Highway 13 Revisited: Apple Season in the Apostle Islands

My restlessness often gets the best of me in the fall. The leaves are changing, the air’s getting colder, something on the wind is gently whispering, “Get the hell out of here or forever hold your peace (at least until six months from now when you finally thaw out of the ground again).”

So Anna and I took a few days off and headed up to the peak of the Wisconsin mitten. If you need a demonstration of said mitten, ask a Wisconsinite where they live, they will hold up their hand like a mitten. Green Bay is in the crook of the thumb and Minneapolis is just off the third knuckle of the pinkie. Up just past the ring finger are the Apostle Islands, a group of 22 picturesque islands, dotted with sea caves, jutting into the largest freshwater lake in the world, Lake Superior.

We took off after work on Friday, stopping at the Farm in Hayward (I’m an honorary ‘Sconnie since I married into about 40 acres just outside of the Muskie capital of Wisconsin and therefore, arguably, the world) to drop off our dog, Joon, with Anna’s parents. After a short trip up 63 and a quick jump on 2 we reached one of my favorite of Wisconsin’s scenic byways, beginning at Ashland’s Lakeshore Drive and becoming Highway 13.

Highway 13 runs up to Bayfield and around the tip of Superior’s south shore and is chock full of scenic overlooks, campsites, state parks and farms selling everything from homemade goat cheese to apple cider doughnuts. Here are a few of my favorite things (in no particular order) that we came across this time on our trip up Highway 13:

1. Bayfield Harbor – One of the most popular mooring points for boats on the South Shore, Bayfield harbor faces east toward Madeline Island and is a great place to hang out, catch some brilliant colors of the sunset and see some truly gorgeous, vintage sailboats.

2. Whitefish Livers and Brandy Old Fashioneds at Maggie’s – Whitefish livers, breaded and fried. Yeah I said it. They’re delicious. I also gained new appreciation for the timeless Wisconsin cocktail, the brandy Old Fashioned, sweet. A friend of mine commented that her mother once ordered a brandy Old Fashioned, sweet at a bar in Seattle and the waiter returned and asked her what part of Wisconsin she was from. Classic!

3. Meyers Beach and Sea Caves – This was a new one for us. We decided to head over to Meyers Beach, almost on the other side of the point of the mitten, near Cornucopia, Wisconsin. Anticipating a fairly short hike, Anna and I soon found ourselves on a moderately strenuous one that was quite worth the walk once we reached some of the most incredible sea caves we’d ever seen. A hidden gem, for sure.

4. Lunch on the Terrace of Blue Vista Farm – Blue Vista is known for their Wisconsin Heritage Site stone farmhouse that has been lovingly restored over the past few decades, their garden of plants that promote healthy apiculture and their delicious blueberries, raspberries, apples and other manner of incredible, homegrown organic fruits. We spent about an hour hanging out on the terrace outside of the farmhouse and having some incredible blueberry preserves and blueberry apple cider from their farm.

5. Raspberry Peach Pie from Egg Toss – Fruit pies are a big thing in our family. My wife is, in fact, in the process of making an apple pie as I write this. So when Anna waxes rhapsodic about the raspberry-peach pie from Egg Toss, you know it’s good.

6. Apple Picking and Apple Cider Doughnuts from Erickson Orchards – It’s apple season on the South Shore. Next week thousands of people will flock to Bayfield to pick apples, drink cider, eat pie and participate in all of the nonsense that happens when thousands of people descend on a town of 600 (getting drunk on Miller Lite, eating funnel cakes from food trucks, etc.) Anna and I beat the rush and hit up Erickson Orchards for a couple bags full of fresh-picked apples and some of their famous apple cider doughnuts. We decided to just buy one doughnut and ended up buying six. They are amazing.

