Greek Street Pizza & More
225 W. Ironwood Dr., Coeur d'Alene
(208) 664-0604
Last time I crashed the Greek Street lunch party in September 2010, I ordered a "pizzaloni" - sort of an illegitimate love baby between a calzone and a hunk of deep fried scone bread. I thought it was fully brilliant, and I wrote:
"...when I returned home and opened the Styrofoam to-go box, my taste buds immediately started weeping tears of joy, realizing they were in for a treat like they hadn’t experienced in ages. Indeed, with an oozy meld of Asiago, Romano, Mozzerlla, and real Parmesan inside a lightly crispy golden shell of homemade dough, it caused a pleasant rush of food euphoria. The red sauce was a bouquet of garden-fresh Italian herbs and sweet tomatoes and the pepperoni was positively packed with flavor. Simply incredible."
That's pretty gushy-mushy, even for me, and although I was craving to re-experience the bliss today when I visited Greek Street for the second time ever, but the wall poster of a iconic looking basket full of a gyro and fries prompted my eyeballs to tell my appetite to reconsider.
The lone employee on duty was visibly annoyed with me at first, and I don't really blame him. I asked for the lamb gyro lunch special basket with extra feta, and he came back at me a bit abruptly with the news that Greek Street was out of feta cheese. A Greek restaurant out of feta cheese? That's like a Subway out of bread (this actually happened to me once), or a strip club out of dollar bills. It just ain't right. Especially when there's an Albertson's deli case ripe with cartons of feta cheese around the corner in the same shopping center.
So I was thinking, "uh...I dunno what I want now, maybe a pizzaloni after all. Maybe, but uh...what kind of pizzaloni do I want?" Or do I want a...uh?" There were other customers waiting on their food and I was holding up the show, and my man rightfully snapped at me that he would be back in a bit and would return was I was through with my fits of indecision.
He returned about six minutes later. "OK, I guess I'll take the lamb gyro lunch special basket after all but with a sprinkle of mozzarella instead." He rolled his eyes a bit at me and slapped my order ticket up on the line. In the ten minutes it took for my order to appear his irritation with me must have faded some - he issued me a warm "thanks for coming in", a wave and a smile as I turned and left with my take-out order.
My lunch, despite its to-go Styrofoam and foil wrap, actually looked pretty close to what had appeared on the pop-art-ish wall poster in the restaurant. My fries had turned a bit chilly, but were still very tasty - a sprinkle of Parmesan and herbs always serves to enhance the mood of any potato situation like culinary cymbalta.
The gryo was a delicious but messy beast. I had to stop eating at one point to go get a wet towel to clean up my desk, my creamy hands, and the front of my shirt. The tzatziki sauce was poured on that thing so thick and rich that every time I went to pick the thing up and take a bite, I practically ended up with the tangy white sauce in my hair and up in the crevasses of my...well...never mind.
Anyway, the lamb was cooked to an almost crunchy texture and it was terrific, the tomatoes, lettuce, and onions were mighty fresh, and the pita was warm and chewy-soft, not a hint of chewy staleness. Do they make the babies on site? If so, I want a half-dozen to go some time so I can make peanut butter and banana pitas for breakfast (Is that weird?).
Yes, despite the trace amounts of snarly and slow customer service (forgiven, it was sort of busy and he was the running the place solo), Greek Street is a clean, convenient and classic place for a variety of Greek lunch treats and power-packed pizza products. /alliteration button off.
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My chubby little typing fingers haven't been bloated in this sort of special way in quite a while. They've so missed the satisfied but uncomfortably full feeling that comes after an hour or so spent at an all-you-can-eat pizza lunch buffet.
Back in the day, the endless pizza slices and salad bar at Godfather's Pizza on 4th and Appleway in Coeur d'Alene was the backdrop for many face-stuffing events. We'd arrive just in time to watch the Sally Jesse Raphael Show on the overhead TVs, and get caught up in all the out-of-control-teens or drag queen antics. Sally and her goofy red glasses haven't graced our screens since around 2002, and the Coeur d'Alene Godfather's disappeared for good not much longer after that, so that serves to describe how long it's been since I've experienced some pizza buffet love.
And really, it was there the whole time. I knew somewhere in the dark corners of my brain that the Pizza Factory (formerly known many moons ago as the Pizza Shoppe), tucked away back on the north end of the strip mall/shopping center at Appleway and 95, served up an all-you-can-eat lunch spread, but it didn't actually occur to me until earlier today to pop in and check it out.
I must not be the only one who for whatever reason forgot all about their buffet situation. When a friend and I arrived at what should have been the height of lunch rush, the place was completely deserted, save for one lone office-y type lady, casually grazing away her lunch break and staring out the window at the wig store across the way. I thought "Ah, well - more pizza for us, I guess!"
But after paying the dementedly bored looking cashier girl and getting our drinks, we noticed that there was only one trusty little tray of pizza occupying the hot table, lazily warming itself under the heat lamp. But it appeared fresh, and the one pizza was made up of three different varieties - Hawaiian, classic pepperoni, and some kind of intense looking meat combo. I piled a slice of each on my beige plastic plate and delivered it to a large table next to the video game area.
I wasn't quite ready to settle in yet - a visit to a pizza lunch buffet wouldn't be complete without a trip through the salad bar. Kudos to Pizza Factory for stocking such a complete, fresh, and lovey salad bar despite the apparent lack of public interest. When I go for a salad bar, this is what ends up on my plate - lettuce (of course), slices of purple pickled beets, black olives, a ton of sliced boiled eggs, sunflower seeds, a pile of croutons and several large scoops of thousand island dressing. That's pretty much it - carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, and cucumbers can bite me. I always try my best to turn something potentially healthy into a carb and fat laden mess, and I definitely accomplished that mission.
The video arcade area of Pizza Factory isn't particularly enormous or impressive, but I was drawn to sit in that particular section of the place perhaps because I spent a large portion of my youth in the 1980's hanging out in environments where there was a solid wall of boopy bleepy noise coming from rows of electronic video games machines. It's a sound that's still comforting to me to me to this day, and eating hot pizza slices in that environment always transports part of me back to my teenage years.
I dug into my soupy salad first, and it was exactly as good as expected, and I mean that in the best way possible. Thousand island dressing is so viscous and sweet, it turns pretty much everything it touches into a sort of dessert. The sweetness of the pickled beets sealed the deal, and the boiled eggs lent a breakfasty feeling to the affair. Heck, it was like having all six daily meals at once (there are six meals, right?). For whatever reason, salad bars are rather rare these days and they are missed, at least by me.
The pizza at Pizza Factory is great! In my opinion, they are one of the most underrated franchise/chain pizza places in the country (120 locations in five states). I can't stand the sweet crust of Dominos Pizza, and their chintziness with toppings. I like Pizza Hut, but the sauce and general greasiness inevitably gives me death heartburn that lasts into the wee hours of the middle of the night. Little Caesars pizza is weak in too many ways for me to get into. But Pizza Factory does it just right. The crust is just the right thickness and baked to a crisp delicious golden brown. The sauce is bright and tasty and doesn't overwhelm the flavor of the plentiful cheese and toppings.
I think Pizza Factory survives on being a gathering place for larger groups of people, like kids softball teams and family reunions (we had one there a few years back and they gave us our own room and treated us royally). I've heard from a few in-the-know folks over the years that their sub sandwiches are gigantic and exceptional, and that their spaghetti and pasta dishes are excellent as well. Clearly, the place must get people-y at times - including the Pizza Shoppe era, they're one of the longest surviving pizza joints in town.
