I have been asked to comment on ambiance of the Connecticut Indian dinner. The location was stunning. Set at the end of a sul-du-sac on a typical suburban street, one is pleasantly surprised to discover a totally natural, wooded backyard with birdfeeders at every window. Inside, one finds interesting artwork line the walls: masks from all over the world. And photographs. Cool wildlife shots apparently from Africa. A portrait of a woman who appears to be from some far-eastern country. Colorful fabric wall hangings made from Indian saris. Other artwork that seems to make environmental and political statements: a painting of a large crow turning pages of a book titled “Quoth the Raven: Read Some More.” Even in the bathroom there is interesting artwork, all making statements about the interests and philosophy of the owner of this lovely establishment.
The tablecloth appeared to be from some foreign place, a dyed intricate pattern. The dishes were also unique, a lovely brown glaze with a diamond pattern imprinted around the edges. If one even noticed, the only flaw in the decor was the use of paper napkins in this otherwise natural, yet exotic setting.
The dinner company was especially entertaining. In addition to The Man and I, SG (Sandy’s Guy, the chef), and OD (our daughter), there was a charming, beautiful young woman who was a HOOT! Besides wishing that SG could come to Brookfield and cook for me, I wish I could invite HER to all of my parties. It might even be worth flying her in from CT just for the entertainment.
Other comments on the dinner location: The bathroom (shared male and female – hmmm) was immaculate. Just like yours and mine at home. Sometimes.
Stirring the Pot
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Connecticut Gulag
We’re back from the Connecticut parental gulag. Our CT daughter always has a list of stuff she’d like done when we come. She calls it The Gulag. Over the years and in several cities The Man and I have pulled out masses of unwanted plant material, built fences, constructed and installed cabinets that come in literally hundreds of boxes, planted bulbs and pots, painted and scrubbed.
The good part about a gulag is – there is a definite list of tasks. Once you’ve checked off an item, it is DONE. Unlike at our 50-year-old manse in Brookfield, where the list is unending and where many of the items should have been accomplished years ago. Like removing the overgrown lilacs bushes. Or weeding out the contents of the file cabinets. Or repairing and painting the cracked ceiling. Etc, etc..
One item on the parental gulag list for this trip was to meet daughter Sandy’s New Guy (SG for short). What a nice guy! Not only is Sandy's Guy a photographer, as is Sandy, and does he play the guitar, as does Sandy, but he also cooks! Did you catch that? HE cooks! A male in the kitchen.
SG cooked an amazing meal for us. The Meal featured some of his favorite dishes from his childhood home in India. SG loves to cook. He assured us he was having a great time at the stove, while we guests sat around the kitchen island cart, drinking wine and inhaling spicey aromas.
Here’s what SG served and how he prepared it:
Vegetable Fried Rice – SG starts by sauteing a bunch of spices in oil, things like whole cloves and cardamom pods and dried chili peppers and bay leaves. When the house smells perfectly spectacular, he adds the rice, sautes that, then boils it and adds vegetables.
Garlic Chicken – First SG mixes chopped onions, garlic and yogurt and marinates the chicken pieces in it. I think he was using thighs cut in half. SG doesn’t eat a ton of meat, like The Other Man I My Life does. The staple on SG's plate is a mountain of rice. Okay, then SG fries spices again, peppers, cinnamon, cloves and more garlic, and then cooks the chicken in these spices. Tasty, tasty, tasty is all I can say.
Dal Fry – Dal are yellow lentils. In butter, SG fried onions, cumin, garlic, tumeric, chopped tomatoes and red hot chilies. He adds the lentils and some liquid that I forgot to write down and cooks it all until this yummy soup is done.
Cabbage and Potatoes – The chopped cabbage and the cubed potatoes are cooked with tomatoes, fresh ginger, bay leaves, cardamom and cloves. My Man Who Normally Eats Nothing In The Cabbage Family Unless It Is Cole Slaw had several helpings of this dish.
