfortunately, not up to their standards. The current owners take extreme pride in this establishment and if you had done what another person would of done and contacted the management, you would have found that they would have taken great care of you and your guest immediately. They are proud to be a part of this community and have taken huge steps to help bring it out of the slump it has been in the past few years. As a member of many community volunteering events and organizations, we can count on the owners of the Sunshine Inn to help us out with donations, a place to hold meetings or events, and a business who cares about this town and what happens to it. More than I can say for most of the businesses in Spokane. Maybe you need to visit some of your own towns restaurants and then we can compare a few notes on our visits. And yes I can speak from experience, as I was a resident of your area (so is the management of the Sunshine Inn) and have had some of worst times in many businesses there. But I don't see anything about that in your articles. Or is this just an outlet for you to bring down the morale of a business who prides themselves in their history and how far they have come in the last 2 years?|

I would also like you to ask yourself that if everyone had an issue with how you do things in your business, would you like an opportunity to fix it first or have it splashed in an article in one of the biggest newspapers around? I stand behind the Sunshine Inn and hope that the people who read this article will realize that one persons experience isn't what happens every day in this business and we are entitled to have "a bad hair day" in any business. The Sunshine Inn is still a great place to let your hair down with some friendly members of the staff, hang with your buddies after work, or just to sit and relax in an atmosphere that holds a ton of history and can take you back to the days of long gone. So take it from a local when I tell you that this ONE TIME experience isn't the normal for the Sunshine Inn. But instead of taking the word of a disgruntled reporter or mine, visit them yourselves and see. You'll be happy you did!

Sincerely,
Michelle

Dear Michelle,

Thanks for your response, I like to receive feedback of all kinds. First, I'm not actually a reporter. A reporter cover news and states the facts. I'm an opinion columnist, and one of the things I express my opinion about is restaurants. I HAVE reviewed nearly 100 restaurants from my own town, which is Cd'A not Spokane by the way.

I'm sure the owners of the Sunshine are just fabulous and giving and everything you mentioned. I never said they weren't. Unfortunately, in my opinion, they've got some issues to resolve with their food. For the high price we were charged, I expect more than soggy cold fried shrimp, dried up clam chowder (never did get any even though I paid for it), a salad bar with no lettuce and gray canned vegetables. I only ever state the truth in my reviews, I would never make something up just to make some random restaurant owners I don't even know look bad. What would I have to gain from that?

On the other hand, as I stated in my review, the service was great, the decor was fun, the atmosphere was warm and the bar looked like a good time. Sadly, the food itself was severely lacking. Yes, I based my opinion on one visit, but how many others have had the same bad food experience and never returned? Who has the time or money to visit a place 3 or 4 times before formulating an opinion? You eat at a place once, it's not great, and you don't really have the urge to return right away. All I can recommend is to hire a new cook and hope for the best.

I'd like to give enough credit to my readers that they have the sense to know it's only an opinion based on one visit and they can (and hopefully will) visit the Sunshine and form opinions of their own and I hope they receive the same great service and enjoy the experience as much as I did, I just hope they have better luck than I did with the food itself.

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Dear Get Out!

I want to apologize for the experience you had at the Sunshine Inn and offer you a full refund for your dinner bill. We have worked very hard to bring this Silver Valley piece of history back to life. It has been a huge undertaking and I appreciate your honesty in this review. It is unfortunate that your experience was horrible. As the owner, I was sick to read what happened. Since we opened, our food service has had excellent response from the customers and our manager Shari has developed a reputation in Kellogg that is well known for excellence.

I will bring this review to our employee meeting, and do our very best to see that this type of service and food never happens again. The customer is king in our business and we can only hope and strive to learn from this review and some day get another chance to have you walk away with a good dining experience.

