Ranchito - Stevens Point, WI

Date of Visit: 3-16-2012

Time of Visit: 10:00 AM

Pebble Score:

The likelihood of running into an authentic Mexican restaurant in central Wisconsin is about as good as getting shot in the ass with a potato gun by a bisexual, three-nippled midget (BTM). But now that I think about it, however, I believe that is actually a popular festival in one of the local towns like Polonia or something. Yeah, now I remember, it's the Itty-bitty-three-titty-yam-spanker Festival! It's held every year during the first full moon after the local potato harvest and it marks the anniversary of the Lilliputians' rise to power in France. Oui, oui! 

Now, it is widely known that the number one enemy of Minikins, as the BTM's are more commonly referred, are Mexican immigrants. Mexicans come from as far away as Mexico. They leave their families and vast fortunes behind risking their lives on treacherous journeys for the mere chance to capture a Minikin and encase it in paper mache. That actually leads into how pinatas came about, but I will leave that for another post. 

With their hopes fading, and their dreams of capturing the more-elusive-than-a-chupa-cabra Minikin dashed, Mexicans have no choice but to fend for themselves and try to eek out their own American dream. With pesos in hand and tamale recipes ingrained in their childhood memories, they open up taquerias on every other corner of Main Street USA. And now, we have another one in Stevens Point, Wisconsin. 

Ranchito, is as close to authentic Mexican food as you can find around central Wisconsin without making it yourself. They offer breakfast with both traditional and Mexican dishes and are open for lunch and dinner as well. I ordered up a Mexican Machaca with shredded beef, cheese, tomatoes, onion, peppers and a host of yummy spices all topped with a couple of over easy eggs. Just like mom use to make! The flavor of the cumin came through with only some slight heat and as you cut into the eggs, the yolks sluiced their way through the dish and added an element of creaminess and richness that I will certainly go back and eat again, and again. 

Now, no Mexican dish would be complete without tortillas, and this one was no exception. I had a choice of regular corn, flour or home made corn and the choice for the home made was obvious. Although they were not hand pressed, rather pressed with a manual tortilla press, they were thick and had a great corn flavor and I mopped up every last morsel of goodness with the final bites.

The service was great and the sounds of "Estas son las mañanitas" kinda take you on a foodie trip south of the border.  The owner, Mr. Perez, is very attentive to everything that goes on in the restaurant. My bill had an error on it but he took care of it promptly and with many apologies. 

Overall, it was a good experience with good food and tasteful decor at a reasonable price. The building is small and could use a bit more seating, but the booths are comfortable and the restaurant is fairly new so the traffic is still slower than it should be until the word gets out. 

So, if you get a craving for some authentic Mexican food and you find yourself in the Stevens Point area, give Ranchito a try. Bring your appetite and your Visa card. Because, as I learned, they don't take kindly to strangers trying to pay with a Minikin squirming around in a burlap sack, and they don't take American Express. 

Famous Dave's - Appleton, WI

Date of Visit: 3-15-2012

Time of Visit: 12:30

Pebble Score:

Chicken, ribs or steak, it don't matter what you cook. If it ain't been barbecued, then it don't cut it in my book. From the back roads of the deep South to the Texas panhandle, I have had the pleasure of sampling some of this country's best BBQ. Arthur Bryant's, Charles Vergos' Rendezvous, Baker's Ribs and countless other juke joints throughout the South have left me with an insatiable craving for that myoglobin/carbon monoxide reaction that can only come from slow smoking unsuspecting  and lethargic animals in huge pits of fire and brimstone! YUM! 

Enter, stage left, Famous Dave's. I first discovered Dave's BBQ at his Blues Club on Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis soon after moving to Wisconsin from South Texas (what the hell was I thinking?). I enjoyed a great night of beer, blues and cue with some co-workers and I have been a loyal follower ever since!