Potatoes and Pumpkin – SG calls it pumpkin, but I peeled a hunk of this squash-like vegetable for him, and I can tell you that the outside is green. But who cares? It was delicious. This was The Best Dish because it was made with special spices mixed by SG’s mother and sent from India. This 5-spice mix is called Panch Phoran and is a combination of bay leaves, fennel, cumin, mustard and something that looks like it starts with a “z” in my notes that I wrote after sipping several glasses of wine from Sandy’s wine “cellar”.
What a meal!
Now if I could just bring Sandy’s Guy to Brookfield to cook for The Man and I, which would free me up to nag The Man about taking out those ugly lilac bushes.
Stirring the Pot
The good part about a gulag is – there is a definite list of tasks. Once you’ve checked off an item, it is DONE. Unlike at our 50-year-old manse in Brookfield, where the list is unending and where many of the items should have been accomplished years ago. Like removing the overgrown lilacs bushes. Or weeding out the contents of the file cabinets. Or repairing and painting the cracked ceiling. Etc, etc..
One item on the parental gulag list for this trip was to meet daughter Sandy’s New Guy (SG for short). What a nice guy! Not only is Sandy's Guy a photographer, as is Sandy, and does he play the guitar, as does Sandy, but he also cooks! Did you catch that? HE cooks! A male in the kitchen.
SG cooked an amazing meal for us. The Meal featured some of his favorite dishes from his childhood home in India. SG loves to cook. He assured us he was having a great time at the stove, while we guests sat around the kitchen island cart, drinking wine and inhaling spicey aromas.
Here’s what SG served and how he prepared it:
Vegetable Fried Rice – SG starts by sauteing a bunch of spices in oil, things like whole cloves and cardamom pods and dried chili peppers and bay leaves. When the house smells perfectly spectacular, he adds the rice, sautes that, then boils it and adds vegetables.
Garlic Chicken – First SG mixes chopped onions, garlic and yogurt and marinates the chicken pieces in it. I think he was using thighs cut in half. SG doesn’t eat a ton of meat, like The Other Man I My Life does. The staple on SG's plate is a mountain of rice. Okay, then SG fries spices again, peppers, cinnamon, cloves and more garlic, and then cooks the chicken in these spices. Tasty, tasty, tasty is all I can say.
Dal Fry – Dal are yellow lentils. In butter, SG fried onions, cumin, garlic, tumeric, chopped tomatoes and red hot chilies. He adds the lentils and some liquid that I forgot to write down and cooks it all until this yummy soup is done.
Cabbage and Potatoes – The chopped cabbage and the cubed potatoes are cooked with tomatoes, fresh ginger, bay leaves, cardamom and cloves. My Man Who Normally Eats Nothing In The Cabbage Family Unless It Is Cole Slaw had several helpings of this dish.
Potatoes and Pumpkin – SG calls it pumpkin, but I peeled a hunk of this squash-like vegetable for him, and I can tell you that the outside is green. But who cares? It was delicious. This was The Best Dish because it was made with special spices mixed by SG’s mother and sent from India. This 5-spice mix is called Panch Phoran and is a combination of bay leaves, fennel, cumin, mustard and something that looks like it starts with a “z” in my notes that I wrote after sipping several glasses of wine from Sandy’s wine “cellar”.
What a meal!
Now if I could just bring Sandy’s Guy to Brookfield to cook for The Man and I, which would free me up to nag The Man about taking out those ugly lilac bushes.
Stirring the Pot
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Black Jeans
Are you a person who always knows what is The Right Thing to wear? The only rule I know is: Don’t Wear White After Labor Day. I know that’s true because my mother told me. She also said that “smoke” was the correct color of stockings for all occasions. But who wears stockings? If I am ever invited to your house, I will probably wear a turtleneck and black slacks in the winter and a tee shirt and white slacks in the summer.
But what if you invite me in fall? What does one wear when it’s 60 - 70 degrees in September? I can’t wear the white slacks. So it has to be the black ones. It’s a bit cold for tee shirts, but not cold enough for turtlenecks.
So I actually made a trip to Talbot’s today. It’s An Occasion if I go into a store-that-doesn’t-sell-food-or-kitchen-toys. Or maybe plants.
