Brickhouse Pizza Pub — Fort Atkinson, WI — A Restaurant Recommendation

She's a beauty, isn't she?

Like every other good American would probably say, pizza is one of those five foods that if I was stuck on a deserted island and I had to pick one food that I would have to eat for the rest of my life, pizza would probably be it (besides chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream).  I could eat pizza every day, I think.  What you served on it wouldn't matter hugely to me, although I am definitely more of a traditionalist with my toppings.  You can hold the pineapple and the taco meat, thank you.

What I am particular about is the crust.  I grew up in a town full of amazing pizzerias run by Greek and Italian families.  Their pizza dough was like their bread: yeasty in aroma and flavor, with a crispy exterior, and a bubbly, chewy interior.  Good mandible strength was required when tucking into one of their giant pizza slices.  

When I moved to Chicago at the age of 17, everyone declared that I was moving to the best pizza in the world.  And while I would eventually agree that it was quite good, I missed—no, make that craved—the pizza from home.  There is only so much cheese that one person can eat in a sitting before things start acting a little scary, and who the hell cuts their pizza into squares, anyway? I mean, really.  And the dough? It just didn't even compare.  It was either too bread-y or too cracker-like.  Nope.  My Italian boys were missed.

Almost twenty years later I moved to Wisconsin, famous for its cheese curds and frozen custard.  Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to carry on with my pizza fantasies for another few years.  Pizza was nowhere near being a Wisconsin delicacy.

And then along came Brickhouse.

I was one of the original staff that opened this little restaurant in what became my new hometown.  On the day I interviewed to waitress, I sat across from two men, father and son, and admitted that I had never worked in the food industry in my life but that I loved people and I loved food and I would be the hardest worker they had.  They gave me the job, and I prayed that I would like the food.  Little did I know that their food standards would exceed even my own.

The day before opening all the waitstaff came to the restaurant for a tasting so that we would know some of the foods we would be promoting.  It was then that I learned that everything—the pizza dough, the sauces, the soups, the salsa, the bread, the nacho chips, the croutons—everything was homemade.  The only non-condiment item we didn't make were the desserts and the pasta.  The burgers were shaped by hand, the steaks hand-cut.  I walked into the kitchen and saw a tray full of roasted chickens being pulled out of the oven and soup stock simmering on the stove in a giant pot.  This was a restaurant I was going to be proud to work in.

First I tested the chips and salsa.  Delish.  Crispity chips with layers that shattered when you bit, and salsa that was nicely spicy and lime-y and fresh.

The soup was straight out of grandma's kitchen.  Full of flavor and stuff.  No thin, brothy stock here.

And the pizza?

The pizza.

The pizza...

That pizza that I had been dreaming of for the past twenty years? Right.  There.  The crispy-chewy crust.  The fresh tomato-y sauce.  The perfect amount of melty cheese.  Dear Lord, and I was going to work here!

That was four years ago.  I no longer work at Brickhouse, or "BH" as we affectionately call it in our house, but you can bet that when any of us talk about going out for dinner, it is an unspoken understanding that there is only one place we mean.  

Those two men who were my bosses? They are no longer my bosses.  They are my family.  

And that pizza? That pizza... (Scroll back up there and look at it!)

It's still my favorite pizza anywhere.

Blue Moon Restaurant — Lake Mills, WI — A Restaurant Recommendation

I cannot believe how quickly the summer is flying by.  We are almost to the middle of August, and for the teachers of Wisconsin, that means school is starting in a couple of weeks.  It's kind-of odd for me not to be returning to school at the end of the summer.  It's all I've known for almost 15 years.  Life is calling elsewhere, however; not just career-wise but location-wise, and so last night I got together with one of my best friends and former library aide, Judene, to get ready to say good-bye (but not yet, we are determined.  NOT YET.)

We decided to meet in a town that is about halfway between our two homes in a little town called Lake Mills.  It's an idyllic, American small town: beautiful, old homes line the main streets.  The downtown is quaint and surrounds a central park.  It's a place that I should have visited more often, but, typical of me, I never "found time" to.

Anyway, Judene just found out she is neighbors with the owner of a restaurant there, and since the establishment was already one of Judene's favorite date destinations, we decided to meet there for our girls' night.  The restaurant is called Blue Moon, and Judene described it as it having a very "NOLA" vibe.