Sincerely,
Tim & Cheryl Moyer

Dear Tim & Cheryl,

First off, my experience was by no means horrible. I tried to put across in my review that we had a pretty good time overall, but that the food just wasn't quite up to par. That's the truth - the service from Sky was fantastic. She had a full house and a motel front desk to handle and she was working as hard as she could. She was very pleasant and apologetic and never let the chaos get to her. I'd never been to the old Sunshine Inn, so I'm not sure what's new and what's not, but the atmosphere and decor of the place was very fine. We didn't mind the party action coming from the bar at all - it just added to the fun. Everything was clean and neat and inviting. I hope that came across in what I wrote.

Every chef has a bad day, and my column is just the opinion of one person dropping in at a random time on a random day. A big reason I had ordered the seafood combo was for the clam chowder (one of my faves) so it was saddening when I only saw dried muck at the bottom of the soup pot and was told there was no more. This was on a Friday at about 5 p.m., so you'd think it would be well stocked at that point. I certainly don't want to nitpick and the review already described the situation pretty well but I will say that the canned vegetables were a bit of a shocker. I try to be honest as possible in my reviews in the hopes that if something is amiss, it will be taken as constructive criticism and improved upon. No need to refund anything, but I will look forward to my next visit - I'm sure my meal will be much more dynamic. In fact, when that happens, I will write an update about how much improved the food at the Sunshine Inn is!

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Dear Get Out!

I read your article about the Sunshine Inn and I found it to be funny and very amusing. I spent my birthday there and had a Caesar salad late at night with no one in the restaurant but me but later danced the night away (it was on a Friday) with close friends that showed up to hear the band next door. The one good thing they had going when they first opened was that they had sweet rolls that my friend Terri was making every morning at her bakery which has now gone under for lack of customers. So the sweet rolls were not available at the Sunshine Inn, the last time I was in there.

CIAO!
Rebekah

Howdy Rebekah,

Mmm, homemade sweet rolls. That might have actually saved the day if they'd had them still when I visited the Sunshine Inn. Certainly they're a few notches higher on the yumminess scale than lukewarm deep-fried Salmon. Tell Terri she needs to fire up the oven and make some more of those to bring over here to Coeur d'Alene; I'm sure I can find a way to help her get rid of them. PS Keep on dancing!

JB’s Family Restaurant

JB’s Family Restaurant
704 W. Appleway,
Coeur d'Alene,
(208) 765-3225
“Mmmm. Move over, eggs. Bacon just got a new best friend - fudge.” - Homer Simpson.

Sizzling strips of smoky, crispy bacon. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t love it madly. Bacon is the great uniter of the food world, something everyone can agree upon from back woods hash house cooks to “Top Chef Masters” winners. It’s been known to make even the most devoted vegans fantasize and reconsider. Everything goes better with bacon, and right now “bacon mania” is sweeping the nation. Celebrity chef Bobby Flay is hawking memberships to his “Bacon of the Month Club.” Chocolate covered bacon is popping up everywhere from county fairs to high-end bistros.

Novelty shops are stocked with bacon-themed must-owns, including wallets, belts, band-aids and even bacon soap. This could explain why all the hip kids always smell like breakfast. Most intriguingly, a Seattle company has recently introduced Bakon Vodka, a potato vodka infused with the smoky flavor of peppered bacon, cleverly saving judicious drunks from the tiresome hassle of actually having to eat those foods. At this rate, we can expect to see a line of “Sizzling Hot” bacon lingerie at Victoria’s Secret just in time for the holidays.

It was a good old-fashioned yen for bacon that drove me into JB’s Family Restaurant recently on a sweltering late summer afternoon. We do have some mighty fine breakfast joints around, but few stay open long enough to cater to late-arriving bacon cravers such as myself, and none have the magic power that the JB’s cooks must use in their creation of the Perfect Strip.

I first became acquainted with the Perfect Strip during trips through JB’s fantastic breakfast bar, which runs daily until 11 a.m. Stainless steel bins gleam under heat lamps, filled with plies of French toast, biscuits, gravy, scrambled eggs, a mysterious casserole, fresh fruit, cereal, and of course a tall mound of flavorful, perfectly cooked bacon. The place is always packed when the breakfast bar is rolling, and if they kept it open all day and into the night, it would probably still be buzzing with happy gluttons.