I recently had the opportunity to sample Dave's Appleton, Wisconsin store. Same decor as most of his other stores (There's a sale at Penny's!) with the all too familiar aroma of burnt offerings coming from the kitchen. Those burnt offerings rejuvenate everything! If you close your eyes, you can see the old empty steel drums found by Billy Bob and Bubba down by that der canal over yonder, cut in half and brimming with hardwood coals and ashes. Betcha can get some good flavor from them drums. Heck, they got them bone pictures on 'em! But I digress. 

I was seated by the hostess (fancy!) and then ordered the Rib Tips (naked, of course) with the Roasted Chicken, BBQ beans and fries. Being the lunch rush, things took about 15 minutes, but I was able to entertain myself by scribbling dirty words, in alphabetical order (I have to do it in alphabetical order, I am a little CDO), on all of the sugar and not-so-sugar packets. The couple seated behind me must have thought me strange when I kept giggling and then kindly asked to exchange my container for theirs. Luckily, the food arrived before I got the letter "F". 

The naked tips were mounded on half my plate. I read a review of this restaurant on Urbanspoon by ManBearPig that you should never order the tips because they are meat scraps and the marrow leaks out of the bones. YUM! Apparently, this neanderthal had no idea that rib tips are short, meaty sections of rib that are attached to the lower end of the spare ribs, between the ribs and the sternum. Unlike back ribs or spare ribs, the structure of the rib is provided by dense costal cartilage, NOT BONE! Bonehead! Rib tips are cut away from the spare ribs when preparing St. Louis Style spare ribs.

Anyway, the tips were a bit greasy with loads of fat but the dry rub is full of flavor and lends itself quite well to be dunked with a multitude of sauces. The beans were great with a nice BBQ flavor and the chicken was a little dry but flavorful. Now, you might ask why I got my Rib Tips NAKED? Simple, really. If you get them naked, you can savor each one with a different sauce! The Texas Pit, Devil's Spit, and the Georgia Mustard are my favorites and I never, ever, use ketchup for my fries. With all of those sauces on the table, why would you use anything else?

Dave's Sauces

The service was okay, but nothing to write home about. So I won't write about it.

Overall, for a Northwoods boy, Dave does a fine job with BBQ and I am able to get my smoke fix whenever I have the occasion to be traveling near one of his joints. The best part of the meal was that wonderful corn muffin they serve on every plate! Like sucking Kansas through a bee's ass (maybe they will use that characterization in their menu)! Not sure how they make those delectable little morsels, but i'm certain Dave will be more than willing to share his recipe with me so I can then post it to this blog and become famous myself! But I'm not holding my breath because, just like the rib tips, there's a fat chance of that! 

Angel's Hwy 63 Diner - Ellsworth, WI

Date of Visit: 03-14-2012

Time of Visit: 1:45 PM

Pebble Score:

I have a job. Unlike many of the folk that frequent Angel's. I'm not saying that they're lazy, I mean, they probably had jobs at one time, but now they just sit around and talk about politics, how the country's gone all to crap, and what color, shape and texture their bowl movement was this morning. And, they wait. They wait for that next social security check to hit their meager bank accounts before it's off to Walmart for an afternoon of fun and frolic. Then they wait again. I sit and wait. Does an angel contemplate my fate? Perhaps. 

Angel's Hwy 63 Diner. I discovered this little side of the road cafe while working in the area and decided to stop and give it a try. The gravel parking lot was a yesteryear's welcome mat and the cars, of which none were of foreign descent, were lined up like a pile of wooden blocks in the losers' bracket at the international Jenga tournament. This was going to be interesting! 

As I walked in, I was visually accosted. My remaining youth suddenly sucked away by the soulful eyes of the patrons who gazed upon me. Perhaps they looked to me to see if I had come bearing news of a pool where they could swim and become energized with youthful vigor. 

The decor matched the enthusiasm in the room as did the free wifi. I seated myself and was promptly greeted with warmth by the matriarch of the group who's name I could only assume was Methuselah. Maty, as I had chosen to refer to her, was friendly and treated me like family. I ordered the hamburger and hand cut fries, and waited. Surprisingly, the wait was only about 10 minutes and my food come out hot and appetizing. 