Chowing down on my truly fantastic mega-loaded slice of all meat pizza (pepperoni, Italian sausage, ham, ground beef, crispy bacon), I looked around the empty restaurant and wondered why the heck more people weren't taking advantage of such a great deal - $7.99 for all-you-can-eat salad bar, excellent pizza, and a bottomless soda. Maybe it was just a way off day, but the demeanor of the counter girl and the owner/manager guy that eventually emerged from the back indicated that they were used to the place being not-exactly-hopping during lunchtime.
I guess until the secret gets out (here it is, folks!), we will have the place to ourselves and as much thousand island dressing and mega-meat pizza as our hungry hearts desire.
Since opening earlier last month near the tail end of an unusually not-so-sizzling summer, Fire Artisan Pizza has been setting the downtown Coeur d'Alene restaurant scene ablaze. Basically, the buzz has been all Heavy Debbie up in local culinary circles that, to put it in the most irritatingly obvious way possible, Fire is hot. Wait - I think we can do better than that. How about: Fire is hotter than a two dollar pistol on the 4th of July. Even better: Fire is hotter than a nanny goat in a pepper patch. Or, my favorite: Fire is hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock in the desert. (Thanks to the Cliche Finder site for these gems).
Ironically, the first time I was able to try their product, it was a couple of slices of cold pizza brought to me at my bartending job by a friend who had visited Fire earlier in the day and had a bit of leftovers to share. It was a simple cheese pizza, and although Ellen Degeneres might tell you otherwise, a plain old cheese pizza isn't necessarily the most exciting thing in the world, especially when it comes to you at a temperature only slightly warmer than Lake Cocolala on a moonlit October night.
But I'd been dealing with a crowd of tipsy drama queens all afternoon, and I was starving, so even a cold cheese pizza seemed like a luscious treat at the time. And guess what: it actually was! Looking at the menu later on, I realized my friend had ordered a "Parma" (prosciutto, gorgonzola, pecorino, mozzarella and
provolone cheeses, finished with truffle oil - $14) but he had them hold the meaty part. I don't blame him really, because every time I think of the word "prosciutto" I once again think of Food Network hostess Giada Di Laurentis savaging the word in a hardcore over-pronunciation style and I immediately lose my appetite. Granted, she does have a nice eyebrow situation.
Anyway, the crust had gone from crispy to chewy on its long adventure toward my face, but that actually somehow added to its charms and it still tasted like a real deal delicious concoction. I ravenously finished everything in my friend's take home box, leaving him with nothing to actually take home. To make up for my uncontrollable piggishness and basic lack of social grace, I bought him a tall double whiskey and coke and both of us were quite content.
I figured that if a few slices of rather-less-than-fresh pizza could impress me that much, then it would be worth it for me to actually leave my recent constant work/Bewitched rerun cocoon to go downtown and make an attempt to put my tongue parts on a hot out of the oven slice or six of what Fire had to offer.
Hungry I was and hungry was I when we walked into the recently renovated Sherman Avenue spot that Fire occupies next door to the year-round "Christmas By the Lake" store I've never, ever visited (I lean toward Neo-Confucianism and am allergic to mistletoe). The hostess fluttered her hand around the room as she told my lunch pal and I to sit wherever, so we grabbed the table closest to the waitstaff station so we could hopefully hear them gossip and bitch under their breath about how horrible all the customers were and how they should all die in a "Fire"-y car crash in their 2012 Volvos on their way back to Woodnville, WA or Carmel, CA.
That never happened. The staff, especially our server Sean, were as prompt and polite and as Xanex librarians - no snatchy tongues flared. \There was no one for them to kvetch about - the place was basically empty save for a couple of random Craigslist dates happening in one corner and a young photographer guy with a Seattle problem running around very intently taking pictures of the place for a possible future "CDA Magazine" feature spread or something. Granted, it was around 2 pm on a Tuesday, so it was after the main lunch rush buzz most likely would have already come and gone.
Noticeable immediately was Fire's decor, which, also like the photographer boy floating about the room, seemed very Seattle damaged, but in a good way. Your basic nouveau retro circumstance. Bare concrete floors, half-walls made of raw, splintery wood blocks, open ceilings with exposed venting doo-dads, and giant black-and-white blown-up photos of (I think) random Seattle people and places doing the things that random Seattle people and places do best: looking cool in a naturally hip, slightly insouciant kind of way.
The plastic white chairs were retro like the chairs I might have sat on during first grade in 1978, but I was afraid they weren't quite sturdy enough for my frankly fat ass, so I chose a "booth" seat (aka an orange linoleum covered block of wood bolted hard to the wall). Adding to the artsy, gourmet vibe are the little round dishes of grey sea salt that adorn the center of each table, each filled up only a slight amount as if to say "we're too urbane to give you a full dish and you need to watch your salt intake anyway, Dumbo." Also, a nice touch was the fresh cucumber slices placed inside our water glasses - much more interesting than a boring old lemon to add interest to plain agua.
Don't get me wrong, Fire looks very cool (these lame ironic puns have got to stop!), but the main draw here is the simplistic fabulosity of the wood-fired pizza, made right behind the counter in a brick lined cubbyhole and brought immediately to your table all melty and sizzling. There are ten combo options available, and highlights include the "Banion" (bacon, onions, mozzarella cheese, tomato sauce - $12), the "Crimini" (crimini mushrooms, thyme, garlic olive oil, mozzarella cheese - $12), and the evocatively titled "Meat" (fennel sausage, pepperoni, salami, bacon, mozzarella cheese, tomato sauce - $15).
I love the whole musky chèvre thing, so I ordered the "Billy" (goat cheese, roasted red pepper, Kalamata olives, tomato sauce, fresh arugula ($13). This grand-to-behold pizza was even better than the cold one that my friend had delivered to me the week before - the peppery arugula was fresh and piled high atop sweet roasted peppers and large, par-melted chunks of crumbly goat cheese. The taste of the sauce was planets away from Domino's or Pizza Slut, with the distinctive flavors of the ingredients all popping in to say hello and dance a little jig with my taste receptors.
The crust was crisp, perhaps a bit too crisp for my taste, the only possible flaw I could find with the whole affair. I'm told that an extra-browned, borderline burnt crust is normal for wood fired pizzas, so I guess I'll let that one go. I had a slice of my friend's "Crimini", and it was magnificent as well, dense with rich mushroom taste. the pizzas at Fire aren't enormous, in fact they're just the right size for one person, which makes it fun to trade off and sample slices of what your co-conspirators have ordered.
The denouement to the climax of our glorious Fire Artisian Pizza tale was the literally mountainous, oven-fresh chocolate chip cookie Sean brought us out after we were already stuffed to the gills. There's always room for dessert! Especially when it's a literally mountainous, heavenly, doughy sort as this. Oh God, yum! By the time I paid the tab and got home, I'd lost complete focus on the rest of the busy day ahead and opted to tell the world to burn in a pit of heck in favor of a nice naptime.
"You better cut the pizza in four pieces because I'm not hungry enough to eat six." ~Yogi Berra
For just this week I’m changing the name of this column from “Get Out” to “Stay In” and covering something I rarely get a chance to talk about: pizza delivery. It’s the perfect solution to lunch or dinner during times of inclement weather or just times when you just plain can’t muster enough get-up-and-go to fix your wig and make a public appearance. Our area has no shortage of pizza places that will come knocking on your door in (hopefully) speedy fashion with a (hopefully) piping hot pizza pie for a (hopefully) relatively small amount of cash.
