Meet Me at the Hn'ya'(pqi'n'n, Jimmy Two Wolf Moon, Jimmy Two Wolf Moon

The Coeur d'Alene Casino, that gigantic, shiny chunk of schist and glass out in the middle of nowhere, has recently finished a massive expansion/remodel and today is the day of official grand opening celebrations. Starting at 11 am, Chief Allan of the Coeur d'Alene Tribe and Dave LaSarte Meeks, CEO, will be hosting the dedication in the new "Skycatcher" area of the hotel/casino (skycatcher? I think I used to have a really ugly one of those things that my hippie aunt gave me to hang over my bed), tribal elders will be breaking out the giant scissors and cutting ribbons, and a drum group will be on hand to perform an "honor song" (Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" perhaps?)

Along with the expansion come a few new places to grab a bite or have a cocktail in between rounds of spending all your child support money in the coin slot of the "I Dream of Jeannie" nickel machine. Interestingly, these new eateries all pretty much have names that are going to confuse the heck out of anyone who wasn't raised on the Coeur d'Alene Reservation 100 years ago. They make me wish I would have signed up for Snchitsu'umshtsn instead of French at N.I.C.

Once upon a time, if you were in the middle of gambling and got a hunger pang, options were either the full-on indulgence of the High Mountain Buffet or the pizzas and cold-cut sandwiches of the snack bar. With the expansion, the Casino has added the Ts'elusm Steakhouse (translation: "stand before the fire"), which sounds pretty lush and lovely and is most likely mean and cruel to the pocketbook. The description from the Casino's website sums it up much better than I could:

Our USDA Prime Beef undergoes a 28-day aging process, which includes a full 14 days of drying aging, double the time of most prime beef. Steaks are char-grilled at a consistent heat of 850 degrees over a bed of locally-sources applewood seasoned with mesquite. 

Other entrees emphasize freshness and local sourcing, from Columbia River Steelhead, Salmon Creek Pork Sirloin from Southern Idaho and fresh clams from the Washington coast. We pair these succulent entrees with the rich seasonal bounties our area is blessed with: wild mushrooms, huckleberries, locally-grown veggies from neighboring farms. 

Pair your selection with one of our impressive wines hand selected by our sommelier

Mmmm, meat! According to promotional materials, Hn'ya'(pqi'n'n (no, my cat did not just sit on my keyboard, that's really what it's called) captures "the best of each season", and uses "fresh local ingredients to prepare each dish from scratch." It's "a fun atmosphere delivering comfort food with a twist". Nearly as twisted as your tongue as you try to say Hn'ya'(pqi'n'n, then give up and just call it by its English translation, 'the gathering place".

Items listed among the Chef's Choice items on their menu include a "Butter-basted Ground Short Rib Burger", "Idaho Potatoes and Beer-battered Fish and Chips" and "Handmade Soft Pretzels with Beer Cheese Sauce". I'm particularly excited about that last item - I love those cheese-stuffed pretzel bites that you cook in the microwave and seem particularly delicious after a long evening of bong rips and reruns of the Office, although I usually have my beer on the side rather than mixed into the cheese..

Bar Welukws' tagline is "Our drinks are mixed with fresh pressed juices, local seasonal fruit, and housemade recipes." Honestly, as long as they serve Pabst Blue Ribbon and double shots of Jägermeister, I'm all tickety-boo. "Mixologist's Choice" drinks at Bar Welukws include "The Great Northwest", "The Melon Cruise" and "The Zeppelin", about which it remains undetermined if it was named after 70s classic rock quartet Led Zeppelin (a drink which would most likely consist of Jack Daniels, tight leather pants sweat, Jack Daniels, big curly hair, Jack Daniels, and gnome juice.) Also, this "quiet bar" has a large, handcrafted deck, so you can look at miles and miles of nothingness on the empty Palouse as you sip your foofy drinks.

