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).

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.

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.

Gittel’s Grocery

Gittel’s Grocery
1201 N. Government Way, Coeur d’Alene
(208) 667-6816

Some years, I tend to get a little extravagant around Christmastime and end up spending pretty much my every last dime. I like to give gifts that people might actually remember and use, and I enjoy going out for nice dinners and festive nights on the town.

These things are never cheap, and this year was no exception. Now that the yuletide cheer has faded, my bank account is as empty as my cup of hot buttered rum at bedtime on Christmas Eve.

Still, one must eat, and when cupboards are bare, desperate times call for desperate measures. In times of poverty, I know that digging around in the dark areas of the couch or car will unearth at least enough coins for a satisfying and classic favorite: three hot dogs for $1.39 at Gittel’s Grocery in Coeur d’Alene.

Searching online for details about the subject, I came upon a blog post, written by former local resident Jake Donahue, in which he eloquently waxes poetic about the wonderful wieners at “the Biggest Little Store in Town.” His haiku showcases the typical emotional and physiological response to this divine lunchtime tableau: “My mouth salivates/Three for a buck thirty-nine/Hot dogs are pure bliss.”

It’s unknown exactly when Gittel’s became the sacred homeland for this holy trinity of hot dogs. Elton Gittel might have decided to serve up discounted frank triplets on opening day way back when, or perhaps one of the many Gittel descendants who’ve run the store in the decades since had the winning idea. Either way, it’s been a legendary lunch bargain for as long as I can remember.

I had a roommate long ago who actually managed to lose a bit of weight by guzzling water and eating nothing but three plain Gittel’s dogs every day for both lunch and dinner. Probably not the healthiest way to go about it, but at the time the special was three dogs for 99 cents, ensuring that he always had lots of money left over for something to stuff in his bong.

Recently, a friend of mine offered to take her mate to lunch to celebrate their 10th anniversary. “Surprise me,” said her lover, and they ended sitting up at the lone picnic table on Gittel’s front lawn, holding hands and enjoying cheap hot dogs together in the autumn sunshine.

There’s no hype involved in a Gittel’s dog. There’s no piled-high Chicago-style action with mustard, onion, sweet relish, a dill pickle, tomato wedges and pickled peppers. You won’t find any German sausages, brats, kielbasas or cheese-filled Ball Park plumpers. The counter is devoid of extravagant toppings or condiments such as sauerkraut, bacon bits, mayonnaise or coleslaw.

Nope. What you get here is all you really need – plain old ketchup and mustard. It’s available in two squeeze bottles, one retro red and the other yesteryear yellow. If you prefer not to squirt condiments in public or want to avoid messy accidents in the car, Gittel’s has been benevolent enough to provide to-go packets.

The creative topping options do expand some if you explore the aisles of the tiny Gittel’s grocery section for inspiration. Spray some Easy Cheese all up in there, pour on a can of cheap chili, and sprinkle it with crumbled beef jerky. Voila! It’s a poor man’s Coney Island dog.

Hot dogs are the single, solitary item on the Gittel’s deli menu, and if for some odd reason you only want one or two, you’ll have to pay the jacked-up price of 59 cents each.

The dogs at Gittel’s are self-serve, and they fire up the machine just in time for breakfast. Certainly, a hot dog cooker like the one Gittel’s uses hasn’t been available since at least around the time when TV’s “Fantasy Island” was canceled. The wieners are skewered roughly on a rotating steel spit with spikes and broiled under a hot lamp. This lends them the sweaty, tan complexion of that show’s ever-smiling host, Ricardo Montalban. However, their length is more akin to the height of co-star Hervé Villechaize.

Still, they’re sufficiently juicy and tasty, and when you’re getting three, who cares? The steamy white buns are warmed in the upper compartment and are always fresh, but they require some delicacy not to cause unnecessary squishing or tearing. Cardboard beer boxes are halved and piled next to the machine to use as trays that perfectly fit three dogs. The only extravagance is the white paper hot dog holders, which do a great job of holding together their cargo.

If I get extra lucky in my scrounge for pennies and find a few crumpled dollar bills in an old pants pocket, I might throw in a bag of Sun Chips and a bottle of lemonade and really feel like I’m living it up. However, with Gittel’s dogs, add-ons aren’t even necessary to feel like a hot dog pauper in emperor’s clothing.