7. The Madeline Island Ferry and Rock Hopping in Big Bay State Park – The last time we were up on the South Shore, Anna and I spent most of our time on Madeline Island, the largest of the Apostle Islands and the only one with paved roads. The Madeline Island Ferry Line (or MIFL if you want to go there, which I do) will take you, your car and apparently most other things across on a bumpy 20-minute ride across the bay to La Pointe, a town of a couple hundred permanent residents on Madeline Island. It’s a fun way to get out on the open water and also get yourself, your car and all of your camping gear over to Big Bay State Park. Once in Big Bay you can either go up the Point Trail which is on the windward side of the island and has some really incredible sea caves and promontories or take the Bay View trail down the leeward side of the island and come across some beautiful stone and sand beaches.

8. Chequamegon Books in Washburn – I’m a big fan of used bookstores. Myopic in Chicago, Magers & Quinn in Minneapolis, the Red Wheelbarrow in Paris (RIP). So it was surprising to find such a great used bookstore in the small town of Washburn, Wisconsin. To me, a great used bookstore should be stacked high with all manner of hardcover and paperback that lets you get lost among the shelves. Situated in an old brownstone building on the main street of Washburn, Chequamegon Books has just the right feel of book-lined austerity, complete with two of those sliding ladders, and also of a place where used books are both bought and sold (we stopped at another bookstore in Bayfield where they were selling used paperbacks for $22, give me a break!). I always come out of Chequamegon Books with my arms full of books I never knew existed.

9. Houghton Falls – I’m reluctant to talk about Houghton Falls because I want to keep it for myself. It’s a little over a half mile toward the coast from Highway 13, but this little nature walk ends in one of the most incredible scenes I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s hard to explain, but if you go off the beaten path a little ways you will come across scenery that looks as though it is straight out of a fantasy novel.

10. Sandwiches at Coco – We always try to stop at Coco on our way back from the South Shore. They make great baked goods, brew great coffee and have a dedication to doing things the right way. We picked up some sandwiches on the way home and ate them at the campsite just north of Washburn. Anna got a trout reuben (yes, trout) and I got a smoked turkey and pickled apple sandwich. They were both incredible. Also, remember that guy who floated with his dog in Superior because the dog had arthritis? Well we saw that guy in Coco. Bonus.

*If you want to read more about the Brandy Old Fashioned, Jeffrey Morganthaler has a great article on the merits of the Wisconsin classic.

Loop, The Loop: Downtown Chicago

A few months ago I went on a business trip to Chicago to tighten up the subtitles on a film called Sole Survivor, whose immanent debut I am anxiously awaiting. While waiting at the gate at MSP International I mused in a notebook about the hustle and bustle of Chicago. It's always been one of my favorite cities in the world and is home to some of my favorite bars like Weeds, the Skylark and the Old Town Alehouse. Despite all the time I've spent haunting the dives of Chicago, the Loop has generally eluded me. Gastronomically it's a mix of high-concept restaurants whose chefs have put a lot of time into the philosophy of food and chop shop chicken shacks and burger joints. The former is generally too expensive for me, the latter has yet to show up on my radar although I have still yet to try Rick Bayless' downtown taqueria, Xoco, which remains near the top of my list.

While working at Foundation Content in downtown, however, I spotted a fairly interesting looking place called Sayat Nova, which promised Armenian cuisine. Before I could check it out, though, I was whisked away by Maison's resident mezcal maniac, Liz Pearce, who brought me to a bartending competition featuring free Casa Nobles tequila. Needless to say, all memory of Sayat Nova went out the window. 

Several days ago, Anna and I were in Chicago for a party celebrating the engagement of two of our very dear friends. Finding ourselves hungry and with a distinct lack of free tequila, we took a walk down Michigan avenue to Sayat Nova. 

We were looking for a nice, quiet spot for dinner on a monday night and in that respect Sayat Nova delivered. We got an intimate little booth (all of their booths are in little alcoves carved into the wall) and when we arrived we were almost the only customers save for a long table of positively demure professor-types. For those of you who read this regularly, it will come as no surprise that I had to order the Armenian Sazerac which is pretty true to the original, but the rinse replaces absinthe with an Armenian anisette called arak (why they didn't just call it the Sazarak, I'm not sure) which is lighter than absinthe and gave the sazerac a nice, mellow balance. 

