Utah, You Can Do Better Than This

Peach City Ice Cream
306 North Main St.
Brigham City, UT




Unfortunately, Utah isn’t exactly known for culinary creativity.

I mean, sure I’ve had some great Mexican at the Red Iguana in Salt Lake City. I enjoyed the heck out of the pizza at Red Rock Brewery. Devoured a decent burrito at Moab Brewery. Got a pretty awesome burger at Crown Burgers.

But when you think of Utah, does one unique delicacy or dish come to mind?

Hmmmm….

…thinking….

…um, no.

Nothing.

When Zagat did their celebrated 50 sandwiches in 50 states expose, every state was able to lay claim to some iconic must try specialty, whether it be Italian Beef in Illinois or the Hot Brown in Kentucky or the Lobster Roll in Maine.

So which sandwich did Zagat pick for Utah you might wonder?

Fry sauce.

Yeah. It’s a condiment.

Not a sandwich.

The best recommendation the foodie folks at Zagat could come up with is to try fry sauce at Artic Circle, a sprawling Western fast food chain that serves burgers and fish sandwiches.

That’s it? That's the best you can do, Utah?

Really?

Well, Suit757 can do better than that.

I was determined to find some local culinary specialty at a non-chain restaurant on my brief trip across northern Utah.

Unfortunately, my first choice of Maddox Drive-In in Perry was thwarted when I pulled up to an empty parking lot at 1pm on a Monday and found that most annoying of all neon signs fully illuminated: CLOSED.

So I texted a fellow Suit who grew up in the area.

He suggested Peach City Ice Cream up the road. However, he did add the caveat that he hadn’t been there since he was a kid.

Peach City Ice Cream is that kind of place. A local drive-in with booth, counter and car service that has been catering to generations of locals since 1937 -- and young families with rambunctious kids smearing ice cream cones all over their faces.

But Suit757 wasn’t there for dessert.

I was hungry.

I ordered the pastrami burger with that Utah-famous fry sauce, a side of onion rings and a “fresh lime”, which is a local soft drink made of…

…you guessed it…

…fresh squeezed limes.

Who knows, maybe my “fresh lime” would have turned out to be that quintessential Utah concoction that would have finally placed Utah on the Suits in Strange Places culinary map.

I kind of doubt it…but you never know.

And we never will.

My waitress never brought my “fresh lime.” Just Brigham City tap water.

Unfortunately, the burger was one of the most dried-out over-cooked slabs of beef I ever attempted to consume.

A terrible burger.

I suppose there are people out there who don’t like juicy, greasy burgers.

If you happen to be one of those people, I have two favors to ask you.

First of all, stop reading this blog.

Second, STOP ORDERING BURGERS. Because you are ruining it for the rest of us.

If a burger is not drippy and juicy, it is not worth eating.

Period.

The pastrami was okay. I mean, when isn’t pastrami okay?

But the only way I could even eat the dry hockey puck of a burger was to sacrifice my fry sauce designed to accompany my onion rings by dumping it on top of the pastrami burger.

Alright. So I know you are dying to know what this mysterious creative Utah exotica, fry sauce, is all about, right?

Are you ready?

Fry sauce is basically ketchup and mayonnaise mixed together.

Otherwise known in the other 49 states as Thousand Island dressing.

That’s it. This ketchup-mayonnaise condiment is the only unique Utah culinary creation anyone in the Beehive State has ever created.

Maybe these Mormons need to take up drinking to get the creative juices flowing a bit more.

All I can say is, Utah, you can do better than this.

Rating: Wouldn’t Wear Shirt if You Paid Me.

Tales from the Bill Clinton Eating Tour

Cotham’s Mercantile
5301 AR 161
Scott, AR




“What the...???”

That’s what I mumbled to myself as I wheeled my suitcase past the gleaming new sign welcoming arriving passengers at the Little Rock airport.

“Welcome to Bill and Hillary Clinton National Airport.”

Are you kidding me?