I’d probably have gone for that option if they hadn’t already converted it into a salad bar for the night. I needed to dive into the glossy, colorful menu and make a choice. Nothing in the dinner section struck my fancy bacon-wise, although they do have a solid selection of comfort-style entrees such as Roasted Turkey and Stuffing, Yankee Pot Roast, Pork Chops and Barbecued Ribs, as well as a ton of pasta, seafood, and steak options all for incredibly checkbook-easy prices. Technically it was still lunchtime and they do offer a wonderful B.L.T., a Turkey-Bacon Melt, and a California Bacon Burger, all of which I’ve enjoyed on prior visits, but ultimately I still had breakfast on the brain.

My incredibly likeable waitress Jenny brought my lemonade and asked for my order. With so many bacon-positive possibilities, I was indecisive. On a whim I decided to go for the gusto. “I’ll have the Stuffed French Toast with bacon and scrambled eggs and bacon.” While I waited, I thought about how JB’s is the kind of place we tend to take for granted and don’t give enough respect to. It’s not high on the totem pole of family restaurant chains, but their food always been consistently fine. The ladies of JB’s have always provided great service and on some visits have been quite entertaining with their gossipy inter-staff banter. There’s something comforting about the low ceilings, the dim lit corners, and the way they blend a vague Hawaiian theme with the obligatory “country living” décor.

Jenny arrived with my steaming hot breakfast, saying “I’m so sorry, seems like that took forever.” It really hadn’t, and even if it had it would’ve been worth the wait. The French toast was amazing, oozing with a sweet cream cheese filling and covered in a warm, chunky strawberry sauce, topped with copious amounts of whipped cream. It was like dessert for breakfast for lunch. The scrambled eggs were formed into a large, fluffy square and were certainly fine, but they definitely took second billing to the gorgeous examples of the Perfect Strip they shared the stage with.

The menu had promised three strips of the good stuff, but my plate arrived with four. No one loves soggy bacon, yet too many places just don’t seem to care. JB’s does care, and they serve long, stiff, hearty strips cooked just to the edge of burnt, lending it a savory, satisfying smokiness. The whole meal hit the spot with a divine intensity and put me in such a contented, happy state that when Jenny arrived to clear my plate I had to resist the urge to give her a big hug. Perhaps the gift of some bacon refrigerator magnets would be more appropriate.

Gateway Café

Gateway Café
126 10th St., Plummer,
208-686-1314‎

We Came, We Saw, We Sniffed, We Ate Pickle Chips.

To the owner of Gateway Café: Christina really deserves a raise, or at least a big hug and some dark chocolate. The poor girl found herself in the undesirable position of running the entire front of the house solo on a busy Sunday, but she held it together with a stoic smile superglued to her face. She had us a little worried at first, as we hovered in the entry way for a few long minutes waiting in vain for guidance. A customer finally said we could just sit wherever and the waitress would eventually find us. We shimmied into the only booth left open, located directly next to the restrooms.

“Mmm. Smells like Smarties.” mentioned Q. I took a deep sniff of the air and grimaced slightly. ”Smarties? You mean, like the candy?” I had to clarify first, just to make sure. “Yeah, smells yummy!” he bubbled. “Um, I hate to ruin your little moment,” I sighed wearily, “but what you smell is a fresh toilet mint wafting at us from the men’s room. Yummy, indeed.” “Oh,” he winced, “never mind.”

The Gateway Café’s theme is “God Bless America.” The walls are painted patriotic red, white, and blue and American flag gewgaws mingle with framed photos of military friends and relatives on active duty. “In God we trust, all others pay cash,” announces a sign near the door. It’s not exactly Ruth’s Chris Steak House, but it is clean and comfortable. In fact, I’ve don’t think I’ve ever sat in such a relaxing, spacious booth seat. It was overstuffed and it sucked me right in; I never wanted to get up again. I kept trying invent clever ways we might be able to sneak out the door with the whole thing and take it home.