We’re going to visit the Connecticut daughter. Her weather is about the same as Brookfield's. I need black jeans, and if it happens to fall into my shopping bag, a sweat suit that’s presentable enough to wear on airplanes. I only shop in one place. Talbots Petites. If they don’t have it, I don’t need it. Since I have no idea what is in fashion at this moment, it makes no difference where I shop. And, as I have no idea what color looks good with what (except in dahlias), I wear black. And I’m always on the lookout for printed tops or blouses that won’t show the cooking oil spills and airplane food. Though pretzels aren’t too messy.
Today I wore a kind of dark red denim jacket to Talbot’s. A clerk said, “You are really in style, with that color.” I looked around the store, and ... sure enough. Lots of the mannikins were dressed in the same red. With black. Wow. It’s my year.
What I like least about shopping is trying on clothes. All those mirrors... I needed black jeans and a sweat suit, and that’s what I took in the dressing room. The clerk showed me a sweater she liked with the jeans, so I tried that on too. It was patterned. Black and white. I bought jeans, a sweater, and a sweat suit. I was home again in less than a half hour. That’s this fall’s wardrobe.
When you invite me over, please make it an appropriate occasion to wear jeans and a sweater. Or a sweat suit.
Stirring the Pot
But what if you invite me in fall? What does one wear when it’s 60 - 70 degrees in September? I can’t wear the white slacks. So it has to be the black ones. It’s a bit cold for tee shirts, but not cold enough for turtlenecks.
So I actually made a trip to Talbot’s today. It’s An Occasion if I go into a store-that-doesn’t-sell-food-or-kitchen-toys. Or maybe plants.
We’re going to visit the Connecticut daughter. Her weather is about the same as Brookfield's. I need black jeans, and if it happens to fall into my shopping bag, a sweat suit that’s presentable enough to wear on airplanes. I only shop in one place. Talbots Petites. If they don’t have it, I don’t need it. Since I have no idea what is in fashion at this moment, it makes no difference where I shop. And, as I have no idea what color looks good with what (except in dahlias), I wear black. And I’m always on the lookout for printed tops or blouses that won’t show the cooking oil spills and airplane food. Though pretzels aren’t too messy.
Today I wore a kind of dark red denim jacket to Talbot’s. A clerk said, “You are really in style, with that color.” I looked around the store, and ... sure enough. Lots of the mannikins were dressed in the same red. With black. Wow. It’s my year.
What I like least about shopping is trying on clothes. All those mirrors... I needed black jeans and a sweat suit, and that’s what I took in the dressing room. The clerk showed me a sweater she liked with the jeans, so I tried that on too. It was patterned. Black and white. I bought jeans, a sweater, and a sweat suit. I was home again in less than a half hour. That’s this fall’s wardrobe.
When you invite me over, please make it an appropriate occasion to wear jeans and a sweater. Or a sweat suit.
Stirring the Pot
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Blood in the Prairie
The Man is still alive - barely. And our marriage is too - sort of. We have just finished putting together another edition of the Land Letter, a newsletter of the land trust for which we act as volunteer director (me) and volunteer bookkeeper (The Computer Geek and Engineer Who Shares My House). Yes, he is more vital to the organization than I am. Yes, his skills would cost REAL money to replace. But, dang it, I am the president of the board of directors. I am in charge. Except I can’t lay out the danged newsletter without him and I don’t know how to put it into Quark, the program the printer uses. But The Man should still obey my every wish because he doesn’t write one word of it.
The real problem is that he doesn’t read it. Any of it. So when I try to say, “Do you think we should put this picture after the paragraph about the knapweed in the prairie,” he has no opinion except that The Picture Should Be 3.56" by 1.732" and It Fits Better On Page 2. Good grief! What if our press operated on this principle? There would be photos of barns burning on the page with the mayor’s speech. Which may actually be appropriate in some circumstances. But anyway. Did I ever tell you about the time a newsletter on which we were working had an article about the results of some election and what the new politicians were proposing to do? This issue of the newsletter was coming out in November. The Man With The Engineering Degree Who Can’t (Or Won’t) Read had found a swell picture of a Thanksgiving turkey that he wanted to insert in a convenient space in the newsletter. That space was within the article about the politicians. Again, that may actually be appropriate, but still NOT a good idea.