Don't fret, the old favorite eateries at the Casino are still present. The High Mountain Buffet is still there in full glory, ready to stuff your duodenum full of meat, lobster, and pastries, and the Casino's casual eatery, the Sweetgrass Cafe has recently revamped its menu and expanded it out to 4,533 pages, or at least it seemed that way looking through the .pdf they've posted online.

Last but not least (and most affordable of all) is the Twisted Earth Grill, located in the Circle Raven Golf Course Clubhouse. They just have normal food here, like BLTs and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, and everything runs in the $5-10 range. $3 will get you an "All American" hot dog, which is exactly what I'll be having so I'll have plenty of cash available afterwards to plug into some of those noisy, blinking machines. When I win big, it'll be a round of drinks on me over at the Bar Welukws. I have a feeling the crazy names of these places will be much easier to pronounce after a few stiff shots of booze.

(Images courtesy Spokesman-Review & CDA Casino)

"Expensive Eats" in North Idaho

A few weeks ago, the Inlander published its annual "Cheap Eats" issue, which lists Inland Northwest eateries that are easy on the wallet but still definitely worth repeat visits. Establishments on this side of the Washington state border included on the list  this year are The Fedora, Bakery by the Lake, the Garnet Cafe, Kelly's Irish Pub, and Sandpoint's the Dive.

Great picks, but I'd have probably have tossed in Bo Jack's (for their awesome bar grub) or Roger's Burgers and Ice Cream (after all, they are open in the winter for the first time this year), but what about those times when you've got hundred dollar bills burning in your pocket like a bad rash and you're trying to impress the date you hired from an escort service? Or even when you want to treat your old battle ax to something fancier than Zip's Drive in on Valentine's Day?

I poked around the web looking at some local menus and came up with some culinary highlights that will make you need to pawn your grandma's .45 to pay your DirectTV bill, but will most likely be worth it by creating an impression on your amour that is sure to have them hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign and reaching for the bottle of Astroglide.

Those of us on an unemployment check budget (pretty much everyone) might want to stick with the pre-fab sushi situation of the Super One or Fred Meyer delis (and really, both aren't too terribly awful), but a plastic to-go tote of mock-crab California Rolls probably isn't going to be much of a panty dropper. Head to Syringa (1401 N. 4th St., 664-2718) in Cd'A's marvellous midtown for a Rainbow Roll, which is a REAL crab California roll topped with four slices of assorted fish and avocado for $16. Follow it up with a large chef's platter of sashimi (raw fish with a separate bowl of rice) for $22 and throw in a bottle of expensive sake to get the conversation flowing toward first base.

Is the one who gives you the special tingles more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy or gal? Head due east to the Wolf Lodge Steak House (11741 Frontage Rd., Cd'A, 664-6665) for a famously, fabulously demented amount of juicy cow on a plate. The biggest buck for your bang is the Rancher, a doubly whammy of a 24oz.Porterhouse and a 16oz.Sirloin. For $44, that's 40 ounces (aka 2 1/2 half pounds) of moo meat, and it comes with a giant Idaho potato and green salad.

Because that simply isn't enough food to to completely butter up your lover and make them feel sexily bloated and full, you'll want to start off with an order of Rocky Mountain Oysters. It's a fact: everyone loves balls, especially in their mouth (oh c'mon, admit it). As the menu so wittily points out "these don't come in a shell", and although $15 is a bit much to pay for a simple teabagging session, it may save you some work later on in the evening.

Beverly's Restaurant, on the seventh floor of the Coeur d'Alene Resort (765-4000), is the default "fancy dinner" spot for every Junior Prom date and conspicuously consumptive tourist couple from Minnesota. It's a predictable local fine dining option and it garners somewhat mixed reviews, but for the most part they do create a seductive presentation and the views alone are worth the visit every once in a while.

Naturally, the best place to start at Beverly's is with an order of oysters on the half  shell,  the cliché of all aphrodisiac foods. Slurp down a dozen of these naughty little gems for $32 and you'll be telling the busboy to call down to the front desk and book you a discount park tower room immediately. Don't bother asking if they have hourly rates (they don't).

