Big Texas identity in Kenosha, Wisconsin

I’ve thought about the slogan which Texas has developed ownership to over the years – Everything is bigger in Texas. This could be an illusion to Texas’ fierce independence, even as their own nation for several years, before joining the Union, the Confederacy and then again the Union. Their fat to meat ratio on their steaks is similar to the body fat count of their citizens. The television screens in their football stadiums are as large as the 100 yards of turf. Culture is alive, as well as diversity, in areas such as El Paso, Austin, Dallas/Ft Worth, Houston and San Antonio. This hubris is so inflated, you get corporate names for steakhouses as far away as Maine. Last weekend, I drove over the border of Illinois to meet with the family in Kenosha, Wisconsin at one of these places – The Texas Roadhouse on Route 50. 

As the years have gone by, I have become claustrophobic in large crowds. Sure, I’m six foot two and with a decent body size (that’s me ignoring the love handles) but I couldn’t sit in the wood floored lobby of the Texas Roadhouse. People waiting for a table were packed in the side lobby for meat. I convinced Ally of the irony of hungry carnivores being shuffled in practical assembly lines, looking not far off from the slaughterhouses that provide the meat. A display case of steaks were in the front and I couldn’t help but to notice how pink they were instead of the rich red quality one gets from top grade steak that’s either been dry or wet aged. By the sights of line dancing near the bar and Country Western playing through the loudspeakers, ambiance almost seemed more important. The Green Bay Packers mural on the far wall nearly made me lose my lunch. See, I admire the talent of players like Aaron Rodgers…I just can’t stand the shitty arrogance of Packer fans. They are one step away from being NY Yankee lovers.

My family and our wives/fiancés took up and whole booth and a side table. My mother was wise enough to call ahead for a reservation, which they will take after 7pm. My brother Ryan and I both decided to down two Texas-sized 22oz yards of the excellent Wisconsin Amber from Capital Brewery. Along with the sampler pack of the New Glarus beers I picked up at Woodman’s before dinner, we nodded in respect to two of the Midwest’s finest micro-breweries.  

I went big with my dinner order of a 1/3 slab of ribs, a 10 ounce sirloin and mash potatoes. The butter rolls with cinnamon butter are a step away from those addictive as cocaine cheddar biscuits at Red Lobster. As I ate my decent Caesar salad, my brother Eric nodded at me with his dry sense of humored and muttered “Yeah boy, lettuce…grease that chute.” Thankfully this time I didn’t start crying from laughing so hard, as he has made me do at least three times a year. The sirloin steak was good but not great - thin, juicy with a strong pepper flavor. The fall of the bone ribs with the mild Kansas City style BBQ sauce got me nodding in approval. Those bones fell right out of a meat that had a good grill char underneath the sauce. 

Ally’s meal was another story. Her shrimp on the skewer were cold. The steak was mediocre. Thankfully the over-sized martinis she and Heather had put a smile on their faces from the quick buzz. I guess my meal, compared to hers shows that you get what you pay for in a place that champions a mass market identity over quality. The meal certainly wasn’t bad at all, much to my surprise. I thought stepping in I’d see overweight northern Illinoisan and Wisconsinites with feed bags strapped to their necks, having to take breaks from breathing to shove fried mayonnaise balls in their gullets. Though, I wasn’t far off on my assessments once I saw the diners who sat down in cowboy hats and Packers jerseys. :)

A unique Mexican spot on the North Shore

When I think of the communities that stretch from Wilmette to Lake Forest on Chicago’s north shore of Lake Michigan, I am not one to gravitate towards ethnic foods outside of pub and upscale dining. Those venues better reflected the pocketbooks and the half million plus houses in those communities. Starting ten to fifteen years ago, in communities like Highland Park and Highwood, a new wave of immigration from Latin America added unique must go to spots. In a way it’s no different than the immigrants from southern Europe (mainly Italy) over a hundred years ago that my family has direct ties to in that area. 

I wasn’t raised around the rich culinary history of Mexican or Latin American food. My Mom was second generation Italian-American (with all their hearty dishes) and my 3^rd generation German-American father, the son of a farmer, instilled with a meat a potatoes diet to provide enough energy for the man to work 40 years of backbreaking labor as an electrician. But as my brothers and I grew up, met friends that opened our eyes a bit at the table, and exposed ourselves to the globalized world, we couldn’t help but to turn down offers such as checking out La Casa de Issac and Moishe in Highland Park. 

My buddy Nick decided to take me to a restaurant we had both never been to before. The deal was an old arrangement that these two culinary geeks, in public and in our apartments, would treat each other to a new spot for their birthday. Mine was a tad belated with our schedules. 

