Tag Archives: travel

Driving South On I-29: From Fargo to Sisseton, SD

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I drove south because I wanted to.

Not only did I drive south because I wanted to, but because I’ve never driven south from Fargo. I’ve driven west on I-94 to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, east to the Twin Cities, and north on I-29 to Mayville, but never south.

Consistent with Murphy’s Law, my day off started out with some literal and figurative gray clouds. I stopped at the dealership to get my oil changed. The mechanics recommended another $500-600 of recommended maintenance. I picked three of the five which still cost me over $200. Then, I drove south through the rain.

The storms disappeared an hour into the drive, so I pulled off the highway to explore Hankinson, ND, located minutes from the exit off I-29. I noticed a small drive-in restaurant along the main street and parked for a lunch break. At the Dakota Drive-In, one orders from those old fashioned windows with the sliding glass doors where the menu is posted. It offers a selection of ice cream treats, sandwiches, and every type of fried doodad imaginable. Customers can then choose from one of many picnic table nestled under an open-air roof, perfect for watching the sidewalk traffic pass.

I ordered the daily special featuring a California burger with a side of fried, crinkle-cut potato coins for $4.75. While I waited for my order, I used the restroom and returned to find I couldn’t locate my car keys. I rummaged through my purse a few times, just to be sure, and when I saw them sitting in the passenger seat of my locked car, I tried not to panic.

Fortunately, I had my purse and called AAA as inconspicuously as possible. My phone reception was terrible and the AAA representative had trouble finding my location. Eventually, she confirmed that help was on the way and would arrive in an hour. Had there not been a cheeseburger in my hand and the day not been so beautiful, I would have been so much more upset. I perched on the edge of a picnic table bench, ate my lunch, and waited. The smell of fried onions from other people’s orders drove me crazy and I wished I had chosen whatever they were having.

I noticed how the Dakota Drive-In functioned as a popular watering hole for the community. People came and went, from first-timers like myself, truck drivers, to families, alike. Most everyone seemed to recognize and warmly greet at least one other party and no one made me feel weird.

The burger and cottage fries, by the way, were fine.

The contracted AAA employee arrived as a group of children ran around my table, hurling precocious insults at each other. Within minutes, he unlocked my car and I jumped inside. I was in such a hurry to leave that I neglected to take any photos of my meal. I did, however, take a few photos of interesting buildings on the way to the freeway. Then, I kept driving south until the landscape changed and I reached the rolling hills near Sisseton, SD. I poked around until the weather started to scare me and then I went home.

St. Philip’s Catholic Church, Hankinson, ND

Franciscan Retreat Center, Hankinson, ND

Roberts County Courthouse, Sisseton, SD

For Your Reading Pleasure: A Few Blogs I Like

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Greetings to you on this happy Friday.

I’d like to take a moment to share a few blogs that have recently crawled onto my reading list. Most of which, I’ve never referred to in my posts. I like reading these blogs because they are fun, authentic, and most importantly, unpretentious. I hope you enjoy.

Road Tips: A Sales Guy’s Guide to Travel, Food, and Music in the Midwest and Beyond – And Much More
This dude’s been everywhere. His work travels have even taken him deep within the depths of the Midwest that I hold near and dear. This includes my old stomping grounds in Iowa, the greater Twin Cities, outstate Minnesota, and the far reaches of North Dakota. He’s dined in St. Cloud, MN, Newton, IA, and Dickinson, ND. I love that.

He’s often in pursuit of the best burgers and explores a wide variety of independent, family-owned restaurants. His reviews are straightforward and frank. I’m always look forward to reading about the next supper club or tavern that he might visit next.

Find him on Twitter at @RoadTips

Smokin’, Chokin’ And Chowing With The King: All Things Food and Sports With Some Sins and Grins Thrown In
This Chicago-based blogger has also explored the outer reaches of Minnesota. I was captivated by his documentation of road trips through Northern Minnesota and along The Great River Road in Wisconsin. He sent me a tweet mentioning that he likes to go up north in the summers. Like the author of Road Tips, he also focuses on independent, family-owned restaurants. Both explore with the spirit of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, minus the obnoxious shtick.

Find him on Twitter at @chibbqking

The Corporate Peon
Katey is a fellow, North Dakotan blogger who shares her life through sassy storytelling that is never, ever, ever boring. No sugar coating here and I find this refreshing.

Find her on Twitter @Katey911

North Dakota Kitchen
You won’t find any sarcasm or sass here. However, you will find that the most wonderful creations come from Shannon’s North Dakota Kitchen. The first page, alone, features homemade cranberry-pomegranate wine and a whimsical cake that looks like a movie theater bag of popcorn. Her photography is lovely and helpful. Plus, she was recently featured in a video produced by the Forum.

