Worst Breakfast For A While

The Chocolate Moose
U.S. Highway 53 South
International Falls, Minnesota

(at County Road 7, near the airport)



When we came across this place while looking for a place to eat at seven in the morning in a town that apparently doesn't open until much later, we thought we had scored. The outside presents a nice, new, clean look, sort of like a rustic Perkins, or a sophisticated Cracker Barrel. Inside, though it's smaller than either of those chains' locations, we felt the same kind of welcome family-style warmth.

When we saw the menu, we felt reassured. The usual foods were offered, with a minimum of too-cute names, and with prices just as we expected. The service, too, was just as it should have been: polite, reasonably efficient, competent.

What does that mean?

The food was less satisfying.

I opted for the sausage and cheese omelet. No effort was made in the kitchen to get those eggs to do anything but lie there. What I was served was not an omelet, but bits of sausage wrapped in, effectively, a flimsy egg tortilla, formed into a rectangle just the right size for a couple of slices of pasteurized processed cheese food to adorn. The large plate was kept from appearing vacant by a bushel of potatoes denominated as "home fries." They were, in fact, frozen chunks of potato, the size and shape of large dice, cut by some distant machine before being bagged; then thrown into a mess of hot grease just long enough to melt the ice crystals inside. Only the pancakes I'd chosen as a bread were at all enjoyable: they would have earned an average rating.

My friend's "breakfast sandwich" was worse. The same kind of scrambled egg, reminiscent of the sort one gets at Subway these days, folded around a slice of ... well, let's call it cheese, and served with a sausage pattie on what the menu and the waitress called a croissant. Real croissants, it seems, have yet to make an appearance this far north. This was something that looked like two heels from a loaf of white bread, glued together by that stuff that was not cheese.

I think that if the need for breakfast in International Falls ever presents itself again, I may want to quickly learn some hunting and trapping skills.



Dinner in the Far North

Spot on 53
1801 2nd Avenue, East
International Falls, Minnesota

(U.S. 53, south of 17th Street)

Even at the height of the summer tourist season, the choices available to the would-be diner in International Falls on a Monday night are limited. We almost passed this place by, because from the outside it looked for all the world like a dive. Stepping inside, we were not immediately reassured, as the dining room was dark. There were, though, some respectable-looking people at tables in the bar, so we joined them in what proved to be a comfortable, well-lit and well-decorated room, with a quiet murmur of conversation providing the background.

What does that mean?

Monday nights are pasta nights at the Spot: of the six pasta dishes selling for fourteen to eighteen dollars on the regular menu, four are available on an all-you-can-eat basis, for eleven dollars; and patrons can mix and match. One of the four offerings was unavailable, a pasta dish made with butternut squash. Since it was so early in the evening when we arrived, I have to  think they didn't get their squash shipment in. But that wasn't a problem, since the other three choices were all higher on my list of preferences anyway. My friend chose the white wine chicken over penne; I picked a tomato-based sauce (I forget what it was called) with chicken, over capellini.

If I were only rating the place on the white wine pasta, I'd have to give it a higher rating by half a chili pepper. That dish was superior, with a discernible wine flavour in a smooth cream sauce that was neither too thin nor too thick. The strips of chicken breast were obviously out of a bag, no doubt delivered frozen, but otherwise the dish was well-made and thoroughly enjoyable.

But the other dish was ordinary in every way. The angel hair pasta was overcooked and the same frozen chicken strips were used; but worse, the sauce was both watery and bland. When it came time to re-up, I asked for a half-order of the white wine chicken pasta.

Both dishes were served with breadsticks that varied from warm and soft to stale and hard.



Charming Kitsch in Stanley, Wisconsin

Alberta May's
225 East 4th Avenue
Stanley, Wisconsin

Well, this is just weird.

We came upon this restaurant thanks to one of those blue freeway signs. You exit Highway 29, head into town four blocks past the railroad, and turn right. Three blocks down, on the left, is a building that looks like an apartment building; it's actually a former hospital, and now is an assisted living center. You think surely there's not a restaurant in such a place, but there's the sign, hanging on the brick wall, and another over the door, so you park and go inside. You find yourself in a large, under-furnished lobby, with a hallway going off to the left and a small office on the right, and, ahead of you, the entrance to Alberta May's. Skeptical, you enter, and despite all the signage, you are surprised and relieved to find yourself in an actual restaurant.

If you can get over the worry that you'll be dining on hospital food, you'll find the experience of dining at Alberta May's a pleasant enough one. We were there around eleven in the morning, and opted for breakfast dishes: a dumpling omelet for me, a three-meat omelet for my friend. The omelets at Alberta Mays are made with two eggs, not the three that has become the industry standard around the country. I found that two are more than sufficient. The third egg maybe adds a little thickness to the envelope that surrounds the filling, but that isn't, strictly speaking, necessary for the enclosure, and I can do without the extra calories and cholesteral it also adds.

What's that mean?

The dumplings were outstanding. It's hard to grasp that I could feel so warmly toward fried chunks of mashed potatoes and flour, but there was just something so wholesomely familiar about them. The phrase, "Like Mom used to make" comes to mind, though my own mother never made a dumpling in her life, I don't think. Still, it's what we Americans think of as Home Cookin', and rightly so. The eggs were fluffy enough, and the cheese on top was a tasteful sprinkling of Cheddar (surely Wisconsin Cheddar), not the slathering that some restaurants feel compelled to impose. The mushrooms inside were sautéed in a little butter, and the seasoning, mainly dill, was deft.

The three-meat omelet was equally well-made, and if bacon, ham and sausage are not to my own liking, it's no reflection on the skill of the cook. The bacon, at least, was nicely crisp and crumbled; the ham and sausage could have been of a better quality without upsetting me, but they, too, were well-prepared.

The service was as down-home as the menu, and by the time we ordered we'd been made to feel welcome, as much a part of the Stanley scene as any of the oddly-dressed teenagers who flittered through the lobby outside. (I think maybe they were putting on some kind of show for the old folks.) The small restaurant offers an even smaller bakery and gift shop, which just adds to the charming kitsch of the place.