The good thing about working on this issue of the Land Letter was that I needed photos of the prairie which was featured in this edition. So on Saturday The Man and I spent 3 hours doing a Lit Drop (we are the ones who put those flyers in your mailboxes) for a Steve Schmuki, a candidate for State Assembly who we are supporting, and then we actually took a hike in the Eagle Centre Prairie. What a treat! Almost as exciting as going to downtown Milwaukee to a cool restaurant or bar with views of The Lake.
The goldenrods and asters in the prairie were blooming spectacularly. The scattered red sumac just glowed among the dry prairie grasses. I took a ton of photos with my little digital camera. Aren’t those things amazing toys? By taking oodles of shots, every amateur can narrow down to a few great pictures while not spending a fortune having film developed. If I can remember how to put a picture in this blog, I’ll show you what the amazing Eagle Centre Prairie looked like last Saturday.
So The Man and I had lots of photos to fight over. I have to admit The Man has a better sense of proportion than I do. And color. Oh, well. But as a friend once told me, "I never let lack of knowledge stand in the way of having an opinion." Besides, I actually know what the article about the prairie says. I wrote it.
The newsletter is at the printer. If you are a member of the Waukesha County Land Conservancy, you’ll be getting a copy soon. The red of the sumac represents The Man’s blood on the page.
Stirring the Pot
Friday, September 5, 2008
SWIG WINS BIG!
They did it. Swig won us over – big time!
Last night we set out for a second time for dinner at Swig with Our Friends, Kay and The Doc Who Goes To Bed Before The Sun Sets. Therefore, we were eating early, even though we did not have theater tickets this night. Only the tables along the big glass doors in Swig were filled when we arrived. On one of Milwaukee’s three or four perfect weather days, it would be nice to sit at those tables, especially if the door is open, but last night it was pouring. Besides, the tables along the big door are rather close together and those in the back room feel a bit isolated, away from the real downtown atmosphere that we suburbanites crave. But there is a table that feels like it is the box seat of the restaurant. It overlooks the bar area and has no other tables around it. We sat there and will ask for that table any time we are come here. Which will be often. Especially since Barclay’s Gallery and Café closed, where we used to like to go before performances at the Broadway Theater. Swig is even more convenient for pre-theater dining.
The ambiance at Swig is modern, but definitely warm. The walls are covered with slabs of wood in various natural wood tones, all nailed together in a geometric pattern, like very artsy, three-dimensional wallpaper. The clientele is just like us: hip, young, very attractive and urbane. And for our friends who like to sit at a nifty bar and chat with a handsome bartender while eating dinner, this bar is perfect for you.
While riding downtown, we studied the wine list that I’d printed from Swig’s website. We decided on a bottle of the Picard Cotes du Rhone Grenache/Syrah ($32) while The Man Who Only Drinks White Wine Regardless Of The Color Of His Meat ordered a glass of Cutrer Chardonnay ($10). He had tasted it the last time we were here, had raved about it then and enjoyed it just as much last night. Our shared bottle grenache/syrah was lovely, after it gasped for breath a few minutes to shed its tannins. We agreed it was crisp, light, and not too fruity to serve with food. Very nice with the seafood we were going to try.
To share as appetizers, The Man Who Likes Any Food That Sounds Like It May Have Originated In Italy insisted upon ordering the Classic Bruschetta ($6.50 for four), while I pushed for the Asiago Spinach and Artichoke Dip ($8.75). Personally, I wouldn’t have ordered bruschetta. It’s available in grocery stores, and even I can make a reasonable rendition of it. But was I wrong - again. It is SO tiresome. The bruschetta was one of the highlights of the evening. The crostini on which it was served was perfectly light and toasty and the bruschetta was .... well, all I can say is, “WOW!” Well-drained fresh tomatoes chopped finely, fresh basil, just enough parmesan... Great flavors beautifully blended. Though there were four pieces, I had to beg The Man to allow me one bite. Next time we will definitely order the plate of seven pieces for $11.50. The asiago and artichoke dip at first seemed bland next to the bruschetta, but it grew on us. It was creamy and rich, served with very hot, crusty French bread. It would make a perfect after-theater snack with one of Swig’s specialty martinis – if you’re not out with A Man Who Goes To Bed Before Sunset.