Find her on Twitter @shannoniolson

Fat Girl Hedonist: An Honest (Wo)man’s Perspective on Food. Sharing My South Florida Restaurant and Food Adventures
I find myself returning to this South Florida blog. I don’t have a particular connection to South Florida, having only visited Florida a couple times during my childhood. Regardless, I enjoy the author’s down-to-earth and balanced reviews of a diverse array of restaurants. The occasional recipes she tosses in are icing on the cake.

For more blogs I like to read, check out the list located in the column to your right. 

I-94 Is Delicious: The Palmer House Hotel, Sauk Centre, MN

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I have a confession to make.

I like ghosts.

Jake, on the other hand, likes aliens. He finds them more probable than ghosts, but I disagree.

To be realistic, I’m terrified of ghosts. Never in my life do I actually want to see or encounter one. But nevertheless, I still like ghosts.

This ghost talk brings me back to a conversation Jake and I recently had with friends. We discussed living offensively vs. defensively over Rhombus Guys pizza and half-priced wine (we especially liked the Louisiana Saturday Night). I live offensively enough. I’m usually game for new experiences, as long as they start before 8 p.m. Jake mentioned he feels that as he’s gotten older, he’s come to live life more defensively, which has resulted in a smaller pool of stories.

When I reflect back, my most interesting stories occurred during travel. And not just long trips, but local road trips, too. In the spirit of adding new experiences to the old story bank, I convinced Jake to join me on another adventure down I-94. We stopped in Sauk Centre to visit the Palmer House Hotel on our way to Saint Paul, MN.

If you take the Sauk Centre exit and turn left, you’ll find yourself on Main Street within minutes. The Palmer House Hotel is located along the heart of my favorite type of classic Americana main street. It’s a striking, three-story building made from red brick and impossible to miss if you’ve seen a photo. The hotel was rebuilt in 1900 and was the city’s first building with electricity. Sinclair Lewis, the first American to be awarded the Nobel prize in Literature, hailed from Sauk Centre and used to work at this very hotel. Literature buffs can visit the Sinclair Lewis Interpretive Center, located right off the freeway, and his childhood home.

Even more so than Sinclair Lewis, I’ve seen Palmer House noted for it’s paranormal activity. The hotel has seemed to have been explored by every paranormal investigation group in the region and was recently featured on the Travel Channel’s Ghost Adventures.

We walked into the lobby and were directed to seat ourselves in the pub (bar). At three p.m., the hotel was extremely quiet. Nevertheless, the young woman who served us was attentive and friendly. We warmed up with hot coffee delivered in large, clay mugs. They were the type you grip with two hands and, for some reason, I found joy in this.

We learned happy hour had just begun and appetizers were half-priced. Since it was before five p.m., the dinner menu wasn’t offered yet. The lunch items consisted of appetizers, soups, sandwiches, and salads. I wasn’t terribly hungry and ordered the ham, cheese, and pineapple quesadilla, because I’m six. Actually, I ordered it with fresh jalapenos, lettuce, salsa, and sour cream, so maybe I’m twelve.

Jake ordered a burger with blue cheese and caramelized onions, and a side salad.

 
 

 

 

 

 

My quesadilla was good enough.

A crispy, orange tortilla sandwiched a thick layer of cheddar cheese, cubes of ham, pineapple tidbits, and fresh jalapeno. The salsa was mild, but a step above that sweet, thick jarred stuff, and the accompanying iceberg was typical. Overall, a satisfying appetizer and hard to criticize at less than $4.

Jake’s burger was cooked through (I don’t think he was asked about doneness and he forgot to ask), but it was moist and covered in plenty of caramelized onions and creamy blue cheese. The bun was buttered and nicely toasted. The side salad was like a typical, bagged iceberg lettuce mix. Nothing remarkable but it was fresh and the dressings tasted good.

The hotel appeared clean, though slightly worse for the wear. The exterior of the building conjures glimmers of its historical richness, and the interior looks like it was decorated by any one of our Midwestern grandmothers. The lobby restrooms were also clean, yet worn. Curtains, instead of doors, shaded the stall and a wooden stick propped up the sink. The hotel management displayed a note by the mirror  acknowledging they were aware of needed repairs, but needed to wait for insurance settlement money to arrive.

All in all, our meal was decent and affordable, especially with the happy hour discount. The Palmer’s lunch menu wasn’t worth a special trip in itself, but the hotel was a pleasant place to pause for hot meal and break from the drive. Visiting a building steeped in so much history and lore felt like an adventure in itself and the service was hospitable.

And, ghosts.

Sauk Centre’s charming main street is very accessible from the freeway and about halfway between Fargo-Moorhead and Minneapolis-St. Paul. I also noticed other restaurants and cafes and would like to return for further exploration. Returning for dinner could be fun. Maybe after I have a chance to read one of Lewis’s literary offerings.