After eight years of President Clinton -- and now the prospect of eight more years of another President Clinton -- can’t these people just leave me alone?

What happened to the days when they waited a few years after you were dead to start naming stuff after you?

You know, in case it turned out you did something embarrassing -- like molest an intern or something.

While I don’t particularly share Bill Clinton’s affinity for chubby interns and tax increases, I’ll follow the man to Texarkana and back on a restaurant tour of Arkansas.

Say what you will about President Bubba, but the man knows how to eat.

One of Bill Clinton’s favorite haunts (before he and Hillary shook the fertile Arkansas mud off their boots and moved to the leafy New York suburbs) was Cotham’s Mercantile, just ten miles southeast of what the locals now refer to as “Hill-Billy” National Airport.

In the old cotton plantation town of Scott, Cotham’s Mercantile is geographically near the state capital -- but light years away in laid back attitude and ambiance.

Cotham’s is a century old country store perched on stilts high above the banks of Horseshoe Lake -- a cut-off bayou that was once connected to the meandering Arkansas River generations ago.

Not much has changed in Scott, Arkansas over the past century. The landscape is still blanketed with fertile farmland from horizon to horizon.

And farmers, locals, tourists and Little Rock politicians alike still creak across the old floorboards of the Cotham’s dilapidated front porch in search of an epic Southern meal.

The “Hubcap Burger” is what put Cotham’s on the culinary map.

It didn’t disappoint.

Yes. It really is as big as a hubcap -- nearly a foot in diameter.

But this burger isn’t just wide -- it is nearly an inch thick too.

We’re talking over a pound of beef here!

The beauty of this burger is how well it is constructed.

Onions, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise and meat all held together by over-sized buns that are actually up for the job.

I briefly considered taking my knife and cutting it in half. My grandmother would have considered that the polite thing to do.

But what fun would that be?

Miraculously, I was able the lift the whole thing off my plate and eat it like God intended with minimal condiment spillage.

A bit more well done and drier than I would have preferred (my waitress never asked me how I wanted it cooked), the meat was still very tasty with plenty of salty burger seasoning evident.

The side dishes were a major dilemma.

Cotham’s is almost as famous for its fries and giant hand-battered onion rings as for its Hubcap Burger.

The menu also offered the option to upgrade my side to fried green tomatoes for $2.75.

I couldn’t resist.

More yellow than green, the generous portion of fried tomatoes packed a powerful flavor wallop. The tart tomatoes and crisp thin corn meal breading was a perfect Southern treat.

It was a lot of food.

But not TOO much food. I finished every last bite.

Unfortunately, that meant I had absolutely no room for dessert.


Cotham’s is also famous for its decadent fried chocolate and apple pies. And for its Mississippi Mud pie.

Cotham’s left me wanting to come back for more.

I mean, what about Cotham’s famous fried chicken and catfish?

And those towering piles of onion rings I saw on my neighbors’ tables that gave me junk food envy?

Oh well. I’m sure there will be a next time.

After a century, Cotham’s Mercantile isn’t going anywhere. It’s the kind of place you feel like will always be in your life.

Just like Bill and Hillary Clinton.

Only in Cotham’s case, that is actually a good thing.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Parking is a Premium at Off Site Kitchen

Off Site Kitchen
2226 Irving Blvd.

Dallas, TX 75207

 

It's been just over two years since my last visit to Texas, and as a guy from the Great Lakes region, I can tell you that I did not look forward to return to the heat of Texas.

I was in the Dallas area on business with a fellow Suit who explained to me that the heat in Texas can get so extreme that bugs will actually melt on the sidewalk. Not the crunchy bugs, he clarified, just the big, fat and juicy ones.

Comforting...

Look, I'm sure Texas is nice not during the summer months, but I can't exactly confirm that, being that I've only really been there during the months that bugs melt.

And don't get me started on the politics of Texas.

Every conservative believes that Texas is somehow a utopia for conservative politics. Texas has worse gun laws than Pennsylvania!

Oh, and you also have to provide all ten fingerprints to get a driver's license in the state. How about that for freedom-loving?

