When in Rome... or at least in the Black Hills - a food post

We took a trip to the Black Hills as soon as this school year ended. One minute I was saying goodbye to friends at school, and the next we were saying hi to these guys.

Our first stop was a night at the AmericInn hotel in Hartford (they had a pool!). We had dinner next door at the Blue 42 Sports Grill. Since we were in south-eastern South Dakota, I ordered the chislic basket. I won't judge you if you haven't heard of chislic. It is definitely a South Dakota-thing; they even have a chislic festival.

I substituted tater tots for the fries, and I'm struggling to find words to describe how much I loved this dinner. Let's just say I wished I ordered two baskets. Bar food at its finest.

The next day we stopped at Al's Oasis for lunch. I can order a hamburger anywhere, so I went with a Buffalo Burger.

I'm not a food connoisseur, so I can't tell you exactly what a buffalo burger tastes like... except that it was really good. If I hadn't known that I was eating buffalo, I don't think I would have noticed that it was different from a burger back home.

That night we unpacked our car in Keystone where we had rented a tiny house for nine nights. The Big Thunder Bar & Grill was across the street. 

Daphne and I both ordered the special.

"Note: The Game Burger is a combination of Deer, Elk, Boar, Buffalo, and Antelope."

We both enjoyed our Game Burgers. There was no way that I could have identified the different types of animal ingredients. It just tasted good.

Did you know one of the founding fathers of the United States can be credited with the first known ice cream recipe recorded by an American? Jefferson also likely helped to popularize ice cream in this country when he served it at the President’s House in Washington.

It's vanilla, and we'd like to thank you, President Jefferson.

I don't know when I'll get another chance to eat Buffalo Ribs, so I ordered them at Red's Chicken House and BBQ. I hope I get another chance; these ribs were great.

We went back to Big Thunder to try their brats. Daphne had the Elk and Jalapeno brat, and I ordered the Rattle Snake and Pheasant sausage.

I'll be honest. I was a bit worried about eating snake. I thought it might be gamy or dry. It was neither, and I'd eat another one for sure. Daphne also enjoyed her Elk brat.

Char really liked eating at the Br Gr 61 (say "burger"). They have 61 different ways to top your burger, but that's not why Char liked the place.

The tables are house doors with plates of glass on top. Beneath the glass you can see the business cards, pictures, notes, and tickets that patrons have slid in over the years.

Let's zoom in:

It's fun to leave your mark on a place... legally.

Speaking of that, in Rapid City they have statutes of all the US presidents and other significant historical figures. I spotted this statue in the city park. Can you see the joke that someone left behind?

Let's zoom in:

I don't think that's disrespectful. I just think it is funny. Like this sign I saw in a gas station outside of Sioux City.

We didn't give Char $100 when we visited the Candyland store, but she made out alright.

Neither Daphne and I had heard of chocolate covered pickles, so we bought a spear to share. The taste was salty, sweet, pickely, and fun.

They served a pickle beer at last year's Iowa State Fair, so maybe pickles are becoming cool? I don't know. I do know I enjoyed eating in the Black Hills.

Wait! They Have That?

 I don't pay much attention to the ads that come in the mail. They usually go straight from our mailbox to the recycling bin. For some reason, this ad for Boss' Chicken & Pizza caught my eye.

The ad boasts "State Fair Quality Beer Battered Cheese Curds," and I said to Daphne, "That's a pretty bold statement." She agreed.

I checked their website, and it turns out that the Boss' Chicken & Pizza chain is orginally from Sioux Falls, SD. Maybe that's why the ad seemed familiar? I've probably seen a Boss's Chicken & Pizza when we were visiting. I was curious about their appetizers, and while I was reading the menu something stopped me in my tracks. It's right there under boneless wings.

Whaaa? They have chislic? In Des Moines?

No way! I love chislic, but I thought that I could only get it when I'm in South Dakota. The last time I had an order of chislic was in 2019 when we were on our trip to the Black Hills. 

For the uninitiated, traditional chislic is cubed red meat (usually steak or lamb) that is fried and seasoned with either salt or garlic salt. It's simple, but it's simply good, too. 

Chislic is popular enough in South Dakota to be declared the official state "nosh." The Sioux Fall restaurant Urban Chislic is dedicated to the dish, and the town of Freeman will be hosting the Chislic Festival on July 30. 