An Essay On Bed and Breakfasts

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In my short life, I’ve stayed in a decent number of bed and breakfasts.

As a woman who has traveled solo, I have always felt more comfortable in a bed and breakfast than a hotel. Plus, there’s the food.

I’m not sure why it occurred to me to stay in a bed and breakfast in the first place. Years ago, my family cared for my mom at home while she was in hospice, and I needed a time out. I remember telling my boss at the time that I needed a day off, otherwise I would have a mental breakdown. He replied with something along the lines of, “I don’t want to know. Just go.” He put up with me when I was fresh out of college. I mean, I accidentally lit my computer keyboard on fire and he had to put it out. Instead of firing me, he laughed at me. And then told everyone. He was a saint.

On short notice, I found myself at the now-closed bed and breakfast in Chaska, MN. I hiked through the bluffs on a sunny autumn afternoon, treated myself to dinner, and curled up for the rest of the evening in a pile of library books drinking cream sherry by the tiny glass. Cream sherry was like a revelation to me. It never tastes as good at home. The next morning, I sat alone at a table next to another couple and enjoyed an awkward breakfast of yogurt parfait and eggbake in the dining parlour.

I was thrilled that my tally was only $100 and thus began my ongoing bed and breakfast quest.

The bed and breakfasts I have stayed in have ranged from just fine to delightful. I’ve come to choose inns based upon decor, avoiding frilly lace and dolls like the plague. At a bed and breakfast in outstate Minnesota, my evening was dampered by trying to avoid sleeping in Wookie-sized mattress craters. Snacks have ranged from wheat thins to homemade crackers to freshly baked cookies and tea, to none at all. Eggbakes reign supreme (which I happen to love). One of my favorite dishes was a wild rice quiche while I was less crazy about a cheap, grocery store danish.

Some inns enrich the visit with special touches like cream sherry or chocolates while others feel more like staying at your friend’s grandmother’s. Not that there’s anything wrong with this, except when the price costs the same as those with more perks. I’ve appreciated discounts from making last minute reservations and traveling solo. The rates are set for two people and two breakfasts, so, oftentimes, an inn will eliminate the cost of the second breakfast.

This is all to say that the good have been really, really good, while the others have been ordinary at worst.

Most have forced guests to eat breakfast together at a set time. I have actually found it less awkward to dine around a common table, than to be divided into small tables. As an introvert, this situation brings about an expected degree of anxiety, though I have always found community dining less awkward than expected and mostly enjoyable.

One of my favorite experiences occurred at the Elephant Walk in Stillwater, MN the spring of 2009, five months following my mother’s death. I had found myself in a perplexing relationship and wanted to get away for a night. I packed my stay doing all of the things that made me feel like myself. A perk of traveling solo was having my very own massive cheese plate and bottle of wine that awaited me in my room upon arrival. Homemade crackers, fancy cheeses, fresh fruit, and nuts.

The next morning, I enjoyed a multi-course breakfast with a couple from Chicago. I was gluten-free at that time and Rita, the innkeeper made me homemade, gluten-free muffins. She joined the conversation and we all ended up talking for hours. It was the breakfast where all parties seemed the most mutually invested in the conversation. In a genuine way, not merely making obligatory niceties. As I paid my tally, Rita gently told me that she didn’t think he was the right one. She encouraged me not to give up my dreams of traveling while I sat on her floor and pet her giant, fluffy black cat. She sent me on my way feeling carrying a small travel pouch from Thailand, feeling greatly encouraged.

Three years later, I brought my husband. Being a weeknight in the dead of winter, we got a really good rate. There was only one other couple that night, so we got upgraded to the largest suite with a gas fireplace. Rita and her significant other spend their winters in Thailand and so we met her daughter, Sasha. Her family moves in and manages the inn during the winter months. I told her all about my first visit. She laughed and said she knows her mom loves to dispense advice.

Same giant cheese plate and bottle of wine. This time, I shared. Though, I did not have to share my breakfast. We each enjoyed own elaborately carved pineapple half, freshly baked scone, stuffed french toast with spicy andouille, and flourless chocolate cake. We drank coffee to our hearts’ content over conversation with a couple of chemists.

It’s funny how life can seem to make a full circle. On this morning of a New Year, I try to be thankful for what I have and hopeful for more adventures. After all, we narrowly escaped two apocalypses this year.

I liked the Harold Camping one better. 

Food Haunts: Q & A With North Dakota Food Writers

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I love a good story almost as much as I love good food.

At the TECHmunch conference in Minneapolis, Andrew Zimmern highlighted the importance of pairing good food with compelling stories.  And not just any stories, but those no one’s ever heard before.  When I’m searching for inspiration, I often turn to Chowhound discussion boards.  In my favorite discussion of all time, individuals contribute memories of food haunts they tasted once and haven’t found since.  I am both soothed and exhilarated by reading others’ accounts of foods so ethereal, they remain unforgettable, yet tragically out of reach.  However, they’re all worthy of a lifetime of rediscovery.