Stick with the bounty of the sea and follow up your appetizer with two orders of their Chilean Sea Bass, which is pan seared, cooked in lobster beurre nante, and served with lobster mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables for $38 a plate. Lobster mashed potatoes? Wot?! Sign me up, I don't even need a damn date for that action.

Even more spendy is Beverly’s Surf  and Turf, a 4 oz  medallion of prime filet mignon paired with jumbo scampi prawns, and accompanied by Yukon mashed potatoes, seasonal vegetables and "accoutrements" for $55. I haven't a clue what they mean by "accoutrements" but there's no damn way they could possibly be as habit forming and heavn'ly as lobster mashed potatoes.

Before you decide to go full-on with their 91 page wine list, consider popping into Wells Fargo and see what the latest terms are on a low-interest loan. A 2007 bottle of White Burgundy “Montrachet” from Domaine Romanee-Conti is a mere $2400 compared with the vintage 1945 Bordeaux Château Latour, which will run you a sphincter-clenching  $10,450. Or you could just buy me a Mercedes instead and we can just skip dinner and go straight for the bedroom.

You pretentious queens will most likely dig Post Falls' French bistro Fleur de Sel (4635 Iverness Dr., 777-7600). The Beef Tenderloin wrapped in apple wood smoked bacon isn't too terribly wallet-bursting at $23 and comes with something called "Maitre d'hôtel Butter". I'm not sure why that sounds remotely vulgar to me, but it does, so get over it. I have a dirty mind this week.

It's not as pricey, but I'd still go for Fleur de Sel's Duck Sausage and Duck Leg Confit with sun-dried tomato, fennel, ragout and balsamic, and a green peppercorn demi-glace, because it sounds like it was made from one of those random surprise ingredient baskets on Food Network's "Chopped" competition show. Let's hope it could withstand the force of Ted Allen's withering gaze.

Scratch (501 Sherman Ave., 930-4762), (delicious photo on left by Carrie Scozzaro) is the downtown Cd'A offshoot of the popular Spokane tapas-style eatery and it's the only place off the top of my head where one can satisfy that random urge for New Zealand Rack of Lamb with Blueberry Drizzle for just $28. It's a craving we all occasionally wake up in the middle of the afternoon with, isn't it? Scratch also features a classic Surf-and-Turf, which includes  a 7oz. prime tenderloin, three each petite lobster tail, red wine veal stock, parsley butter, Parmesan Au Gratin potatoes, and seasonal vegetables for $38. 20 years ago, when the building housed Pioneer Pies, I used to always order their amazing Indian Fry Bread scones with ranch dressing for $1.95. Anyone have a time machine I can borrow?

According to my (not so) intensive research, Cedars Floating Restaurant (1514 S. Marina Dr., Cd'A, 664-2922) has the most expensive meal in North Idaho with their Australian Lobster Tail at that oh-so-magical price point of $69. It's a 16-20oz tail prepared either flame broiled or butter sautéed and served with drawn butter, wild rice, and pan-roasted vegetables.

For $8 more, you can tack on an 8oz Certified Angus Sirloin, and maybe you should, because it would be too much food for one sitting and you and your sweetheart will be able to take home leftovers and make some lobster mashed potatoes a la Beverly's for breakfast the next morning to go with your sweet love hangover and your industrial sized bottle of Extra Strength Rolaids.  

Chimney Rock Grill

Chimney Rock Grill
Schweitzer Mountain Resort, Sandpoint
(208) 255-3071

How much hard-earned cash would you reasonably want to spend on a steak sandwich? Let’s say you were dining at a charming alpine ski lodge which touts itself as “quickly rising in the ranks of the nation’s top destination resorts” and having a “passion for the mountains, infectious zest for life, and top-notch service”, how much is a pile of sliced beef with a little cheese on a roll ultimately worth, especially when served with a side of apathy and inattentiveness?