There’s no shortage of national pizza chains in North Idaho that saturate the airwaves during football games and clog your mailbox with coupons found inside those irritatingly messy bundles of paperwork that constantly arrive. If you can resist the urge to throw these mailers directly into the trash bin or fireplace, there are usually some pretty good bargains to be had.
Personally, my favorite of the chains is Pizza Hut (various locations, website), mainly because I’m slightly addicted to what seems to be their exclusive concept, the Stuffed Crust Pizza. Lining the perimeter of a pizza with string cheese and encompassing it inside the crust is such a simple and genius idea that the other chains were probably kicking themselves for not thinking of it first.
If nothing else, Pizza Hut has been generally consistent over the years. I always know what to expect when I open the box, their drivers are polite and speedy, and with their ongoing special of ten bucks for most pizzas, it’s hard to complain.
I was skeptical earlier this year when Dominos (various locations, website) hit the airwaves with their much-hyped “new and improved” pizza recipe, but I figured anything would be better than the pizzas they formerly delivered. They were one of the first pizza chains in existence, but their product never had a lot of personality, basically defining the notion of “cardboard crust”
For years Domino’s was probably most well-known for their delivery drivers who would frequently speed and get in car wrecks trying to adhere to the company’s now extinct 30-minute guarantee. When I did finally get around to giving their new pizza a whirl, I did have to wait 40 minutes, but I was actually rather impressed with its tangier sauce, livelier cheese, and buttery garlic-herb crust.
Garlic Jim’s (405 W. Neider, Cd’A, 930-4818, website) is the new kid in town when it comes to pizza chains and they seem to have already gained a cult following. The Northwest-based franchise earns definite bonus points for creativity with their toppings which include coconut, roasted corn, cashews and tortilla chips, four ingredients which if ever put together on a combo would indicate a munchies episode likely sponsored by someone holding a medical marijuana card.
In its only location outside of Washington State, Westside Pizza (15580 N Vera St., Rathdrum, 712-4580, website) wins in the “best name” category for its potentially fatal “Death by Pizza”, a combo which includes nearly every possible topping they offer, eleven in all.
Sahara Pizza (801 W. Seltice Way, Post Falls, 262-4011, website) is another mini-chain whose only two locations outside of the Northwest are in Bolivia, oddly. Their “Tikki Tikki” is a wonderfully out-there combo of dijon chicken, feta cheese, pineapple, marinated artichoke hearts and fresh garlic, atop a layer of pesto herb sauce, and their “Bacon Cheeseburger Paradise” Pizza is enough to make a cholesterol queen scream.
I raved last month about Greek Street Pizza and More (226 W. Ironwood Dr., Cd'A, 664-0604, website), so there’s no need rehash the details but I will say that after another return visit, I’ve concluded they serve up the freshest and finest pizza and pizzalonis in the region, and I predict the family-run operation will one day take over the world. And who else will deliver fresh-made authentic baklava to your front door?
Green onions sprinkled across my pizza were a first for me. And there are many possible firsts at Pepe Caldo (1606 N. 4th, Cd’A, 765-6010, website) with a roll call of intriguingly unexpected ingredients like Smoked Salmon, BBQ prawns, Andouille sausage and capers. Craving a ham-and-pineapple situation, I called them up for the first time recently, and they delivered a delightfully heaping “Flying Hawaiian”, which came topped with their special “Red Sauce Number 3”, fresh mozzarella, shaved ham, seasoned chicken breast, pineapple, mushrooms, red and green onions, and aged Parmesan.
Impressive to say the least, but not quite as wild as Pepe Caldo's “Chipotle Southwestern” with a creamy chipotle sauce, chicken breast, various veggies and cactus nopalitos. Not weird enough for you? For a mere $8 more, they’ll even throw on some slices of rattlesnake meat.
Greek Street Pizza and More
226 W. Ironwood Dr., Coeur d’Alene
(208) 664-0604
“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore” ~ Dean Martin
Please do not disrobe and put on a tacky backless gown. The stark-white, fluorescent lit interior of the take-out only Greek Street in Coeur d’Alene’s Ironwood Plaza may have you confused into thinking you just walked into one of the neighborhood’s many medical clinics, but you’ll soon discover that there’s plenty of homespun warmth and comfort to be had. Owner Peter Karatzas uses recipes that go back in his family at least 75 years and an outsized, welcoming personality that will keep you entertained and encompassed in anticipation for his edible masterworks to emerge.
Greek Street’s main attraction is pizza so brain-bogglingly rich and tasty, so organically crave-worthy and made with love from nothing but the finest, top-notch ingredients that you may never think of pizza in the same way again. First you’ll need to gather up the pieces of your blown mind, and then you’ll want to immediately call Dominos and Pizza Hut and put a voodoo curse on them for forcing such a pathetic, inferior product onto the American public at large.
Karatzas nearly goes overboard while boasting about his culinary creations, but as you may glean from my enthusiastic raving, he’s pretty much allowed to get away with it. “It’s just a fact, there’s no other place in town that even comes close to doing what we do. We are the best, and people are going to figure it out soon,” he bragged as I stood in the Greek Street lobby, tummy a-growl, waiting as his young son Telly got to work preparing my lunch.
He certainly has the history and experience to back up all his bravado. “I was a bad kid,” he told me in his animated, Greek accent. He continued on about how, perhaps as a preventative form of punishment, at age 10 his parents put him to work in the local bread factory in their hometown on the small island of Kalymnos. “Some of the recipes were 4,000 years old, so I really got to know my stuff,” he claims.
Prior to relocating to this area, the family spent nearly 25 years running a popular Italian eatery in Colville, Washington and if the endless five-star online user reviews of that place are anything to go by, he does indeed know his stuff. His prices may be a few dollars higher than what one might expect at a take-out joint, but at Greek Street you’re paying for one hundred percent quality. The matter of pricing brought up another one of Karatzas’ many stories.
Apparently, a customer at his old restaurant in Colville would complain regularly that the food was quite amazing but the prices were a bit on the high side for his liking. At some point, the man travelled to Italy and ended up paying $75 for a meal that completely paled in comparison to Karatzas’ signature creations. “After that, he never complained about it again,” Karatzas told me with a laugh.
Specialty pizzas range from $13.95 to $19.95 and include items such as “La Greca” (baby spinach, roasted red peppers, red onions, artichoke, feta, fresh garlic and oregano), the “Roman” (Proscuitto ham, Capicola ham, pepperoni, and four varieties of cheese), and the “Steakhouse Ranch” (steak strips, bacon, red onions, mushrooms, cheeses and ranch sauce). For solo diners, a variety of Pizzaloni are offered, which are similar to Calzones, but shaped more like an elongated bread loaf and significantly plumper.
True to its name, Greek Street also features a handful of Greek specialties, such as Gyros, Spanakopita (a spinach-feta cheese pie), Baklava, and Tyropita (baked chicken breast in phyllo dough with fresh cheeses, baby spinach and red onions). When I visited for lunch, I also spotted a daily special of a three-topping “baby pizza” for $5.95, which is likely the best option for wallet-watching lunch goers.