I’m constantly inspired by those who participate in the Twin Cities’ vibrant Fortify, A Food Community.  North Dakota’s community of food writers and bloggers may not yet be a force with enough leverage to be invited to restaurant tasting events, but this quickly growing group is compelling in its own right.  Three of my favorite North Dakota food writers join me in sharing their own stories of food haunts in my first Q & A feature.

Check out the North Dakota bloggers community on Facebook or find us on Twitter with the hashtag #NDbloggers.

Trying a cricket in Cholula

I’m often haunted by the food treasures I remember from my childhood and meals I enjoyed from afar.  Now that I live in North Dakota, I’m haunted by my favorite foods from the Twin Cities.  One day, when we leave North Dakota, I’ll be haunted by the foods I am presently taking for granted.

I have a love-hate relationship with travel.  I crave exploration to no end, yet am simultaneously terrified by it.  Considering that I may have some manifestation of agoraphobia and become convinced I will face untimely death when I journey away from home, it’s impressive I even made it to China.

After a 12 hour flight, a two hour flight, an evening in a Guangzhou hostel, and an eight hour bus ride, my friend and I landed in Qinzhou.  Twice, my friend took me to a tiny shop where we slurped spicy bowls of noodle soup that cost about 30 US cents.  Rice noodles, fresh greens, pickled vegetables, and fried tofu pouches floated in an atomic red broth.  Although my friend asked the woman to only add a tiny splash of spicy liquid from her bubbling cauldron, my soup was still was so skalding I could only eat in tiny, painful bites.

More recently, I traveled to Puebla with a few friends.  We were spoiled by our proximity to restaurants specializing in Tacos Al Pastor.  This was the real deal.  For Pueblans, making Tacos Al Pastor does not equal throwing raw, marinated meat bits on a grill.  Instead, they roast towering cones of local pork.  These meat cones are then shaved into tacos ready to be topped with pineapple, doused in lime, sprinkled with salt, and drizzled with spicy salsas.  If I am lucky, my life will include opportunities to taste these treasures again, but more realistically, I’ll have to endure the haunting.

Beth, Rhubarb and Venison
For over a decade now, I have unsuccessfully been trying to replicate the tortilla española that I’d have as a snack in the university cafe during a semester abroad in Spain back in my college years.  Simply known as “tortilla” there, those slices of egg-and-potato omelets carried me through many a long Spanish grammar class.  Since then, I’ve whisked eggs until my arm is stiff; I’ve tried using baked potatoes, boiled potatoes; I’ve fried, broiled and baked; but try as I might, I still have not been able to replicate the lightness and overall deliciousness of those amazing (and amazingly affordable) morsels.  I think another trip to Spain is in order…

Beth Schatz Kaylor is a freelance writer whose work has been published in various regional and national media outlets including Midwest Living magazine.  She writes about rhubarb, venison, and other North Dakota kitchen adventures at rhubarbandvenison.blogspot.com.

Brianna, Don’t Eat Crap
My husband and I took a trip to Philadelphia for our one year dating anniversary. We had many popular food places on our agenda but little did I know my favorite food would be served at the Philadelphia  Eagles game. Chickie’s & Pete’s world famous Crabfries are amazing. I am a french fry addict so it wasn’t hard to fall in love with these unique fries. The hot and steamy french fries that are crisp on the outside and flaky on the inside makes me weak at the knees. When we were approaching the stadium we overheard a conversation between two gentleman where one man was telling the other he would have to try these fries. He continued with, “They were the best food in the stadium.” I knew instantly I had to have them.

Now Chickie’s & Pete’s Crabfries are unlike anything I’ve ever had. They are served in a round paper bucket with special seasoning. I’d describe it as almost seafood seasoning with a side of gooey white American cheese sauce to dip your fries in. If you are ever in Philadelphia you must try these fries. I secretly want to go back just to taste them again.

Check out Brianna’s blog www.donteatcrapblog.com and follow her on Twitter @donteatcrap.

MeLissa, Fargo-Moorhead Writer, Artist, and Studio Art Instructor
My haunt is a bit more physical. I seem to have misplaced the most romantic breakfast I’ve ever eaten.

When the Cajun Daddies start brewing Sunday’s dinner on Friday, you realize in Louisiana, food is sex. Food is social. Food is life.

A decade ago, I was a food virgin. You know, I ate in equivalence to procreation (versus multiple orgasms).  Then, in 2003, I drank 30 or so pots of piss in a local pub in Australia, spun a globe, and moved to Louisiana. In the heart of Cajun country, slow moss drips down slower trees and the breeze never comes. And the men, they dance, they sing, they tell stories, and most importantly, they do the cookin.’

