The Door to a Family Vacation

Up until I was in my teenage years, my family had taken perhaps one or two large trips outside of the Midwest. Finances and the pressures of raising a middle class family with three boys placed pressures on my parents, recessions being the bottom era. As getaways, we were steeped in wooded lore as we camped around the Midwest, often time with my Uncle Terry, Aunt Carol and three cousins of near identical age to my brothers and I. My imagination was spurred by the Turkey Run campground in western Indiana with suspension bridges over rocky creeks, the woodland shores of western Michigan near Holland, and of course what I call the Cape Cod of the Midwest, the peninsula country of Door County in northeast Wisconsin. 

My earliest memories of Door County were catching wryly whitefish with my father about twenty years back before the towns of Sister Bay, Fish Creek, Egg Harbor and Ephriam expanded with tourists pouring in from all spots of the upper Midwest, mainly Chicago. Wisconsin is after all Illinois’ largest state park. Dad said back then the area had become ‘yuppy-ized’ and for his assessment, he isn’t too far off. Any craft loving middle-aged housewife with find their fair share of lawn ornament shops with identical wooden lawn chairs out front. One insistence that the Door County board has stuck with is limited corporate ownership and representation. Ma and Pa shops and restaurants with creativity and local product emphasis line the one-lane roads of each tiny downtown that at peak season can become bottle-necked.

A few weeks back Ally and I drove up with my brother Ryan and sister-in-law Heather for an extended family get-away in Door County where we had an excuse to visit with my Uncle Terry and Aunt Carol. A few years back Terry and Carol bought a 22 acre farm, complete with crumbling barns and a farmhouse, each of which has since been refurbished. Terry introduced my brothers and I a few years back to the peel your eyelids back/white knuckle thrill of jet-skiing in Ellison Bay out to Green Bay and ATV rides through the prairie grass. This year we repeated the high adventure by having Ally, Heather and my brother Eric’s girlfriend Julie join us. The first ride back seems the scariest for every errand wave convinced my mind of capsizing a half mile out, never mind of course I was wearing a life vest. I had Ally go out by herself and by God I could hear screams of joy, the James Bond theme song she was playing in her head at thirty miles per hour on open water also in our minds. I went far enough out from the harbor into the more tumulus open water of Green Bay to see the long southern bend of the Door peninsula.

Soaked and plenty sunburned, we wisely took advantage of the hours left in the afternoon to a required visit at Bea’s homemade pies in Gills Rock. The sweet fanatic that I can be bought three pies, two Dutch apple and one cherry – I feel their secret recipe is in the fact that they sugar coat the crust, don’t use the gelatinous corn syrup like nearby Seaquist Orchards, and have a delicious buttery flavor that can only come from the most unhealthy of ingredients – lard. Both Bea’s and Seaquist have top notch canned products as well. The cabinets my condo are complete with jams, pickles, cherry barbeque sauce and toffee drizzle thanks to Door County visits. 

The restaurant scene in Door County has grown in creativity and quality the past five years whether it be improving cottage style breakfast joints like the Scandinavian Al Johnson’s in Sister Bay, seaside fish and steak spots like Pellitier’s Fish Boil in Fish Creek, micro-brew pubs with Shipwrecked in Egg Harbor, and dynamite old-timey ice-cream parlors with candy-stripped awnings like Wilson’s in Ephraim. Former hot spots like the Sister Bay bowl and the Cookery in Fish Creek have gone down the tubes, forcing the restaurateur to ask if the chefs recognize salt, pepper or cinnamon. 

On our first night in the peninsula, us boys and our ladies decided to invite the family with us to re-visit a lunch and dinner spot on the main strip of Fish Creek – Cooper’s Corner. Veterans of Door County might be right in saying that Cooper’s replaced the more family atmosphere of two spots that dominated that corner for a more upscale dining experience. One Google reviewer listed the place as a hideous monstrosity by which I think I would call a unique inside and out dining experience, save for the restaurants need to control the local fly population. Most of my family ordered the slow cooked ribs slathered in a delicious cherry barbeque sauce. I went big with the 18oz Delmonico and had enough room to spare for leftovers of family around me – either I ran a 5K that day before or my stomach purchased a studio apartment for the room I apparently had to sample everything. When much of Door County can appear to repeat itself after a mere three to four days (the best amount of time to visit) Cooper’s Corner is a refreshing dining experience.