And Rick Perry...where do I even start with him? Sometimes he can be so right and other times he can just be plain stupid. Perry is finally stepping down after being Governor for what seems like since the Civil War. No term limit for the Executive? No thank you...

Oh, and let us not forget that Texas also gave us the Bush dynasty which single-handedly destroyed the Republican Party.

But the people of Texas are good people, so long as you can tolerate them constantly correcting you that everything is better and/or bigger in Texas.

No, but seriously, I shouldn't be so tough on Texas because despite their government and obnoxious heat, it is a nice state. And one thing for sure, they know how to cook.

My fellow suit, being a native Texan, knew that I would be interested in the finest of what Dallas had to offer. He did his research, and brought us to a shady part of town to what looked like from the outside a perfect place for a Suit to review.

Once through the front door, I knew he had just taken me a goldmine of a Suit review.

Off Site Kitchen is everything that a Suit could ask for in a delicious place to eat: severe lack of parking spaces, long line to the register, very little seating, and the smell of smoked meat in the air.

I ordered the special of the day which was half a BBQ chicken with house made BBQ sauce, coleslaw, and Texas toast.

In true Texas fashion, my fellow Suit ordered the Ten Buck Four Burger, which is a burger made up of four 1/4 pound burger patties, for a grand total of a pound of meat, plus a fried egg on top.

I must say, I became envious of that burger. That thing looked awesome, and according to my fellow Suit, it was, as he had to restart his heart several times during the process of eating it.
 

Don't get me wrong, though, my BBQ chicken was delicious. The meat was very moist and flavorful, and the house made BBQ sauce that came with it had the right amount of tang to it.

The only way to truly complete this meal is by washing it down with the beer that is the pride of Texas, Shiner Bock. Now, I'm not going to sit here and sing the praises of Shiner Bock. It's an okay beer and really is about the best Texas can offer. The laws in Texas just absolutely kill the craft beer industry.

Yet another fine example of the lack of freedom in the Lone Star State...

But I salute Shiner for their long history of serving the people of Texas with a quality beer.

Freedom will come some day to Texas so that Texans can actually openly carry a firearm without being thrown in jail, and to know what real good beer tastes like.

Until then, they can keep enjoying their delicious food with a small variety of good beer, while dreaming of the day they can live up to the label of "freest state in the union."

Off Site Kitchen is a must for anyone visiting the Dallas area. It is off the beaten path, and you'll have a hard time finding parking, but it is well worth it.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt

No Hand-Holding Naked Dudes at this San Francisco Dive

7 Mile House
2800 Bayshore Blvd.
Brisbane, CA





Sometimes I like a little history with my burgers and beer.

Especially if that history involves gangsters, hookers, gamblers and other shady characters of ill repute.

I definitely came to the right place.

San Francisco was about the last place in America I was expecting to find a blue collar dive like this.

This is the city more famous for public parks full of hand-holding naked men, taxpayer funded sex changes and roving gangs of tofu-munching yoga instructors.

Certainly not traditional American values like cheap beer and towering greasy burgers.

But that’s exactly what you’ll find here at the 7 Mile House just a mile or so south of the city limits in Brisbane.

The bawdy history of this dive bar began in 1853, when it was established as part of a chain of “mile houses” along the old stagecoach road that ran from the San Francisco Ferry Building to San Jose.

Later, 7 Mile become a post office stop along the Pony Express.

These mile houses located every mile or so along the dusty, bumpy, hilly journey gave the poor stagecoach horses and their drivers a spot to rest and take a drink.

You know. That whole “whiskey for my men, beer for my horses” thing Toby Keith and Willie Nelson sang about so eloquently.

The owners of 7 Mile (seven miles south of the San Francisco Ferry Building), discovered that meeting the needs of these rugged travelers could be a lucrative business.

Fresh water and horses.

Beer and whiskey.

Rooms for rent and female companionship.

That’s early American entrepreneurship.