The burger was not too dry and the words "mom burger" came to mind as the patty was hand formed, the lettuce was crisp and the tomato was fresh and still cold. The bun was toasted but commercially made and the hand cut potatoes, although only single fried, were flavorful and a little limp. Overall a decent burger and fries plate at a very reasonable cost. If you prefer crispy fries, this is certainly not a place for you. However, if you like laid back service, overhearing first hand accounts of the Great Depression, and breakfast served all day, than give Angel's a try. 

As I paid for my meal, in complete shock that they accepted forms of payment other than fattened swines and buttercup coned roosters (which I was well prepared for, BTW), I couldn't help but cast a pitied look back at my fellow patrons as they faded back into their cocoons of hell and waited for their only remaining chance at life . . . Walmart.  

El Mezcal - Marshfield, WI

Date of Visit: 03-12-2012

Time of Visit: 6:00 PM

Pebble Score:

Oh, Mexico. I never really been but I'd sure like to go. Where I'd imagine the sun warms your skin, causes the agave to grow to astounding heights and you find yourself wishing you had a damn hat or some SPF 30! Luckily, for us northern folk, we can get a bit of the divine flavor from our south facing immigrant producing machine right in our own back yards. It seems like Mexican restaurants have sprouted up everywhere like illegals trying to hide under a cabbage truck. So many, in fact, that giant burritos, churros and sizzling fajita plates have become ubiquitous in American cuisine.

I recently had the opportunity to visit El Mezcal in Marshfield, WI. This restaurant comes highly recommended by the locals as is evident by their Urbanspoon rating. The decor is quite a cliche' and you can just imagine yourself whisked away to some fiesta in the heart of San Francisco by a gay caballero! Still, the place is inviting and has a festive feel. The hostesses were of non-suntanned descent and I immediately felt as if I had been sucked into some sort of oxymoronic time warp where I was certain to find both Amilia Earhart and Herve Villechaize enjoying happy hour margaritas on the wings of a Lockheed Electra yelling; "Da plane! Da plane!"

I was accompanied by a few other members of my family and we were quickly seated in one of those long booths that have multiple tables and wouldn't you know it, right next to some of the only other patrons in the place. Strike one. The chips and salsa came flying in hot, flavorful and never-ending. Another human of non-suntanned descent took our order and politely asked if we needed anything right away. Since we happened to be celebrating one of our group's birthday, we gladly threw them under the bus and asked for a Mexican Hat Dance! This was going to be hilarious! 

Our food came out quickly and was served hot with warm plates to ensure the cheeses stayed melted. Good call. An order of meat nachos, cheese nachos, a taco salad with more meat than lettuce, cheese sauce, bean dip, more chips and salsa, and an order of pork chile colorado with six mechanically produced tortillas were laid out before us. Everyone was happy with their choice of food and the portions were generous. The chili colorado (my dish) was a little tough, but was flavorful with a twinge of heat. I added some bottled Tapatio salsa and all was better.

Refills on drinks were a little slow, but they did eventually come. Towards the end of the meal, the plates were cleared and a surprise ice cream sundae with raspberry and fudge sauces was laid before the birthday girl in the group. The mandatory Mexican hat that accompanied the sundae and had been worn by countless other celebrants without the mere thought of disinfection was not well received and I would suffer sever penalties if I were to post the incriminating photo on in this blog. Hilarity did ensue! 

Overall, the service was decent, the food, although not truly authentic, was gringo flavorful and served hot. The overall value was good with a total bill of only $40.64 with a 20% tip! Right at 10 bucks a head. Not too bad for bunch of south-of-the-border brothers. Try them out, you will probably like them. 