Our journey wrapped up with a family dinner in Terry and Carol’s old farmhouse. The vast county, peppered with trees amongst large stretches of prairie grass and farmland full of cherry trees and winter wheat had a satisfying silence to the cool air off the lake. When the sun faded and a moonless night appeared, all those years of woodland adventures taught me not to fear the near pitch night. Our bonfire, which spiked our blood pressure at first with a twenty foot flame thanks to Terry’s dousing of gasoline, welcomed us all in the quiet night to lawn chairs and a seat on a rock with a Wisconsin favorite Leinenkugals in our hand. Up north, away from light and air pollution of the Milwaukee and Chicagoland areas, you squint enough and amongst the plethora of brilliant stars you’ll see a satellite pass in the low atmosphere, reminding you that your stargazing brings about that itch for a future adventure. 

Smokin' all night long

There are certain recipes that take time and are not for the patient. Anticipation doesn’t begin with what boils in the pot on the stove or marinates in the refrigerator. The meal begins with that spark at the supermarket, realizing what you can do and how you could push yourself to accomplish a meal long term, outside of a slow cooker. 

I hadn’t been brave enough to learn the art of slow cooking and smoking meats on my new Weber charcoal grill since I had bought it six weeks ago. Thumbing through pages in cookbooks at home and at a Barnes and Noble, I even asked friends who had smoked for advice. Assured in my educational prowess, it was time to leave school and take on the first smoke job. A full slab of baby back ribs would be a good start.

Before you even prepare the ribs, you must flip them over and remove a saran wrap-like layer of membrane from the back to assure your smoke and rub will penetrate. The fool that I am wasn’t focused on my knife skills. Because of that I nearly sliced my left thumb to the bone. Wearing the gold medal of dumbassery in knife skills for that day, I needed Ally to be my assistant in the kitchen for what would be a meal we’d share anyways. I started with a sprinkle of white wine vinegar on the top. Then, Ally covered the top in healthy dashes of a barbeque rub I bought from Real Urban Barbeque in Highland Park. Topping off the spice layers, I had her add a sprinkling of smoked paprika. Once done, it was rubbed into the meat to perfection.

If you are smoking, the temperature should be between 225 and 250 degrees, though I’ve found you can get as high as 275 if you are pressed for time. This process will take many hours so don’t do what I did and start cooking the ribs between 6:30 and 7pm. Once you light the charcoals in an in-direct fashion, with your coals stacked on one side of the grill, place your meat on the opposite side of the grill. That way the heat and smoke will percolate around the inside once the lid is closed. Keep the exhaust open on the top of the grill or smoker (depending if you have the four hole slot or a chimney) -if you don’t the fire will lose oxygen and burn out. The coals radiating off a heat that the temperature reading on my drop-in thermometer find to be just right, I add a handful of chips onto the coals. These chips, of which I chose the good all around wood, Hickory, have to be soaked in water for 20-30 minutes and patted dry. You don’t want soaked chips on charcoal to put out the fire. Once these chips are placed on the charcoal, place the lid back on top and watch as billows of smoke flit out the chimney holes like a steam train at full throttle. 

Be wise and check your progress every half hour. I say this because at first you need to treat the grill like a baby for maintaining heat on a grill longer than 30 to 45 minutes requires that same attention you would give to an infant – constant! I had to place 5-7 charcoal briquettes onto the fire every 45 minutes to maintain temperature and assure that we wouldn’t be eating at midnight. Flip the ribs a few times to ensure you are cooking through without drying out the meaty ribs. Do add some more flavor in the last hour of cooking, I spread around brown sugar on the top layer. As I had read, the sugar melts into the meat under the pressure of the smoke and heat, creating that nut brown and beautiful caramelization on top. Adding barbeque sauce should be the last step as a layer of the Carson’s rib sauce I placed on half of the ribs only needed ten minutes to turn from loose sauce into the top layer of my creation. 

After you are finished cooking the ribs, rest the meat on a metal tray or large wooden cutting board for at least five minutes. Use a large knife to separate the ribs into slices. Pour some BBQ sauce on the side for dipping and heap praise upon yourself for the scent of the smoke when you bite into what could be succulent to fall off the bone ribs. You’re allowed to gloat – even if you begin eating when some people are turning in. 