Perhaps Schweitzer Mountain’s only “fine dining” establishment, the Chimney Rock Grill was just dealing with a busier-than-expected lunch rush with the resort’s annual Fall Music & Microbrew Fest happening in the courtyard outside. Three friends and I made the trek up to check out a performance by Hailey, Idaho’s indie rock act Finn Riggins, and just as our ears started popping on the way up the winding mountain road, our tummies began to moan and groan. The first order of the afternoon became to find someplace to make them shut up.

Although there were a few food tents in action as part of the festival, it was pouring rain and bone chilly, so we ducked into the Chimney Rock Grill to enjoy the warmth of the fireplace and watch the performance of the kilt-clad Albeni Falls Pipe and Drum Band through the window, albeit silently. It’s a cozy, comfortable place, with all the décor and accoutrements one would expect from a classic ski lodge; stone-and-mortar fireplaces, chunky wooden eaves, and tables constructed out of barrels and what appeared to be large, sanded-down saw blades.

“Today’s special is the delicious Flank Steak Sandwich with Gorgonzola” advised our server as she paused to catch her breath and hand us our menus. We quickly surveyed the minimal selection of offerings, nine possible items in total plus a handful of appetizers; a burger, fish and chips, a top sirloin, a pork chop, linguine with clam sauce. The prices were as lofty as the mountain itself, ranging from a $12 hamburger to a $22 plate of mushroom ravioli, but we were fast approaching death by hunger and were quite willing to pay a reasonable amount, assuming that we would be getting something truly fabulous in return.

Two friends decided to split a Ham and Turkey Melt, another decided to go for the stuffed mushroom appetizer, and I opted to give the daily special a whirl. The minutes ticked by slowly as we watched the pipe band take a bow and Finn Riggins began to carry their equipment on stage. Not wanting to miss the start of the performance, anxiety really began to set in when the band was completely set up and ready to go, and our food still hadn’t arrived.

Finally, our server returned with the goods and we immediately realized that everything was room temperature at best. My friends’ Ham and Turkey Melt wasn’t really a “melt” anymore, and oddly, came with the toasted side of the bread roll facing out, as if they’d stuck it together backwards.

My steak sandwich might have been better if it had arrived hot, but regardless, it wasn’t anything to phone Aunt Joan about. The steak was tough and dry, cut into strips that were too large to tangle with, and the gorgonzola cheese crumbles were miniscule and had dissolved into oblivion at some point in time, back when the sandwich was still fresh. It was served on a plain, store bought hoagie roll, and we had to eventually get up and hunt down our server to ask for a side of mayo, which still didn’t do much to bring the poor sandwich to life.

I ended up picking the steak chunks out and eating them by themselves, and liberated from the tyranny of the spongy roll, they weren’t too bad. The accompanying lightly herbed fries were cold but still somewhat tasty and left me wishing there had been more than a wee handful of them on my plate. The highlight ended up being the stuffed mushrooms, which were braised in butter and included a rich, flavorful combination of bacon, parmesan, and shallots and was served with garlicky mini-baguette slices.

I’ll admit it’s my own fault for not asking how much my unremarkable “daily special” was going to run me when I ordered it, but when our bill arrived with a $14 price point next to it, my spleen definitely tilted a bit. “Meh, typical resort prices I guess” my fellow lunch goers said dismissively, but a few minutes later as we stood in the pouring rain and listened to the band’s opening notes, I couldn’t help but feel a little bewildered, unsatisfied, and all wet in more ways than one.

5th Avenue Restaurant & Mitzy's Lounge

Fifth Avenue Restaurant & Mitzy’s Lounge
807 N. Fifth Ave., Sandpoint
(208) 263-0596

"I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not." ~ Kurt Cobain

If Kurt Cobain had gone into writing teen novellas instead of angst-filled grunge rock, he might have come up with some of the things the guy at the next table was saying. “Girls really hate me, especially my moustache, they think it’s so ugly,” he announced to his lady friend and anyone else within earshot. He continued on, without a hint of irony in his voice, “That’s why I grew it, I guess. It’s a symbol of how I’ve decided to abandon all hope.” My lunch partner and I snickered and rolled our eyes in unison.