But like many brothels and gambling halls, 7 Mile attracted a shady crowd of robbers, thieves and gangsters such as the infamous Hayes Valley Gang who cut a path of murderous destruction through San Francisco in the 1870s.

As recently as the 1980s, 7 Mile was a scary biker bar harboring the largest illegal gambling ring in the West until the Feds arrested everyone involved and spoiled all the fun.

Now days, 7 Mile still maintains some of that shady mystique without the fear of being stabbed.

An ethnically diverse clientele of local blue collar guys populated the bar by the time I strolled through the front door at 6pm on a Tuesday.

The smoking hot bartender knew every one of them by name -- except me of course.

As usual, I stood out like a tourist at a Hells Angels convention.

Everyone else was drinking PBR and Budweiser long necks.

I ordered the local 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA on draft.

Nobody else at the bar was eating.

I ordered the infamous Cow Palace Burger and garlic fries.

The guy sitting next to me moved over a stool. I think he knew something I didn’t.

You don’t want to be too close to a stranger gorging on a pound and a half of greasy cow, pig and garlic fries.

The Cow Palace is epic. It’s even been featured on national television.

Two half pound beef patties topped with melted cheese, sautéed onions, barbeque sauce, onion rings, tomato and a quarter pound of bacon. All held together by a foot long tooth pick.

Whoa!

When the cook brought this monstrosity out of the kitchen and plunked it on the bar in front of me, a jolt of panic flashed through his eyes as the tower of meat tilted precariously to one side.

I grabbed it before catastrophe struck and then pondered a very profound question.

How in the hell am I supposed to eat this damn thing?

At seven inches tall, I quickly realized that the human anatomy was not designed for such challenges. There is no mouth known to the human race big enough to wrap around that much meat.

Not even Joy Behar’s big mouth.

So I opted for the squeeze and nibble strategy.

No. This has nothing to do with the nefarious activities in the 7 Mile’s upstairs room back in the 19th Century.

I just squooshed as hard as I could with my hands, opened my jaws as far as they would go and plunged my face into meat heaven.

My strategy worked pretty well. At first.

Then all the drippy grease, cheese and onions conspired to disintegrate the bun.

Why can’t a place that sells an epic, nationally famous burger contain its creation in sturdier, higher quality buns?

It was a minor criticism considering how outstanding the rest of the components tasted.

The beef was perfectly cooked to a nice pink medium as evidenced by the waterfall of grease spilling onto the 150 year old bar top.

The multi-layered bacon was thick, greasy and perfectly cooked, providing a nice porky flavor in every beefy, cheesy bite.

Much like the buns, the breading around the onion rings disintegrated robbing the burger of the expected fried crunch I craved.

But the sautéed onions, cheese and BBQ sauce added plenty of condiment flavor to my messy mountain of meat.

Somehow I managed to eat almost the whole thing. By the time I surrendered, there was nothing left but a few random bits of beef here, soggy bun there.

Of course I made sure not to leave any bacon remainders. That really would be a federal crime.

I even polished off my mound of garlic fries that came on the side.

Garlic fries are something of a San Francisco Bay specialty, as Gilroy, the self-proclaimed “Garlic Capital of the World”, is just a short drive south of here.

But most Northern California inspired garlic fries I’ve tried in the past were nothing more than boring fries sprinkled with some garlic salt.

Not these.

7 Mile leaves no doubt about its garlicky condiment -- or the need for a breath mint.

Whole cloves of fresh-from-the-fields garlic are crushed and scattered across the oily fries. Every bite yields a pungent sweet flavor to bring the otherwise uninspiring fries to life.

Best of all was my Brew Free of Die! IPA from the brewmasters just down the street at 21st Amendment Brewery.

You know any brewery that names itself after the liberty-celebrating Constitutional Amendment that restored our rights as Americans to drink beer is going to take its task seriously.

I wonder if the folks at 21st Amendment have ever considered the irony that they located their brewery in a city that is considering banning everything from Happy Meals to circumcision to the sale of gold fish.