On to bigger things. I was going to order a salad and an entre, but our waiter, Josh, told us that the salads are huge, so Doc and I split a Greek Salad ($9.00). There was enough feta and kalamata olives and even garbanzo beans - a delicious addition that I’ve never had in a Greek salad – to satisfy even the most ravenous of appetites. With it, I ordered an entre of the Pan-seared Scallops in a roasted red pepper sauce, served with spinach gnocchi ($12.50 -- The Man withThe Tight Wallet really liked the prices here). What a meal! The sea scallops were perfectly cooked, tender and not rubbery at all, and the mild red pepper sauce was amazing with them. I even brought a couple of scallops home to have for lunch today. Doc had the Crab Cakes ($8.50) from the “Small Plates” menu. There were four nice-sized cakes served with a chipotle pesto. Though the sauce was not excessively hot, I thought it drowned out the crab taste a bit. This was the only dish from the entire evening that I probably would not order again – and you all know I love crab cakes. The crab was blended into fine pieces or even meal. I prefer to have definable pieces of crab in my crab cakes – though that is not the preference of The Man Who Eats Almost Nothing With Fins or Claws, But Does Eat Crab Cakes If He Can’t Tell They Contain Something That Swims. He liked these.
The Man thoroughly enjoyed a bowl of the soup-of-the-day, a chicken vegetable soup, that I could make an entire meal of. The broth was unusual in that it had some tomato in it. With it The Man ordered the Breaded Three Cheese Ravioli that he missed having when we were here last time. It was worth the wait. I was only allowed a tiny taste, but I could tell these ravioli were unusually yummy. These handmade pouches stuffed with cheese had been steamed till almost done, then breaded and sauted so they were a bit crisp on the outside. What an unusual and tasty concept.
Kay ordered the small plate of Tempura Snap Peas ($6.75) and an entre of Chicken Manicotti Cacciatore ($10.50 – believe-it-or-not!). DO NOT EVER GO TO SWIG AND NOT ORDER THESE SNAP PEAS! These are about the best appetizer I can remember ever eating – and I love many appetizers. This cannot be considered a “small plate.” A mountainous portion of snap peas had been dipped in a very light, thin batter and deep fried oh-so-briefly, then served with a sour cream-based dip. OH, MY. That’s all I can say. After all of this food, Kay took home most of her chicken cacciatore, which consisted of a generous portion of manicotti stuffed with chicken and tons of tasty cheese served with a gorgonzola marinara sauce. We all agreed we would order this again.
I did even check out the ladies room for you public bathroom users. As I expected, it was immaculate.
Our service last night was outstanding, from the hostess to the bartender to our waiter, Josh. And the food! The food was to die for. And I almost NEVER say this. I reviewed 43 restaurants along Bluemound Road when we were dining out every night while my new kitchen was under construction. (You can still see those reviews at: www.bluemoundinseptember.blogspot.com ) There was some very good food – and some really bad stuff as well. But very few restaurants offered anything near as well- prepared as Swig’s. Hats off to your chef, Mr Sorge! And to you and to all of your staff.
We will Swig in again. (As soon as I review the rest of the Third Ward’s restaurants.
Sometimes I'm not -
Stirring the Pot
Last night we set out for a second time for dinner at Swig with Our Friends, Kay and The Doc Who Goes To Bed Before The Sun Sets. Therefore, we were eating early, even though we did not have theater tickets this night. Only the tables along the big glass doors in Swig were filled when we arrived. On one of Milwaukee’s three or four perfect weather days, it would be nice to sit at those tables, especially if the door is open, but last night it was pouring. Besides, the tables along the big door are rather close together and those in the back room feel a bit isolated, away from the real downtown atmosphere that we suburbanites crave. But there is a table that feels like it is the box seat of the restaurant. It overlooks the bar area and has no other tables around it. We sat there and will ask for that table any time we are come here. Which will be often. Especially since Barclay’s Gallery and Café closed, where we used to like to go before performances at the Broadway Theater. Swig is even more convenient for pre-theater dining.