I opted for a Pizzaloni with Pepperoni and Olives and when I returned home and opened the Styrofoam to-go box, my taste buds immediately started weeping tears of joy, realizing they were in for a treat like they hadn’t experienced in ages. Indeed, with an oozy meld of Asiago, Romano, Mozzerlla, and real Parmesan inside a lightly crispy golden shell of homemade dough, it caused a pleasant rush of food euphoria. The red sauce was a bouquet of garden-fresh Italian herbs and sweet tomatoes and the pepperoni was positively packed with flavor. Simply incredible, and my generous portion of their wonderful baklava was a delicious way to follow up.
Hot tip: Keep your appetites ready. Karatzas mentioned that Greek Street is readying a sit-down location in Hayden’s Prairie shopping center with an expanded menu that will also include many Italian favorites from his old Colville eatery. See you there.
Veraci Pizza
Coeur d’Alene and Liberty Lake Farmers Markets
Despite the maddening crowds lining Sherman Avenue with their rows of disposable nylon chairs and regrettable American flag K-Mart fashions, we managed to find a killer vantage point for watching the annual Coeur d’Alene Fourth of July parade. My homegirl and I were both equally cynical about the excitement value of the parade, but neither of us had bothered with it for as long as we could remember, so we decided the night before the big event to meet downtown the next morning at 10:30.
We’d been hanging out on the corner of 6th and Sherman for quite a while, looking at our watches impatiently and waiting forever for the first police car to signal the start of the extravaganza. Happily, just as our feet and legs were beginning to throb from standing in one place for too long, we realized that we could trek right up the front stairs to the entryway of the Great Floors building behind us and enjoy not only a seat and an excellent view, but a private space where we could make catty fun of everything without getting dirty looks from the uptight citizens brigade.
Actually, despite a few dull patches and the less-than-ideal weather conditions, we ended up almost enjoying the thing. Highlights included the eternal and eclectic Perfection-Nots marching band, the ever-fashionable Mayor Bloem dabbling deep in motorcycle chic, and the Deer Park city float, which hosted three pageant queens in polyester disco outfits performing an impressively synchronized, Supremes-on-crack dance routine.
Our semi-bliss was completely harshed at one point by the Tea Party entry, surely the most ominous entry in the parade. It encompassed a gaggle of folks riding atop a massive, rumbling earth-moving machine, trite slogans megaphoned at full volume, the honking horns of Hell, and the blaring warble of distorted country music. It wiped out every other possible sound wave within a two block radius and caused my poor friend to go-wide eyed with fright and whisper to me “hold me close.”
As soon as we recovered from the trauma, we realized how famished we were and fortunately we happened to be right across the street from the new-ish downtown Sunday Farmers Market. My friend jumped up suddenly, “I need a break anyway, be right back.” I hadn’t a clue what kind of parade-worthy snack she’d bring back from the farmers market and was half expecting to nibble on a bundle of beets, so I was delighted when she reappeared with two paper plates piled with aromatic Neapolitan-style pizza.
I’d been intrigued by the sight of Seth Carey working his pizza peel in Veraci’s travelling wood-fire clay oven at the Wednesday downtown market a couple of times, but I’m usually a man on a mission (for another vendor’s amazing pesto-parmesan rolls) and hadn’t bothered to stop, so I was quite ready to give it a try.
Veraci’s single portions are actually an entire quarter pizza, so my parade pal had them split up two slices so we could both sample each variety. Authentic Neapolitan pizza is typically made with simply tomatoes and Mozzarella cheese and a subtle amount of toppings. They cook in a flash, baked for a mere 60–90 seconds deep inside an 800 degree stone oven. Carey uses locally harvested apple-wood to do the job, and brings to the area an expansion of Seattle’s successful Veraci restaurant.
Her first pick, Veraci’s “Earth Pie”, sprinkles sliced mushrooms, spinach, diced tomatoes, and feta cheese atop a sweet, chewy crust with a delicately crispy edge to rapturous effect. Our other slice was topped with asparagus spears, melted splotches of tangy goat cheese and thin slices of salty prosciutto. Prosciutto is one of my favorite meat products, not only because of its rarity and rich flavor, but also due to Food Network hostess Giada De Laurentiis’ amusing tendency to wildly over-pronounce the word.
Both massive slices were $4.00 each, quite a bargain considering the uniqueness and pure deliciousness of the pizza, not to mention the fact that the slices were larger than our heads. Finishing the last bite, we leaned back on the Great Floors porch a so lost in food nirvana, we were able to ride out the last stretch of the parade with a renewed positive outlook and a contentedly full belly.
Veraci may or may not appear on a regular basis at the Sunday market but can definitely be found at these locations: Cd'A Farmers Market (5th and Sherman) on Wednesdays from 4-7 pm, at and at the Liberty Lake Farmers Market on Saturdays from 9 am-1 pm.
MoonDollars
609 N Syringa St., Post Falls
(208) 777-7040
"I believe that the only way that the human race is gonna survive is to start colonizing space and setting up colonies on the moon, and then space stations." ~ Ace Frehley, KISS.
If I didn’t know any better, I would have had to guess that my giant burger and heaping pile of fries had been engineered by someone other than the wispy young woman standing behind the counter working the grill into a frenzy.
It’s not that wispy young women aren’t able to hold their own in a busy diner kitchen, but the sheer heft and magnitude of my meal suggested it was the handiwork of a big, burly, sweaty guy with a mustache and an attitude. Yet there she was, somewhat daintily wielding a spatula, a slip of a girl probably not long out of high school, dressed more like she was ready for a day at the shopping mall than a day spent cranking out manly man’s platters full of amazing food.
This minor incongruity was one of many pleasant revelations uncovered during a recent mid-afternoon visit to MoonDollars in Post Falls. The location itself is somewhat unexpected, sitting on the corner of Polston and Syringa Streets, the only eatery in a neighborhood consisting primarily of insurance offices and medical facilities.
The atmosphere is decidedly relaxing and the modern furniture, dim, low hanging blown-glass track lights, and abstract art in earth tones and deep reds come together in a style that I’d call IKEA Asiana. A captivatingly cool floor-to-ceiling clear cylindrical gas fireplace caught our eye immediately, and we chose a spacious table right next to its warm glow.
Tucked inside the substantial menu is a somewhat boastful printout of “Great Facts to Know About MoonDollars Restaurant”, but as we would soon learn, they have every right to brag. Everything seems to be undertaken with an organic, back-to-basics approach that adds an element of personality that makes the Red Robins and Pizza Huts of the world seem like utter fakery.
The Franz Bread deliveryman doesn’t even bother to call MoonDollars as all rolls, buns, cinnamon rolls, and pizza crusts are baked on site daily with locally grown and fresh ground Rathdrum Prairie Hard Red Spring Wheat and with zero preservatives, sugar, shortening or milk products. Burgers are hand-formed with 7% extra lean beef, and if plain old cow isn’t jazzy enough for you, they offer every specialty burger on the menu with lean ground buffalo.
The bulk of the menu consists of an entire galaxy of celestial themed items. We were too late to get in on breakfast, which is served until 11, but our minds reeled at the existence of the humongous “Sun, Moon & Stars Specialty Breakfast”, which is listed as “four eggs, applewood smoked bacon, ham, sausage, cheddar cheese, peppers, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, hashbrowns, double grilled with shredded cheddar cheese and topped with sour cream and served with golden hashbrowns and toast.” No it doesn’t make sense, but surely something that requires listing cheddar cheese and hashbrowns twice each sounds so good it doesn’t need to.