Bakery by the Lake

Bakery by the Lake
314 N. 3rd St., Cd’A, (208) 209-3129
601 E. Front St. Suite 104, Cd’A (208) 415-0681

"Remember, man does not live on bread alone: sometimes he needs a little buttering up." ~ John C. Maxwell

Different varieties of bread have been a staple in the diet of virtually every culture since man first decided to smear lizard jelly across a chewy hunk of unleavened barley flat cake during the New Stone Age. Over the years, the act of mixing ground-up grains and water with whatever else is handy has resulted in countless varieties, from Persian lavashs and Ethiopian injera, to Mexican tortillas and North American johnnycakes. Egyptians were the first to add yeast into the mix and it has often been speculated that Cleopatra herself used to accompany her vessels of Star of Horus wine with mashed-up balls of Wonder Bread.

It was during the Middle Ages in Europe that the bakery as we know it today was established, a concept most fully embraced by the French, who to this day don’t blanche at the rather unappetizing act of toting fresh baguettes to and fro tucked under unwashed armpits. It is this style of boulangerie that most contemporary urban American bread makers model their shops after, including Coeur d’Alene’s own Bakery by the Lake.

I used to drop into their flagship operation on 3rd street occasionally during times of poverty, buying bags of their day-old but still delicious iced scones for only a few dollars. These were quite dense in composition and along with cheap 40-ounce bottles of malt liquor they kept me full and happy for an entire day. Well, maybe the malt liquor was the main reason for the happy part.

Obviously, back then, carbohydrate intake was no concern of mine. I’ve since given up the strong lager and am much more conscious about carbs, so I had some trepidation recently about checking out the new Bakery by the Lake store located on the main floor of the 20-story Parkside Tower building downtown.

For the most part, I was able to control myself. I came in to track down a spot of lunch and quickly located a deli cooler stocked with pre-prepared cold sandwiches, pasta salads, green salads and fresh fruit cups. I dug around in the pile of neatly-packaged sandwiches, selecting a nice roast beef and pepper jack cheese. I grabbed a container of the pasta salad and a bottle of flavored energy water and eased on over to the cash register.

I suppose twelve dollars isn’t a completely outrageous amount to spend on a quick lunch, but considering my overall satisfaction level, I felt it was a smidge on the steep side. Certainly the food was quite edible, but was about as interesting as watching a chess marathon on TV.

The roast beef was quality, the tomatoes tasted nice and bright and the lettuce leaves were fresh and crisp. The cheese was mild and performed its job just fine. However, the whole affair was dangerously close to something one might pick up at any grocery store deli zone.

Just like a pre-packaged Albertsons sandwich, it came with one lonely packet each of mayonnaise and mustard, and I’m big on condiments so I had to ask for several more. They ought to consider providing a better solution for in-store diners; squeezing the life out of those little buggers can be a messy hassle. The excellent multi-grain bread was the only touch of personality, and it really served to save the whole thing from being merely average. I would recommend using thicker bread slices; it barely held together in my hands and fell apart as I was eating.

Nothing could cure the pasta salad from inducing snores. The right ingredients were there: corkscrew pasta, broccoli crowns, carrot slices, red beans and garbanzos. However, the Italian dressing was bland and nearly non-existent. Obviously, the primary focus of Bakery by the Lake is creating all the wonderful baked goods, but if they’re going to delve into the lunch market, they ought to find a way to offer something with more jazz. I didn’t notice the sign on the wall behind the counter touting homemade soup and grilled Paninis until it was too late, but I suspect these are probably a bit more enthralling and I’m looking forward to sampling them on my next visit.

The staff at Bakery by the Lake was genuinely friendly and welcoming. Also delightful is their fantastic selection of guilt-inducing, calorie-rich items. There are scones, bagels, cinnamon rolls, pastries, muffins, croissants, and a variety of cakes along with a selection of fine artisan breads. After finishing my lunch, I opted to cheat on my diet with a big cowboy cookie and a rich Caffe Umbria mocha latte.

I tried to have dessert up on the building’s supposedly public third-floor deck, but when I got up there, the access door was locked. So I ate my cookie while sitting on the floor of the main lobby, ignoring the condo owners’ questioning looks and relishing all the calories and carbs in every last crumb.

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.

Pita Pit

Pita Pit
320 Sherman Ave., Coeur d'Alene
900 N. Hwy 41, Post Falls
271 W. Prairie, Hayden

Lesson 17: Alliteration: "Please Politely Pass the Plate of Pitas"

Pita Pigsty? Pita Purgatory? Pita Pity Party perhaps? There are certainly worse names possible than Pita Pit, but I do think they’re kind of selling themselves short with a name that evokes both snake-filled crevasses and dark, shadowy underarms. Far from being “pits”, the interiors of every Pita Pit restaurant I’ve had the pleasure to visit have been quite nice and clean. Maybe Pita Palace is overstating it a little, but certainly something more akin to Pleasant Pita Parlor would be more representative of reality.