One of those Special Occasion Dinners

Though people are unlikely to admit up front to the question of if we’ve had an embarrassing circumstance on a date, at one point in our lives our eyebrows widened at something outrageous, heads hidden and turned away like an ostrich in the sand from embarrassment, and laughed as we shook our heads at the way our nights have turned out. In that company, I have been – to my detriment up front and pleasure relaying here, it was the hilarity of the situation. 

Last Saturday night Ally and I went out to Pete Miller’s in Evanston for a top notch steak dinner to commemorate our second year together. In brazen honesty, we could never quite remember if we started dating on July 6^th or 7^th so while the hell not make it an excuse for a two day event? Her LivingSocial deal - $25 for $50 – was a true pleasure for their menu online boasts top of the line meats and prices to boot. Days leading up to Pete Miller’s had me licking my chops at what I could order with a good scotch, and if this was the 60’s, I could do my best Don Draper and smoke a few cigarettes right at the table, looking too cool for school. The night didn’t go that way, at least without a scare at first. 

I do not possess the Jack-of-all-Trades skills my father does with plumbing, carpentry, woodworking and especially electrical. Diagnosing your problem is an ability I have, fixing things is where I usually draw the line. On last Saturday, before we left for dinner, I saw no harm in crossing that line. My head and upper body emerged into the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink, I proceeded to make adjustments to the handy water filter that our condo owner had installed years ago. Emerging from the belly of the plumbing, my white v-neck stained from plumbers putty and grease, I proceeded to bang the side of my head on the sharp wooden trim, my right ear just above the lobe taking the brunt of the impact. “Son of a…” I shouted, uttering a few choice words that made Ally drop her dinner prep and come in from the bedroom. Though my ear hurt, why would I be logical and clean it out? Twenty minutes later, after a good shower, I’m fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror. My right ear, feels warm, and not from water. I turn to see blood pouring out from my ear, a few steps away from doing a real Van Gogh on the appendage. Gauze, ice and anything short of glue was used to seal the dripping bastard. My persona, more likely to beat up on myself than to blame others, attacked my ego, blaming myself for possibly ruining a commemorative dinner. The whole ride from our condo in Arlington Heights into Evanston on Route 14 was a series of me checking what became a horrible clot that that formed on my ear. Two conclusions were likely made by the drivers in opposite lanes – “what raccoon did he lose to” and “who took a 9 to that guys head?” The more I joked about how it looked like free Danish at a hotel breakfast, the more Ally shook her head and laughed to the point of good tears in her eyes.  

Pete Miller’s in Evanston (a location also in Wheeling) has a yesteryear feeling to a mid-twentieth century steakhouse that Wildfire manages to miss in several areas even though that is a likeable establishment. The dim lighting, deep browns of maple and oak wood in the floor and bar, and the photos of antiquity of Evanston, all the way back to the early 20^th Century, tie the place together with an aura of a unique voice that remains an establishment on 1557 Sherman Avenue. We were ushered to our table, me hiding my ear with a hand that I try to make seem that I am scratching my hair above the rated R bloodbath. Taking an in-depth peak at the menu (you would too if you spent big bucks there) Ally and I were impressed at every feature of the meal from appetizer to choice of steaks to drinks. The waiter tempts our wallets further when he gives us his spiel of the ten top notch  examples of steaks on a silver coated platter, which was probably polished aluminum but let’s say for our special night it was Versailles silver. Of the choices I struggled over for ten minutes, and was willing to shell out money for (careful, they can be expensive) was the 12oz Bison NY Strip Steak, 14 or 18oz Prime Rib, 14oz bone in Strauss Veal Chop, and a Colorado Domestic Lamb. After Ally ordered a delicious if not massive bowl of French Onion Soup and I the best bowl of Lobster Bisque since meat mecca Texas De Brazil, I ordered the Strauss Veal Chop. 

As you can see in pictures below, they are not shy when it comes to quantity. The veal, cooked to medium, had that soft and melt in your mouth texture that is typical only to filet minon. My side order of a three cheese potato cake (better resembling bread pudding) had a cherry on top that was peppered bacon! To my delight, I finished what Ally could not of a delicious prime rib. The second half of the meal was washed down with an excellent yet overpriced Old Fashioned, which bites at first from the bourbon, only to later give the drinker a kiss of sweetness from the ground fruit and sugar. When the waiter came by to up the bill with dessert, we waved him off, feeling our stomachs had turned into a rotund one-pack. I held her hand, wished her a happy anniversary, made her laugh as I hid my ear and listened to slow jazz trio performing at the front room to a packed house. 