New Orleans?!? I was in.

I got to the restaurant first, and, thanks to a rather stressful day, happily hit up the Happy Hour special: a dollar off all tap beers.  I sat at the bar and drank my Blue Moon and took a good look around.  The first thing I noticed was the great music: some seriously classic, old time-y blues. Definitely NOLA vibes. The decor? Deep dark blue walls lined with artwork of all kinds referencing blues or jazz music, New Orleans, or—you guessed it: moons. Stained glass windows hung in the storefront.  A silver pressed tin ceiling finished off the look.  I liked it.

At that moment Judene showed up.  Our evening got rolling, and I have to say: it was delightful.

What made Blue Moon stand out for me was the staff.  The creole was tasty (I did not try their famous pizza) and the atmosphere chill, but the staff are what make me wish I had found Blue Moon a long time ago.  By the time I walked out the door, I felt like I had just been let into a little family.  I know that all waitresses are not created equal, but our waitress, Liz, was genuine, kind, and conscientious.  When Judene, who has celiac, ordered a dish that she believed to be gluten-free, Liz came back a few minutes later to tell Judene that she had checked, just to be sure, and it wasn't.  What waitress does that? Obviously, one who cares.

The chef periodically came out from the kitchen and checked on every single table after their meal was served to make sure that everyone was happy.  We had no complaints, but even if we had, I'm sure we would have had that plate whisked off the table and re-served to our liking with his big, booming laugh to accompany it.

The owner, Sherrie, was there last night, too, and she talked to us for a bit after our meal.  What a darling woman! Another authentic, caring human being whose smile adds the final warming touch to a most decidedly happy place.

If you live in or near Lake Mills, I would definitely recommend giving this little place a visit.  I don't believe you will be disappointed.

Saying Goodbye to Mil-ee-wau-KAY: CAF is on the Move!

It's becoming increasingly hard to believe, but within a matter of weeks, we will no longer be residents of the great state of Wisconsin but instead be Beantowners.

While this is a transition that I have been looking forward to for a long time, there are many parts of this move that make me really sad, one of them being: we're losing Milwaukee.

If you have never visited the city of Milwaukee (we can't say that word in this house without referencing Alice Cooper in Wayne's World through the pronunciation), you are seriously missing out.  It is a fantastic little city: beautiful architecture, great walkability, AMAZING art museum, wonderful restaurants, and the best ballpark I have ever been to (yes, better than Wrigley).

To say good-bye properly, Derrick and I surprised Michael with a trip downtown this weekend.  First stop was The Safe House, a super fun restaurant whose spy theme begins with the restaurant signage itself being code named and concludes with a "spy mission" scavenger hunt throughout the entire establishment while you are waiting for your meal.  Here's Derrick reading our list of clues:

After eating a tasty lunch, we did a bit of wandering downtown:

 

Then if was off to the main event:

The highlight of the evening?

Michael caught a game ball hit by Shane Peterson! What a way to end our last home game ever!

We decided to top off the night with one last Milwaukee tradition: Leon's Frozen Custard, easily the best ice cream you will ever eat:

Despite the fact that I kept getting choked up at the thought of what was coming in the next few weeks, that day could not have been more fun.  

Mil-ee-wau-KAY, you have never let us down.  We will be back, old friend.  Just you wait and see.

A Foodie's Fallish Philosophy on Her Cooking Life

I've just come in from putting the dog out.  The fog is beautiful this morning.  It's not the dark, murky fog that's been creeping around all week long.  It's the kind that hovers and glows, its whispery essence highlighting the faintest of frost on the fallen leaves, inspiring deep, gulping breaths of the fall air.

My senses and imagination go into overload in such moments.  Such transcendent beauty, for me, makes time stand still, and I want to put my hand out and hold it there.  It is the freest that I ever feel, being trapped in those moments.  

And then they are gone, like waking up from a dream, and I am left with the same drive every time: bless the beauty of this world then go out and enjoy every fricking moment of your life.

And so here I am, writing you all.  You, my readers, are what I love.  You and the food that I write to you about.  It's not a choice that I make.  It just is.  Time has transformed not only food for me, but it has transformed me through food.