A few moments later, my phone beeped. My friend had quickly composed a text message: “How do you like the ‘Douchebag Diaries’ back here?” The young man possessed a deep, resonant voice, and from behind the large potted plant that separated his booth from ours, we heard pieces of his pitiful story; his failed fame-seeking move to New York, his endless series of miserable relationships, his subsequent case of dime store depression. His self-depreciating manner was cute and all, but we quickly concluded it was mainly a ploy to win a pity party and hopefully another date with the poor girl sitting across the table.

It did provide some cringe-worthy entertainment to enjoy over our lazy Sunday afternoon lunch at the Fifth Avenue Restaurant in Sandpoint. The place was sparsely populated, just us, them, and a table full of seniors coughing so hard w

e were sure an ambulance would come screaming up at any moment.

We spotted the Fifth Avenue just passing by, pulled in by the kitschy possibilities of any place named Mitzy’s Lounge. On our way in, I poked my head into the bar area and found it surprisingly warm and inviting, dimly lit and

centered around a circular fireplace, with only a few harried housewives enjoying a mid-day whiskey neat or two.

Tempting, but even for us it was a little too early for the cocktail hour, so we opted to take one of the booths in the restaurant area instead. The ambience is 1986 Country Living, the brass-and-glass, ruffled valance, church-chair blue and shredded-wheat beige motif that was once the rage for family-style restaurants. Unexplainably, it does kind of work, and the place is clean, bright and comfortable.

We were told to sit wherever, and if only we’d known about our future neighbor, we might have chosen a well-hidden corner instead. Our tired brains were already scrambled enough by the enormous menu when Mr. New York and his

date took their seat, making it even more difficult to concentrate on a lunch decision.

The Fifth Avenue menu is all-encompassing, offering dozens of classic diner-style staples like omelets, burgers, sandwiches, salads, pasta dishes, steaks, even liver and onions. Their ongoing special is called “Dine Around Sandpoint”, and includes battered mushrooms, a green salad, chicken or veal parmesan, and a slice of carrot cake all for fifteen bucks. I was excited to see the egg, ground beef and spinach scramble known as Joe’s Special on the menu, a rarity that’s one of my all-time favorites. Nice idea, but that just wasn’t going to hit the spot.

“The bacon here is so dank,” I overheard our neighbor dude tell his friend. “I know a guy in the kitchen and they make a ton of it and it sits all day under the heat lamp and gets all crispy and good.” I do have quite a weakness for all-day bacon so my eyes immediately started scanning for some. They finally landed on the Chicken Swiss Avocado Bacon sandwich, a line up that has to be the best foursome since U2. My friend never tires of breakfast, so he went for the gusto and ordered the Huckleberry French Toast.

Our waitress was very attentive and down-to-earth and gets bonus points for her brave choice of lime green eye shadow. She returned with our meals in only as long as it took to hear a few

short chapters of Mr. New York’s tragic tale. His yammering fell into the background as I bit into what may be the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever encountered.

Our guy was right about the bacon, it was truly intense. The sandwich was piled high with it, along with lettuce shreds, avocado slices, and a thick tomato slab. The bun had been rendered perfect by a brushing of butter and was grilled to a delicate crispiness. I had to dig around under huge clouds of whipped cream and huckleberry sauce to steal a few bites of my friends French toast, but it was worth the effort. It was so delish that if I wasn’t already full, I would’ve had a half-order for dessert.

Having had our share of good food and bad angst, we rolled out of the Fifth Avenue feeling as if we’d stumbled upon an under-acknowledged treasure and vowed to revisit soon to tell Mitzy how her name led us to discover greatness.

The Sunshine Inn Restaurant Lounge

The Sunshine Inn Restaurant Lounge
301 W. Cameron Ave., Kellogg,
(208) 784-1186

The only purple hair we expected to see walking into the place was on the heads of Kellogg’s many lovely grannies. So we were mildly bewildered when we slipped out of the torrential summer rain and into the Sunshine Inn to be greeted by a smiling young waitress with shoulder-length vibrant violet locks and rocker girl gear. Her soundtrack was the corny, fist-pumping grunge of Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” which blared at a delightfully disruptive volume from the open passageway that separates the dining room from the chaos of the attached lounge.

