Art on the Green: Four Musical Acts

Local Musicians a Highlight of Art on the Green Festival

Next weekend’s Art on the Green is the annual festival’s 39^th year of bringing regional fine art, endless expensive pottery, legendary German sausages and unique performances to the lush campus of North Idaho College. Every year, festival organizers have a true knack for selecting top-notch local entertainment for both the main North Stage and the smaller South stage. Performers on the North Stage this year range from the grand Coeur d’Alene Symphony to Laura Hamilton’s perpetually amazing North Idaho Dance Ensemble to folk dancers representing Ireland, the Ukraine, and the Middle East. However, for music fans, the South stage will be where you’ll want to stake your claim to a shady patch of grass. A diverse assortment of musicians will be entertaining the crowds, including four acts who were gracious enough to discuss their music with me and answer some of my silly questions.

Singer/songwriter Cheryl Branz is excited about returning to the NIC campus when she performs on Friday evening. She attended classes here for two years before relocating to Colorado, where she earned a Vocal Music minor and a Journalism major. She looks back fondly at her time at the college by the lake, professing that “You just can’t beat the beautiful campus with its shade trees and knowing that the water is just across the road. Daydreaming about that water helped me through many of my classes!” After a brief spell in California, where she married her husband Clint, Branz settled once again in her hometown of Spokane, where she has been performing ever since.

She had been singing all her life in school choirs, in churches, at weddings and funerals, but six years ago it dawned on her that she was missing something important: a guitar. Inspired by artists such as the Indigo Girls, Jewel and Sarah McLachlan, Branz mastered the instrument and began writing her own original acoustic folk/pop songs. She’s been playing area coffee houses, wineries and festivals in earnest ever since, and has recently recorded her first professionally produced CD, Disappear. On the album, Branz’s voice is clear and strong, the tunes are highly melodic, and her lyrics range from intensely personal on songs like the title track and “I Judge Myself”, to rather silly tunes like “Flip Flops”, in which she cleverly describes said footwear as “an island vacation for my feet”.

Branz praises another act performing at this year’s Art on the Green, Sidhe. Their album Carnival is her absolute favorite local CD, and she enthuses that “Michael Millham is one of the finest guitar players in the region.” I obviously hit a sweet spot when I asked Branz to describe her music as a flavor of ice cream. She chose Rocky Road, musing “I can be a bit nutty on stage, but I can also sing about serious, sticky situations (enter the marshmallows). The chocolate part is just because I love chocolate. Mmmmm. Chocolate.” Cheryl Branz performs on the South Stage, Friday 8/3 at 6 p.m.

Sylvia Lazo of Brazillian Jazz act Olinda Duo loves performing at Art on the Green. “The event is so attractive and diverse and the audience warm and enthusiastic,” she says. “They come to enjoy the artists and an alluring summer day, two things that inspire me to get out there and sing." The Spokane twosome is comprised of soprano vocalist Lazo and classical guitarist Paul Grove, who also teaches the instrument right here at NIC. Olinda Duo perform a broad variety of material by mainly Latin American composers, from ballads and love songs to upbeat jazz and bouncy pop. The classical guitar is perhaps an unusual instrument for this type of music, but Grove adapts the instrument masterfully, creating lovely backdrops for Lazo’s slightly operatic Spanish vocals.

Sao Paolo native Lazo studied Jazz Improv at the Berklee School of Music, and has charmed audiences in four continents both as a soloist and as a member of several Latin ensembles. There’s an alluring sense of warmth in her voice, and Grove’s many years of experience shine through in his innovative and masterful instrumentation. Together they make a perfect match, like sweet corn on the cob and melted butter, which along with dazzling festival goers with their performance, must certainly be on Olinda Duo’s Art on the Green agenda, followed by a scoop or two of ice cream. Lazo describes her music as “an Acai ice cream, a delectable Brazilian fruit with a berry-coconut taste. I try to bring to my performances a nectarious selection of things I’ve grown accustomed to love, hear and play: Brazillian music, Jazz, and Spanish classical songs. The music is at times cool and intimate and other times spirited.” Lazo names the Latin fusion sounds of Milonga as one her favorite local acts, and also recommends jazz diva Shirley Horn’s album The Main Ingredient as essential summer listening. Olinda Duo play the South Stage, Saturday 8/4 at 2:30 p.m.

“Songs that echo in my soul like the sound of that freight train leaving the yard” is how Summit Sound owner Mark Stanton describes the music of Northwest folksinger Laddie Ray Melvin. Melvin’s songs are like a well-worn heirloom quilt, woven together from threads of traditional Americana, country, blues and a bit of Dylan-esque folk rock. His voice is weathered and rich, and his songs are dusty landscapes of life experience written from the perspective of a mature soul. His performances are captivating like hearing old ghost stories late at night around the crackling campfire.

Over the last ten years, Melvin has independently released two CDs, most recently In The Aftermath, which he describes as “a collection of tunes that considers what it means to be a human in times of trouble.” He has played countless festivals and venues throughout the Northwest, and his songs are frequently featured on local public radio shows, including the “Nacho Celtic Hour.” He says he is looking forward to playing at Art on the Green. “Any gathering of artists is bound to be a great time.” His music would be “homemade” if it were a type of ice cream, and when asked about his favorite local artists, he takes a democratic approach. “There are many, many songwriters in the region whose work I appreciate. I’m a member of the Spokane Songwriters Association and I encourage folks to check out the website.” Laddie Ray Melvin plays the South Stage Saturday 8/4 at 5:30 p.m.

Married couple Michael and Keleren Millham have been performing as Sidhe for over a decade and have become one of the most beloved and popular acts in the Inland Northwest. Their intimate performances are unforgettable, and their sound is truly uncommon among Spokane acts, or anywhere else for that matter. Michael’s intensely intricate and physical finger style guitar work has been known to make audience’s jaws drop. It’s difficult to succinctly describe the sound of Sidhe, although the Millhams do make an attempt with “Progressive Acoustic”, a term which may be too broad to really give an accurate impression of their ethereal, otherworldly music. Put traditional music of the British Isles, sufi, classical, Latin jazz, and art rock all into the proverbial sonic blender with Keleren’s opulent voice and evocative lyrics and you’ve got an addictively singular concoction.

Sidhe recently spent a packed three weeks touring, and according to Michael, the CD that saw the most airplay in the car was British cult folkie Nick Drake’s Way To Blue compilation, which gives you an idea what kind of music inspires them to greatness. They’ve graced Art on the Green with their presence before and Michael reveals that their favorite thing about the festival is “the visual art, the constant stream of music that is not our own, the competent sound guys, and the shuttle bus that goes close to Java on Sherman for a pick up (in more ways than one).” Hm. We’ll assume he’s referring to the café’s famous lattes, and not their attractive employees. If Sidhe were an ice cream it would be “gelato, heavy on the chocolate, but swirled with myriad flavors that have yet to be invented,” says Michael. For an act whose music is so hard to describe that it has caused myriad writers to summon up vague and cliched adjectives like “ethereal” and “otherworldly” (see above), that sweet metaphor is about as accurate a descriptor as any. Sidhe play the South Stage on Sunday 8/5 at 10:30 a.m.

Wah Hing , Kellogg

Wah Hing Restaurant
215 McKinley Ave., Kellogg
208-783-3181

I’ve heard it said many times in recent years and sadly, I have to agree: there just aren’t any really great Chinese restaurants in Coeur d’Alene. There is one in town that I consider to be acceptable, but it only creates a mild twitch on the Richter scale of excitement. Chinese is probably my favorite cuisine, and I’ve spent a lot of time and lunch money exploring the literally endless cache of Chinese joints over in Spokane. I’m pretty sure the Lilac City has more Chinese restaurants per capita than almost any other city - just drive north on Division and you’ll find dozens. Most are better than anything Coeur d’Alene has to offer, so whenever I long for the really good stuff, I head over the state line and pick one of my many favorite spots. With no place in Coeur d’Alene really getting those mouth juices flowing, I’ve just resigned myself to making that familiar jaunt westward whenever I need a fix of the perfect Almond Chicken.