A few blocks north of downtown Highland Park, the vibrant adobe and teal colors of La Casa de Issac and Moishe greet you to what you will notice on a Saturday night is a happening place, each table packed. I wish you good luck finding parking in a flash; Nick parked two blocks away. Who knows, you could even find a celebrity in a visit. Two tables away from Nick and I was Chicago Cubs/WGN television play-by-play announcer Len Kasper. Was it awkward that I stared at him for two minutes straight? 

I would describe La Casa de Issac and Moishe a north suburban version of what Rick Bayless produces so well with his Frontera chain on North Clark Street in Chicago. Issac and Moishe has less of what people would call Tex-Mex and more authentic plates of Mexican dishes from Pollo en Mole Rojo (Chicken in red sauce) to Bistek ala Mexicana (rib eye gone south of the border). Nick and I decided to take advantage of the duck festival last Saturday. He ordered the shredded duck enchiladas with a rich Serrano salsa verde and I the in-house made blue corn tortillas topped with shredded duck in adobo sauce, topped with fresh chunks of pineapple and mango salsa and a killer side of that salsa verde. Our appetites were given a beat down by what seemed like a never ending wahaca (made from black volcanic stone) filled with house made guacamole. You will need that doggie bag. We had to take at least a third of our meal home. 

The night seemed appropriate to end off with two Don Julio anejo tequilas in tiny snifter glasses. My sister-in-law claims to be a growing aficionado of tequila when I am one of scotch and some beers. Hope I made her proud! 

http://www.lacasadeisaac.com/

A wee Irish pub in Highwood - Bridie McKenna's

The North Atlantic Ocean was in view from my window seat for hours, the icy passage that my plane cruised over where so many had taken passage. Then, at the right time, the waves smashing against the rocky coast of County Kerry and the green farm fields and stone walls of Ireland came into view. That was back in my first journey into Ireland back when I studied there in 2006. I can sniff out a good Irish pub, dive or not, from here to Limerick. Having not been back to the Emerald Isle since 2007, these pubs, along with the traditional Irish music of bands like the Chieftains, alleviate my longings for a good pint next to a hearth fire.

One such place in Highwood, Illinois has captured that essence of Ireland for me – Bridie McKenna’s. My Great-Grandfather Everett ran a grocery and butcher down the street from Bridie’s, making me wonder why this town I had been to since my youth hasn’t been explored or written about for the diverse range of restaurants on Green Bay and Waukegan Road. My now sister-in-law, Heather, who I have to thank for exposing to Bridie McKenna’s, accompanied me last week for a dinner and a business meeting over my new website – stay tuned! 

Sitting in what may be confused for a confessional booth with padded upholstery, Bridie’s has several ‘snugs’ where guest can cozily seat themselves for a good dinner. If you deem more of a public presence for a good time and several pints, Bridie’s has a range of classic European beers on top that you would find in Ireland from Carlsberg to Magners (Bulmers in Ireland). The tiny hearth fire in the corner of the one dining room is perfect for this time of year until next April. Walls are adorned with Irish knickknacks that are bought wholesale from Irish pub warehouses of junk. The frosted glass is adorned with Irish calligraphy and Celtic symbols throughout. On Tuesdays the owners allow in locals for traditional Irish music sessions, where the musicians make a school circle and play their fiddles and accordions almost for themselves. Damn, just thinking about it has The Chieftains tune The Dusty Miller belting out of my speakers. 

Each visit I’ve made to Bridie’s I’ve found the staff to be helpful, there for your requests more than most places would. Each week they have menu specials where you can chow down on half-price appetizers on Tuesdays or half-price burgers on Wednesdays. That past Tuesday Heather and I shared some Irish nachos (not very Irish, I know) that were of good enough quality as any other pub. Over four dollars pints of Magners for her and Harp for me, we relaxed into conversation and then business plans, as most Irish pubs are suited for. I have kissed the Blarney Stone my friends and I’ve been given the gift of gab since – or for those who know me well, the ability to not shut his face often enough. 

Heather settled for the Killarney chicken, which had a robust whiskey glaze on top. Feeding my desire for hearty plates, I dove into the Kinsale fish pie, a succulent mixture of chopped leeks, spring onions, salmon and cod cooked into a white wine cream sauce then topped with mash potatoes with a little oven char, similar to that of Sheppard’s pie. With enough on each plate to set my stomach to stop and take leftovers, the tunes of Dirty Old Town and a traditional tune I’ve lost memory of the name but not the melody filled our ears. 

If I wasn’t so tired from teaching all day, I could have stayed there until the fireplace was closed, the chairs hosted onto the tables and the last pint glass was dried for another round of another day where travelers to the Emerald Isle sing songs of times long gone. I leave you with the appropriate song from the The Pogues called Sally MacLennane.

“Sad to say I must be on me way, so buy beer or whiskey cause I’m going far away…”

http://www.bridiemckennasirishpub.com/index.php