Despite the mangled ear and my fretting, the night was capped off by martinis at one of our favorite Evanston watering holes, the Century Movie theater bar - that’s right, you heard me. The classic movie décor, piano player on Friday nights and kick-ass good martinis made my favorite theater a great place to reminisce our two years together as we worked off a good buzz. With the chuckles of the memory of our night in our minds that floated in libations, I knew then as well as now that next time I’m back in Evanston for dinner, I’d like to try Pete Miller’s more affordable bar menu and put that great establishment to a further test. 

The Two Brothers Brewery

If you were to look up the location of the Two Brothers Brewery in Warrenville, Illinois, you’d best search under ‘off the beaten path’ and ‘building with no labels’. A few miles north of highway 88, tucked into a grim white and chalky gray industrial park, near turn of the 20^th century railroad tracks overgrown with weeds is a true gem of brewing in northern Illinois. This once small micro-brewery, started by brothers Jim and Jason Ebel in 1996, is now the largest micro-brewery in Illinois with their two brew houses producing close to 30,000 barrels of their grand varieties in 2012. In light of the previous number one micro-brewery, Goose Island in Chicago, being bought out by conglomerate and producer of urine-flavored cans of beer Anheuser-Busch, Two Brothers boasts that they are still 100% family owned and operated. 

I was first turned on to the desirable flavors of Two Brothers from my own brother, Ryan. He had dabbled in micro-brewing, much like the Ebel’s did twenty years back, after his appetites had been whetted for experimentation, thanks to the various micro-brews in the Midwest and the rich, deep flavors of beers in his visits to Ireland and London. Thanks to Ryan’s gentle introductions, I’ve taken a certain affection for the Two Brothers hoppy red ale Cain and Ebel, the light lager (Hoegarden-like) Ebel’s Weiss, and their best seller – the French country style ale Domaine DuPage. You’d be wise to hide your precious bottles of Two Brothers at a party in a little survival kit for fans like myself cannot stop themselves from grabbing a cold one of their years of implemented works. 

My youngest brother Eric thought if was to return to Two Brothers with his girlfriend Julie, he’d be damn sure to invite my brother Ryan, his wife Heather, Ally and myself for a brewery tour. This past Saturday, after trusting and then scrupulously questioning the GPS, we were sure the grain silo attached to a building where patrons clinked condensation dripping pint glasses together on a outdoor patio was the actual place. After grabbing an affordable four dollar pint at their bar, tucked into the restaurant, Ally and I joined my family for the 2:30 tour.

This free tour of the brewing process, bottling and their back rooms didn’t take long to get interesting. The guide and assistant manager, an mid-twenties something woman with sleeve tattoos and a short pony tail, wove well told stories of the origins and processes , answered every question with educated yet approachable ease, and made the best of a stifling back room on these dog days of summer. It seems the building was previously used as a Midwestern dance or ballet academy for the name and design of the previous establishment remained on the back wall. Workers were happy to leave irreverent signs of comedy with a full size cut-out of Bruce Lee round housing a beer bottle and a Krishna-esque painting of a Bengal tiger on the back wall of the bottling room. Ally and Heather couldn’t help but to grab a small handful of the wasted bottle caps, just to say they stole something, even though our guide didn’t care about what was waste in the first place. 

After the tour, each patron for the past 45 minutes was treated to tables in the restaurant/bar where two free 3 oz samples of every beer were provided for our sampling. Our waiter, just as well appreciative about the unique business he worked for, brought us plates of creamy cheese fries and pizza with spicy pepperoni to pad that liquor that sent our heads into a buzz on that humid day. Ryan, Eric and I couldn’t resist buying a growler (half-gallon or enough for four full pints) of their Ebel’s Weiss and the seasonal Northwind Imperial Stout for what we considered to be a more than fair price of around $14 dollars, especially considering the growler was included. 

Two Brothers can be found at most Chicago land area stores. Not sure what their bottles look like, well then take a look at their website that looks to be from the late 90’s. Cheers!

http://www.twobrosbrew.com/