Whenever this dilemma comes up in conversation, someone inevitably mentions the Wah Hing Restaurant in Kellogg. “Oh, you’ve GOT to go and check it out, it’s really good, the best Chinese place in the whole area…” So on a recent blazing hot Friday morning, Q. and I recharged our camera batteries and windexed our sunglasses and headed out for a day in the sunny Silver Valley.

When Noah Kellogg’s donkey went wandering astray on that fateful September morn so very long ago, it’s hard to imagine that he ever thought his little galena mine would one day turn into endless rows of shiny new Dodge trucks. The sprawl of the Dave Smith auto dealership has taken over easily half this small town. It’s a little surreal driving through parts of Kellogg where car lots butt up against more car lots, and just when you think there can’t possibly be more car lots, you go round the bend and run into even more car lots. We headed up the hill toward downtown and had no trouble finding a parking spot right in front of the restaurant. It was still a little early for lunch, so we decided to work up an appetite by exploring the area.

It was a little depressing to see that easily seventy-five percent of the storefronts in downtown Kellogg were sitting vacant and quickly deteriorating. On the brighter side, someone has purchased the old YMCA building and is turning it into “lofts” (read: high-priced condos), so maybe the Richy Rich folks that move in there will snap up some of the empty shops and revitalize the area with their Fruit Smoothies and Shabby Chic.

Meanwhile, the shopping scene here is obviously a little on the scant side, but worth mentioning is Papa’s Barn, an antique/vintage/thrift place that goes on forever, taking up three entire large connected buildings and their full basements. We lost an hour in there looking at amazing things like a large collection of Pez dispensers, a complete set of Kiss dolls, and a dusty box of vintage Playboy magazines from the ‘50’s and ‘60’s. They’ve converted one section of the basement where there’s an actual old mine shaft into a makeshift museum. It’s a dank little room with some abused looking mannequins sporting the hottest fashions of 1893 and a full human skeleton wearing a miner’s cap and leering up from a dark alcove. I ended up scoring a perfect copy of “50,000,000 Elvis Fans Can’t Be Wrong” and a disintegrating copy of the Spokesman Review dated October 9, 1951.

We were definitely hungry by the time we shuffled out of Papa’s Barn and out into the blistering sun. When we walked into the Wah Hing, I was hit by the powerful chemical aroma of some cheap cleaning agent. Granted, there are worse things you could smell when you walk into a restaurant, but it took a little getting used to. More importantly, the place was air-conditioned and cool to the max, and the waitress brought water and hot tea immediately. I wouldn’t have thought to order hot tea on such a sizzling day, but I poured a cup and it was so fresh and sweet tasting, it was actually refreshing.

The restaurant was percolating with lunch goers and our girl Terri seemed to be the only waitress on duty. To her credit, she never once slacked or lost her cool. We got the impression she’d been serving food here for many moons, and she fit into the natural scheme of the place just like one of the paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Some string-laden Asian pop music crackled out through dusty speakers, mixing with the dramatically punctuated Chinese-language conversation being held by the kitchen staff, lending the Wah Hing an authenticity that seemed oddly out of place in little old Kellogg. A stern-faced older Chinese woman emerged from the kitchen and sat down to relax a while amidst the chaotic lunch rush, and we assumed her to be an owner, sipping tea and eyeballing the proceedings like a hawk.

The menu itself was quite varied with both the usual suspects like Mongolian Chicken, Szechwan Beef, and Kung Pao Shrimp as well as some enticingly unusual items like Golden Crown Bird Nest (a combo of meats and veggies served in a nest of noodles), Westlake Fried Duck, and Dragon and Phoenix Special (includes lobster and chicken, cleverly). Naturally, a selection of American fare is available as well, although I don’t know anyone over the age of ten who goes to a Chinese joint and orders a grilled cheese sandwich. I almost always go for a combination lunch, since it’s the best way to really get an impression of what a Chinese place is all about. Q. and I usually try to order something different so we can taste a wider variety of items, but this time we both picked Combo Number 2 and neither one of us wanted to budge.

I must have looked totally stunned when Terri asked us if we wanted Egg Drop or Hot and Sour soup with our meals. This is a standard option in many regions I’ve visited, but in these parts it’s always Egg Drop only, even in most of the Spokane places I’ve dined in. Tears of joy welled up in my ever-so-jaded eyes as I ordered the Hot and Sour. I told her to start us off with some Fried Won Tons as well, which she brought out with our soup. Hot and Sour soup, if done well, is a miracle substance known to clear sinuses and cause happy brain tingle. Wah Hing’s version was perfection, crispy bamboo shoots and shitake mushrooms mingling gently with stringy pork pieces and white chunks of tofu. It was so good I pondered if maybe I should have just ordered an extra large bowl of the soup and called it a day. I was impressed that they actually put a garnish of shredded greens under the Fried Won-Tons, and thin carrot strips to jazz up the delicately sweet dipping sauce. So many places just throw them on a white plate and serve them with that toxic red goo, but Wah Hing obviously takes care in the presentation of their food, even with such a simple dish.

Terri brought out our two Number Twos and after admiring the visual beauty of the cuisine, we dug in. The batter coating the Sweet and Sour Chicken was incredibly light in texture, almost like a Tempura. The glaze was decidedly fresh and made from scratch, simply delicious with hints of sweet orange, making me wonder what that brown glop is that many Chinese places pass off as Sweet and Sour. Fried Rice and Chow Mein seem like they would be difficult to really screw up, but I have had many forkfuls of nastily burnt tasting rice and overly slimy, bland chow mein in my long Chinese-food eating career. Wah Hing avoids these pitfalls and serves fresh, fluffy rice sprinkled with green onions and BBQ pork shreds, and the chow mein is crisp and savory, with a sauce light enough that the noodles remain crunchy throughout. Both of us finished everything on our plates, a rare occurrence indeed. We cracked open our fortune cookies. Mine: “Do something unusual tomorrow.” Q’s: “A pleasant surprise is in store for you.”

People were indeed correct: Wah Hing is a great hidden small-town gem and is well worth the short drive east. We waddled out of there after leaving a twenty dollar bill on the table, astoundingly cheap considering that included both meals, the appetizer, the tea, and a well-deserved fiver for a tip. We decided to vacate Kellogg and spent the rest of the blazing afternoon swimming around in the cool exhilarating waters of the North Fork of the Coeur d’Alene River.

Tour of Midtown Cd'A Thift Stores

Thrifting. For some it’s an art; the thrill of the hunt, the promise of a real find. For some it’s a gift. They’re able to notice fabulous things sitting amidst the clutter of thrift store racks, things not visible to the untalented eye. For those on a budget, thrift shopping is often a necessity. For many these days, it’s a living. They arrive early and strip the place of anything that they think might have some remote value to some collector out there on eBay, from troll dolls and disco 8-tracks to actual antiques. They’ve made it harder and harder for the average shopper to score any treasures.

Old time thrifters often talk about the glory days before the internet and the emergence of overpriced clothing re-sell boutiques that snatch up the coolest thrift garb before anyone else gets a chance and then mark it up to near designer prices. That faded old Def Leppard shirt you donated to Goodwill is likely hanging from the rack of an über-trendy clothing shop with a price tag that reads something like this: “Retro - $35”. Recently, many thrift stores have gotten into the act as well, with roped-off collectible sections and high-priced “funky” racks. This is probably great for the various charities that benefit from the sale of these items, but frustrating for shoppers looking for cheap thrills.

Regardless, hardcore thrifters carry on, realizing that items still sometimes slip through the cracks, unnoticed by mark-up vultures. In a way, it makes the discovery of cool stuff even more thrilling. There’s an addictive quality to the natural rush one feels when that impossible search ends in a brilliant thrift coup. Coeur d’Alene, like many towns, has a large and voracious thrifting cult. For some, it’s a fun game of hide and seek, and for others it’s a down-and-dirty, ruthless competition.