MoonDollars’ Rathdrum Prairie Wheat Crust Pizzas include the Moon Beam, the Asteroid Storm, and the Solar Eclipse, unusual combos which mate unusual flavor combinations such as creamy blue cheese sauce, chicken breast, and pineapple (the Blue Moon). The Moon Landing Chicken Salad Sandwich stars craisins and cashews, and the Shuttle Launch Salmon Panini takes off with grilled seasoned salmon, herb pesto sauce and provolone cheese on Grilled Rosembary Ciabatta Bread. I’ll stop the bad space related puns now, I promise.
Our patient and very cordial server had to come and go three times before we’d finally narrowed down our lunch picks. We both decided burgers were the way to go, and while we were both quite starving, we quickly killed the idea of ordering one of MoonDollars family-sized $25 two pound burgers, although the idea was quite amusing.
I was leaning toward one of my old favorites, the teriyaki burger with pineapple, renamed here the Sirius Burger, but in the end the temptation of a patty layered with cream cheese, pepper jack, fried onion rings and barbecue sauce won out, so it was the “Gypsi Star” burger for me. Plus, I’m sold on any food item that sounds like it could be an old Stevie Nicks album title.
It was an incredibly memorable, perfectly done burger so huge that half is still sitting in the fridge in a Styrofoam box, waiting to be enjoyed again. I sampled a few greedy bites of my lunch partner’s Super Nova burger and the richness of flavor brought on by the inclusion of a fried egg and crispy bacon nearly brought a tear of joy to these cynical, dry eyes. What finally opened the floodgates was the ridiculous pile of steamy, parmesan-sprinkled, fresh-cut sweet potato fries.
I lied earlier when I said no more puns, but we headed out full, impressed and feeling simply over-the-moon about MoonDollars.
“Pizza is a lot like sex. When it's good, it's really good. When it's bad, it's still pretty good.” ~ Unknown
Stumbling upon a local pizza place that serves it up by the slice is always cause for celebration, especially when that place has nine tempting varieties of Blue Bunny ice cream to celebrate the discovery with. As someone who doesn’t mind taking a solo lunch break from time to time, I rarely get a chance to indulge in pizza simply because I don’t want or need to order an entire big old pie to myself.
Fresh, melty pizza is my favorite and most guilt-inducing food fetishes, and that right there is really the problem. A slice or two once in awhile isn’t going to cause my weight loss plan to crumble and croak, but an entire box of leftover deliciousness would put a definite strain on the threadbare fabric of my willpower and would end up chasing my light vanilla yogurt off the breakfast table the next morning.
With their massive selection of delightfully carb-rich pizza pies, sandwiches, baked treats and other goodies, Valentino’s in north Coeur d’Alene would actually even test the willpower of Dr.Atkins himself. Owner Charlie Taranto left no pizza stone unturned menu-wise, with a sprawling and unique selection of items based on the recipes of his father Valentino, a legendary name in the Chicago-style pizza scene.
From what I can gather, Taranto’s entire life has been spent basking in the radiant heat of the pizza oven, and tangy tomato sauce runs through his veins. He and his wife Candy ran a handful of award-winning take-and-bake pizza restaurants in Southern California in the early 80s, a time when take-and-bake was still a new and risky business concept. Obviously, the idea caught on faster than it takes me to incinerate a 99-cent frozen pizza, and by the time the Tarantos relocated to North Idaho and opened Valentino’s, people everywhere were taking-and-baking themselves silly.
For those with a stronger knack for self control than I possess, Valentino’s serves five varieties of garden salads big enough to please two hungry tummies, and a Veggie Pizza on whole wheat crust that even brings zucchini to the party. Also on the low-fat fun list are their nearly two dozen smoothies named with a creative and somewhat surreal variety of names such as Strawberry Field, Oh My Papaya, Raspberry Romeo, Chocolate Cow, and Picasso. Don’t forget to top it off with a Fat Stripper Power Boost.
Naturally, Valentino’s pizzas themselves are the main hook and it’s not hard to see and taste why the restaurant was voted the region’s best pizza the last two years in a row in the North Idaho Business Journal reader’s poll. Along with the usual “build-your-own” setup, combos include the Hawaiian Delight, the Meat Lover, the Garlic Chicken with white sauce and the meatless Margherita Roma, which is as Italian as Don Corleone with Garlic Marinara, smoked provolone cheese, and fresh Roma tomatoes. Cosi Bello!
The Mediterranean delight seems to be one of their fastest flying specimens, as evidenced by the number of customers I heard speak its name up at the counter. I was fortunate to have arrived just as Taranto was pulling one out of the over to sell as individual slices for lunch. Feta, Mozzerella, and Romano cheeses; Artichokes, kalamata olives and sundried tomatoes; these are a few of my favorite things. The recipe is old school and in Valentino’s hands, reminds me of the beginning of a story once told by Golden Girls’ Sophia, “Picture it, Cicely, 1921…”
The thick, fluffy garlic crust was cut from the Chicago-style mode and was good enough, I would have eaten it by itself. Toppings were generous and my two slices were served piping hot, something that can be an occasional issue with pizza-by-the-slice. No problems here, and although I was pretty stuffed, I wasn’t feeling so full (or guilty) that I couldn’t sample a kid’s cone full of “Bunny Tracks” ice cream, a rich vanilla laced with tiny chocolate-peanut butter bunny rabbits.
Whether you take it and bake it, shake it or steak it, Valentino’s is a truly fantastic, locally-owned alternative to the ubiquitous national pizza and sub chain restaurants, and its memorable fare and charming personality put it at the top of the lunchtime heap.
I asked the checkstand girl at Petersons (former IGA) the other morning if she'd heard any dirt on what was going on across Sherman Ave., in the remains of the old China Gate Restaurant, which was badly damaged in a fire last year that killed the 1210 Tavern and the Gamer's Haven. A crew has rebuilt the exterior to resemble a triple-wide mobile home in drab beige and it's fugly as hell, zero personality. She told me she heard it was going to be a "sports bar" and that it would take the entire building. I can't imagine it, since the place seriously looks more like Aunt Edna's Retirement Home than a hip place to hang out. What gives? More importantly, what is the fate of the wonderful old dragon-shaped neon sign that has hung so proudly there for so many aeons? Surely, it deserves to be preserved in a museum.
I've been getting my first reports back about the new MacKenzie River Pizza joint in the old failed Cheesecake place on US95 and word is that it's pretty gosh darn cool. One of Stephanie's house cleaning clients said that "The Athenian" was actually some of the most intense pizza she had encountered in ages, and that the service was good to the point of being over the top cheesy. That's fine, as long as the pizza's over the top cheesy as well. Stephanie and I plan on conducting a thorough investigation as soon as we can get a large enough party together to be able to try several different menu items. She's already got a clutch of her other house cleaning clients on board, so it should be kind of a trip. I'm going to hang up my health plan for the night for this place, and I cannot wait. This boy needs some hot pepperoni. It's been many moons since I was able to indulge in a hot pizza pie and my eyes are moist with dreaminess just thinking about it.
Let's take a dip into the Get Out! mailbag, shall we?
I am a karaoke singer, also. I enjoyed your article on Mik-N-Mack especially about the weirdo lady. What you may not know, is that the hot spot for karaoke is Rusty's in Hayden. Centered between Gov't Way and Hwy 95, and tucked in just next to the new Holiday Inn Express, is a movin' joint. Karaoke is on Wednesday nights 7:00 pm to 11:00 pm. It usually is packed on Wednesdays. If you give me a heads up as to when you will be there, I'll show up as well. Kim Gittel, an old friend owns the place. He has established many neighborhood markets in the area and has become rather wealthy at this.