So, yeah, it's popular with those in the know. But getting chislic in Iowa didn't seem posssible. I even called Boss' Chicken & Pizza to confirm that chislic had crossed the state line. I was assured that it was on their menu. Daphne and I stopped by on Sunday, and I was not disappointed.

Taa Daaaa! Iowan Chislic! And it tasted just like I remembered - awesome.

 

The chicken at Boss' is broasted, and Daphne and I split a four piece dinner with potato wedges and coleslaw. The chicken was stellar. I grew up eating broasted chcken, and I'll take it over fried or baked chicken every time.

What a great lunch.

I don't know if the Boss serves cheese curds that live up to State Fair standards. With chislic on the menu, I might never find out.

(Yes, I know I said I was done blogging, but Char's nowhere in this post, and anyway, I got excited... Good food does that to me.) 

Guess I'm a Poser

I have this sticker on the back window of our car:

I think it might have been designed as a slightly ironic jab at the slightly elitist Colorado sticker made popular in the 90s:

But irony isn't why I like my Iowa Native sticker.

What I like best about my native sticker is that I'm truly proud to live in Iowa. Before Daphne and I bought a house here, we went city shopping. We researched and traveled to as many as possible, and during these trips I discovered something. I found out that I'm a mid-western guy, a guy who enjoys living in Iowa, and more specifically, a guy who really loves Des Moines. 

I own this shirt, and wear it with pride:

I could go on with this love letter to Iowa, but according to the Iowa History Journal, displaying that native sticker on my car makes me a liar. A dirty, filthy liar.

The IHJ's fall issue featured Johnny Carson and exposed him as an (gasp!) Iowan. "In the opinion of the historians, it's where you were born that determines your labeling with regards to states, not where you spent most of your childhood." Editor Mike Chapman

The dictionary agrees:

Although Inwood, Iowa was my first hometown, I was born at Sioux Valley Hospital which is located in Sioux Falls, SD. So, if you believe Mr. Chapman and the dictionary, I'm a native South Dakotan.

(fake sticker design I just threw together)

But I don't want a South Dakotan sticker. It just wouldn't feel right. I'd be like listening to Jewel sing "Sweet Home Alabama". When Daphne and I were discussing moving to another city, one of us mentioned Sioux Falls, South Dakota as an option. Then we both burst out laughing.

Why? First, and foremost, my family lives there. Secondly, I haven't checked in awhile, but I think some school districts are still paying their teachers with pocket lint and meat sticks.

So, I'm staying here and keeping that Iowa sticker where it is. Besides, Charlotte's a native.

Summer Lovin' (part 1)

I could say this story started last May when school ended and summer began, but it really begins in 1977 when I first fell in love at the movies. The movie star that stole my heart was a cute and curvy rebel. I was seven years old at the time, and I was sitting in the "K-cinema" in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The K-cinema offered a double-bill of old and new Disney movies on Sundays, and parents would drop their children off at the theater while they went shopping for blue light specials at the nearby K-mart. Call it Disney Day Care.

Although the preadolescent audience didn't fill the theater to capacity, without parental supervision the place was a mad house. Kids were constantly switching seats and chasing each other up and down the isles. More popcorn was thrown than consumed. According to a post on cinematreasures.org, "One of the jobs of the ushers was to keep kids from literally climbing the walls of the auditorium, portions of which were cinderblock laid on its side so the holes were part of the decor and perfectly sized for the placement of small hands and feet."

As a patron of the K-cinema I can remember seeing The North Avenue Irregulars, The Cat from Outer Space, the three Kurt Russell/ Medfield College films, Pete's Dragon, Swiss Family Robinson, The Parent Trap, Mary Poppins, That Darn Cat, The Word's Greatest Athlete, The Apple Dumpling Gang, Freaky Friday, and Candleshoe.  Those last two movies featured the tough, but cute Jodie Foster. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSxbnnZ4IzE&feature=related

Even though I liked Jodie a lot, she wasn't my first onscreen love. 

On the Sunday my heart flipped the double feature was 1968's The Love Bug and the new Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo.

Since birth I've been a fan of anything that rolls, but Herbie the Love Bug was cooler than my Big Wheel, my bike, and my skateboard combined. Herbie wasn't a big race car, or a flashy muscle car, but he could do wheelies, skip across rivers, and even drive upside down in tunnels. He was an endearing underdog who was both brave and funny, but he was sensitive enough that you could hurt his feelings, too. He was everything I wanted in an action hero.