There’s a reason that Eve Ensler herself refers to New Orleans as “North America’s Vagina.” The wide mouth of the surly Mississippi and sweltering swamp summers require industrial strength coffee to combat the lethargy. Though some do give in, sitting on porches, sipping mint and watching the gardens grow. My favorite way to enjoy this heat is the perfect patio brunch.

My first voyage to New Orleans was nothing but magic; it was like perfect Parisian rain, I was staying in a boutique hotel in the French Quarter, it was pre-Katrina, and everything was a feast for my young eyes. After a long night, we asked the gentleman tending the door where to get ‘breakfast.’ His directions were a smiling, “three blocks up this here road, and one blockovah” sort of something. I ordered my first flambéed tableside Bananas Foster. I fell in love with New Orleans. In no time, I was part of the greatest jazz legends, the most tender folks, and the most charismatic food. And countless nights I wandered the Quarter alongside southern belles and drawls; yet ne’er did I find that pink shutter door again.

You can find MeLissa’s art installation at the Moorhead Center Mall and writing in the High Plains Reader where she covers the local food scene, food system, and travel. 

Jeni Goes Outside and Wiener Schnitzel In Paul Bunyan Country

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I’m not sure at what point in my life I became a fussy house cat.  This occurred me this weekend, after the following occurred:

A:  Jake’s cousin offered to gradually reintroduce us to the great outdoors.

B: The realization, “People really do spend the whole day outside,” ran through my head after sitting outside for three hours. 

Jake and I grew up in families that didn’t camp or own cabins.  My family spent a total of one evening camping and I didn’t step onto another camp ground until my senior year of college.  I was invited to join some outdoorsy friends for an evening of camping and proudly contributed a large tent that I hauled from my parents’ basement.  When we arrived at the campground, we began to set up the tent.  Someone paused to ask me about the whereabouts of the poles. 

“What poles?” I asked. 

My friends were kind enough to let me stay, and all six of us crammed into a tiny tent, tilted onto our left sides, and lined up like sardines. 

The summers of my childhood were spent swimming in Lake Wappogasset at church camp and leaping from our cousins’ pontoon boat when we visited them in Texas.  Somewhere between The Backstreet Boys and Dawson’s Creek, my fearlessness disappeared.     

Despite my debilitating fear of bugs and squeamishness of lake water, the weekend at the lake cabin was a gentle reintroduction back to the outdoors.  The waters of Long Lake were translucent and I waded through lily pads while others pursued bass with fishing poles.  

We ate, drank, grilled, and baked, just enjoying each other’s company.     

Some of Jake’s younger cousins were able to join us.  I’m always interested to learn about what’s trending in the tween and preteen world.  In sixth grade, I flaunted my new Tamagotchi virtual pet in school.  Now, I feel old as sixth graders teach me how to play Fruit Nina on an iPad 2.

Someday, if and when I have children, I’m going to intentionally provide them with opportunities to submerge themselves in lake water and frolic in mud.  May my future offspring grow-up to be more comfortable roughing it than their mother and never forget that tents need poles. 

A highlight of our weekend was the journey to and from Remer.  Just minutes east of Detroit Lakes, conifers begin to punctuate the landscape.  Tall, glorious conifers.  Dark forests of looming conifers, beckoning lakes, and sleepy pastures.  

When I lived in Minnesota, I didn’t dwell on my constant proximity to water.  Now, I miss the lakes and forests, fiercely, in a way that convinces me they have become part of my identity.

On the way home, Jake and I stopped for lunch at Brauhaus German Restaurant and Lounge, a cozy restaurant located in Akeley, MN.  Google says Brauhaus is the closest German restaurant to Fargo-Moorhead, despite its two hour distance (however, we did notice signs for Schwarzwald Inn in Park Rapids, MN).  On Friday evening, the restaurant was surrounded by cars.  On Sunday afternoon, the scene was quieter as we arrived around noon, soon after the doors opened.

The interior was dark and kitschy.  We were warmly greeted and our server provided ice water.  As we surveyed the menu, she also brought us a generous dish of pate with crackers.

It was creamy like butter and tasted subtly like liver, sweet with onion and flecked with fresh parsley.  We spread the pate in thick layers onto crackers that tasted a little bit like caraway and rye. It was a beautiful and complimentary treat. 

Jake’s been crazy about jagerschnitzel since he tried this saucy dish at Black Forest Inn, Minneapolis, MN.  I prefer my schnitzel naked.  Crispy-crunchy and spritzed with lemon.  We ordered these dishes along with sides of spaetzle, red cabbage, and slices of this heavy sourdough bread. 

The schnitzels were pounded thin and crispy.  Jake enjoyed his jagerschnitzel, $17.95 though we felt the gravy lacked the depth and richness of Black Forest’s.  In contrast, The Brauhaus’s schnitzels were larger and of better flavor and texture. 