To crazed San Francisco leftists, no aspect of your life is too mundane or personal not to regulate.

You want to see men buggering in a public park? You’ve come to the right place.

You want to buy your kid a gold fish or a Happy Meal? You’re a heartless corporatist oppressor who must be stopped by government force.

21st Amendment celebrates one of the few freedoms remaining in this city with a wide range of kick-ass brews.

But Brew Free or Die! IPA is the best of the best, providing a hoppy kick of liberty in every patriotic sip.

Even if all the locals were drinking PBR and looking at me suspiciously.

It just seemed such an appropriate beer to down in a century old former speakeasy where illegal booze was probably the least objectionable activity going down within its confines.

But I can understand the suspicions of the locals.

7 Mile is a historic treasure in more ways than one.

If you are an all-American, God-fearing, hard working PBR man, there aren’t too many places to hang out in San Francisco.

7 mile just might be the only down-to-earth, blue collar refuge for men who actually still dress like men to down long necks for under a five spot in the entire Bay area.

They’re not going to take too kindly to some fancy beer sipping suit ruining the place.

Not to worry.

Trust me. I appreciate a hand-holding-naked-dudes-FREE zone as much as anyone.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Faking it in Las Vegas

The Pub
Monte Carlo Casino
3770 S. Las Vegas Blvd.
Las Vegas, NV





I’m probably not the one to write this review.

I’m just not into the Vegas thing.

I don’t get it.

Eighty year old women slouching around casinos on their walkers throwing quarters into slot machines just isn’t that entertaining to me.

Neither is losing money.

Call me crazy. Or cheap. But I kinda like to keep my money. I don’t find losing it to be all that fun.

If you’ve been paying attention to the website, I think you can figure out the kinds of things I like.

Places off the beaten path that reflect the soul of real America – that make travel not only bearable, but memorable or enlightening.

The authentic. The real deal. Mom and pop.

Beer and baseball. Burgers and barbeque.

Regional delicacies in those hidden corners of America that just can’t be found in your suburban strip mall back home.

In other words, I like everything that Las Vegas ISN’T.

It’s probably not a coincidence that after 320 reviews on this site, we’re just now doing the first one in Las Vegas.

I’m not going to insult your intelligence by describing all the ways Las Vegas is the capital of inauthentic American mediocrity.

I mean, in a place with a fake New York City skyline, a fake Eiffel Tower and a fake Venice canal, this city is famous for promoting the fake and inauthentic.

That is obvious.

That is why 40 million people come here every year.

People like fake. And prefer it to the real thing.

Who wants to deal with the expense and hassle of flying to Italy – and those annoying people who don’t bother to speak English -- when you can ride a gondola right here in the good ole U.S. of A?

But surely there has to be some place in this massive metroplex of tourist tripe to get something unique and unusual that I can’t get at home.

As it turns out, Suit757’s parents are the perfect people to ask.

They make half a dozen treks across the continent per year to throw my inheritance into slots and video poker machines.

And I’m fine with that.

Really. I am.

It’s their money. They paid for twelve years of Catholic school tuition and four years of college. They don’t owe me another dime.

Although I really would like them to spend some of it on a rental car and a tank of gas to drive the few hours to the Grand Canyon on at least one of these trips.

Is that asking too much?

I mean, how many dozens of times can you fly to Vegas and refuse to take a day trip to see the single most spectacular natural wonder on Planet Earth???

In other words, my parents are the prototypical Vegas tourists.

Keep it easy, close and familiar. With valet parking, please.

Maybe they’ll go if Steve Wynn will build a fake Grand Canyon on the Strip.

They suggested I go to Todd English’s Pub near the Monte Carlo.

Good beer selection (for Las Vegas) and gourmet pub food created by one of those made-for-TV celebrity chefs all the rage in Sin City these days.

I checked the website. Sure enough, $25 Kobe beef burgers and a beer list that stretches beyond the typical Las Vegas Heineken/Bud Light/Miller Light crap every other bar and casino serves.