Also, unlike other movie stars, there were Herbies everywhere. This was '77, and even though it was the last production year for the standard Beetle in the US, you couldn't throw a dirt clod into a parking lot without hitting a Bug (not that I ever did that).  I didn't play "Slug bug"; I played "There's a Herbie!"

Mom must have picked up on my Herbie obsession because my next birthday was Herbie-themed. I received two books,

A snap-together model,

And a phony nickel twice the size of my palm. 

I know the nickel doesn't fit the theme, but I thought the huge coin was really neat.

A year later my family moved 15 miles from from Inwood to Rock Valley, and for the next seven years I would sneak peeks at the VW Bug parked in the high school lot. The car belonged to the high school principal, Osborne Liaboe, and it looked just like a Herbie. I didn't ever dare to get too close to it, though. You can't be caught messing around with the principal's car.

Fast forward to a summer Saturday in 1990. My parents and I were getting ready to take a trip to Minnesota to visit Bob's parents at their new lake cabin. Because the ATM hadn't been invented yet, Dad got up early so he could be at the bank as soon as it opened. When Dad returned with some cash he walked over to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall and told me he had just seen Ozzie put a "For Sale" sign on his old bug. He then lifted the phone's receiver and offered it to me, "Why don't you call him to see how much he wants?"

My heart jumped and I started sputtering, "No, no... I, I, I, I can't call my old principal! That, that guy hated me!" and I pushed the receiver back to him. Dad shook his head and started dialing. "No. He didn't hate you, Brent. He was just doing his job."

I jumped out of the room in a fit of excitement and fear. I was excited at the prospect of buying the Bug, and I was scared that the car would already be sold or that Ozzie would want too much money for it. I was stiffly standing around the corner trying to listen to Dad on the phone, but my heart was pounding too hard for me to really hear anything. 

All I was able to process was the end of their conversation. "...if you think that's a fair price, then okay. We'll swing by and pick it up in a few minutes." Dad hung up the phone and poked his head around the corner to where he knew I was hiding. "Okay, bud. You owe me $800."

I was stunned. Just 14 years after seeing the original, I had a Herbie of my own.

A Security Investment for the Future

This is Pinky.

You can often find him (yes, he is a boy) in the pictures of Charlotte because he is her best buddy. He sleeps with her, he eats at the dinner table with her, and often he is there when she takes her bath. He has been to Minnesota, South Dakota, and Missouri. He might have missed a few naps in the car, but he has slept with Char for most of her life. "Where's Pinky?" is usually the first thing I hear from the depths of Charlotte's rumpled bedcovers when I wake her at 6:15.

This is Hop-Hop.

You won't see her (yes, she is a girl) in many pictures; she spends most of her day on Charlotte's bed waiting for night time and a chance to get a little love. Although she came first, she has not bonded with Charlotte as tightly as Pinky has. I don't know why.

Hop-Hop was given to Charlotte when she was born, and when Char was old enough to recognize her surroundings, Hop-Hop became very important to Char. In fact, she was such a big part of Char's world that Daphne went to Target to buy a replacement in case the blanket got lost. Unfortunately, Target was sold out and the closest item for sale was a pink giraffe (enter Pinky).

I don't remember the exact day of the transition, but I do remember Daphne tapping my shoulder before I carried Char out to the car, "No. She wants Pinky to go with her to day care." Although Char couldn't talk at the time, she was pretty good at letting us know what she wanted.  Here's a video example. It's two minutes long, but you can see she pretty quickly that she wants a quilt that's on the bottom of a quilt stack.

Fast-forward to age four, and we now own two Pinkies.

One Pinky stays at day care (for nap time) and the original stays at home. Well, Pinky Monson is suppose to stay at home, but sometimes he has to go to day care, and sometimes the wrong Pinky gets into our bag when we're in a hurry to get home, and then sometimes someone drives across town to get the right Pinky in the right place. Even though the blankets appeared identical to us, Char could always tell the difference.

Years ago I went back to Target buy a third Pinky. I had the idea that I'd seal it up in a plastic bag, hide it in my closet, and then give to Char when she was old enough to move out on her own. Cheesy, I know, but that's me.

It reminds me of this comic by Phil Sloan.