Whatever, the name doesn’t at all seem to hinder the expanding popularity of this Coeur d’Alene based national chain of fresh eateries. It’s a winning concept, brought to North Idaho in 2005 by former Idaho Lieutenant Governor Jack Riggs, who purchased the fledgling chain and soon relocated the company’s national headquarters and training center here. Opening a Pita Pit is a hot business prospect for folks looking to invest in something that has an established, relatively risk-free formula for success, especially considering the cult following the chain seems to have built up so rapidly.

The finished product rolls out fast and is fun for the customers because it’s so participatory and more importantly, easy on the worn-out Velcro of their pocketbooks. It was an especially hot summer when the original store on Sherman Avenue opened, and the place was an instant hit, offering something refreshingly different from the heavy burger and fries routine.

They were also, and still are, the only place for the downtown bar crowd to stumble into after three, uh five Vodka-Crans, okay six, and create a huge, unnecessary drama, then sober up in tears over a stuffed, nutritious pita. Don’t risk driving drunk all the way to Denny’s when the Pita Pit is open until 3 a.m. on weekends and midnight the rest of the week, and is located conveniently close to an especially comfortable park bench where you’ll pass out waiting for your Citylink bus home and get woken up hours later by the wet, curious tongue of a poodle on the leash of a sunrise tourist en route to the nearest coffee shop.

Faster than you could say “established, relatively risk-free formula for success,” Pita Pit expanded to dozens more locations including Spokane, Hayden and Post Falls, which remains the only local location with the added convenience of a drive-thru. This is nice for the shy, lazy and hurried, but I always like to be a part of the production, get my nose in there and direct the construction process a little bit.

My favorite creation is one I call the “Ultra-Greek.” It includes both their dense version of hummus and falafel balls, which hit the grill for a few minutes to crisp up before being tucked away inside a wheat pita shell. Next in are fresh spinach leaves, mushrooms, red onions, black olives, cucumber slices, and garden sprouts. For the dressing, it’s a generous squirt of tzatziki sauce, a creamy blend of cucumber, garlic, and yogurt. I finish with sprinkles of feta cheese, which for some reason they treat like white gold and skimp on, so I always have to beg for a little extra. No problem.

Dropping into the Coeur d’Alene store for lunch today, I created another pita combo idea. I was craving the flavors of ham and pineapple, and I half expected to see some kind of “Hawaiian” style specialty pita listed with the other big names like the “Chicken Crave” and the “Dagwood.” Not the case, so I ordered the Black Forest Ham pita and had the counter girl fill it with pineapple chunks, romaine lettuce, onions, black olives, mushrooms, Swiss cheese and ranch dressing. Aloha kakahiaka! So tasty I wanted to spontaneously break out a ukulele and warble Elvis’ “Blue Hawaii.”

With a vast variety of ingredients on hand (Babaghanoush anyone?), Pita Pit certainly lends itself well to inventing your own creations, but their menu has plenty of pre-planned options for those who aren’t into heavy decision making. The Chicken Caesar is terrific, with the ever-grand marriage of grilled chicken, bacon strips, Parmesan cheese and tangy Caesar dressing.

The Greek theme continues with Lamb and Beef Gyros and Chicken Souvlaki, and traditional sandwich favorites like B.L.T. and Tuna Salad also make a successful crossover to pita world. The current “5 under 500 Calories” promotion is easy on the fat content but not the flavor with a Light Buffalo Chicken and a Turkey & Swiss. The pitas they utilize are remarkable in their strength, sliced open and hollowed carefully, stretched to full capacity with so many wonderful things, then pulled together tight and wrapped neatly in a paper package. The end result is compact yet massive, weighty, something substantial in your hand.

Today, as I was enjoying my Hawaiian pita, I texted Q. for his random thoughts about Pita Pit. He wrote back “I like their mid-east stuff, but they use the wrong lettuce.” “Eh, how’s that?” I typed back. He responded, “Iceberg. It doesn’t get anymore school lunch than that. If they used a Spring Mix or something more she-she it would look better, taste better, and in my case, sell better.” I knew I could count on Q. for a nice negative counterbalance.

The only complaint I can possibly muster is that while Pita Pit pitas are surely delicious and satisfying, the ingredients aren’t evenly distributed enough. In one bite, you get all lettuce and in the next it’s all meat, and in the next all veggies and dressing; the layers are geographically separate and they don’t really mix unless you strategically combine them by taking a half-bite off each end, an act I’ve managed to master. It’s a small sacrifice to make for such a Plentiful Perfect Pita.