The thick, noodle-like spaetzel were light and scented with nutmeg.  They were topped with gravy, which I might have left off, if given a choice.  The silky, red cabbage’s bright acidity offset the dish’s richness.  Other than the fact that the gravy covered part of my Weiner Schnitzel, $16.95, I was satisfied with my meal. 

We miss German food in Fargo.  Dining at this rural, German restaurant was too unique of an opportunity to miss on our drive back to North Dakota.  If it wasn’t so early, we might have indulged in Brauhaus’s selection of German beers.  Brauhaus’s website mentions their meats are locally sourced and hand-cut.  Based-upon the pate and schnitzels, it is obvious they put a lot of care into preparing their meats. 

And we paid our tally at the bar, a lovely woman with a German accent chatted with us about the sweltering weather.  The restaurant accepts cash only.  If you are without, a cash machine sits near the entrance. 

Then, we said our goodbyes to Paul Bunyan country and all of its conifers.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ll stay put for a couple of weekends.

A Photo Journey: The Enchanted Highway, Little Missouri National Grasslands & Theodore Roosevelt National Park

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Last fall, I drove to the other side of North Dakota where I detoured along the The Enchanted Highway.  I spent the evening at the Rough Riders Hotel in Medora where I was surprised to feast on prawns the size of my palm.  Although this trip didn’t give me anything tangible to bring back with me, something inside of me just grew larger and richer.

There was something exhilerating and eerie about feeling really and truly alone as I stood on the top of rolling prairie hills.  I wandered amidst the shadows of the giant sculptures as the wind whistled through the metal.

In the spirit of summer roadtrips and exploration, I am sharing some of my favorite photos from my journey.  We plan to return in late summer or early fall.

*Photos can not be used without permission from author

A lonely park bench along The Enchanted Highway.

Grasshoppers Delight at dusk

Geese In Flight.  This marks the entryway to The Enchanted Highway

Taking a backroad through Little Missouri National Grasslands at dawn.  I ran into an oil pump soon after I snapped this photograph.  Just minutes from Theodore Roosevelt National Park’s Painted Canyon.

Dawn at the Painted Canyon Visitors Center in Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

Our Detroit Lakes Weekend Part II: Hotel Shoreham & Fireside Restaurant

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After spending a lazy morning lounging around The Lodge on Lake Detroit, I shook Jake from his video game trance and summoned him to lunch.

I chose Hotel Shoreham, a small restaurant mostly known for its pizza, located on Lake Sallie.  Still feeling “za’d” out from the previous evening at Zorbaz, we opted for nothing that included a “Z.”

Jake ordered a fruity beverage that ended up costing $9 and I ordered a bottle of St. Pauli Girl, $4.75, having no clue that it did not contain any alcohol.  My beer connoisseur fiance laughed at me.

We started with a basket of beer batter fried shrimp, $9.95, which arrived scalding hot and nearly grease-free.

Salads came with our entrees.  The greens were fresh and crisp and I dipped them in the house dill dressing, that reminded me of that bread bowl party dip.

The $11 crab cake was about the size of my palm.  It’s crispy exterior was drizzled with a garlicky mayonnaise sauce.  The interior revealed some breading, flakes of crab along, and a few small lumps of meat.  Overall, we enjoyed its flavor, but felt it was pricey considering its size.  Oceanaire may charge about $15 per crab cake, but they are larger and made exclusively with jumbo lumps bound together with little more than sorcery.  Not quite the case at Hotel Shoreham, but not bad.

We split the walleye sandwich, $11.95.

The fish fillet’s batter was crispy and greaseless, and the flesh was delicate and sweet.  We rejoiced at the toasted bun.

After lunch, we drove around Lake Sallie, hoping to find some sort of beach or dock from which we could dangle our feet.  We chased deceptive signs that pointed us towards nonexistent beaches.  We circled around luxurious lake homes and wooded lots sheltering what we imaged were the cabins of kings.  Lake Sallie must be an exclusive lake, as we could not find even a strip of publicly accessible land.  Finally, we finally found a public dock that reached into water covered in green scum so thick that birds traveled across it by foot.  We passed.

When we returned to The Lodge, I took a nap and slept off that St. Pauli Girl.

For dinner, we chose the Fireside Restaurant located a few blocks from The Lodge.  By 8 p.m., it calmly buzzed with customers and we sat on the screened porch overlooking the lake.  We felt like we’d been transported to a sleepy veranda on the deep south.  Diners leaned into their chairs and lingered over their dinners as servers gracefully allowed everyone to bask in the sunset.

I ordered a mojito for $6.50.

Despite the mojito’s whimsical swizzle sticks, it was quite dreadful.  The mint didn’t appear to be muddled, the liquor was light, and and it tasted like the smell of your mother’s L’Occitane bath soap.  Jake fared better with a glass of red wine.