The problem with that plan was I waited too long. Carter's "Just One You"/ "Mommy's Cutie" giraffe blankets have been discontinued. Check out what one eBay seller wants for one.

That price is pretty steep when you consider that this isn't a collectable. It's just a child's security blanket. I think this seller is banking on the chance that some little kid has lost their special buddy and the desperate parents are willing to pay anything to make things right.

This looks better. $23 is still too much, but considering supply and demand, the price isn't too over the top.

Funny thing is, when Charlotte actually leaves home, it going to be Mom and Dad who will need the extra security. Maybe I better save that Pinky for myself.

Old Habits

Raised on the radio
Raised on the radio
Just an all-American boy
I've got my favorite toy

               - The Ravyns

I went to a Lutheran Bible Camp at Lake Okoboji when I was in the 6th grade.

This vacation was going to be the first time I had ever been away by myself for a week, and I was worried. I wasn't nervous about missing my family or not being able to make friends. I also didn't think twice about sleeping in a strange bed or having to eat weird food. 

I was afraid that a new song would come out on the radio while I was at camp, and I would miss it.

That seems ridiculous today, but back then a song could be played on the radio only a couple of times and then disappear forever. You couldn't download the song or find it on Youtube. The music store in my small hometown sure wouldn't have it. You were at the mercy of the DJs and the music programers. I was horrified by the idea that a great song might come and go before I had the chance to hear it.

The clock radio on the table next to my bed could receive only one "rock" station with any dependable clarity. KELO FM, broadcasting from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, was my one connection to the world of new music. I was spending at least one hour every night in bed watching the minute numbers slowly flipping over while memorizing song titles, band names, and lyrics. 

That hour of music was always past my bedtime, so my radio's volume was turned down as low as possible. It's surprising how loud level 1 can become in a silent room.

MTV wasn't an option in (soft)Rock Valley, but when I was in 9th grade the USA Network began airing a 30-minute music program called Radio 1990. I also discovered the music reviews in Rolling Stone magazine about that time. Both were great resources for learning about new music, but I still spent dark hours quietly obsessing in the soft glow of the alarm clock.

In high school I got pretty good at making mix-tapes of songs recorded from LPs and CDs. 

By the time Napster and recordable CDs showed up, I had forgotten all about listening to the radio at night. 

 I even quit listening to the radio in the car when Des Moines' alternative radio station, The DOT 107.5, converted to dance music in July of 1999. I became my own DJ, and for years I only listened to what I wanted to hear when I wanted to hear it.

But then I found a vintage clock radio at a thrift store a few weeks ago. I had no idea why I was drawn to it, but when my gut tells me to buy something, I have learned to listen. 

This is what I brought home.

I tested the clock's accuracy and then retired my beat Spartus alarm clock. Out with old; in with the less old. Having a radio next to my bed again feels like finishing a puzzle I didn't know was incomplete. 

But what station to listen to? I have a lot more choices than I did in the 80's.

Lately, I'm in bed before Daphne, and I have about 30 minutes to listen to WOI-FM on 90.1. My clock has a "Sleep" button that allows the radio to play for eight minutes before it turns off. I usually hit the sleep button two or three times a night - it's like a snooze button in reverse. 

I'm really enjoying the music they play on Studio One, World Cafe, and UnderCurrents. These programs broadcast some music I wouldn't hear anywhere else, and listening to these musical discoveries is like being twelve again. Sometimes a song is so good I want to get up and write down the name of the artist, but I stay in bed. I'm too lazy to care that much.

Do I like all the music they play on these programs? No, I don't. And that's why I enjoy listening to them.

I'd fall asleep a lot faster if 90.1 only played my favorite songs in my favorite genres. A few nights ago the radio was playing a few live recordings by an instrumental group. I wasn't fond of their music, but at the end of each song the recorded audience clapped and cheered with enthusiasm. I kept listening to see if I could hear what they heard. I didn't figure it out, but it was a more interesting experience than listening to a song I knew by heart.

I'm also glad the radio doesn't have a "skip" button. There's nothing I can do if I don't like a song; I have no control over the radio's programming. Instead of dismissing a song after five seconds because it sounds like something I don't enjoy, I have to give the music a chance. And that's where you strike gold. If you only stick with what you like, then you might miss discovering what you love. 

Well, that's enough typing for tonight. It's time to hit that Sleep button. I've got some uncharted territories to explore.

Link: The Ravyns' "Raised on the Radio"