Herb
Could be fun, actually. Bayview Herb and I could sing a duet or two, maybe shoot some Slippery Nipples. He could be the George Jones to my Tammy Wynette. The Paul McCartney to my John Lennon. The Cher to my Sonny. As for the Gittels, they are a fine family and certainly I've contributed to their mighty fortune with my once-frequent purchases of the fantastic and filling 3 for $1.39 hot dog special at their "biggest little store in town". It was 3 for $1.19 not long ago, actually. Inflation, bah!
It's no secret that I have great disdain for anything and everything to do with Jimmy Buffett. Bully to the parrots, the beachy latitudes, and the cloying light rock sounds! Karaoke versions of "Margaritaville" have been known to turn me into a violent ashtray-thrower. I'd sooner eat Dung Beetle Supreme than dine at one of his hoaky burger joints. There's something so smug about the cliquey gatherings of aging fans who don painfully tacky hawaiian shirts and jerk arrythmically to Jimmy Buffett tribute acts on the tragic dancefloors of cruise boats and casino lounges. CDA Press columnist and local negative nelly Mary Souza has reprtedly been spotted getting all dance-funky at several of these types of events and the very thought of her doing it, her flaxen hair bobbing to and fro, her tight lips in an upturned grimace, makes my brain burn all dull and hot. If this is your kind of scene, you knock-kneed old yuppie you, you're in luck.
January 31 brings Parrot Fest at Silver Mountainwith Rum & Margarita specials, Hawaiian themed food, Hawaiian attire, and of course some anonymous Jimmy Buffett cover band. It'd take a case of rancid Boone's Farm Blue Hawaiian to get me to even think about showing up for that hot mess.
It's understating it a bit to say it's not often that experimental, post-punk, weird and cool acts make appearances in our neck of the woods, especially not in a place like Kellogg, and especially not in a place like Dirty Ernie's bar. Yet, it's actually happening January 31 when Idaho art-rockers Finn Riggins make an appearance there for the post USCSA collegiate ski races party. This band have a neatly original indie-bop sound that's loose and stiff at the same time, like Eno-era Talking Heads with a kicker of Pixies. Instrumentation is thick and unconventional, with angular guitars playing off steel drum riffs, atmospheric synths and gauzy female vocals on tracks like "Pankakes"; "Hraka" rides a rockier, Sonic Youth influenced tsunami of sound.
The trio have been garnering glowing notices recently in national music press and websites such as Impose Magazine who wrote about their performance at the CMJ festival in New York, "the best band of the day was Hailey, Idaho-based Finn Riggins, a guitar, synth and drum combo that plays pulsating, anxious post-punk that has an arrestingly ramshackle quality to it." Show starts at 8 p.m., catch them now so someday you can say you saw them at Dirty Ernie's back before they were huge. To listen and befriend, visit their MySpace page or check out the video for "Glove Compartment" below:
A few more quick notes from the Get Out! inbox:
Dear Get Out! I enjoy reading about all the places you go to and eat. I unfortunately don't get out to eat much. But there are lots of places I would like to try, thanks to you.
Regarding your last article saying goodbye to burgers, I just wanted to let you know that we raise Tibetan yak and sell our meat at local farmers markets but you can also sample our burgers at Diluna's downtown in Sandpoint or at Pucci's Bar and Grill up on Schweitzer. Yak meat is 95-97% lean, low in saturated fats, high in iron, protein and omega 3's. It is described as beef like but sweeter, not as dry as buffalo, and never gamey tasting. When you get to Sandpoint I hope you will try one out.
Thanks, Christine. Now that I know it's okay for my diet, I'll have to stock up on some yak next time I happen to find myself in Pack River. I'm actually quite curious to give it a taste. And DiLuna's is on my short list to review anyway, so I'll be sure to give the yak burger a whirl. Thanks for the odd but very useful tip.
And finally, I totally LOLed when I got this succinct message from my doctor after I mentioned him in Get Out! a few weeks back...
Re: Goodbye Cheeseburgers
What exactly is it that you like more about the Office Burger than my office? I hope next time we can make your visit here almost as good as it is!
Nate’s New York Pizza 920 N. Highway 41, Suite 1, Post Falls, 773-6697
Here in the Inland Northwest one could say that the apples were big, but in the “Big Apple”, it’s the pizza pies that have all the size queens swooning. New York style pizza is identified by its thin hand-tossed crust, lightness of sauce and use of fresh mozzarella cheese, but most notable are it’s magnificently large dimensions. In fact, even a mere slice of the stuff is so unwieldy that it’s traditionally eaten folded in half. Folding pizza into quarters or eighths is not recommended however, as one will surely end up with a hot plop of sauce and cheese on the front of their purple velour double-breasted jacket, and who can afford the luxury of dry cleaning these days?
Nate Banner, the man responsible for bringing New York pizza to a strip mall in Post Falls, says that a group of locally transplanted east-coasters were waiting outside the store on opening day last year, ready to challenge his output to see if it could stand up to the original back home. These folks ordered just a slice at first and were so impressed they immediately had to order a giant 24-inch pie to take away. Many have become regular regulars, returning sometime two or three times in one day to quell their craving for a slice of the good stuff, according to Banner.
Some purists claim that there’s something about using actual New York City water in the dough that makes New York pizza what it is, and some pizzerias located outside of New York even have gallons of that city’s water shipped in so they can be authentic as possible. North Idaho might not have the same hip, fashionable Giardia and Cryptosporidium bacteria hopping from trendy club to trendy club in our boring old Rathdrum aquifer, but as far as anyone can tell, the dough, as well as the rest of the pizza pies at Nate’s, tastes just as delicious.
I was tragically unaware of Nate’s until I received an email recently (thanks, Liz) touting Nate’s as “awesome” and suggesting I check it out pronto. I looked on Google to find their exact location and pulled up a few user-submitted reviews raving about their fabulous food and the jaw-dropping circumference of their pizzas. “Couldn't even fit it in the backseat of my Ford Focus 4-door,” wrote one reviewer, and I pictured them returning home and having to fold up cold slices to microwave after being forced to strap the huge pie to the roof of their car with bungee cords. “Word to the wise,” read another comment, “do not get the large pizza unless you are feeding 10 or more adults. Make that grown men; it is huge.” I grabbed my keys and headed out the door with a mission; to see if one slice of Nate’s pizza was really enough to satiate even this very hungry grown man.
I picked a table with a good view of the large screen TV which was tuned into the History Channel’s oddly fascinating show “Ice Road Truckers.” The atmosphere of Nate’s Pizza is simple, almost stark, but classy and relaxing. A New York Yankees flag hangs proudly along with a half-dozen large framed posters featuring black-and-white images of that team’s legendary players such as Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio and Billy Crystal. The place has a breezy, open quality with lofty ceilings, large screen TVs, pale orange walls and subtle industrial elements like pattered steel paneling and wrought iron chairs.
An unexpected blizzard was causing our fearless but freezing trucker to become stranded on the weakest part of the Ice Road when Nate brought out my sizzling slice, which was actually too large to comfortably fit on its two side-by-side paper plates. “Careful,” he warned, “that’s some pretty hot stuff”. Stupidly, I ignored his advice, overwhelmed by the intoxication of the olfactory and visual experience brought on by this holy slice of pizza heaven suddenly before me.
