As some of you have probably read, my blog is rather eclectic. Most of the stuff on this thing are essays, thoughts, and in some instances reviews of the world around me, or the things in it. I'm not much for adding lots of paraphernalia such as pictures, movie clips, links, or the like. Not that I have anything against those types of things. I sometimes (o.k. most times) am just to lazy to bother, or more likely have no idea HOW to do such things.
Well, tonight I was invited by my mom to go out for one of Wisconsin's omnipresent "Friday Fish Fry" dinners. Upon seeing an ad touting one such place's cole slaw as being the best, we decided to venture to a new place for something completely different. I found it interesting that we would pick a place that highlighted its cole slaw as the mitigating factor for trying the fish. But, I'm always game for something new and different, even if our food priorities were somewhat askew.
Anyway, we went to Hackbarth Hills on the northwest side of Janesville (actually in Janesville Township) to see what this fish fry was all about. I'm pretty good about knowing where things are in general. But in this case, I had absolutely NO idea where we needed to go. But, upon arriving at the restaurant, I was surprised to discover it actually has a 9 hole golf course. This mini-clubhouse was where we were to have our dinner.
Entering the restaurant, it seemed pretty nondescript. Going inside, it reminded me of some very nice garages that I have seen on the Parade of Homes tour, complete with bar, finished drywall walls, a kitchen off to the right, and several unassuming tables at which we could sit. There wasn't a terrible crowd occupying this concrete carpetless eating establishment when we arrived, but we were seated immediately and brought the menu card that was simple and plain.
After ordering drinks, I was looking over the menu to see if there was something in tune with what I've normally been eating since the 15th of January. Initially, I was going to be good and order some broiled shrimp on a skewer. But, alas, I opted for the exact same thing my mom had, which was the two-piece cod dinner, complete with choice of potato, roll and the secret special cole slaw. There really wasn't anything fancy about this place, and from the prices on the menu, things were quite reasonable.
After a reasonable amount of wait time,the cheerful server brought our food. After the first bite from our unassuming plates, I knew we were at a place that is a hidden gem, even with it's non-frilly glory.
The fish was crispy, fried to perfection, and not overly breaded. The breading was nothing like I've ever had before, in that it included herbs within the batter. Hints of basil and oregano in just the right amounts perfectly complimented the soft taste of the flaky fish. The cole slaw, I must say, was nothing I've ever had before either, and certainly WAS one of the best I've sampled in a long time. Often times cole slaw is touched as a side, but never completely finished. Cole slaw can be sketchy, but this was anything BUT that. And, it was completely gone by the end of the meal, as a testament to its tastiness. With a sweet-sour dressing added to it (and not cream based), it was a perfect complement to the well seasoned fish. Of course, it came with our chosen baked potatoes. While the potato was excellent too (and I LOVE potatoes), it acted, for lack of a better descriptor, as sort of a required accoutrement to the meal rather than a staple of it, which anyone knowing my food preferences (knowing how much I love potatoes) speaks LOUDLY about the quality of the food served to us.
I must say that it was well worth the venture out of the mainstream to dine at Hackbarth Hills. For all of the fish fry dinners available to Wisconsin patrons, this one IS one of the tops in my view. It's always fun to find an "off the beaten path" type of establishment, and this one certainly fit the bill, proving the fact that great food doesn't require frills and methods of food preparatory techniques that only Julia Child could muster to make this dining experience a real treat.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Cauldon Extinguished
Well, another Olympics has come and gone, and I'm wondering what the heck I'm going to watch on television. After all, I've gotten accustomed to having them on TV (when I'm home)practically 24-7 the last two weeks.
A couple things came out of this for me. First of all, being the music geek that I am, I've come to really like the tune of "Oh Canada." It's really pretty. Not to say that in any way, shape, or form that I'm not proud of the United States' efforts or my country in general. There's just something about the tune, "The Star Spangled Banner" that I've just never been fond of.
Why you may ask? Well, it sounds really militaristic to me, and not really reverent. I'm no peacenik by any means, but in this day in age, I think something along the lines of "America" or "God Bless America" are a bit more attractive tunes,express a more reverent patriotism, and last but not least more easily singable. After all, how many times have you actually gone somewhere where "The Star Spangled Banner" actually was sung well, and either 1) not cheapened by the unnecessary vocal flourishes that some pop or R & B stars tend to add, or 2) the person actually remembers all the words (in it's archaic poetry form). To me, most times our national anthem, when sung like this, is more like "The Star Mangled Banner." In any event, I am proud of our Olympians. They ALL did the U.S.A. proud.
