Bronks Bar and Grill - Lake City, MN

Have you ever had sex with a rodeo clown? Never mind, that question is stupid. Nobody has. Not even the Insane Clown Posse and they have both the words "clown" and "posse" in their name! But have you ever stopped to think "why" nobody has sex with rodeo clowns? Me neither. That train of thought would only end up as a fiery pile of crap at the bottom of Shonash Ravine.

Anyway, as you try and wrap your mind around rodeo clown sex and the possibility that Harry the Bull and his band of Gifted Bovines is somehow responsible for the complete lack of some true bull on clown action, turn your thoughts to a little slice of Food Network Television that features Chef Robert Irvine trying to save failing restaurants from their own stupidity and turn them into Dollar Store phenoms with a better menu. 

One particular episode that recently caught my eye was filmed in Lake City, Minnesota and the location is only a few hours away from me. I couldn't resist. This was going to be a nice surprise or an utter disappointment. 

The atmosphere of the place was not bad and I was greeted warmly and sat immediately. In fact, the color scheme was welcoming and I noted several of the improvements which I had seen on the show. The place was at about 25% capacity so I didn't expect any delays. The long drive had me famished and I could have eaten the ass off a dead rhinoceros! So I sat . . . . 8 minutes for my water . . . . . 15 minutes for my appetizer of fresh cheese curds. Now, here is where things actually get interesting; the curds were outstanding and the three home made sauces of spicy ketchup, honey mustard, and horseradish mayo were all quite flavorful! A pleasant surprise, but I wouldn't expect anything less from recipes by the great Chef Irvine. I ordered my burger at the same time as the appetizer so I expected to be served in short order. 

Chirp, chirp, chirp. 

With very little to do, the servers apparently concluded that they didn't need to participate in the actual practice of serving and my water ran dry. Where's Jesus when you need him? After 37 minutes, I noted that the booth behind me, which had been seated when I arrived, finally got their food. Not a good sign. 

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

48 minutes in and I flagged one of the ladies down and got a refill on my water. She apologized for the delay but had no conclusion as to the whereabouts of my burger. In the meantime, a young hippie family seated across from me had allowed their 4 year-old to play loud video games on their iPhone without regard to the rest of the clientele. My flaring nerves cast a look of such searing hatred towards the alleged father that he immediately grabbed the phone and turned it down (much to the dismay of his child). 

Chirp, chirp, chirp (at least it wasn't a stupid iPhone game anymore). 

72 minutes. ENOUGH! I got up and asked one of the servers for a status and they had no answer. I handed her cash to pay for my now digested and wanting released appetizer. Then I walked. Disappointed, hungry and pissed off!

This was, by far, the slowest service in burger history. I applaud Chef Irvine for his work, but perhaps he should have stayed home and allowed this one to fail because all he apparently did was prolong the misery. A  misery that, along with wanting loins of Joan Rivers and her plastic vagina, would only be satisfied by becoming the enslaved rodeo sex clown of Harry and his Gifted Bovines. 

Buca Di Beppo - Appleton WI

Pebble Score:

So what do Hulk Hogan, Jay Leno, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Sylvester Stallone and Lindsay Lohan have in common? Well, aside from naturally hairy chests, their aspirations of Popeness, and a love for the female form, they are all of Italian descent. 

Now, it is widely rumored, and accepted as fact, that all celebrities having any amount of Italian in their heritage, aspire to be Pope. After all, who else can throw tantrums, tell a large portion of the population how to live their lives, and wear silly hats? Unfortunately, due to the tremendous physical strain and the fact that only men can become Pope, the only one sure to endure through the rigors of Conclave and eventually be appointed as the Supreme Pontiff is, undoubtedly, Madonna. 

So why the big fuss over trying to become Pope? Is it the fancy robes, the many rings adorned with precious stones, the really cool Pope-Mobile, the fact that you own all Catholics, or, is it the young alter boys? No! All of these benefits can already be had by many celebrities. The one benefit of Popeship that can only be bestowed with Popedom, is the privilege of having your bust at the center of the Pope's Table at every Buca di Beppo restaurant! What could be better? Although many have had Madonna's bust, the pleasure has yet to be bestowed onto the center of a Buca di Beppo table. 

The only way we peasants can even get close to such an honor as having our busts at the center of a dining table (other than changing your name to Skittles, oiling yourself up and dancing for dollar bills on a table at Olive Garden), is to reserve the Pope Table at your favorite Buca di Beppo location. Well, not having 15 friends with whom to share the table at the new Appleton location, but still wanting to see what the fuss was all about, my dining partner and I had to settle for a small booth in a corner watched over by our server, Pat. 