Making the rounds from store to store on a weekly, sometimes daily basis, they recognize faces but don’t speak. They exchange glares that say “what are you doing in MY territory” and jealously eyeball the contents of each other’s carts. They know every staff member of every thrift store in town, and they shamelessly befriend them in hopes of a discount. Frankly, I think it’s fantastic and fully admire their inventive viciousness. After all, these are the folks who come away with the gold.

I’ve been thrifting in this town for eons, and there have been times when I’ve come perilously close to joining the mad cult, but normally I prefer just casually looking around to see what random items turn up. I’ve come to know the local thrift stores and all their quirks. Seasoned thrifters know that each store has its own personality with high points and low points.

We are fortunate to have a killer thrift mecca located right here in Midtown Coeur d’Alene, with no less than six stores perfectly arranged all on the same small stretch of land. I recruited my friend M. to provide a needed female perspective, and we headed north on 4^th street for a sunny day of bargain hunting mania.

The Idaho Youth Ranch Thrift Store (811 N 4^th) is known for its large Rock-n-Roll mural and it’s suck-you-in first aisle full of knick-knacks and foofaraw. Sad clown statuettes mingle with faberge eggs and aquarium décor in an attractively random, anything-smaller-than-a-breadbox kind of way. There’s also the never-changing tragedy of the “new merchandise” section. I’ve had my eye on a “new” kitschy Asian lamp here for years, but the un-thrifty high price never drops. This place is good if you’re looking for appliances and furniture which always appear to be clean and still-functioning, and with such low prices, items don’t stick around for long. Youth Ranch tends to be rough when it comes to men’s clothing, scant racks of faded flannels and ‘80’s Kmart sweaters, as if the donations just dropped off about twelve years ago. M. describes the women’s clothing section as having a “seriously spooky vibe, like someone in back is watching me shop on closed-circuit TV.” She did score a few recent Dean Koontz novels in the pretty okay book department, but I was disappointed that the once overflowing record shelf had shrunk down to a few mildewy stacks of reject vinyl.

Located across the street, the Women’s Center Thrift Store (848 N. 4^th St.) is astonishingly well-organized. Crocheted potholders go in the crocheted potholder bin and fringed denim vests go on the fringed denim vest rack. Clothing is arranged in rainbow order, and the wee book department is broken into a dozen labeled categories. The kitchen section is arranged museum-like with delicate oddities that rattle ominously when you walk through. Despite the neatness, I don’t think I’ve ever found anything substantial here. I’ve trawled through the men’s section many times, but it always seems like somehow everything has shrunk in size. Even the 2x items here look like Ls, way too small for this big thrifter. “Drag Queen heaven” is how M. describes the ladies department. “Who else wears a size 22 neon purple sequined gown?”

We head around the corner to the barn-like Humane Society Thrift Shop (916 N 3^rd St). I’m an animal lover so I always want to spend some bucks here, but I only occasionally have much luck. Once, a rare Devo CD box-set sat on the front counter with a $4 price tag, causing me to have a thrift meltdown right in front of the poor old woman volunteering behind the counter, who I can tell thinks I’m a psycho to this day. Recently, they’ve slapped some paint around and rearranged a bit, making for an artificially fresh experience. Neither M. or I bother with the clothes, knowing from past experiences that their racks represent the lowest-of-the-low 1997 High School Car Wash t-shirts and wide-waisted polyester pants. I did manage to find a set of retro-cool wall hangings from the ‘40’s featuring garish color photographs of landmarks like Snoqualmie Falls and the Grand Tetons. A dollar each: score!

M. swears by Goodwill (1212 N 4^th St.), but the trick is getting there exactly when they’re putting out the carts of new stuff. This place is usually crowded with screaming kiddos and the fluorescent lights always make me want to start photosynthesizing, but the 80’s music is always good here, allowing me to tune out the chaos and enjoy my shopping experience. I have found some good clothing items here – in fact, out of all the stores on this list, they seem to have the healthiest selection of men’s apparel. Barely used dress shirts that are still semi in style and lots of name brands. M. says she has acquired an entire season’s worth of new outfits in a single afternoon in the overflowing Goodwill women’s section. Men never try stuff on in thrift stores. They just buy it and if it doesn’t fit, oh well, it was only a couple bucks. However, I did wait patiently for M. to try on a pile of shorts and tops, and in the end she emerged victorious, buying four pairs. I chanced upon a like-new pair of black Sketchers shoes while I waited for M. to try stuff on, and I decided they were well worth the six bucks. And they even fit when I tried them on later at home.

Obviously, St. Vincent De Paul (108 E Walnut St.) is named after the patron saint of thrifting. If they gave annual awards for best Midtown CDA thrift store, St. Vinnie’s would take home the trophy year after year. The store has countless rooms full of ever-changing thrift goodness, and the place just goes on and on forever, until you reach the backyard area, which is also overflowing with miscellany. I always find something here, and have learned that it’s physically impossible to just run in and out really quick. Better give yourself at least an hour. It takes me at least that long just to look through the shelves and shelves of books and records. M. says the main women’s section is mostly useless dreck. “I was attacked by gem sweaters, I nearly lost an eye,” she says. I’m not always lucky with the clothing section either, but I might buy a shirt I don’t even really like just because it’s half-off day and the darned thing is only 75 cents. I never have enough patience for the famous discount clothing bins but M. loves digging around in there. She is the type with a real gift for thrift and isn’t afraid to get dirty, always pulling the most amazing cool stuff out from those dank depths. They have a great wall art section; my house is decorated mostly with items from here, including one of my all-time great finds, an original Picasso linocut print which I’ve yet to have appraised, but have seen similar items on eBay for upward of $1000. You truly never know what the Saint will have in store for you.

The last stop on our agenda is the Hospice Thrift Shop ( 1823 N. 4^th). M and I decided we’re a little scared of this place because the ladies who run the show here are notoriously cranky. Once I spent an hour here shopping, loading my cart with stuff. When I went to pay I was told that they don’t accept debit cards. It was like they’d never heard of the concept. Bewildered, I asked the clerk if I she would hold my items so I could run to the ATM and get cash and she told me no, and made me put everything back, which I did because her demeanor made me feel guilty for even causing the whole scenario. Sheesh. As far as merchandise, the crap-to-gold ratio is high, making this another place where you just want to skip the clothing department, and the book department, and the dish department, and every other department. They have some great overpriced, outdated technology – I don’t think these ladies realize how obsolete that Betamax is, as evidenced by the $40 price tag. The Hospice Thrift store is the kind of place where you might want to take granny when she’s got a jones for some crochet supplies. Maybe M. and I were just experiencing thrift burnout, but we both decided this old place needed a facelift.

Bardenay Restaurant & Distillery

Bardenay Restaurant & Distillery
1710 N. Riverstone Dr.
Coeur d'Alene
765-1540

http://www.bardenay.com

There’s a bit of a social stigma about dining solo. Last week, I decided to pop down to Riverstone and check out the new Bardenay Restaurant and Distillery, but all my usual partners in crime had either already eaten or were leery, thinking the place was going to be beyond their budget. I nearly said “forget it”, but I had a lucid moment. If Rachael Ray can go it alone (with a camera crew) for $40 a day across the globe, then surely I could get away with a solo trip to Bardenay. The problem is, solitary diners are often recognized by perceptive restaurant staff as being food critics, especially when the suspected food critic immediately starts scribbling away in a little notebook and snapping photos as soon as he is seated. Ah well, I’ve never really been one for discretion.