We snacked on a complimentary plate of “no-frills” vegetables and dip.

And picked out the buttery garlic toasts from the breadbasket (also complimentary).

For an entree, I ordered a Caesar salad with anchovies, $6, and the Surf &Turf Skewers appetizer, $11, that consisted of bacon-wrapped beef and scallops in a “tangy honey-mustard sauce.”  Jake ordered the 10 oz. prime rib special. $23, offered with his choice of two sides.  He selected grilled asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes.

The Caesar salad greens were fresh and dotted with croutons coated in something cheesy and a little bit spicy.  Kudos for offering anchovies.

I began to feel full and gingerly tasted the skewers.

The beef was cooked to about medium and was tender.  Although the large scallops were fresh and buttery, mine contained noticeable grit.  Jake ate the second and deemed it grit-free, pushing aside the soggy bacon which I happily ate.  He prefers bacon cooked ultra crispy while I like mine with some give.  I’d hardly describe the sauce as tasting like honey mustard.  Its sweetness tasted much more subtle and melded with the grilled meats.

Jake delicately carved bites of his prime rib and dunked them in au jus and horseradish sauce.  The meat was tender and cooked medium rare as requested.

The side of asparagus was carefully grilled (ends trimmed) and garnished with a hollandaise-like sauce and lemon wedge.

Since it was the end of our vacation, we split creme brulee.

At first glance, I was disappointed the sugar topping wasn’t more caramelized.  But after I dug below the surface, I was too hooked to care.  The smooth chocolate custard tasted exactly like the essence of a chocolate brownie.  Jake began to reminisce about the brownies his late, Norwegian Grandma used to make.

We were stunned when our bill was almost equivalent to our lunch at the Shoreham Hotel.  Fireside is known as the pricier option in Detroit Lakes, but served a better-than-average meal for lower prices than what we’d find in Fargo-Moorhead and the Twin Cities.

I really appreciate the juxtaposition of Fireside’s stunning lake view and unpretentious service/atmosphere.  While the staff is down to earth, the occasional customers may be more high maintenance.  I laughed as I eavesdropped on a conversation that mirrored this Portlandia sketch.  We had practically finished two courses by the time they placed their order.

Hopefully, we’ll return to Detroit Lakes this summer.  Where do you like to eat and do you have a favorite dive-bar?

Our Detroit Lakes Weekend Part I: Eggbake Heaven & “Za” from Zorbaz

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My idea of heaven is waking-up to someone else’s eggbake.

Such was the case during our weekend stay at The Lodge On Lake Detroit.

Our room’s balcony overlooked the grassy lawn and clear waters of Lake Detroit.  On our first evening, we giggled as adults polka’d around a campfire on the beach.  During the day, friends gossiped over beer while children built sandcastles.

The view from our balcony

The lodge was immaculately clean and it’s vibe was tranquil.  Obviously, not a prime choice for rowdy party-goers.  We unwound and enjoyed the complimentary wi-fi and watermelon water from the lobby.  Jake swam in the indoor pool while I sat on a beach chair and daydreamed.

My favorite part of our stay was slicing off wedges of the lodge’s eggbake featured at the complimentary breakfast.  This eggbake was no ordinary eggbake.  In fact, it may even be better than your mother’s.

Each morning, the staff gingerly replaced small pans of eggbake made with vegetables, meat, gooey cheese, and fluffy cubes of bread.  On the first morning, I found fresh broccoli, and on the second, rosemary.  While some gravitated toward “make-your-own waffles” or the strange, automated pancake machine, I lined-up for eggbake, dousing it with a selection of hot sauces.

The Lodge also provided three varieties of hot coffee, plus flavored syrups.  Definitely my thing, not Jake’s.

A small bar in the lobby opens at five p.m. and serves bottles of craft beer, wine, cocktails, and a selection of treats such as $3 cheese plates and flat breads.

Overall, we have no complaints about The Lodge.  The staff members were lovely and we returned to Fargo breathing a little easier.

Before we left for Detroit Lakes, we had asked friends and coworkers for dining recommendations.  Nearly everyone pointed us towards Zorbaz.  So, on Friday evening we made the obligatory stop at Zorbaz for our first meal in Detroit Lakes.   We easily located the illuminated “Z” and sat on the patio beneath a neon palm tree.

Zorbaz offers an eclectic “please-all” menu of pizza, Mexican-inspired food, and spaghetti.  Jake ordered the “Hot Hawg” pizza that was generously topped with green chili sauce, Canadian bacon, pepperoni, andouille sausage, bacon, and jalapenos.  He seemed satisfied and enjoyed the rest as leftovers.  I didn’t consider it particularly spicy, except for the jalapenos.