Michael asked me last night over a dinner of cottage pie, "Do you eat to live or live to eat?"

"Definitely live to eat," I replied.

He laughed.  "My health teacher would say that that is exactly what you should NOT do."

I smiled.  I knew what that question was supposed to mean.  It implies that living to eat is being obsessed by food and not caring about the health factors of any of it, eating "whatever you want" because you only go around once. For me, it conjures images of 300-lb. individuals surrounded by hordes of food, like Ben Stiller in the end credits of Dodgeball.  

Eating to live implies making intelligent and healthy choices about what we eat, therefore extending our quality and length of life because we aren't putting things into our bodies that are toxic in one way or another.

My food philosophy, I came to realize as we talked, is politic cooking with abandonment.  If you've read the posts on this blog over the past year, you know that I am very concerned about the healthiness of what I eat.  I understand fully that what goes in either does good or bad, and the amount of damage caused is something I will have to live with.  But that doesn't mean that I'm stuck with bran muffins and broccoli the rest of my life.  Although I love bran muffins and broccoli...  

My point is: being healthy does NOT mean that you can't absolutely love the food that you are eating, nor does it mean you can't constantly think about food. I am always thinking about the next meal because I love everything that goes into cooking and experiencing new foods.

And when it comes to sweets, The Millstone around the psychological neck of anyone starting to think of "eating healthy," here's the deal: for me--and this is truly for me, in accordance with my personal philosophy--that does not mean that I never eat something "unhealthy."  Chocolate chip cookies are not a healthy choice to eat every day.  They are not a healthy choice to eat every week.  But if I make a batch of cookies once a month to share with friends, and I eat a few of those cookies, savoring the buttery, chocolate-y warmth of every bite that makes my soul sing--that is a psychologically healthy choice for me.  Because telling myself "no" forever is just not going to work for me.  And--I could be wrong, but--eating a chocolate chip cookie or two once a month most likely is not going to shave off months of my life.

So there it is. My thoughts on my cooking life. I guess I live to eat to live.  

Oh, how fog can lead to philosophy...

So...what's yours?

Il Mito—Wauwatosa, WI—A Restaurant Recommendation

The food:

- Bread - Warm, thick Italian bread, cleanly sliced (major pet peeve of mine when it's not) into chunks, served with a roasted red pepper puree with a swirl of basil pesto, to dip. Delicious. Nice segue from the classic olive oil and parmesan.

- Drink - Hendricks Gin & Tonic sans Cucumber. Il Mito does not include cucumber in any of their salads, and so did not have a cucumber to put in my Hendricks G & T. They all felt really bad about it, and Deanna told me that if the supermarket across the street were open she would have run across to buy one. Sweet. I missed it, but Hendricks is so fucking good, I somehow survived. Deanna actually recommended that the next time I make a Hendricks G & T to add one twist from a black pepper grinder to finish the drink. I am very intrigued. Will definitely try that. Sounds very Violet Hour.

- Insalata Mista - a mix of baby greens and sliced lettuces, including basil, which gave the salad a delightful kick every couple bites, with diced tomato and julienned carrots, tossed in a creamy white balsamic dressing. Note: the julienned carrots were pretty, but annoying to eat. And my salad server only gave me one twist of black pepper???

- Ortagi Pizza - a nicely sized vegetable pizza with spinach, grilled tomato, eggplant, zucchini, basil pesto and mozzarella cheese. My waitress, Deanna, recommended adding some goat cheese to it. I usually am not crazy about goat cheese, but I said 'yes' since she recommended it. Wow. I'm glad I did. A light, crisp, thin flour crust. Needed a sprinkling of salt, but just a teeny bit.

- Flourless Chocolate Hazelnut Torte - an individual flourless chocolate cake flipped from a ramekin over a swirl of chocolate and raspberry sauces, garnished with a dollop of fresh whipped cream and a sliced strawberry. Thank you for not including mint! The chocolate flavor could have been a bit headier--darker--for my taste; it finished a bit bland, but the sauces and whipped cream helped curb that.

- Coffee - Alterra Coffee, roasted by two local brothers in Milwaukee. Delicious. I'd put it up there with LaVazza. Almost.