The second thing that came out of this two weeks of sport was the fact that I'm pretty ignorant about Canada. I've always thought of Canada (which I fondly call "Canadia")like us. We share a similar heritage and origin, a common language that for the most part, with the exception of Quebec, has an accent that sounds like how we talk at home. I also thought of Canada as very vast, very sparse, and very cold. I'd probably love to visit it more often. Unfortunately though, it's located north of Madison. To me, anything north of Madison is considered the north woodsy, and I'm not a big fan of fishing or camping. The last thing is that we've just always been close neighbors and friends to our friends to the north.
It's much more than that. I had a history lesson (especially the piece about how Canada was a godsend during 9/11), a geography lesson from the torch relay (in which I don't EVER think I want to visit Iqaluit in Nunavut as I'm not to crazy about eating whale blubber or seal), and a cultural lesson, where Canada is full of wonderful people that don't mind taking in strangers from all over the world, are hospitable to anyone and everyone, and seems like one big happy family (with some minor elements of family dysfunction like ANY family).
The last thing that came out of it for me is to say to any athlete competing in the Olympics, that there is something to be proud of when one wins ANY color of medal. A fraction of a percent of people on this earth ever GET to the Olympics, and then to win a medal on top of that is like winning the super mega lottery. Sure, I was disappointed that the U.S. hockey team lost, but the looks and demeanor of the hockey team receiving their silver medals didn't really sit well with me. Or the poor attitude of a disgruntled Russian figure skater, or Korean speed skater kind of frosts me. Perhaps they don't live on the same earth I do.
Hopefully this experience will broaden my understanding of our friends to the north, because certainly, they are incredible neighbors and friends to have.
A couple things came out of this for me. First of all, being the music geek that I am, I've come to really like the tune of "Oh Canada." It's really pretty. Not to say that in any way, shape, or form that I'm not proud of the United States' efforts or my country in general. There's just something about the tune, "The Star Spangled Banner" that I've just never been fond of.
Why you may ask? Well, it sounds really militaristic to me, and not really reverent. I'm no peacenik by any means, but in this day in age, I think something along the lines of "America" or "God Bless America" are a bit more attractive tunes,express a more reverent patriotism, and last but not least more easily singable. After all, how many times have you actually gone somewhere where "The Star Spangled Banner" actually was sung well, and either 1) not cheapened by the unnecessary vocal flourishes that some pop or R & B stars tend to add, or 2) the person actually remembers all the words (in it's archaic poetry form). To me, most times our national anthem, when sung like this, is more like "The Star Mangled Banner." In any event, I am proud of our Olympians. They ALL did the U.S.A. proud.
The second thing that came out of this two weeks of sport was the fact that I'm pretty ignorant about Canada. I've always thought of Canada (which I fondly call "Canadia")like us. We share a similar heritage and origin, a common language that for the most part, with the exception of Quebec, has an accent that sounds like how we talk at home. I also thought of Canada as very vast, very sparse, and very cold. I'd probably love to visit it more often. Unfortunately though, it's located north of Madison. To me, anything north of Madison is considered the north woodsy, and I'm not a big fan of fishing or camping. The last thing is that we've just always been close neighbors and friends to our friends to the north.
It's much more than that. I had a history lesson (especially the piece about how Canada was a godsend during 9/11), a geography lesson from the torch relay (in which I don't EVER think I want to visit Iqaluit in Nunavut as I'm not to crazy about eating whale blubber or seal), and a cultural lesson, where Canada is full of wonderful people that don't mind taking in strangers from all over the world, are hospitable to anyone and everyone, and seems like one big happy family (with some minor elements of family dysfunction like ANY family).
The last thing that came out of it for me is to say to any athlete competing in the Olympics, that there is something to be proud of when one wins ANY color of medal. A fraction of a percent of people on this earth ever GET to the Olympics, and then to win a medal on top of that is like winning the super mega lottery. Sure, I was disappointed that the U.S. hockey team lost, but the looks and demeanor of the hockey team receiving their silver medals didn't really sit well with me. Or the poor attitude of a disgruntled Russian figure skater, or Korean speed skater kind of frosts me. Perhaps they don't live on the same earth I do.
Hopefully this experience will broaden my understanding of our friends to the north, because certainly, they are incredible neighbors and friends to have.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Heavy Duty
As I'm sitting here at about 11:15 p.m. on a Friday night, several things are shooting through my brain. The first thought is that I haven't kept up with this blog thing very well. Much like many plants in my home, I'm feeling like this blog thing is withering on the vine, as I haven't watered or fed it with new material or stupid stuff to talk about to bring it back to it's resplendent green, healthy hue that will make it look fresh and new again.
I don't know what prompted me to think about it, but, the fact of the matter is: I miss french fries.
You see, my friends, since the middle of January I have been participating in what I'd like to think could be called an experiment...a biological one. Early in the year this year at work, a couple of the people I work with thought it would be a great idea if we, as a group, would participate in a contest to be "the biggest losers." Normally, I don't consider myself remotely close to being a loser by any means, but in this case I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to try. After all, who doesn't (except if you happen to be Callista Flockhart, J.J. Walker, or a concentration camp survivor) want to lose a few pounds.