I suppose it is preferable if the place under review is unaware that they’re being scrutinized. And for some reason, when I’ve got a dining partner, it’s less obvious what I’m up to. It was my affable waitress Casey who finally got me to fess up. She had already been by twice to take my order, but I kept denying her, stalling while I tried to absorb the menu and take notes. After I finally ordered, we were chatting and she steered the conversation toward Bardenay’s recent write-up in another local paper. “Did you see that article? Do you know the writer?” She was poking around for clues. “Okay,” I blabbed, “I guess you caught me, I write about restaurants, it’s true…”

Actually, at that point it didn’t matter because I was already impressed with the place. This was only their second day open and I expected it to be chaotic, but the cavernous building was actually quite mellow and inviting. There were plenty of patrons contentedly dining and chatting, but I had no trouble finding a spot to land after the hostess told me “Just sit wherever you like, hon.” There was seating up at the bar itself and also a row of tall booth seats dividing the room down the middle, but I chose a traditional table near the patio door with a surprisingly gorgeous view of the new man-made Riverstone Pond.

A host immediately brought water, something I always look for in a restaurant as the basis for a first impression. Water good, no water bad. I looked around, fascinated by the simple elegance of the high wood ceiling, with massive exposed beams and long hanging lamps. Bardenay owner Kevin Settles replicated the unique look of his two other Bardenays in Eagle and downtown Boise, and the result is classy and dramatic. A large outdoor patio provides additional seating and overlooks the pond and its giant spray fountain.

The bar is the main visual attraction, a huge cherry-oak monolith that takes up nearly an entire side of the room, with diagonally cut wine racks on each side, and a complete selection of liquors displayed in front of a grand beveled mirror. The place has a look that I can only describe as modern old fashioned. Sitting regally in the front window is an 18 foot tall copper still, which is used to concoct their own brand of distilled sprits including vodka, gin, and rum. Yes folks, you’ve heard of on-site breweries and wineries, well Bardenay took the concept a step further and started a distillery. In fact, their website mentions that the original Bardenay was the very first restaurant/distillery combo in the entire nation.

Casey was so patient while I pored over the food menu. I had expected something rather high-end but the menu is affordably casual and bar-appropriate rather than gourmet. Still, they offer some truly unique options, such as their selection of Satays, which are basically Indian shish kabobs, with dipping sauce. I finally decided on the , which was just the right amount of spicy and grilled to a perfect moistness, and came with one of my favorite dips, Peanut Sauce. The presentation was delightful, served atop a colorful slaw of garnish veggies. The order came with two large, delicious skewers for a mere $6.95, and I accompanied it with a mixed green salad with lime honey mustard dressing. It was a step beyond ordinary, thanks to the addition of flavorful red peppers and zesty home-made croutons. The dressing itself married the sour of the lime and the sweetness of the honey mustard to create a completely fresh taste.

Appetizers here include calamari, fish tacos, and a fun Mediterranean plate, which comes with hummus, baba ganoush, sundried tomatoes and olive tapenade. The bulk of the menu is made up of salads and sandwiches, and Bardenay takes an original approach to both. The Pear Spinach Salad comes with your choice of chicken, salmon, or prawns. Sandwich options include Charbroiled Steak, Portabello Mushroom, Oven Roast Corned Beef Reuben, and the Bardenay Club. If you’re the type that has trouble choosing a side dish, good luck. Each sandwich comes with any of the following: fries, salad, house greens, spinach salad, apricot-walnut cous-cous, cabbage slaw, soup, or garlic mashed potatoes and gravy. Phew! All salads and sandwiches are big, and nothing will set you back more than ten bucks. If you’re feeling like an even larger meal is in order, there is a small selection of entrees as well, including Rum Pepper Steak, Hagerman Trout Filet, and Fettuccini Alfredo.

A blurb on the menu mentions that the word Bardenay was invented by sailors as another term for “cocktail.” And it’s clear that these folks know how to throw a couple of boozes together. The drink menu and wine list is about thirty pages long and bound inside a solid wood cover. Among the mind-blowing multitude of specialty mixed drinks listed are the “Iguanabana”, made with Bardenay Rum and Guanabana nectar, and the “Basil Instinct”, which teams Bardenay Gin and Patron Citronge with fresh pressed lemon and lime and a sprig of basil. The bartender will shake up or stir any type of martini you can imagine, and there’s a rotating mix of 12 brews on tap at all times. If wine is your passion, this is your mecca, with literally hundreds of options ranging from the local flavors of the Pend Oreille Winery to a $450 bottle of Gaja Costa Rossi vintage 1998, all the way from Tuscany. Next visit I definitely plan on tasting some of the refreshments, but since I was solo, I chose to play it safe and be my own designated driver.

The service at Bardenay was remarkable and friendly; the atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable, even for a solitary diner like me. Casey the waitress was a delight, checking back often and providing timely soft drink refills and friendly chat. We wondered whether or not the man-made pond had been given an actual name – she even asked around, but no one knew. She told me they were going to be running a couple of trolley cars back and forth between downtown and Riverstone, so people can party it up, back and forth, which we agreed was a truly fun idea. I can be terrible with names at times and as we were chatting I realized I had forgotten hers. When she brought my check it said “Server: Hot Lips”, which was cute as heck, and I couldn’t resist asking her “So Hot Lips, what’s your real name again?” Bardenay is open seven days a week and food is served until 9:30 p.m. with the bar remaining open until an unspecified late hour.

Day Trips: Antler's Restaurant, Libby, MT

Antler's Restaurant
442 US Highway 2 W.
Libby, MT
406-293-6464

When the Spring rain finally lets up and the Summer sunshine takes control of the sky, there’s nothing better than getting out on a day trip and exploring the natural beauty of our area. One recent Sunday, with the iPod loaded with fresh music and plugged into the car stereo, Q and I headed up US 95, with no particular destination in mind.

We cruised through downtown Sandpoint and it was already a-bustle with eager tourists looking for an overpriced bottle of wine or a crystal healing experience. As we continued north, we noticed that we had pretty much crossed an invisible borderline: land as yet untouched by big developers. I'd only ever been to Bonners Ferry once, to the casino, at night. I'd never really had a chance to check out the town. On Sundays, they pretty much roll up the sidewalks and shut 'er down. The downtown area is time warp where seemingly nothing has changed since the Johnson era, and frankly, it could use a facelift. Literally the only people we saw down there were some totally un supervised orange-vesters from Boundary County Jail doing some light flower gardening in front of the police station. Spooky. We stopped at the only open gas station to fill up and got questioning looks that said "yer not from here, are ye?" as if we were some kind of wild riff-raff from the big city.

We decided to head east on US Highway 2 into Montana where we discovered a little campground that sits right on the gorgeous Yaak River. There were already a few spots occupied with hardcore campers. We pulled into a spot and parked for a while to enjoy the lush greenness of mother nature. The rush and babble of the river was so hypnotic we had to wander down to the shore. I put my toes in and the water was surprisingly warm for this time of year. I picked out a few pockets full of interesting rocks to go in the aquarium. We made a vow to come back and actually camp at this magnificent secret spot (which is probably not secret at all and is overflowing with obnoxious campers all summer long.)

We blinked as we passed through Troy and missed it, but right outside of town we came across a little parking area at the side of the highway with signs that said "Suspension Bridge" so we decided to check it out. A little cement pathway led down to an enormous enclosed footbridge over the railroad tracks and down five flights of dizzy-making stairs. These stairs were constructed of steel that had been cut full of holes, the edges turned up and spiky to prevent slipping, rendering the steps nearly transparent and giving the illusion that you're walking on air five flights up. It was an uneasy feeling to say the least. They were bad enough going down, but I knew that they were going to kill me on the way back up.

Years of desk jobs and lack of time to exercise have rendered me tragically out of shape. I do enjoy walking and hiking, but I tire easily and my lower back gets unbearably sore after a while. Anyway, we followed a rocky little path that just kept going and going, with no suspension bridge in sight. I started to huff and puff and sweat and thank god there were nice rocks to roost on every few hundred feet. I felt even worse when little old ladies began passing me on the trail, "Get outta my way!" By the time we made it to the actual bridge we must have covered at least a mile and a half of winding mountain path.