The atmosphere is happily busy with about 17.2 million photos on the walls and the vibrant sounds of Italian music echoing through the entire space. 

We started our meal with a pricey little appetizer of Bruschetta [broo-sket-uh, -shet-uh; It. broo-sket-tah]. Crisp Italian bread covered with olive oil and Parmesan cheese. Individually sliced grape tomatoes and basil overflowed the top giving it a fresh and authentic flavor. The price point  of almost $11 was a little steep in my opinion (this is Appleton not LA), but the work that goes into it and the final result makes this appetizer for two almost worth the price. 

I chose the Tomato and Basil soup as my accompaniment. Presentation was a bit sloppy and could have used a few bits of fresh basil on top which would have really stood out against the color of the base. Flavor was a bit better than Campbell's, but the tomato seeds were not completely strained out of the soup and they ended up having the effect of large boulders on an otherwise smooth country road - Da da da da da da ........ BAM! Not to my liking. 

My entree was the popular Spaghetti with Meat Ball. Yes, "Meat Ball". Singular. Peerless. Only one. Having no other. Lance Armstrong. But, as Sheryl Crow might attest to, one is enough! The large meat balls served at this place are a meal in themselves! The spaghetti was cooked perfectly al dente. The sauce tasted fresh with lots of garlic slices and Italian goodness but had separated and left a puddle of flavor at the bottom of the bowl. The pasta had a hard time hanging on to the loose sauce and it was a bit difficult to incorporate all of the flavors onto each bite. The meat ball had a great flavor with well rounded herbs and spices and was reminiscent of my Aunt Bunny's meatloaf. I wouldn't mind having a couple of those balls on an Italian hoagie with fresh mozzarella and basil! 

Overall, my meal at Buca di Beppo was quite flavorful with a freshness not usually found in other Italian chain restaurants. I felt the lunch prices were a bit high for the area, maybe deterring some guests, and the prices are perhaps the reason for the less-than-stellar Urbanspoon rating. Perhaps all of those poor ratings are from those who do not appreciate the size of Buca's balls! Although not as large as Madonna's, when you experience one, it leaves you feeling like a virgin! 

Grazie's Italian Grill - Stevens Point

grazie (Italian):  

a grateful feeling or acknowledgment of a benefit, favor, or the like, expressed by words or otherwise. Thank you.

In other words, Grazie means: "thanks". Many Italians use the word "grazie" when they receive great service, food, gifts, compliments, origami and hand jobs. "Grazie" is also the majority stockholder name of a semi-Italian-like restaurant in Stevens Point, WI . . . "Grazie's Italian Grill". Now, it is a known fact that Italian men (many of which are named Tony because of an oversight on Ellis Island where many of them had written "to NY" on their foreheads to ensure they would arrive in New York), are quite fond of pizza pies (among others). So, in the spirit of all those consequential Tonys, we decided to try out Grazie's pizza. 

I am quite the fan of pizza and most Italian food. However, as a good friend of mine named Tony once said, "Ogni regola ha un' eccezione". Translation: "There is an exception to every rule". Grazies is the exception to my like of Italian food. I ordered a pepperoni and sausage pizza and some Cheezy-er Cheese Bread. What I got was an oxymoron. No cheese and very little sausage and pepperoni rounded out the meal. The ingredients themselves were of a lackluster quality and were actually more reminiscent of another friend of mine's pizza empire. Perhaps you've heard of him . . . Tony, the owner of Tony's Pizza found in nearly every corner of the non-Italian world. 

Both the 16" pizza and the Cheezy-less bread weighed in at an astonishing 1.09 ounces, which I have since learned is the result of the small amounts of yeast in the crust that cause it to rise and become lighter than air. The sauce was okay, but the meager scattering of toppings really made the whole pie taste like cardboard, salty tomatoes and Sasquatch meat. The reason for the lack of a photograph in this review is the fact that there was no cheese; therefore, no smile and no click of the shutter. 

So if you find yourself in need of a pie of the Italian variety, but without the Buckwheat hairdo, take a walk down to your local grocery or convenience store and let my friend Tony hook you up. His pizzas are better tasting, cheaper, and won't break your wallet or your arm. And, if by chance, Tony offers you something other than a great tasting pie at a reasonable price, just tell him: "No Grazie's!"

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.