The food was decent, although I was expecting a more middle-eastern tinge to the food. It was very similar to Turkish cuisine: kebabs, baba ghanouj, koefta and lots of lamb. Nothing really stuck out as over-the-top amazing, though, maybe with the exception of the chicken kebabs which were seasoned and grilled to perfection. 

All in all it was a pleasant if slightly underwhelming dining experience topped with a decent cocktail and a lovely walk back to the hotel. Consider my curiosity sated.

Sayat Nova
157 E. Ohio St
Chicago, IL

Pastie Pastorale - Randall Bakery - Wakefield, MI

Autumn is one of my favorite seasons. The leaves turn and fall to the ground, scarves and jackets come out, Nick Drake and Tom Waits are almost always appropriate for road trips and hearty food abounds to ward off the chill in the air. Recently, Anna and I were driving through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (whose denizens, the Yoopers, have given it the somewhat unfortunate portmanteau of "The Yoo-Pee") where we stopped in the small town of Wakefield where, at her insistence, we went to the Randall Bakery for pasties.

Yep. Pasties. Pronounced "paw-steez" not "pay-steez" the latter being what strippers use to cover their unmentionables in more prudish establishments, the former being a delicious type of meat pie perfect for a chilly October day.

A pastie is a Cornish pastry dish filled with  diced beef, onions, potatoes and rutabaga in a pastry shell that should be, "hearty enough to survive a drop down a mineshaft." In other words, ideal fortification for outdoor activity in a convenient, handheld package.

I've had pasties once or twice before. There's a food truck in Minneapolis called Potter's Pasties that does an updated version of the pastie with all kinds of different meat replacing the traditional beef (Jamaican jerk chicken, mmm) and The Anchor which is one of my favorite restaurants in Northeast Minneapolis does a pastie with pork and curry that, while good, in no way approaches their perfect fish and chips. This pastie, however, was different.

While the other pasties I've had concentrated on building a better mousetrap, Randall Bakery has been making pasties the same way for well over half a century. It's not light or flaky, it's real, hard working food. It weighs as much as a brick and sticks to your ribs, fuel to keep the fires lit. In other words, it's delicious.

If you're ever on your way east through the Upper Peninsula to spend a few days in the Porcupine mountains (and might I recommend the Escarpment trail if you do) Randall Bakery in Wakefield will have a nice, hot pastie waiting for you.

Randall Bakery

505 Sunday Lake Street

Wakefield, MI

Iron City Eats: Primanti Brothers, Pittsburgh, PA

I woke up feeling great on Thursday morning. The birds were chirping, sun was shining and far off in the distance, a lone jackhammer hummed into the concrete. I was in Steven’s Point, Wisconsin, more specifically on the front porch of a house, in an inflatable rubber raft.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

Several hours later myself and the boys from Battlefields (in my opinion the best doom/prog metal in the Midwest, hands down) arrived in Pittsburgh, sans inflatable raft.

I’d been in Pittsburgh once before, although my only food related experience was witnessing an argument in front of a place called “Tony’s Pizza” in which a man dressed in stereotypical pizza-cook garb (I’m assuming this was Tony, although I have no proof) berated a guy with a long ponytail, bedecked from head to toe in Pittsburgh Steelers paraphernalia.

This time, however, I arrived with my appetite in tact. We leisurely strolled down Penn Avenue past block upon block of empty warehouses until suddenly we came upon a big neon sign reading: “Primanti Brothers”.

We were completely unprepared for the sandwiches we were about to receive. An old, grumpy Pittsburgher in a paper hat appeared, inquiring lackadaisically if we wanted a “sammidge”* before sloughing off to bring us some bottles of Iron City lager. Though tempted by the “Colossal Fish” sandwich and their “#2 Seller” the cheese steak sandwich**, I ordered the capicola. I have never been more pleased with a decision not to order a sandwich with “colossal” in the name.

Stacked high with big slices of meat, a pile of coleslaw and an armload of homemade fries, my sandwich bore a closer resemblance to a freight car from Pittsburgh’s stockyards than to a sandwich. It was heavenly.