“Aarrgh!” I resisted the urge to blurt it out, although my soft palette was now melted like a cheap marshmallow. I quickly chewed and swallowed, trying to remain graceful in front of strangers, who thankfully seemed to be too caught up in the TV’s arctic drama to notice my pained gesticulations. I chased it with some cold Cherry Pepsi and when that didn’t work I popped some ice cubes in my mouth. I’m not thrilled to admit that I burn my mouth all the time with pizza, so I certainly wasn’t damaged enough to let the little mishap ruin my lunch. I let my mega-slice cool a moment and after spilling pineapple and olives everywhere, remembered that I needed to fold the beast in half before eating. Once I was able to get hold of the darned thing, I fully dug in. The freshness of the ingredients was obvious in the subtle flavors of the homemade tomato sauce and in the bright colors of the toppings. The mozzarella cheese tasted freshly grated (a notable difference from pre-shredded) and the crust was ultra-thin but pliable, not cracker-like, and very scrumptious. I blacked out slightly in a haze of flavor bliss.
Mission accomplished: one Nate’s slice is equal to at least three regular-sized slices, more than enough to satisfy. Their pizza gets high marks in all categories and easily ranks among the best in the region. Nate’s also serves a variety of massive sandwiches and salads, calzones, and spaghetti. Beer and wine are also available with homemade New York Cheesecake for dessert, Careful, after all that you may be riding home bungeed to the roof of the car.
Schlotzsky’s Deli 210 W. Ironwood Dr., Coeur d’Alene, 765-4121.
Hipper Than Hip and Trippin' on Rye
The classic rock radio being piped in overhead clashed not unpleasantly with the modern rock radio emanating from the kitchen. From where I sat, both were approximately equal in volume. The Cars’ “Let's Go” cruised in the backseat with Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” which marched shoulder-to-shoulder with the Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations” which surfed nicely in top of Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” and so on.
Normally, hearing different two songs at the same time makes me as cranky and irritable as a McCain voter, but on this occasion the musical mish-mash seemed to work. That dark, rainy eve Schlotzsky’s was remarkably comfortable, peaceful and still, and as I sat nursing a cold with steamy cups of Cheesy Broccoli soup and mentally combining the two music sources into one new fascinatingly chaotic tune, I began to wonder if I’d accidentally doubled my last dose of Dristan.
It’s the same dreamy feeling I get every time I visit Schlotzsky’s. Regular readers know I don’t like to spend a lot of ink on chain-style eateries, but I’ve yet to find any delis in town that keep me coming back the way Schlotzsky’s does, and the owners of the local franchise of the Texas-based deli are North Idahoan all the way. I’ve been frequenting the place since it was christened in 1997, and even through the fog of cold medication, I can’t recall having had anything but fine food and outstanding customer service. The smiling, hospitable crew that runs the show here are younger, hipper, and way better looking than you and I. Cool, modish fashion trends hide underneath work aprons and edgy haircuts are tucked into black Schlotzsky’s visors.
The hipness factor is so thick they’ve even named their current “limited engagement” promotion after the phenomenon. “Hip Chick” describes a trio of chicken sandwiches, and is also the phrase worn quite descriptively on the t-shirt of the counter girl, the perfect choice to go with her tan corduroy hip-huggers. I’m not sure how au courant my decision to go for a medium sized pastrami and Swiss was, but it was something I hadn’t tried and it sounded like a nice way to accompany my usual cup of soup.
I was lucky that night because the pot of Broccoli & Cheddar Cheese soup was hot, fresh and full. Schlotzsky’s always has terrific soup, and they’re kind enough to allow all-you-can-eat action (just get a fresh cup each time, as I was once sternly reminded by a germ-conscious employee). It’s obvious which variety is my fave, but they also make an awesome Chicken Tortilla Soup, a soul-warming Navy Bean Soup, and an awesome spicy Chili, among dozens of others. Typically, they have 3-4 soup choices on offer at a time, all in a well-stocked serve-yourself area.
Schlotzsky’s sandwiches themselves are unlike those served anywhere else primarily due to the use of a unique form of bread which could accurately be described as a giant, ultra-soft English muffin. The bun is piled high with meats, cheeses and other hip ingredients, then the whole affair is oven toasted to melded perfection, halved and served. “The Original” is the one that started it all at the first Schlotzsky’s back in Austin in 1971. It’s ham, Genoa and Cotto salamis with melted cheddar, mozzarella and parmesan cheeses on Sourdough with black olives, red onion, tomato, lettuce, and the ubiquitous “special sauce” that adorns nearly every “fresh-from-scratch” sandwich on the menu. “The Texas Schlotzsky’s” scorches taste buds with ham, cheddar and jalapenos on a jalapeno cheese bread, and the Turkey Guacamole on wheat is like summer in Puerto Vallarta. The Asian Chicken wrap is another frequent favorite of mine with its killer combo of Japanese tonkatsu and sweet chili sauce.
Also worth consideration is the quad of Angus beef sandwiches, the albacore tuna or the Fresh Veggie with spicy ranch dressing. Bagged chips are available as a side or as part of a “meal deal” and the fresh-baked cookies are a delicious deal at 45 cents each. Schlotzsky’s also serves a selection of first-rate individual pizzas, including the much-loved Thai Chicken Pizza. Consisting of grilled chicken breast, mozzarella, basil pesto and Thai peanut sauce and sprinkled with julienne carrots, cilantro, and green onions, I find myself inclined to order it every time I visit, but resist for fear of burnout.
“Angus” is a manly man’s word, bringing to mind images of thick, glowering cattle or maybe AC/DC guitarist Angus Young in his schoolboy uniform. I felt a slight rush of machismo (although it could have been the cold meds) as I ordered the Angus Pastrami and Swiss but it was quickly deflated when I arrived at the pick-up window only to come to the horrific revelation that my sandwich was served on dark rye bread. Ugh! I’m not known for being tremendously picky, but the flavor of rye is one thing I hadn’t been able to stand since I was a kid. I’d rather be a trouper than a complainer so I decided to give it a taste anyway. It had been many moons since I’d decided rye was the enemy and after a few bites I realized it was actually pretty okay.
After a few more bites I completely forgot about why I ever avoided rye bread in the first place, my mind drifting off to a happy land of peppery pastrami, melted swiss and tangy mustard, a very hip land where two different radio songs combine magically together in discordant harmony. Let’s call it Dristanland.
Weekly Recommendations: Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. Thursday, August 14 I'm a cat person. I'm really not that into dogs at all. I can tolerate certain ones, but I don't have the time or inclination to take care of such a needy beast. Cats just do cat things all day and you don't have to worry about it, save for filling the food bowl now and again. Dogs whine at the door, bark in the wee hours of the morn, sniff each others' dirty bits and shit right in the middle of everything.
If dogs rock your world, tonight is your big night in downtown Coeur d'Alene where the first annual "Dog d'Alene" event will be shaking like a chihuahua with a full bladder. The poochie parade is sponsored by Petco and the Downtown Association along with the Kootenai County Humane Society and will feature booths full of crap for your spoiled rotten little mutt.
Dog d'Alene is part of the "Sherman Alive!" extravaganza gala event that is being held every Thursday this month downtown, where they close the street and become a "pedestrian mall" between 5:30 and 9 p.m. Too bad most downtown businesses are too foolish to take the opportunity to actually stay open late and join in the festivities. C'mon business owners, it wouldn't kill you to stay open a few hours later!