I was a little hesitant to start.
I have to admit: I LOVE french fries. No matter how greasy, salty, hot or cold, I love them. And this contest that I was about to commit to would force me to forgo this vice. Then after stepping back (and having been forced to step on a scale at the doctor's office), I realized that perhaps it would be a good idea to start my Lenten fast early, and give up my french fries. I went ahead with participating on this "loser" team,reluctantly, and begrudgingly.
So I committed to this scientific experiment, even though I didn't know how I would ever live without my french fries.....mmmm...plain, a hint of salt, crispy and greasy.
Hurdle number one came when I was informed that one of my co-workers would have to weigh me. Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I am and have always been HUGELY self conscious about my weight, even when I weighed what seemed to be 3 1/2 pounds in high school and had all my hair. All morning long I stewed about it. I probably should have had three extra shirts that day, because I was sweating like Mike Tyson in a spelling be by the time I had to be weighed. Several people offered to do the official weighing and recording, NONE of whom were even remotely a viable option. So after settling for the one person we all could feel comfortable having do this horrid task, we (7 of the 9 people in my office who are participating)proceeded to have the grand "weigh in."
Then...it was my turn. I felt like Sean Penn in "Dead Man Walking."
Tasting the iron-like biley taste in my mouth, I was afraid I was going to lose whatever was in my stomach (which probably would only have been a pot of coffee)and not be anywhere NEAR being somewhere where I wouldn't make a scene....and a mess.
Let's just say that from the initial "weigh in" (and this term cracks me up, since all I could think about was me being entered into a boxing contest, only to be the horrificly unprepared super mega ginormous heavyweight entering the ring with King Kong, knowing that inevitably I'd be getting my ass kicked in a matter of 3 nanoseconds), it somewhat relieved my need (and obsessive craving) for french fries.
I have no idea where this whole process will end up, but I'm liking the fact that things are working. Perhaps I should take peoples' advice and try skydiving to cure my fear of heights....then again, I think I'll pass on that. After all, I don't need to be changing EVERYTHING.
I don't know what prompted me to think about it, but, the fact of the matter is: I miss french fries.
You see, my friends, since the middle of January I have been participating in what I'd like to think could be called an experiment...a biological one. Early in the year this year at work, a couple of the people I work with thought it would be a great idea if we, as a group, would participate in a contest to be "the biggest losers." Normally, I don't consider myself remotely close to being a loser by any means, but in this case I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to try. After all, who doesn't (except if you happen to be Callista Flockhart, J.J. Walker, or a concentration camp survivor) want to lose a few pounds.
I was a little hesitant to start.
I have to admit: I LOVE french fries. No matter how greasy, salty, hot or cold, I love them. And this contest that I was about to commit to would force me to forgo this vice. Then after stepping back (and having been forced to step on a scale at the doctor's office), I realized that perhaps it would be a good idea to start my Lenten fast early, and give up my french fries. I went ahead with participating on this "loser" team,reluctantly, and begrudgingly.
So I committed to this scientific experiment, even though I didn't know how I would ever live without my french fries.....mmmm...plain, a hint of salt, crispy and greasy.
Hurdle number one came when I was informed that one of my co-workers would have to weigh me. Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I am and have always been HUGELY self conscious about my weight, even when I weighed what seemed to be 3 1/2 pounds in high school and had all my hair. All morning long I stewed about it. I probably should have had three extra shirts that day, because I was sweating like Mike Tyson in a spelling be by the time I had to be weighed. Several people offered to do the official weighing and recording, NONE of whom were even remotely a viable option. So after settling for the one person we all could feel comfortable having do this horrid task, we (7 of the 9 people in my office who are participating)proceeded to have the grand "weigh in."
Then...it was my turn. I felt like Sean Penn in "Dead Man Walking."
Tasting the iron-like biley taste in my mouth, I was afraid I was going to lose whatever was in my stomach (which probably would only have been a pot of coffee)and not be anywhere NEAR being somewhere where I wouldn't make a scene....and a mess.
Let's just say that from the initial "weigh in" (and this term cracks me up, since all I could think about was me being entered into a boxing contest, only to be the horrificly unprepared super mega ginormous heavyweight entering the ring with King Kong, knowing that inevitably I'd be getting my ass kicked in a matter of 3 nanoseconds), it somewhat relieved my need (and obsessive craving) for french fries.
I have no idea where this whole process will end up, but I'm liking the fact that things are working. Perhaps I should take peoples' advice and try skydiving to cure my fear of heights....then again, I think I'll pass on that. After all, I don't need to be changing EVERYTHING.
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