Route 66 Diner - Stevens Point WI

Date of Visit: 03-11-2012
Time of Visit: 9:00 AM

 Pebble Score:    

It's Sunday morning and you roll out of bed with an intense itch between your legs and you know it's got to be either the crab you got last night, or a yearning to find the best pancakes around! Fortunately for me it was the yearning. Because, frankly, crabs at this point in my life, when I am weak and frail from consuming copious amounts of butter, liquor and artificial ingredients, would mean that the only benign method of treatment I could possibly subscribe to without endangering some other part of my anatomy, would be to dump sand in my trousers and let the little crab bastards stone each other to death.


Back to pancakes. I ran into a local establishment by the name of Julie's Route 66 Diner to check out their breakfast. The atmosphere was a typical diner style with random scatterings of cliches on the walls and a few boisterous locals trying to one up each other with their childhood stories and politics. I sat myself at the furthest booth from the sight of the servers and lo and behold, I was greeted with a warm smile even before my ass stopped making those annoying fart noises on the seat. 


The menu offered general diner fare with nothing that stood out as special. So I went with the chopped steak (medium), eggs over easy, hash browns, wheat toast, and yes, a side of pancakes. The coffee was hot and I never got below a half cup before the server was right there  with the pot to fill it up. Give it up for good service! The wait for my food was short and I eagerly dove right into my semi-dry overly cooked and short on flavor steak. Hopes dashed. I slathered a little butter on my pancakes to allow a little dairy goodness to soak in. The eggs were done correctly and the potatoes were warm and not drowning in diner death but they lacked flavor and were a little on the dry side. More coffee! Crap that stuff is HOT! Not used to having a continuous cup! 


I droned on with my lackluster meal and finally dove into what was, at this point, low expectations of pancakes. I was not surprised. With all semblance of a good meal apparently left in the kitchen, I noted that the butter and the little jelly containers on the all-you-can-eat jam session going on in that little jelly basket, were all brands of which I had never even heard or imagined. Something like "Bob's Warehouse Jelly" or some other non-distinct brand.  Then it occurred to me . . . there is a reason why most of the food was mediocre at best . . . low quality ingredients and a successful effort to save a penny on flavor. Filling, yes. Flavorful, no. Inexpensive, it certainly better be, but I have had better breakfasts for less money.


I have to admit, the service at this diner was by far the best I have encountered in a very long time but that alone certainly does not entice me to come back. Somehow, however, my disguise as a Wookie must have caught the attention of the owner who came over and asked if this was my first time in (was it that obvious?). She was very friendly and enthusiastic and thanked me for coming in. She also invited me back to the best fish fry in town (I had heard that one before!), but I think I will stick to my Gorton's, thank you!  Or perhaps, I'll give it another shot.


Won't you get hip to this timely tip: If you like exceptional service and a filling meal, Julie's Route 66 Diner is for you. If you want quality food and flavor with that, perhaps you should get your kicks somewhere else. 

What the Crap is a Crêpe?

Pardon moi, señor! Have you ever tried to find a decent place in which to have a normal run-of-the-mill meal with your friends or family but couldn't quite decide where to go or who had the best food within the range of your social status? So, what do you do? You grab the nearest smart phone and search for the best diner or bar food or local dive around; you search high and low in every corner of the net only to find everything you never wanted to know about some hoity-toity French restaurant where you can't pronounce the entrees and you couldn't afford to buy an appetizer there even if you sold one of your kidneys to be served up as the daily special at Che Guevaras? We've all been there. 


If there was only a place you could turn to whenever you wanted to try somewhere new to eat, or you were just passing through and wanted to find a great burger that included both a normal bun and actual ground beef? You know, a world of never-ending happiness, where you can always see the sun. Day . . . or night. A world with food fit for a prince, but made by a pauper. A world with a guide to all things yummy and all things, well, not so yummy. The wide, wide, world of . . . Foodie Pebbles.


I come from a long line of chefs, short order cooks, restaurateurs, innkeepers and masturbators (very satisfying line of work, I might add). So I come by the love of food naturally and I enjoy sharing my experiences and criticisms with everyone I meat. Maybe I don't know the difference between a French oak barrel wine and an American one, but I do know the difference between crap and crêpe . . . the spelling.