“Anywhere you like, guys!” she hollered over the music and the outbursts of drunken laughter emanating from the just-off-work Friday bar crowd. We were cruising Kellogg looking for dinner and were drawn in by the gigantic, retro-tastic neon sign out front. Bill Woolum, whose dad poured drinks there in the 60’s, recounts his youthful memories of the place on his “Kellogg Bloggin’” website. He describes how then-owners Sig and Bunny Peterson lived in a small apartment behind the lounge and would “come right out of their residence onto the dance floor and circulate, saying hi, drinking right along with their customers, and adding a sense of cheer to the bar.” After years of increasingly seedy ownership and general neglect, the Sunshine and its attached motel sat looking sad and abandoned for a large part of this decade. Current owners Tim and Cheryl Moyer saw potential in the old beast, bringing it up to par and reopening in February 2008.

We were really just expecting burgers and fries, BLTs, tuna melts, that sort of thing. I was too caught up taking in all the oddball rummage sale bric-a-brac to get into the menu right away, but my dining partner was examining it with a dropped jaw. “Woah. Kinda spendy,” he warned. Certainly, the contents of the menu were completely incongruous with the rowdy, truck-stop atmosphere. Back in the golden days when it was known as the “Jackass Room”, it was quite a classy, steak-and-baked-potato destination dining spot. Perhaps the new owners are attempting to recreate that vibe, offering a selection of entrees mostly in the $15-20 price range. No matter, we were starved and somewhat impressed by a few of the options.

We considered an appetizer, perhaps some spinach artichoke dip or the “blistering” hot wings, but decided to nix the idea after reading that all dinners came with trips through the salad bar. It was tough to decide; maybe a nice seafood or chicken fettuccine? Or was I in the mood for Chicken Cordon Bleu, Coconut Prawns or a juicy, 16 oz. Prime Rib with sautéed mushrooms? We considered the hardcore comfort foods under “Specialties” like Chicken Pot Pie, Pork Chops and Applesauce, or Liver and Onions with Bacon. Part of me was still craving a greasy burger but alas, unless the bar side had a menu I wasn’t made aware of, it wasn’t an option,. Ultimately, I decided on the Friday “Chef’s Special”, the Clam Chowder and Seafood Platter, loftily described as a “ship of dreams.”

Sky, our purple haired waitress, breezed by to take our order. She told us to go ahead and help ourselves to the soup and salad bar while she conjured up our beverages. A man ahead of us in line lifted the lid of the soup pot and frowned in horror. “Uh Miss, I think this soup is done for.” I peered inside at an inch of a dried-up, chunky yellow sludge that had allegedly been clam chowder at some point. Sky yelled into the kitchen for a fresh batch and an unseen voice returned with “Sorry folks, we’re all out.” “Well, you can have as much salad as you like,” she offered apologetically, but the options on the bar were quite slim and only a scant few scraps of lettuce remained. “Um, it’ll be a few minutes on that one,” she said.

For some reason, I’d pictured a platter filled with fresh fish, something broiled in lemon butter, maybe crab legs or oyster shooters. I realized my error when Sky set down my plate and explained how they’d lost use of all but one deep fryer. Indeed, this “ship of dreams” was covered in breading and sailing on a sea of hot oil. Everything had to be cooked one item at a time, so the under layer of French fries and mini-shrimp was already cold, the middle layer of oysters and salmon (yes, deep-fried salmon) was lukewarm, and the top layer of cod was hot and somewhat edible (with lots of tartar sauce). Horrifyingly, my dinner pal’s Chicken Fried Steak was served with canned Veg-All, sprinkled with parmesan in an impossible, humorous attempt to make it seem “gourmet”.