The ambiance at Swig is modern, but definitely warm. The walls are covered with slabs of wood in various natural wood tones, all nailed together in a geometric pattern, like very artsy, three-dimensional wallpaper. The clientele is just like us: hip, young, very attractive and urbane. And for our friends who like to sit at a nifty bar and chat with a handsome bartender while eating dinner, this bar is perfect for you.
While riding downtown, we studied the wine list that I’d printed from Swig’s website. We decided on a bottle of the Picard Cotes du Rhone Grenache/Syrah ($32) while The Man Who Only Drinks White Wine Regardless Of The Color Of His Meat ordered a glass of Cutrer Chardonnay ($10). He had tasted it the last time we were here, had raved about it then and enjoyed it just as much last night. Our shared bottle grenache/syrah was lovely, after it gasped for breath a few minutes to shed its tannins. We agreed it was crisp, light, and not too fruity to serve with food. Very nice with the seafood we were going to try.
To share as appetizers, The Man Who Likes Any Food That Sounds Like It May Have Originated In Italy insisted upon ordering the Classic Bruschetta ($6.50 for four), while I pushed for the Asiago Spinach and Artichoke Dip ($8.75). Personally, I wouldn’t have ordered bruschetta. It’s available in grocery stores, and even I can make a reasonable rendition of it. But was I wrong - again. It is SO tiresome. The bruschetta was one of the highlights of the evening. The crostini on which it was served was perfectly light and toasty and the bruschetta was .... well, all I can say is, “WOW!” Well-drained fresh tomatoes chopped finely, fresh basil, just enough parmesan... Great flavors beautifully blended. Though there were four pieces, I had to beg The Man to allow me one bite. Next time we will definitely order the plate of seven pieces for $11.50. The asiago and artichoke dip at first seemed bland next to the bruschetta, but it grew on us. It was creamy and rich, served with very hot, crusty French bread. It would make a perfect after-theater snack with one of Swig’s specialty martinis – if you’re not out with A Man Who Goes To Bed Before Sunset.
On to bigger things. I was going to order a salad and an entre, but our waiter, Josh, told us that the salads are huge, so Doc and I split a Greek Salad ($9.00). There was enough feta and kalamata olives and even garbanzo beans - a delicious addition that I’ve never had in a Greek salad – to satisfy even the most ravenous of appetites. With it, I ordered an entre of the Pan-seared Scallops in a roasted red pepper sauce, served with spinach gnocchi ($12.50 -- The Man withThe Tight Wallet really liked the prices here). What a meal! The sea scallops were perfectly cooked, tender and not rubbery at all, and the mild red pepper sauce was amazing with them. I even brought a couple of scallops home to have for lunch today. Doc had the Crab Cakes ($8.50) from the “Small Plates” menu. There were four nice-sized cakes served with a chipotle pesto. Though the sauce was not excessively hot, I thought it drowned out the crab taste a bit. This was the only dish from the entire evening that I probably would not order again – and you all know I love crab cakes. The crab was blended into fine pieces or even meal. I prefer to have definable pieces of crab in my crab cakes – though that is not the preference of The Man Who Eats Almost Nothing With Fins or Claws, But Does Eat Crab Cakes If He Can’t Tell They Contain Something That Swims. He liked these.
The Man thoroughly enjoyed a bowl of the soup-of-the-day, a chicken vegetable soup, that I could make an entire meal of. The broth was unusual in that it had some tomato in it. With it The Man ordered the Breaded Three Cheese Ravioli that he missed having when we were here last time. It was worth the wait. I was only allowed a tiny taste, but I could tell these ravioli were unusually yummy. These handmade pouches stuffed with cheese had been steamed till almost done, then breaded and sauted so they were a bit crisp on the outside. What an unusual and tasty concept.