I don’t often crave Americanized-Mexican food, but was surprised at how much I enjoyed Zorbaz’s chicken enchiladas.

The chicken was plentiful and moist and the enchilada sauce packed more flavor than I’ve typically tasted.  My guess is that the sauce is homemade, as I noticed rough cuts of fresh vegetables.  I appreciated the plentiful garnishes of jalapeno and fresh, red onion.

The wristbands were annoying, the atmosphere was fun, and Jake was happy with the surprisingly large tap beer list.  Portion sizes were large considering the prices.  My enchilada plate, alone, contained enough food for three, Jeni-sized meals.

We felt the food was tasty, though nothing earth-shattering.  With its relaxed atmosphere and proximity to the main beach, I can see why families look forward to making summer pilgrimages to Zorbaz.

Sidenote: I once dated a man from Philadelphia.  He asked me why everyone in Minnesota called pizza, “za.”  I had no idea what he was talking about.  I believe I had my first encounter with “za” at Zorbaz.  When you “za,” do you know?

Solo Road Trip Home Part I: Awkwardly Delicious Breakfast In Rural MN @ Charlie’s Cafe

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Although our Easter break is only a couple of weeks away, I felt antsy and wanted to go back home for a quick visit.

I enjoyed a somewhat leisurely Saturday morning and packed up for the Twin Cities.  Even at nine a.m., the fog swirled along I-94 E and made for a drive more amusing and beautiful than the norm.

Having done some prior research via Chowhound, I decided to make a quick breakfast stop in Freeport, MN at Charlie’s Cafe.  Freeport is located about 75-minutes from the Twin Cities and I have always admired it’s smiley water tower-like contraption and beautiful church steeple.

No one seemed to offer any glowing suggestions of breakfast joints along I-94 between the Twin Cities and Fargo, but mentioned Charlie’s Cafe for decent food, accessibility to the freeway, and that it’s supposedly the inspiration behind Garrison Keillor’s Chatterbox Cafe in Lake Wobegon.  It’s website also advertises free wi-fi.

The cafe was literally a few minutes from the freeway.  I admired the amiable, tiny main street and character of the beautiful, old homes.  Charlie’s Cafe was immediately visible due to it’s prominent signage.

Charlie’s Cafe
115 Main Street East
Freeport, MN 56331
(320) 836-2105

The small restaurant was buzzing with families and friends enjoying each other’s company on a beautiful Saturday morning.  Although the restaurant aggressively advertises to weary road travelers on billboards along the interstate, Charlie’s seemed like a cozy gathering spot for locals.  Many of the diners appeared to be happy regulars or familiar with each other.

Once inside, I quickly seated myself, set up my laptop, and placed my order for coffee and a breakfast skillet that included hash browns, vegetables, two eggs, sunny side-up, and the meat of choice, ham.

My server quickly brought me a small pot of hot coffee and I gratefully poured myself a cup to ward of an increasing sensation of sleepiness.  I was happy to see little creamers at my table.  Real cream is best, little creamers are good enough, and powdered, dairy-free creamers are abhorable (for the record, I like my coffee blond and my espresso somewhat less blond).

Minutes later, my server brought my breakfast skillet.

I tested one of the egg yolks and it ran liquid gold.

The exterior of the hash browns was delightfully crispy and interspersed with bits of ham, thin slices of onion, crispy green pepper, canned mushrooms, and melted American cheese.  I felt iffy about the canned mushrooms and American cheese, but appreciated the perfectly cooked eggs and the dish’s lack of visible greasiness.  In fact, all of the skillet elements, from the hash browns to the eggs, tasted rather light. . . as light as a breakfast skillet could possible be.

Not exactly haut cuisine, but the guilty-pleasure type of comfort food that hit the spot during my morning drive.

As a side note, I did my best to nonchalantly enjoy my meal while a table of local, male, senior citizens kept turning around to stare.  This staring activity didn’t seem to be hostile or overtly unwelcoming, but possibly curious.  I guess they may not see too many strange Asian girls with laptops in these parts.  That being said, I ate pretty quickly, as the experience felt a little awkward.  Mind you, these weren’t brief, curious glances (which I have become relatively oblivious to), but full-on, turning around in one’s seat to gawk.

I paid my tally which came to about $9.25, and returned to the road.

In conclusion, I felt the service was friendly and attentive and I also noticed the restaurant advertised German specialties served on Wednesday evenings between 4-8 p.m.  Maybe Jake and I can drop by for German food if we happen to be traveling to or from the cities.

Do you have any suggestions for food-related stops between the Twin Cities and Fargo?

Stay tuned for Solo Road Trip Home Part II where this Hunger Games virgin brings my family to Dong Yang for some amazing Korean food and stern Korean grandmothering, and suffers a near meltdown after seeing the film (a.k.a. omg, so that’s what they mean by “games”).