We picked at our plates and as the crowd in the next room continued to audibly whoop it up, we began to wish we’d chosen to hit the bar for a liquid dinner instead. Not wanting to seem rude, we asked Sky for to-go boxes and lied “all that salad must have filled us up.” We laughed heartily at the tab, deciding it was worth the interesting experience. Thanking Sky for her efforts and relentless cheer in the face of doom, we exited the Sunshine and returned to the rain.

Eddie’s Bar &Grill

Eddie’s Bar &Grill
4496 S Arrow Point Dr.,
Harrison, 676-1305

I get excited about the rare occasions when I’m able to spend a leisurely summer evening sculling around Lake Coeur d’Alene on the family watercraft. There’s something especially rejuvenating about the cool, misty wind in my hair and the smell of the secondhand ultra-light menthol cigarette smoke that constantly emits from my parental units. I love the remarkable view of the city skyline and the ambient sound of frat boys vomiting over the sides of the Mish-a-Nock. Most of all, I enjoy the wine-induced disorientation that always causes our captain to panic and curse after becoming completely lost trying to find his boat slip in the black of night.

Recently, I had the honor of being one of the first guests aboard my mom and stepdad’s newly purchased speedboat. A cruise of the lake with my dear mother and stepfather is always nothing less than high adventure. I christened the craft “Mrs. Ro-boat-o”; she’s an 80’s model with retro-futuristic dashboard graphics straight out of the movie “Tron”. We decided to make Arrow Point our destination for the evening, specifically Eddie’s Bar and Grill. We were curious to see how it had changed since the Gozzer Ranch folks rolled in and took it over a few years ago, upsetting quite a few locals in the process by hogging city docks, lighting fireworks without permits and worst of all, they did away with the former Arrow Point Grill’s beloved Thursday night all-you-can-eat spaghetti feed.

Eddie’s and the surrounding condos have the look of an Alpine ski-lodge but the vibe of a tropical island getaway, with bikini babes sunning in lounge chairs and kids splashing around with neon colored beach toys. Drifting into the marina to park the boat, one can almost smell the scent of money on the breeze. When a valet met us on the dock to help tie down the boat and make sure we weren’t unwanted riff-raff, it became clear the place was no longer the ultra-casual “Cheers on the lake” of yesteryear.

The glint of the rhinestones sparkling from all the ladies’ big sunglasses rivals the sun itself for sheer glitz, not to mention the actual diamonds on their fingers, and nearly all their husbands sport a certain Hawaiian-shirt and white shorts ensemble that says “my doghouse is worth more money than your car.” We found a nice table on the expansive deck but before we had a chance to sit, a waiter zoomed in and snapped “That table’s reserved! Do you have a reservation?” It hadn’t crossed our mind to do so on a Wednesday evening, and we were told by the much friendlier hostess that it’d be about twenty minutes.

Settling into some overstuffed chairs in the waiting area, my mother and I passed the time by scanning the crowd for famous faces. Vanna White and Rush Limbaugh are have reportedly been spotted there recently, but all we could find was a guy who sort-of resembled a bald David Hasselhoff. We were melting in the heat and quite parched, and when our waiter finally led us to our table, he gave us menus and took our wine order but brought no glasses of ice water, a pet peeve of mine. I held my thirst as we discussed the ins and outs of the menu, noticing that most options were comfortingly traditional and surprisingly affordable.

Appetizers include classic pleasers such as BBQ chicken wings, shrimp cocktail and Walla Walla onion rings. The “Eddie’s Best” burger, the cheese steak, the B.L.T. and other sandwich selections come with a choice of fries, rings, a house salad, sautéed veggies, a fruit cup, or delightfully, macaroni and cheese. The Pulled Chicken Taco Salad, the Blackened Salmon Caesar and the Oriental Ahi with Cabbage Slaw are some of the more creative options for those who like to nibble the greens. Naturally, I turned my attention to the significantly more expensive entrée section after my stepdad told us he was footing the tab. As our waiter took our order, I mentally noted his name badge; it read “$cott”, a dollar sign standing in for the “S” in an act of subtle irony.