The problem is I’m not really a Vegas kind of guy.

I don’t know Todd English from Todd Snider from Todd Palin.

So as I’m riding the hotel shuttle to the strip, I simply plug “Pub Monte Carlo” into my smart phone because I can’t remember the super famous celebrity chef’s name.

Well that was a problem.

You see, there is a beer pub in the Monte Carlo that serves $22 Kobe beef burgers with over 100 microbrews. And it is called “The Pub”.

But it is not Todd English’s Pub.

No. That one is about 200 yards across the Aria lobby.

I’m so confused.

I can locate a back water forgotten fish camp somewhere along a dirt road deep in the bayous of Louisiana, but I can’t find a celebrity’s restaurant in Vegas when I’m two football fields away from it.

Then again, I get lost at the mall too, so maybe this isn’t such a surprise.

The reason I say this is a problem is that the Monte Carlo “Pub” basically stunk.

Literally.

All I could smell was the putrid stench coming out of the dishwasher under my spot at the bar. Like rotting trash.

Not very appetizing.

I wanted to try the Butcher Burger made with half Angus beef and half ground up bacon for $18.

But when I ordered it medium rare, the bar tender told me it only came well done “for safety reasons”. Apparently bacon needs to be cooked thoroughly.

That’s funny, I’ve eaten my share of floppy greasy half cooked bacon in my life and I’m not dead yet.

Scared off by the prospect of a dry overcooked mound of meat, I opted for the $22 Kobe beef burger which my bartender graciously allowed me to order medium rare.

The first problem with this burger is its name. It is a lie.

Virtually no Kobe beef is sold in the United States. Anywhere. Ever. By government fiat.

You can only get it in Japan.

So I have no idea what I was actually eating. Or how they can get away with labeling it something it is not. Or why it cost $22. Other than the fact that I was eating it in Las Vegas.

The false advertising continued when the “caramelized onions” listed on the menu came out as a slice of raw onion.

That irritated me too.

My fake Kobe burger was cooked to a nice juicy pink but the raw onion and big bulky bun overwhelmed the flavor of the meat.

Even if it was from some fancy Japanese cow, I wouldn’t have noticed the nuance because each bite yielded nothing but a mouthful of bread.

More meat. Less bread. That’s what I want on a $22 burger.

By this point, I was getting a little suspicious that I might be in the wrong place.

I mean, is this the best that a “celebrity” Las Vegas chef can do?

That’s when I started looking around.

What was that dude’s name again?

His name was nowhere to be found.

That’s odd.

Isn’t the whole point of opening a celebrity chef Vegas restaurant to plaster your name all over the damn place?

It didn’t take much Google Mapping to figure out I was in the wrong “Pub” selling fake Kobe beef burgers.

Oh well. Too late now.

At least the beer selection was good.

Pilsner Urquel on tap is always an excellent choice. Fresh, unpasteurized crisp beer straight from the city in the Czech Republic that invented pilsner beer.

My second choice was Duhbe Black IPA from Uinta Brewery in Utah. A strong 9% alcohol beer that is illegal to serve on draft in its Mormon home state, I was happy to down one here in Sin City.

Then I got the tab. Fifty bucks.

Fifty bucks! For a fake mediocre burger and two beers.

I thought Las Vegas is where middle class America comes to gorge on cheap beer and all you can eat buffets!

What the hell happened to that Vegas?

On the way back to my hotel I stopped off for an $11 Goose Island Matilda, an $8 Stone Pale Ale and a couple $10 pints of Guinness at the fake Irish Pub featuring a fake Irish band performing fake Irish music in the fake New York New York Casino.

Somehow I managed to blow close to a hundred bucks without playing a single slot machine.

Like I said, I’m not a big fan of losing money in Las Vegas.

Even if it went to a good cause like drinking beer.

Oh well. Those beers may have been obscenely overpriced, but at least I got more in return for my money than my parents ever do.

And at least I’ve actually seen the Grand Canyon.

Rating: Wouldn’t Wear Shirt if You Paid Me.