Primanti Brothers began serving up sandwiches for iron workers with powerful appetites during the Depression and have continued their tradition of quick and hearty meals ever since. If you’re ever in Pittsburgh, I recommend you get yez down to Primanti and get yez a sammidge an’at.

*I discovered, through my research, that “Pittsburghese” is an actual linguistic dialect with its very own wikipedia page.

**I wondered aloud what the #1 seller was at Primanti Bros., our waiter hollered from across the room, “Iron City Beer!”

It's Always 11:45 PM in Chicago: The Skylark

If ever there was a bar that made me want to spiral off into a Bukowskian barfly bender, slouched in the corner writing poems about flies, making derogatory comments about women and attractive people and drinking cheap whiskey, the Skylark is it. It’s not that the Skylark is covered in dirt and grime, or packed with bar sluts and Johnny Ginblossoms, it’s simply the atmosphere. It's always 11:45pm in the Skylark. Were Chicago a city that still allowed smoking, the Skylark would be in a perpetual fog of nostalgic cigarette smoke. However, appearances can be deceiving as, hidden behind the half burned out 10 watt lamps and cracked linoleum floor is an excellent, always changing selection of beers and one of the best kitchens in Chicago’s shabby-chic hip-kid haven, the Pilsen neighborhood.

While there is a set menu at the Skylark including some of the best burgers the south side of Chicago has to offer, the real treat is their ever changing specials menu which runs the gamut between Moroccan lamb stew, ahi tuna steaks and my personal favorite, t-bone steak.

As a self proclaimed master of the grill, it has been my mission, nay, obsession to perfect the t-bone and, while I have gotten rather good at it, there is no substitute for the Skylark’s t-bone. Juicy, with just the right amount of fat to keep the flavor in-tact, not too much salt and just enough pepper, this steak is like the cover of “Kings of Metal” by Manowar, standing atop all its competitors, sword in hand, lightning crashing down. Epic.

While the kitchen is a pleasant surprise, the integral function of the Skylark is a dive bar. Dark, cavernous booths yawn along the wall as you enter, a few dim lamps and some neon from behind the bar provide the only illumination. Towards the back of the bar, a lonely pinball machine stares down a photobooth. During the day you can usually find some shabby scholar reading Giles Deleuze through precariously perched bifocals as he takes down his third pint.

At night, Pilsen’s good looking art kid population shows up. James Brown and Wilson Pickett go on the record player (yes this bar has a record player, no juke box, just a record player) and tables get cleared for dancing, most of which consists of that old hipster classic: “slightly swaying while spilling PBR all over the floor.”

Perhaps one of the best things about the Skylark is something it lacks, rather than something it has. No televisions blare in any of the Lark’s darkened corners, one feels as if one might have stepped through time back to an era when people went to bars to have conversations, or a quiet drink, without being distracted by the outside world. Also conspicuously absent from the Skylark is the air of pretension which generally accompanies dives where good food meets the art set. The bartenders are laid back but efficient, the patrons, from what I have noticed, seem to simply mind their own business instead of trying to prove something about their wardrobe to the rest of the bar and the mood is always one of affable drunkenness.

The Lark is as close as I’ve come to finding a Gold Standard for dive bars. And believe you me, I’ve seen a lot. From the food to the booze to the crowd to the music, the Lark has got it figured out on all fronts.

NAME OF BAR

The Skylark

2149 South Halsted

Chicago, IL

BEER

Tap: PBR plus a rotating selection of good stuff (Lagunitas specials, Great Lakes, etc.)

Bottle: Seems decent.

FOOD

One of the best dive kitchens I’ve ever seen. Moroccan lamb stew, great burgers and, of course, T-Bones.

ENTERTAINMENT

TVs: None!

Bar Games: Pinball, Photobooth

CLIENTELE

Attractive art kids, old men reading books, lots of ties.

MUSIC

Jukebox: No jukebox, just a record player and a bunch of bartenders with taste.