The suspension bridge was worth the trek, but even cooler was the Kootenai River and Falls: I sat catching my breath overlooking one of the most gorgeous tableaus I think I've ever witnessed. I sat rapt and Q continued on the path, but I needed to relax a while so I stayed and waited. I laid back in the sun on a nice flat rock and was intoxicated by the heady sounds of raw nature until some lame teenagers came along and shattered the peace by loudly trying to push each other of the bridge. We slowly made the trek back to the parking lot, one bit at a time, and when we made it back to the bench at the top, I was out of breath and dying but actually felt good that I'd gotten in some much-needed physical activity. Now that I know it won't kill me, maybe I'll do it again.

Back on the road, our sudden thirst and cottonmouth became a primary issue, so we decided to cruise over to Libby for a bite. A big '70s sign that said "Antlers Restaurant" caught our attention. The giant menu was huge and colorful, varied and vivid, like Denny's. Is "Antlers" a chain or do they just have a really well-designed menu? We begged the waitress for a pitcher of water, and it was the best water we'd ever tasted in our entire lives. I was so parched, I couldn't get enough. I ordered a burger with swiss cheese and tomato on sourdough bread, and it was absolutely one of the most perfect creations I'd ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Seriously, I'd drive all the way to Libby again just for one of these. The fries were crisp and plentiful, hell, even the dill pickle spear was exceedingly green and crisp. Q agreed his Bacon Burger was worth getting moisty-eyed about. Maybe Montana cows just taste better, I don't know.

We had asked our waitress if she knew a cool route back to Idaho and she recommended heading down Route 56, then back over through Hope to Sandpoint. Dubbed the "Highway to Heaven", Route 56 cuts right through the gorgeous peaks of the Cabinet Mountains and the entire stretch is untouched by homes and buildings, just ancient forests. Deer meandered in every clearing, we had to slow down a few times to avoid them in the road. Further on, the view of Lake Pend O'reille from the Hope area was breathtaking. Low purple clouds hung over the deep blue waters, making it nearly disorienting to drive due to the distraction of the natural beauty. I'd never been through here and always wondered what the hype about Hope was all about, now I understand.

We decided to make it a point this summer to get out and explore or own backyard a bit more. As long as I've lived in Coeur d'Alene, I'm ashamed and amazed that there are so many places right in the area that I have never really spent the time investigating. Look out, Loon Lake, Genesse, and Polson, here we come!

Get Out Mailbag June 15

I'm always afraid to open the emails I get in response to certain columns - what if it's a business owner threatening my life after a bad review? What if it's someone telling me I'm a worthless writer and I should just give up and crawl in somewhere? Thankfully, I've gotten mostly nice feedback so far. I thought I'd take a moment to reply to a few random letters here on the blog:

Dear Get Out!
I always enjoy your column very much. I especially liked the information about Pho Thanh. Shortly after it opened I tried it and became very ill afterwards, so I have not been brave enough to go back, but I see it is remaining in business so I will give it another try. From your information I will know what to order. FYI Pho thanh is not the first Vietnamese restaurant in CDA. Back in the seventies a Vietnamese family arrived here, barely escaping the tragedy of war. They opened a restaurant with very good food-a lychee nut flan type dessert was very good-unusual. The restaurant, however, was short lived.

Nancy Decker

Wow, a Vietnamese place in CDA back in the seventies? I'll bet people here weren't quite sure how to react to such exotic fare back then, when the Resort was still called the North Shore and was known for it's chicken fried steak. Or even better, Tony's Supper Club with it's lazy susan full of veggies and pickled herring.

Too bad Pho Thanh made you ill, sometimes you just have to play it safe and find a menu item you like and stick with it. I could never stomach even the mere idea of trying the pho with tripe and various entrails, although my ex was never afraid of such things, and he lived to tell about it. Then again, his favorite food is Menudo, so that tells you what kind of iron tummy he has. Bleurgh! Thanks a lot Nancy, now I want to try some lychee nut flan dessert and have no clue where to find it. Another quest to add to the list, I suppose...

Dear Get Out!
While I have not eaten at Senor Froggy (and now I likely will not), bravo on your review.
There are many restaurants in town ( Coeur d’Alene ) that could use the wake up call to remind employees that there is a reason it is called the service industry. I appreciate great service, but lately, I am pleased when I get general treatment as a fellow human being, not an interruption. Unfortunately, that is all too rare. And I applaud you highlighting that it is the owners who need to smooth the wrinkles. Attitude starts at the top. I believe if employees are treated as irrelevant specs of humanity, it pours downhill quickly to the customer.

Cheers,
Jenna Botkins

Well Jenna, I guess there's no reason to totally boycott the place. You should at least try the Frog once if you never have. The food still might be passable, it’s just the staff that seems to need a swift kick in the nether regions. I always wonder if maybe I just happened to pop in on a bad day. Or a series of bad days in this case. Good customer service is rare, but does still exist. I guess when you’re working for someone who is paying you $5.25 an hour, you don’t really care if the customers have a pleasant experience or not.

I was sure I’d hear something pissy from the owners of Senor Froggy but haven’t yet. Really, I just wanted to do my part to get the place back to its glory days and send the message that they shouldn’t hire snot nosed little creeps to work in a job that requires a bit of common courtesy and politeness. If someone gets off on being rude to customers, they should get a job at a call center for a cable company or something.

Dear Get Out!
I thought I would respond to your Nightspot editorial. I haven't been around here for a lot of years, I moved back here in this area to be near my children about 3 years. I want to tell you that those country music places you speak of and the cheap beer. They were the fun places years ago, where everybody had a lot of fun. The Slab Inn was one of those. The state line village had 5 or 6 clubs, I guess the freeway ruined that. When People start paying these high taxes that are sure to come, and waiting in lines of traffic and generally waiting for everything you will see how the populous likes it. It will be great for the rich, not so much for the common man. Already property values are unreal. The great lake Coeur d' Alene is becoming a rich man's recreation area. Upscale I hate that word it goes with developers.

Frank in Post Falls

Ah Frank, you can’t turn back time – not even Cher could do that! Post Falls has tripled it’s population in 10 years, so the urban perils of which you speak are inevitable. Deal with it or move to Garwood, I guess. In reality, PF still ain’t no booming metropolis by any stretch of the imagination. Having lived in large cities, I know we still have a LONG ways to go before we really have to start worrying about real issues with traffic and overcrowding. Certain byways here do get backed up, but it’s nothing like the gridlock that ties up Seattle roads for most of the day.

I love how you say the freeway “ruined” State Line. Ha ha. As if it were ever somehow cosmopolitan to begin with. I mean, The Saddle Sore in used to be the giraffe's necklace back in the day, I’m sure. From what I’ve gathered, State Line has never been anything but a bunch of rickety shacks of ill repute. Nothing wrong with that, but I don’t see how the placement of Interstate 90 in nineteen-sixty-whatever had to do with it’s “downfall.” With the coming of Cabellas, the shanties in that area will soon be reduced to rubble anyways, distant memories replaced by strip malls and chain motels.

As far as Post Falls going permanently “upscale”? I wouldn’t worry. As long as there is an Idaho, there will be joints like the Slab and Big Al’s for old-timers to drink cheap beer in. See you there in about 35 years!

5 Live: Local Original Rock Bands

Five Opportunities to See Original Live Music in North Idaho.

Traditionally, in certain local night establishments it works like this: coupled with a few fruity cocktails, cover bands make the ladies happy by putting them in the mood to dance. And as they say, if the ladies are happy then everyone’s happy. Whether it’s a pop tune by Neil Diamond or by No Doubt, many people in North Idaho just want to go out and dance to the songs they’re familiar with.