Gittel’s Grocery

Gittel’s Grocery
1201 N Government Way,
Coeur d’Alene,
208-667-6816.

Some years, I tend to get a little over-extravagant around Christmas time and end up spending pretty much my every last dime. I like to gift people with gifts they might actually remember and use and I also enjoy going out for nice dinners and festive nights on the town. These things are never cheap, and this year was no exception. Now that the yuletide cheer has faded, my bank account is as empty as my cup of hot buttered rum at bedtime on Christmas Eve.
Still, one must eat and when cupboards are bare, desperate times call for desperate measures. In times of poverty, I know that digging around in the dark areas of the couch or car will unearth at least enough coins for a satisfying and classic favorite; three hot dogs for $1.39 at Gittel’s Grocery in Coeur d’Alene.

Searching online for details about the subject, I came upon a blog post, written by former local resident Jake Donahue, in which he eloquently waxes poetic about the wonderful wieners at “the Biggest Little Store in Town”. His brief haiku showcases the typical emotional and physiological response to this divine lunchtime tableaux. “My mouth salivates/Three for a buck thirty-nine/Hot dogs are pure bliss.”

It’s unknown exactly when Gittel’s became the sacred homeland for this holy trinity of hot dogs. Elton Gittel might have decided to serve up discounted frank triplets on opening day way back when, or perhaps one of the many Gittel descendants who’ve run the store in the decades since had the winning idea. Either way, it’s been one of the most legendary lunch bargains in town for as long as I can remember.

I had a roommate long ago who actually managed to lose a bit of weight by guzzling water and eating nothing but three plain Gittel’s dogs every day for both lunch and dinner. Probably not the healthiest way to go about it, but at the time the special was three dogs for 99 cents, ensuring that he always had lots of money left over for something to stuff in his bong.

Recently, a friend of mine offered to take her mate to lunch to celebrate their 10th anniversary. “Surprise me,” said her lover and they ended sitting up at the lone picnic table on Gittel’s front lawn, holding hands and enjoying cheap hot dogs together in the autumn sunshine.

There’s no hype involved in a Gittel’s dog. There’s no piled-high Chicago-style action with mustard, onion, sweet relish, a dill pickle, tomato wedges, and pickled peppers. You won’t find any German sausages, brats, kielbasas or cheese-filled Ballpark plumpers. The counter is completely devoid of extravagant toppings or condiments such as sauerkraut, bacon bits, mayonnaise or coleslaw.

Nope. What you get here is all you really need; plain old ketchup and mustard. It’s available in two squeeze bottles, one colored retro red and the other yesteryear yellow. If you prefer not to squirt condiments in public or want to avoid messy accidents in the car, they’ve also been benevolent enough to provide to-go packets for those on the go.

The creative topping options do expand some if you explore the aisles of Gittel’s tiny grocery section for inspiration. Spray some Easy Cheese all up in there, pour on a can of cheap chili, and sprinkle it with crumbled beef jerky. Voila! It’s a poor man’s Coney Island dog. Hot dogs are the single, solitary item on the Gittel’s deli menu, and if for some odd reason, you only want one or two, you’ll have to pay the jacked-up price of 59 cents each.

The dogs at Gittel’s are a self-serve, and they fire up the machine just in time for breakfast. Certainly, a Glenray hot dog cooker like the one Gittel’s uses hasn’t been available since at least around the time when TV’s “Fantasy Island” was cancelled. The wieners are skewered roughly on a rotating steel spit with spikes and broiled under a hot lamp. This lends them the sweaty, tan complexion of that show’s ever-smiling host, Ricardo Montalban, however their length is more akin to the height of co-star Hervé Villechaize. Sill, they’re sufficiently juicy and tasty, and when you’re getting three, who cares?

The steamy white buns are warmed in the upper compartment and are always fresh, but require some delicacy as to not cause unnecessary squishing or tearing. Cardboard beer boxes are halved and piled up next to the machine to use as trays that perfectly fit three dogs. The only extravagance is the white paper hot dog holders which do a great job of holding together their cargo.

If I get extra lucky in my scrounge for pennies and find a few crumpled dollar bills in an old pants pocket, I might throw in a bag of Sun Chips and a bottle of lemonade, and really feel like I’m living it up. However, with Gittel’s dogs, add-ons aren’t even necessary to feel like a hot dog pauper in emperors clothing.