Live: Apparently there is live jazz on Saturdays, I have yet to verify this, though, perhaps I will have to make another trip.

DÉCOR

Bukowskian Chicago Dive

BANG FOR YR BUCK

Seems pretty decent, PBR’s cheap, generally have beer specials, food is about average for Chicago.

OVERALL RATING

9.5

CLOSING THOUGHTS

The Lark is, as I mentioned before, one of my new favorite bars in the world. Dark and drunk and fun. Check it out in the afternoon for a quiet pint or at night for the crowd.

Charleston, SC: AC's Bar: The Champagne of Beers of Bars

Charleston has a really big bridge. You can see it from miles away. It looks like something out of a science fiction movie, suspended by huge cables in a large arc. Throughout the 16 or so hours I spent in Charleston, I was to become intimately familiar with this bridge.

You see, if you miss the turn for Bay Street off of Highway 17 in Charleston you are damned, damned I say, to cross that bridge, make a u-turn and try it again. However, one thing I learned about the Carolinas is that they only like to mark exits from one side, not the other.

I drove over this bridge a grand total of 9 times.

Not in a row, obviously (I am slightly more navigationally capable than that) but throughout the day I either missed the Bay Street exit or was attempting to get somewhere else and ended up on the bridge 9 times.

Impressive, I know.

During my time in Charleston I came across a little hole-in-the-wall called AC’s Bar (467 King Street, Charleston, SC for those of you keeping score at home). From the outside, one would be hard-pressed to choose AC’s over any of the other bars in the neighborhood. Just a small neon sign reading AC’s and a nondescript awning adorn the façade and one imagines that the patrons like that just fine. Comprised mostly of tattooed rockers, bike messengers, the denizens of AC’s appeared to enjoy their own Private Idaho. And who wouldn’t? A nicely cluttered bar area gives AC’s that lived in feel, scruffy and unpretentious.

$2 PBRs and a damn good burger for roughly $5 make this place easy on the pocketbook as well. I had a straight up cheeseburger which was expertly cooked (not too done, not too raw, with almost a slight char on the outside, delicious).

However, the most memorable thing for me was that the bartender had, apparently, rifled through my high-school record collection and played a TON of music I hadn’t heard in eons. Right when I showed up, in fact, he played Alkaline Trio’s “Goddammit!” record in its entirety. By the time I decided to leave ACs my brain was so addled by PBR and Chicago-style pop-punk I was getting ready to seek out a drummer and write some 2 minute hookfests about drinking cheap beer and sitting on couches, all soaring octave lines and machinegun drum fills. However, I soon put the kybosh on that notion as I continued my journey across that damn bridge…

AC’S BAR

467 King St.

Charleston, SC

BEER

Tap: A few locals and some crummy domestics.

Bottle: Selection seemed pretty good, AC’s has their “Beer of the Month” where you get a pretty damn good bottle for $2.25 . This month it is Harp.

They also have their whole booze selection written on the mirrors over the bar including a section which says, simply, “Champagne: Miller High Life - $2”

FOOD

Excellent burgers, pretty standard bar fare. Apparently they also have the best Philly Cheese Steak south of the Mason/Dixon.

ENTERTAINMENT

TVs: A few on which baseball and America’s Funniest Home Videos bid for my attention.

Bar Games: Pool, touch screen.

CLIENTELE

Rockers, hipsters, bike messengers, etc.

MUSIC

Jukebox: Not that I could see. An iPod that, apparently, can look into my past lives at the bar, though.

Live: There appeared to be a stage at the front of the bar, although there weren’t any fliers up for shows.

DÉCOR

Cheers meets your Uncle’s basement

BANG FOR YR BUCK

Pretty damn good. 5 Buck Burgers and 2 Dollar PBRS. I got out of there for 9 bucks plus tip.

OVERALL RATING

8.5

CLOSING THOUGHTS

Did I give this bar a higher rating because it inadvertently brought me back to my childhood? Maybe. Should you still check it out if you are looking for something to do in Charleston? Definitely.