Then there are those of us who are far more impressed by the idea of the live act actually writing the music they’re performing. For nightclub owners, it can be a risky proposition to book original acts in an area where it seems like not a lot of bar-goers are eager to step outside of their comfort zone and forgo the slickness and familiarity that a cover band provides. If the music turns out to be too out-there, monotonous or just plain rotten, customers will start running for the exit. But if the music is good, and the act starts to develop a following of fans, a crowd of customers is nearly guaranteed. Fortunately, more and more local venues have opened up to the idea of hosting original Northwest musicians on their stages.

This week, summer starts off packed with opportunities to stretch your musical horizons by catching some of these fine original Northwest acts in action:

Mistress and the Misters were recently called Spokane’s strangest band by the Inlander. For sure, they are currently the hottest, most hyped band making the River City scene, and deservedly so. Last year’s excellent Conflagration album was thirty years of blues-soaked garage punk, tightly compressed into a tense little ball. The new Emic EP loses the lo-fi grunge factor and adds some 80’s gloss and more spacious production work. Guitarist Chris Henderson’s guitar riffs are still stickier than Bubble Yum and singer Seth Swift trades his in-your-face shout for an enigmatic croon. It’s music that is quirky and jerky and highly imaginative. The mistress? She quit the band after the last record, but they decided to keep the name, so now the guys trade-off cross-dressing duties for their shows. Mistress and the Misters are sure to create a fine ruckus on their tour of the west coast this summer, and they’re warming up in Coeur d’Alene today with an all-day, all-ages show at O’Shays Irish Pub. Recommended if you like: The Hives, The Mars Volta, The Gossip.

Exit Zero have been churning out their brand of melodic hard rock since forming in Coeur d’Alene in January of 2002. As evidenced by the nearly 16,000 hits on their MySpace page, they’re one of the most name-recognizable bands in the region. Post-Grunge is truly the Energizer Bunny of rock-n-roll, its popularity never seems to wane for very long. Truly, Exit Zero knows the formula by heart – they’re not trying to make any kind of artistic statement, they just wanna rock you, and hard. Singer/guitarist Don Burkett has the quintessential Seattle-throat singing style and enough soaring, angsty riffs to make lighters and fists raise above heads and start swaying. Catch a special “unplugged” show on Friday night at the new Blue Grotto Lounge in Post Falls. Recommended if you like: Alice in Chains, Tool, Hinder.

Dan Purser has been penning tunes since he was a wee tot, and began performing in front of audiences at age 14. Currently he leads a full band called, cleverly enough, the Dan Purser Band. Listening to the recent Live in Seattle album, I get the clear impression these guys have been influenced by Dave Matthews and his band in ways that run deeper than a similar name scheme. It’s jangly everyman guitar pop with confessional, heart-on-sleeve lyrics sung in Purser’s crystal clear tenor. The band throws in the occasional funky moment to keep things edgy, like on the effervescent “Feeling You”, but they also aren’t afraid to bust out the tender love ballads that make the girls weep and swoon. The Seattle band will be making monthly visits to Paddy’s Too on Highway 41 in Post Falls all summer, starting this forthcoming Friday and Saturday. They’re also playing this week on Thursday at Moon Time on East Sherman in Coeur d’Alene. Recommended if you like Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer, Counting Crows.

The Shook Twins are, appropriately enough, two identical twins named Shook – Katelyn and Laurie, from Sandpoint. They both play acoustic guitar and sing in nearly the same voice, making for some amazing harmonic moments. Occasionally, they throw in some subtle electronic rhythm loops. Their songs are haunting and folksy, creating the kind of late night ambience that makes you want to relax with a glass of red wine in a candlelit room. These sisters write serious music that’s both fragile and tense and they cut a captivating presence onstage. In concert, they’ve been known to let their angelic blonde locks down a bit and perform their amazing “Beatbox Medley,” in which Laurie beatboxes wildly (makes percussive sounds with her mouth) to accompany Katelyn, who sings a medley of R&B/Rap hits. On paper it sounds like they might be trying to be silly or ironic, but witnessed live its clear these Idaho girls have got some serious soul. The Shook Twins perform this Friday at Café Doma in downtown Coeur d’Alene. Recommended if you like: Sarah McLachlan, Tegan and Sara, Ani DiFranco

Lithium.ID are quite possibly the only band from Hayden, Idaho whose fan club has its own MySpace page. Zac, Ryan and Steve grind out old-school grunge rock, the kind that disillusioned young men made back before the big corporations caught onto it, back when it seemed like every garage in the great Northwest had a band practicing in it. Nirvana’s influence seems to be everlasting in these parts, and Lithium.ID are clearly Kurt Cobain devotees. However, unlike so many bands out there who emulate the Seattle sound, they manage to inject enough originality that they end up sounding like no-one but themselves. Live, they make a nice big noise that steamrollers over everything, and they bring a certain undeniable energy to their performance that makes audiences respond in kind. It’s driving, melodic punk that makes you want to start jumping up and down. I think these kids are onto something. Lithium.ID rocks The Grail in Coeur d’Alene on Friday, when they play with Spokane hard rock act Shoved. Recommended if you like: Nirvana, Pennywise, NOFX

Pho Thanh & Café

Pho Thanh & Café
2108 N. 4th St.
Coeur d’Alene, ID
(208) 665-9903

“Nobody home, ha, ha ha!” These were the words of the host as I entered the front door of Pho Thanh & Café Vietnamese Restaurant on North 4th Street in Coeur d’Alene. “Ah…just kidding” he grinned. A few minutes after I settled in and ordered an older couple walked in. “Nobody home, ha ha ha!” he cackled gleefully. “Ah…just kidding.” Turns out, this was part of his routine and he was laying it on everyone who walked in the door.

Pho Thanh is a family-owned establishment, and I’d like to imagine the host must be the favorite kooky uncle of the bunch. Sau Nguyen and family established their café in 2004 in the former Skippers and GW Hunters building near where I-90 crosses 4th St. The Nguyens, including their 10 children, had previously lived in Spokane, where they ran Pho Tai Café. Perhaps their move eastward was prompted by the fact that there was no competition – Pho Thanh was the first Vietnamese place to establish itself in North Idaho, and the place has been booming ever since.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Vietnamese cuisine, let’s review the basics. The specialty dish is pho (pronounced “fuh”), which is a steamy soup consisting of seasoned beef or chicken broth made from scratch, clear rice noodles, bean sprouts, green onions, white onions, and the main ingredient, which is your choice of round steak, meat ball, soft tendon, or chicken. If you’re feeling a little experimental, you can choose to have your pho with beef tripe or oxtail. Fresh basil, hot peppers and lime wedges are served on the side for seasoning to your own taste. Condiments include hoisin sauce, red hot Sriracha sauce, and even hotter chili oil.

The first time I found myself dining at Pho Thahn was a few years back, shortly after they opened. My roommate and I had nasty colds at the time and decided the hot steaminess sounded good for our aching sinuses. We were seated and we began examining the elaborate little set-up at the end of each table: a basket full of bottled condiments, the little jar of oily chili paste, a bin of plastic chopsticks in paper wrappers, a neat pile of soup spoons. A colorful chain of plastic flowers hung brightly around the room, and big, gaudy art panels were placed randomly around on fresh white walls. The atmosphere was unfussy but appealing, complete with the Nguyens chatting away in their native Vietnamese.

Our pho arrived and I noticed that the beef splayed attractively across the top was rather on the pink side. I soon realized that that was how it was served – the intense heat of the broth continues to cook the rare meat until it’s done, allowing it to retain its natural juiciness. I added a brave dose of chili paste and tasted the pho – woah! The intensity of the seasoned broth and aromatic quality the fresh basil combined with the heat of the chili made for an incredible, sinus clearing experience. Delicious.