Our appetizer arrived, a towering plate of nachos which were tasty and visually appealing, multicolored chips under plentiful avocados, jalapenos, sour cream and small chunks of chicken. Oddly, instead of actual cheese they chose to use a canned nacho sauce which got cold and gloppy immediately. We were ravenous enough to not really care, but it was ultimately just a tease for the main course.

The wine was flowing and time tends to fly when we all get caught up visiting. Eventually, we started to realize that the folks at the next table, who arrived ten minutes after us, had ordered, eaten and were having their table cleared. $cott had come by at one point to say we were “only four tickets back” but that seemed like ages ago, and we weren’t sure exactly what that sort of kitchen lingo meant anyway. Our dilemma was that we needed to head back across the lake before sundown because my stepdad has a knack for getting lost on the lake after sundown. My mother and he once cruised the waters for hours, unable to find their way home and when they finally found Coeur d’Alene were so loopy they didn’t recognize it at first, thinking they had ended up at some dazzling new casino.

My parents’ patience was being tested so they decided to step out for a smoke. Of course, this is a classic, no-fail way to make the food arrive. My stepdad had ordered the Alaskan halibut and when the server set the plate down, his face grew suddenly long with disappointment. Certainly, at a nice place like Eddie’s, one would expect more than a nondescript strip of shriveled fish atop a small mound of shredded vegetables, especially for the price it was listed at. Even worse, he tasted it and fully grimaced. I snatched a piece with my fork to make sure he wasn’t just being persnickety. Indeed, it was rubbery in texture and devoid of flavor save for the faint taste of a burnt oven. Charitably, my mother offered him half her BBQ salmon, which was actually quite scrumptious, as were the accompanying huge onion rings, which they also shared.

My filet mignon, on the other hand, was awesome, cooked to a perfect melt-in-mouth medium-rare and served with plentiful hearty mushrooms and a whole roasted onion. It was impressive and memorable, as was the garlicky side of mashed red potatoes. When $cott returned, we clued him in on the halibut disaster and he apologized kindly, saying he’d be happy to subtract it from our bill. Even better, he told us that in lieu of our eternal wait, dessert was on the house. All bad feelings were instantly erased as we dug into our slices of Tuxedo Cake, a divine concoction made with alternating layers of creamy chocolate mousse, white cake, chocolate cake and an intensely dense fudge frosting. It was so phenomenal that I’d swim all the way across the lake just to have another slice.

We waddled down to the dock and back to the boat, stopping to amaze at a huge and superbly luxurious wooden boat tied up front and center. “That’s John Elway’s little baby” said the valet, which made my mom and I momentarily flustered that we missed a real celebrity sighting until we both realized we had no idea what John Elway looks like anyway. I’ve never followed football at all, so he could’ve been standing at the urinal next to me and I’d have never known it.

Unfortunately, we missed our goal to be back in town by nightfall. Actually, the lights that surround the lake are a lovely sight to behold; that is except for Hagadone’s obnoxious Casco Bay monstrosity which successfully attempts to recreate daylight. My mom and I were enjoying the relaxing night ride when suddenly we slowed down to a crawl. I looked up to realize we were feet away from running straight into the log pilings that surround Cedar’s restaurant. “Where in the hell are we?” my stepdad announced, a quiver of confusion in his voice. We tried in vain to direct him, but when he gets in that mode, his hearing and attention span fly away like a moon bat.

With a dull ka-thunk, we rode right over some unidentified water object and sure enough, the boat engine died. The smell of gasoline permeated the air as I glanced at my mom who was seconds away from absentmindedly lighting yet another Virgina Slim. “No!” I yelled and reached out to snatch it from her hand. Miraculously, the boat started up again without effort and after a bit of guidance my stepdad slowly began to recognize our location and steered us into the boat slip. I jumped off onto the safety of the dock, just happy we made it back in one piece. I thanked them for a good time and a wonderful dinner but made them vow to stick to boating during daylight hours only, for the safety of themselves and Lake Coeur d’Alene itself.

Grumpy's

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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