It only took a few minutes for Christina to arrive with some menus and an apology. “Sorry if everything takes a while, there was supposed to be two of us today, but that obviously didn’t happen.” She rolled her eyes with angst as anxiety crept across her sweaty brow. I wanted to ask for the gory details about why her rude, inconsiderate co-worker didn’t show up, maybe give her a chance to vent, but I figured it was probably safer not to tread into those waters. “That’s okay; we’re not really in a hurry,” I lied.

We stared at the menu, waiting for something to jump out and grab our eyeballs, saying “Eat me! Eat me!” It was mid-afternoon, but the Gateway Café serves breakfast all day on Sundays so we considered the option. Huckleberry Pancakes definitely created a strong quiver on my breakfast voltage meter, and it’s always hard to say no to my old best friends Chicken Fried Steak and Scrambled Eggs. Also tempting were the omelets galore, the Good Morning Pork Chops, and the ever-popular Hot Oatmeal with Toast.

Looking at lunch options, I immediately vetoed the burgers. As much as I love a good bacon cheeseburger, sometimes I feel the need to experiment. However, uncommon culinary possibilities are tenuous at the Gateway Café, so I went for a comfort classic, the Hot Ham and Swiss. Sandwich standards like the Triple Decker BLT, the French Dip, and the Clubhouse Grill may not be exactly far-out, but along with Fish and Chips, Taco Salad and a 21 Shrimp Basket, they make for a refreshingly vintage line-up.

We forgave Christina for taking twenty minutes to return, but I was so dying of thirst that I was about to go behind the counter and pour my own Pepsi. “One more minute, guys!” she called out and she did return momentarily, totally out of breath, to take our order. She did and we settled in for the long haul, expecting our food to arrive sometime within this or the next astrological cycle, unsure about specifically when. We were flabbergasted when she returned barely two and a half minutes later, arms loaded with our lunch. “I don’t know how that happened so fast, I really don’t,” she marveled to us, still smiling, before running off to continue working her aching, tired feet down to the bone.

My sandwich was remarkable. Grilled ham, sliced thin and tender and juicy, piled high and topped with creamy melted Swiss on a fresh white Hoagie Roll served with no frills, just a couple of pickle chips and some chunky golden fries. Q. rated his ¼ pound Knight Burger an 8 out of 10, saying that the ham was succulent and smoky and that the lettuce and tomato were perfectly cold and crisp. Prices were astoundingly low for the amount of food and quality of cookery. Honestly, we weren’t expecting such memorably delicious meals and Christina left a positive impression despite the frenzy. The simple, rich experience of the Gateway Café comes from a mixture of American pride, old-fashioned greasy grill love, succulent karma and magic Palouse sun dust.

Flying J Travel Plaza Restaurant

Flying J
3636 West 5th Ave.,
Post Falls
(208) 773-0593

“Wow, I haven’t seen you guys in a long time!” the waitress percolated as she handed us our menus and poured our coffee. We gave each other sideways glances and laughed nervously. Only moments earlier, before we’d even walked into the Flying J Travel Plaza Restaurant in Post Falls, we were discussing how it had been ages and ages since we’d last eaten there. “It’s been at least since I was a senior in high school, if not earlier,” I calculated aloud, “so that’s nearly twenty years.” “I think it was 1991 for me,” decided Q. “Wow, you guys are older than Joan Rivers’ granddads” amazed our pal Miss A., who was actually still wearing diapers and eating mashed peas the last time either Q. or I dined at the landmark Interstate 90 truck stop. She couldn’t quite recall when she’d had the pleasure of a Flying J experience either, if ever.