“What kind of pepper is this?” I asked my roommate innocently, pointing at the bright orange slice with my chopstick. “Ah well, I like spicy anyway” I thought, and before he could answer, I popped one in my mouth. His eyes widened. “Oh, my god, that’s a habanero, you can’t just eat it like that!” Habanero. Hot. Suddenly my tongue was ablaze, my eyes were bright red and welling with tears, and my pulse was like thunder, throbbing in my ears. I spat the pepper out and my evil roommate laughed as I emptied my water glass, then guzzled his down. The feeling was so intense all I could do was sit there speechless with teardrops pouring down. The place was full of people, and most of them were probably wondering what kind of terrible news I’d just received. I tried to disguise my trauma from the waiter as I asked for a to-go container – there was no way I was finishing my pho if I couldn’t even taste it. I must not have been the only fool to end up in habanero misery – I noticed the little buggers are no longer served with each order.

In addition to 9 varieties of pho, Pho Thanh has some other tasty options to explore on their menu, all within the $7-9 price range. My all-time favorite is the #15, the Com Ga Xao Xa Ot, which translates to Steamed White Rice with Lemon Grass Chili Chicken. Another option is an order of “Bun” which are long vermicelli rice noodles, served with your choice of char broiled pork, beef meatball, shrimp skewer, or lemon grass chicken. Intriguingly, you can order this dish with pieces of crispy deep fried eggroll swimming on top, which is the #22, “Bun Cha Go.” It’s an unusual combination, but it is texturally magnificent and instantly addictive.

One menu item I’ve learned that I can’t live very long without is the fresh spring rolls, served cold, not fried like an egg roll. It’s made with a clear rice wrapper containing a handful of cooked-then-chilled rice noodles, two plump shrimp, a thin slice of pork, and some fresh mint and basil leaves. When dipped in the accompanying sauce, a sweet blend of hoisin and peanut, these little babies are pure heaven. Two orders (four rolls) will set you back a mere $6 and make a wonderful, filling lunch served a la carte.

Like most family-run places, service here is always fast and amazing. I frequently pop in to make take-out orders and even during a rush, I’ve never waited more than a few minutes. Near the door is a table piled high with odd publications such as restaurant equipment and office supply catalogs, presumably for take-out customers to peruse while they wait. Always, just as I get bored enough to actually start paging through the Costco Connection, the smiling host is handing me my order. “Nobody home, ha ha ha!” he laughs as more hungry customers file in for their fix of delicious pho.

What's Cookin' Coeur d'Alene review

Paul Bunyan Famous Hamburgers

Paul Bunyan Famous Hamburgers
602 Northwest Blvd.
Coeur d'Alene
208-664-2725

In local burger folklore, it’s always Hudsons that gets all the glory. Okay sure, the place has been there serving the same product for a hundred years but so what? Want fries? Too bad – try ordering them and they’ll look at you like you just asked for Bald Eagle McNuggets. Take away the “secret recipe” (do I taste horseradish?) hot mustard and ketchup and the burgers become suddenly a little plain. It’s so crowded in that tiny joint you have to sit elbow-to-elbow with some less-than-appetizing stranger nearly as old as the place itself. Not for the claustrophobic.

Paul Bunyan must be the second oldest burger joint in town, having been in the same spot since sometime in the fifties. My mother worked there during its glory years when she was a teenager. For years it was the teenybop hot spot, a place for car cruisers to gather. By the time I was a kid, the place was pretty run down, and they demolished and rebuilt about ten years ago. It seems like the place lost a bit of charm after the rebuild – I can remember sitting outside the place at grungy carved-up picnic tables and having corn dogs and vanilla coke in the shade of some kind of dilapidated multicolored fifties plastic canopy structure that would cast odd pink and orange shadows onto the ground. Now the place is rather plain – grey brick, crisp white interior - exactly like the two newer locations in Post Falls and Hayden. However, the giant original iconic sign of Paul himself still stands out front, winking at passersby.

The menu remains nearly identical to how it was 50 years ago as well. Where else can you get a Blue Ox Burger or a Hammy Whammy (mmmm - layers of thin fried ham and yellow mustard on a double-size roll)? Their food is typically very good – a hometown joint with food made fresh and with a flair for originality you can only find at old small-town joints like this. The onion rings are killer – hand battered and fried to a perfect golden brown until they’re stuck to each other – so good right down to the little crunchy bits left at the bottom of your little red-and-white checkered tray. They will flavor your Coke with vanilla, cherry, chocolate and probably a dozen other flavors. They have fresh Huckleberry shakes for goodness sake, although they will cost you. In fact, I noticed that everything on the menu suffered a dramatic price hike recently, and a meal here can add up quick. The food is normally worth it here, but you could spend the same amount at Applebee's or something and at least feel a little fancy.

Unfortunately, a recent visit to Paul Bunyan was marred by a bad customer service experience. Hungry after work one day last week, I cruised into the drive through and ordered my usual Double Bacon Cheeseburger and small onion rings with fry sauce and a large Cherry Coke. The wait is always long here, but it’s forgivable since everything is made fresh when you order it.

I pulled up and peered into the closed drive-up window as one of the girls yammered away on the phone, talking and laughing, which she continued to do for at least five minutes during which time I could clearly see my finished food sitting there waiting to be bagged and handed out to me. My patience was wearing thin for this girl who seemed gum-smackingly oblivious to my basic need for sustenance. She eventually put down the phone and handed my bag of food out to me and immediately closed the window, and I got halfway home before I realized she had forgotten to hand me my large Cherry Coke. I was mad, but I decided I was too hungry to go back, I’d just take the loss and have water, it’s better for me anyway.

I got home, just starving, sat down and pulled my food out of the bag and realized to my horror that the flaky gal had forgotten my darned fry sauce! That was it, my temper was shot. I could handle the forgetting-the-Coke thing, but there was no way I was eating cold onion rings with no dip! I flew back down there (all four blocks), pulled in and barked into the drive-thru box, telling them how they forgot my stuff and how hungry and upset I was and - I’m not joking here, there was a long pause and the girl comes on: “(Audible sigh) …Well, sir, what do you expect me to do about it.” Naturally a million things flooded my brain, all of which I'm too polite to commit to print. Ultimately, I decided to not risk teen-girl spit appearing in my food and calmly replied, “Well, my dear, you can cook me a fresh order of onion rings since mine are ice-cold by now, along with the drink I paid for and the dip I ordered in the first place, and the sooner the better because I am rabidly hungry and now grouchy as a bear.” (audible sigh…smack of gum) “Well, I guess we can do that.” Damn skippy you can, miss thang!

When I got to the window, all the Paul Bunyan girls lingered in the back like a flock of turkeys, bobbing their necks trying to get a look at the mean grouch. You could feel the tension as top-ponytail girl opened the slider, wide-eyed: "Oh mah gawd ah am sooooo soooorry bout thay-at!" she drawled, dripping with faux sincerity. I grumbled "Whatever...I'm just hungry, I guess..." and grabbed my food and drink, and noticed three cups of dip in my bag. I wouldn’t let one bad experience permanently ruin my relationship with Paul. Anyway, the employee turnover there is so fast, by the time I visit again, there’ll be a whole new set of counter girls for me to razz.

Shore Lounge Karaoke

Shore Lounge Karaoke
Lobby Level
Coeur d’Alene Resort
765-5000

Sunday nights in downtown Coeur d’Alene can be a little eerie. Most of the week, the area is full of nightlife, revelers hopping from bar to bar, live music pouring out onto the streets. However, on Sunday evenings the place turns into a virtual ghost town. Most of the pubs and cocktail lounges are closed, and the ones that do open close their doors early.

Nevertheless, you’re bored and surely you can’t be the only one in town with a wild hair to go have some fun on a sleepy Sunday. Where is everyone at? Well, dear reader, I know the answer. They’re tucked away deep inside the Coeur d’Alene Resort at the Shore Lounge for Karaoke Night. On a typical Sunday after 9 p.m., this dimly-lit, touristy lounge with the vaguely nautical theme transforms into a packed showcase for local singers and non-singers alike. Despite it’s location inside the stuffy confines of the resort, this Karaoke night has been known to get a bit weird and wild.