Kay ordered the small plate of Tempura Snap Peas ($6.75) and an entre of Chicken Manicotti Cacciatore ($10.50 – believe-it-or-not!). DO NOT EVER GO TO SWIG AND NOT ORDER THESE SNAP PEAS! These are about the best appetizer I can remember ever eating – and I love many appetizers. This cannot be considered a “small plate.” A mountainous portion of snap peas had been dipped in a very light, thin batter and deep fried oh-so-briefly, then served with a sour cream-based dip. OH, MY. That’s all I can say. After all of this food, Kay took home most of her chicken cacciatore, which consisted of a generous portion of manicotti stuffed with chicken and tons of tasty cheese served with a gorgonzola marinara sauce. We all agreed we would order this again.
I did even check out the ladies room for you public bathroom users. As I expected, it was immaculate.
Our service last night was outstanding, from the hostess to the bartender to our waiter, Josh. And the food! The food was to die for. And I almost NEVER say this. I reviewed 43 restaurants along Bluemound Road when we were dining out every night while my new kitchen was under construction. (You can still see those reviews at: www.bluemoundinseptember.blogspot.com ) There was some very good food – and some really bad stuff as well. But very few restaurants offered anything near as well- prepared as Swig’s. Hats off to your chef, Mr Sorge! And to you and to all of your staff.
We will Swig in again. (As soon as I review the rest of the Third Ward’s restaurants.
Sometimes I'm not -
Stirring the Pot
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Swig's Second Chance
This has been a busy week, what with the holiday and the Harleys and all. Please don't give up on me. I promise: I WILL write more often.
Many of you read the comment placed on my last blog entry from a Mr. Sorge. He is the owner of Swig, the restaurant I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. He says he wants a "chance to make it up to me." So I decided to give his restaurant another chance. We have a reservation for tomorrow evening. Mr. Sorge knows we are coming. I’ll let you know how he "handles the details of my return visit personally." What fun to be a celebrity!
After Swig, I will continue to eat at, and review, all 17 of the restaurants in the Third Ward. And, as someone requested, I promise to check out the ladies’ bathrooms. However, I hope you don’t mind if I don’t actually “use” most of them. Over Labor Day weekend, I discovered that I really have an aversion to public bathrooms.
We went out to dinner at BJ’s, a small, local restaurant in Hancock, Wisconsin, near our family’s cottage. As we were heading for the door to go home, I had my usual fleeting thought when leaving a restaurant, the thought that says, "I could stand to use the bathroom, but I can wait until I get home."
Well, home in this case is our cottage. And at our cottage all running water flows into a holding tank. Which has to be pumped out. At some expense. So to avoid having to pump that sucker too often, we use an ancient outhouse most of the time. I was perched in the outhouse when it occurred to me that I had actually made a conscious decision not to use BJ’s plumbing. Real, 21st century, indoor plumbing.
Now THAT’s an aversion to public bathrooms.
Stirring the Pot
Many of you read the comment placed on my last blog entry from a Mr. Sorge. He is the owner of Swig, the restaurant I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. He says he wants a "chance to make it up to me." So I decided to give his restaurant another chance. We have a reservation for tomorrow evening. Mr. Sorge knows we are coming. I’ll let you know how he "handles the details of my return visit personally." What fun to be a celebrity!
After Swig, I will continue to eat at, and review, all 17 of the restaurants in the Third Ward. And, as someone requested, I promise to check out the ladies’ bathrooms. However, I hope you don’t mind if I don’t actually “use” most of them. Over Labor Day weekend, I discovered that I really have an aversion to public bathrooms.
We went out to dinner at BJ’s, a small, local restaurant in Hancock, Wisconsin, near our family’s cottage. As we were heading for the door to go home, I had my usual fleeting thought when leaving a restaurant, the thought that says, "I could stand to use the bathroom, but I can wait until I get home."
Well, home in this case is our cottage. And at our cottage all running water flows into a holding tank. Which has to be pumped out. At some expense. So to avoid having to pump that sucker too often, we use an ancient outhouse most of the time. I was perched in the outhouse when it occurred to me that I had actually made a conscious decision not to use BJ’s plumbing. Real, 21st century, indoor plumbing.
Now THAT’s an aversion to public bathrooms.
Stirring the Pot
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