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!"

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. 

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.