Friday, August 15 I've always generally enjoyed Rob's Seafood, Burgers and Discount Cigs, so I was going to recommend a visit to the old-school Post Falls eatery today, then I stumbled across a new local food blog calledDad's Diner. Dad took the whole family to Rob's lately and was somewhat less-than impressed by the quality of the food. More importantly, he was horrified by the grunge and the unappetizing lack of tact shown by the staff. Hm. after reading this, I think I might stick with Paul Bunyan.
The place smelled like people actually smoked there. The salt & pepper shakers were greasy to the touch and the tables were coated in grime. What looks like "marbling" in the tables paint is simply grime that comes off if you rub your finger across it. Yuck-O!
Buckle up, here comes the worst part of this visit! The customer service & handling of the food. The employees here do not seem to take their job seriously. They go from handling packs & cartons of cigarettes to putting their unwashed hands on the hamburger buns. The oldest lady there (a manager, owner?) was eating pickles or fries (didn't have my glasses on) then picked up two buns & dressed them ( put on condiments) in her hands. The same unwashed hands she just put to her mouth while eating. I obviously have a lot of complaints concerning this place. But employees eating the food they are serving to customers, in view of the customers ranks real high on my pet peeve list! So, why did the lady at Rob's prepare those burgers in her hands instead of using the prep table. Well, so the big, lazy teenage boy could lye half his body on it and roll his head on it of course! Yes! This really happened. Then when they caught us watching they gave us some uncomplimentary glances.
Saturday, August 16 Back in the dark ages of the mid 90's, I lived in Seattle and one of our favorite sleazy haunts was a bar called the Brass Connection. It wasn't exactly the kind of place you'd want to take dear Auntie Mavis for tea and sandwiches, that's for sure. No, this was a throbbing disco of the gay variety. The pitchers of beer were cold and $3 and the people watching was beyond far-out.
One random evening the Brass Connection stage was invaded by at least a dozen sneering drag queens in big red wigs as "A Night of 1000 Wynonna's" unfurled before us. One by one they took to the stage, makeup melting under the spotlight as they lip-synced to hits like "No One Else on Earth"and "Girls With Guitars". I'm not the world's biggest fan of Ms. Judd, and I'm reluctant to agree with those who tag her "the female Elvis", but I kinda like her style, especially when it's parodied and paid tribute to by a set of huge trannys, some nearly as large as Wynonna herself.
Tonight's Cd'A Casino performance by the woman herself probably won't be nearly as fun or memorable as the drag version, but after all this is Idaho so it'll have to do. Poor Wynonna's career has yet to really rebound from the 2003 drinking-and-driving incident tarnished her once-shimmering country-queen crown, leaving her to thanklessly tour the Casino circuit for the rest of eternity. See you at the buffet, Wy-wy.
Videofy yourself, Wynonna style:
Wynonna "I Want to Know What Love Is"
Sunday, August 17 When I was growing up, one of my family's cheapest form of entertainment was to go to Open Houses and Parade of Homes events. It was fun traipsing through gorgeous homes we'd never be able to afford in new neighborhoods that were mere forests six months earlier. We'd settle in for a while, have a snack, maybe watch some TV - we would "try out" the place, fantasizing that we'd just moved in to our beautiful new home, often to the chagrin of the sneering real estate agents who were afraid to say anything rude in case we actually did have the money to buy the house.
Watching HGTV a ton in the last few years has brought a new dimension to visiting open houses as well: being able to critique the presentation and sellability of the home. Would that hyper-critical mean-spirited mother and daughter team on "Secrets That Sell" approve of or blanche at how well the realtor is marketing the place to the public. Note: dress up a little nice so you're at least taken seriously by the snotty real estate folks who hover around. You want to be able to get away with napping on the rent-to-own couch. Sundays are a great day to go Open House hopping, and here's a good place to start today - a couple of neighboring homes in Syringa Heights built by Bill Kohl and inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright with tremendous lake views. Full article & details here.
Monday, August 18 Today's as good a day as any to introduce yourself to the odd brilliance of Coeur d'Alene ventriloquist Hilma Volk and her many witty puppet "friends." A Google search reveals Volk is now a massage therapist and has a cowboy poet past and that, delightfully, her nickname is "Volcano". After discovering her videos, I'm a Hilma-head for sure. I say she's a unique contributor to North Idaho culture. Hilma, where can we catch your act in the flesh? For a full dose of everything Hilma, visit her site ManureHappens.com.
Ladies and gentlemen, for your videotronic pleasure:
Hilma (Volcano) Volk & Friends Tuesday, August 19 Dig really really deep in the couch cushions and just maybe you'll come up with enough cash to attend the "Winemaker's Dinner" at Coeur d'Alene's chi-chi 315 Martinis & Tapas at the Greenbriar Inn. Actually, $60 a head seems almost semi-reasonable when you consider the over-the-top line-up of courses, as listed below, each served with a different interesting local wine. If you're in, you'll need to RSVP at 667-9660, and fer gosh sake, brush your hair and put on a clean shirt, kiddo, you don't want these people to think you're a poor slouch. Check out this Top Chef-worthy list of culinary creations:
1st Course
2007 L’Artiste Viognier A light salad of butter lettuce and frisee served with segments of naval orange and blood orange dressed with a sweet garlic and cherry pepper vinaigrette garnished with a chive chevre
2nd Course 2007 Chardonnay Citrus beurre nante poached shrimp served with an apple slaw on fresh nectarines garnished with a roasted pepper jelly and cilantro oil
Intermezzo A crisp sorbet made featuring 2006 No. 6 White topped with a basil simple syrup garnished with fresh basil leaves
4th Course NV Switchback Red Roasted pork tenderloin grilled eggplant and charred grape tomatoes parmesan and onion mashed potatoes light currant broth
5th Course 2005 Stillwater Creek Syrah Grilled and roasted rack of lamb orzo pasta with gruyere cheese and crimini mushrooms finished with braised pistachios and fresh plum sauce
Dessert 2005 No. 6 Red A slice of luscious chocolate decadence served with fresh berries topped with a prickly pear and white peach mousse
Wednesday, August 20 It's Wednesday and there ain't nothing going on but the rent so swing by the newly opened Little Caesar's Pizza store in Coeur d'Alene (on Neider Ave. across from Costco) on your way home from work and grab a $5 Large Pepperoni pizza. Local pizza junkies were sick and sad ten or so years ago when the old Little Caesar's location (now home to Little Seattle Coffee Shop) was shuttered for good. It's not really the best pizza in the world, but it's cheap, consistent, fast, and All-American, pretty much the Pizza equivalent of a Big Mac. At Little Caesar's, everything is hot and ready to go, so there's no need to call ahead. Everyone I've run into lately to is abuzz with glee to have this place back on the scene, and I have to say I agree, although I see they no longer seem to carry the classic 2-packs of square pizzas in the paper wrapping that you had to rip open to get to the goods.
Enjoy your pizza over new episodes of Ghost Hunters tonight on the Sci-Fi channel. Nothing goes with hot steaming pepperoni pie like the boys of TAPS. lurking around in dark, haunted spaces with those glowy night vision eyes. Check it out on Time-Warner Channel 36 from 7-10, and prepare to become rapt by EMF readings and distantly heard clanks and clatters. The Top Ten Best Ghost Hunters clips video:
The Top Ten Best Video Clips From Ghost Hunters (TAPS)