I answered the waitress with a question mark on my lips. “Yeah, I guess so. It has been really quite awhile.” My gaze was fluctuating between her face and her name tag, hoping something might spark a memory, some explanation, but she still seemed terribly unfamiliar. I looked at Q. and Miss A. and they appeared equally flummoxed. There’s just no way this woman, who didn’t appear to be much older than us, if at all, could possibly remember us from our last visit, back in the day when MC Hammer pants were all the rage. Where else has she waitressed? Was she in one of our college classes? Did she ever have a yard sale, maybe? We racked our brains trying to figure out how she knew us, concluding that there must be another identical group of three friends, a triple doppelganger one could say, that occasionally frequents the Flying J and she simply mistook us for them. “Wouldn’t it be eerie to run into ourselves on the way out?” I pondered aloud.

Before our arrival, we were possibly a little caught up in the enigma, the classic Americana of the 24-hour truck stop diner. We wanted glossy cakes and pies displayed in bright pastry cases. White and cherry red porcelain tiles on the countertops and floors, stainless steel fixtures in the kitchen. Beehived waitresses hopped up on diet pills and strong coffee, flying around and acting sassy like Flo from Mel’s Diner: “Kiss my Grits!”

The only part of our little retro fantasy to come true were the telephones at every table, for the modern-day Flying J restaurant has absolutely zero kitsch factor and is done up in morose dark greens and boring beiges with lighting like a funeral home. A tragic attempt to pull Native American elements into play is evident with a ratty old Mexican flea-market blanket draped over a short wooden ladder hung on the wall next to a dusty dream catcher and some framed prints of mystical wolves purchased on clearance at Coldwater Creek in 1994.

An entire wall is devoted to plaques recognizing various employees’ corporate accomplishments: “This is to certify that Norma Gradwohl has met all the qualifications of a certified prep cook and is hereby awarded the title of Certified Prep Cook.”

I love this kind of circular corporate-speak. They also let us know that “a tremendous amount of research, development and testing goes into the many items you find on our menu.” That perfectly explains the resulting product. It’s all a big experiment where the idea is to replicate actual, natural food with something else, some kind of ultra-realistic mock-up, done in a way that no one really notices the difference. This makes our dear prep cook Norma Gradwohl more like a mad scientist, I suppose.

The glossy menu is fairly predictable; Steak and Eggs, French toast, Ham & Cheese Omelettes and a Breakfast Burrito. Lunchtime brings the usual assortment of burgers and fries, chicken sandwiches, and something called “Not Your Mom’s BLT.” Sorry, there’s nothing in it that would remotely faze my mother, who’s been known to enjoy such oddities as peanut butter, pickle and mayonnaise on rye. Dinner offerings include a list of Italian Pasta dishes and entrée salads as well as Honey Mustard chicken, which answers last week’s conundrum about where all the Honey Mustard dressing disappeared to.

We were impressed at first when the waitress brought out our meals spread across three plates each. There was so much food there almost wasn’t room it on our rickety little table. My scientifically engineered eggs actually tasted pretty good, their yellow color and fluffiness like an artificial sunshine in the gloom. The hash browns were fully heated and made to look like they were cooked, but their soul remained in the freezer. The biscuit was beamed in from a bakery on Planet Crumbly, and the gravy that smothered it and the chicken fried steak showed the promise of flavor only after a heavy salt and pepper attack.

The steak itself was battered in more ways than one. It was large enough, but was tough in texture, got cold immediately due to the weak consistency of the fried outer shell, and tasted so salty I could barely glom it down. I finished half and never wanted to look at it again. A. pretty much agreed with me, but inexplicably she got a box to take her leftovers home. Faring much better were Q.’s Blueberry Pancakes with Blueberry Syrup. “You’re going to turn into Violet Beauregarde, a big, bloated purple berry” I told him between all the bites I kept sneaking from his plate. For being nonfood, those pancakes were actually pretty good. Ultimately though, Flying J is most likely at its finest either totally sloshed at 3 a.m., or after 16 straight hours of driving a semi.