Your hostess for the evening is the gorgeous and talented Karaoke diva Tequila Leah (pictured above). For the most part, she keeps things rolling along smoothly, always injecting some of her acrid sense of humor into the proceedings and amazing regulars with her edgy fashion sense. She would never come right out and insult a bad singer, but she has a charming trick of getting the message across in a passively aggressive way, without actually hurting any feelings. She always insists that the audience give a big hand to the last singer, no matter how tone-deaf their performance.

Leah’s bubbly personality keeps the atmosphere fun and lighthearted, and even if you screech like a maimed kitty-cat during your performance of “My Heart Will Go On”, she will make a little joke, insist the audience applaud, give you a hug and ask you what song you want to sing next. She makes everyone feel so good about their singing, that it can create an occasional problem - certain not-so-hotso singers have developed a false sense of grandeur about their abilities and insist on terrorizing the crowd at every opportunity. In reality, the vast majority of people that get up to sing actually perform very well. Several of the regular singers could feasibly pull off a career in pop music and even seem to have developed small fan bases here at the lounge.

The stage set up here can be a little bit intimidating. Traditionally, in Japan where Karaoke was invented, people stay put right at their table and the microphone is handed around to the different participants. At the Shore Lounge, singers have to get up on a stage in front of everyone, complete with a spotlight shining directly on your big face. You’re the star, and there’s no escaping it. Most of the regulars here embrace the idea and really ham it up. Some people even dress up for the night – a couple of twenty-something dudes like to show up in ungodly ugly polyester leisure suits from the ‘70’s and sing the hits of Barry Manilow. There’s guaranteed to be a hardcore cowboy or two, dressed in full regalia, and singing some bombastic patriotic country hit. The crowd here is entertainingly diverse – it seems like everyone from the other nightspots end up here on Sundays since their regular haunts are closed.

Sometimes the chaotic nature of the crowd leads to wild excitement. It was here a while back that I witnessed one of the goriest girl fights ever. I had just returned to my table after singing a rousing rendition of Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life.” Suddenly we heard a girl hiss “You bitch!” She had been completely. drenched when another girl threw a drink at her. In seconds, both girls were on the floor struggling, ripping out huge chunks of each other’s fried hair. The music stopped, the house lights went up and people were piling up, trying to get the girls to break it up.

One of the girls finally got up off the floor and we watched as she spit something out of her mouth, it went flying across the room. She immediately brushed herself off and promptly slipped out the front door before security even had a chance to arrive. Meanwhile, the other girl let out a chilling cry: “My finger! She bit my finger off!” and our jaws dropped as we realized that what the other girl had spit across the room was a fingertip. Gross! The excitement died down and Tequila Leah fired things back up as medics hauled to poor girl away.

Being that this is the Coeur d’Alene resort, the drinks here are certainly not cheap, so bring some extra cash if you need some liquid encouragement before tackling your Karaoke tune. If you’re on a budget, go with the beer special – five dollars for an extra tall mug (about 3 pints worth) of draught beer, your choice. Sit down and grab a song book. Leah has an awesome selection of over 15,000 songs and she gets updates all the time, so whether you’re dying to re-interpret Patsy Cline, Metallica, or Fergie’s “Fergalicious”, she’s got you covered.

I’m a firm believer that everyone has the ability to get into Karaoke – it doesn’t matter if you can sing or not if you’ve got some schtick. Be creative. Some people need to delve into choreography or props to distract from their lack of vocal talent, but who cares as long as you’re entertaining. Get into the spirit, conquer your stage fright and just get up there and do it. I swear, all it takes is once to wipe away all your fears, and suddenly you’re a Karaoke addict. You’ll be braving the fabulous chaos of the Shore Lounge every Sunday night.

Café Carambola

Café Carambola
610 W. Hubbard #110
Coeur d'Alene
208-676-8764

The night of Cinco de Mayo is traditionally when we enjoy a lot of Corona and Jose Cuervo and perhaps get a little loco. So, of course you will want to spend the day grazing on goodies from south of the border to get your tummy prepared for the party. You can’t settle for plain old Taco Bell on such an important day, you’ll want to go for something different, something on the more authenitic side. I’d approvingly suggest that a visit to Café Carambola for lunch is a great way to get the fiesta started.

I have a friend who cracked me up one time when we went to lunch at another “fresh-mex” restaurant a while back in Coeur d’Alene and after we got our food he sat down said, with all seriousness: “This isn’t a real Mexican place – there aren’t any tater tots on the menu!” Poor kid needs to get out more often, I think.

With that in mind, I wouldn’t suggest that he should bother with Café Carambola either, where nothing is murdered in hot oil, and everything is served fresh, fresh, fresh in an intriguing variety of Latin dishes. In fact, they claim that many of the veggies are plucked daily from the owner’s home garden, at least in the warmer months. The location is a bit off the beaten track, tucked away there in Harbor Center next to the Lewis-Clark State Student Lounge (they offer a discount to LCSC students, by the way.) I’ve driven by the place a zillion times, but it never really registered to actually dine there until a few days ago. A friend and I were hungry but couldn’t decide where to eat - we were sick of all the usual spots and were craving something new. Bing! I remembered Café Carambola and we headed out the door.

The cafe is teeny-tiny but the addition of several al fresco tables on the front sidewalk made for a bit more space. There was only one table left when we arrived during the busy lunch rush. While its strip-mall location renders it rather nondescript from the outside, the place is bright, clean and welcoming inside. A few minimal bits of South American décor add some color and charm. A friendly gentleman with a wild floral shirt and a thick Latin accent waited patiently as we scanned the menu.

Although the owners have lived in Mexico, this is not your standard Mexican fare at all. Menu items also derive from exotic places like Peru, Argentina, and Cuba. For lunch, they offer a variety of tortas (which is Spanish for “sandwiches on a firm and crusty grilled bread roll”), homemade soups and salads, and the special of the day, which this day was their legendary tamales. I spied the variety of colorful salads in the display case and our host named them off to me, each utterly unpronounceable to these non-Spanish speaking ears. Prices here are a little on the upper ridge of my normal lunch budget, ranging from $8-12 per person.

I decided to go for half a Torta Mexicana (slow roasted pulled-pork, goat cheese, tomato salsa) and a small order of the unpronounceable salad with fresh tomatoes and avocados frolicking lightly in herbs and olive oil. My dining partner immediately sprang for the tamales, his favorite, along with the soup of the day, which was a mean bean concoction of some type. Our food arrived expeditiously and my partner looked at his plate and at me and back at it and at me and we both started laughing. He has a quite a notoriously voracious appetite and could have quite easily eaten about four times the amount of food presented. Two wee tamales (two bites each) and a half-dab of soup was it. I told him to get over it, that it was “gourmet.” In all honesty, I suppose that for $8.95 they could have at least tried to feed the poor starving boy instead of just teasing him. The food was absolutely delish, he said, but as soon as he was done he was ready to go to Zips for round two.

My torta and salad portion weren’t exactly mammoth either, but I was just hungry enough that it seemed like the right amount. The slow-roasted pork was melt-in-your-mouth good, the cheese was perfectly creamy and made a nice accompaniment to the tangy fresh tomato salsa. The avocado-tomato salad was vibrant, coated in a variety of herbs and olive oil and practically sparkled on my tastebuds. Yum-ola! A good old fashioned Pepsi was the perfect thing to wash down this singularly enjoyable meal.

Despite the lunch rush, our waiter was kind and attentive, returning frequently to check on us and fill our beverages. Again, our only complaint was that the small-ish portion size didn’t seem to line up with the large-ish prices. A suggestion: sit people with a bottomless basket of homemade chips and fresh salsa and allow those with larger appetites to fill their tummies that way. Overall, Café Carambola does a fantastic job of providing an uncommon alternative to traditional Mexican lunches, and being that the place is always hopping when I cruise by, I’m not the only one who thinks so.