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Tio Wally Eats America: Trabuco Oaks Steak House

Greetings from Trabuco Canyon, California
N 33° 39.6312′ W 117° 35.3937′ Elev. 1079 ft.

In 1982, the Southern California Restaurant Writers named the Trabuco Oaks Steak House “A Legend In Its Own Time.” What a coincidence, I thought. Just a few years prior to that I named myself “A Legend In My Own Mind.” Kismet?

The cosmic connections between myself and this legendary steak house, however, don’t end there — we both hate neckties. Indeed, it’s my considered opinion that most of the people who wear ties regularly should probably be strung up by them.

The folks at the “Oaks” are infinitely kinder about ties than I. They warn visitors that they wear one at your own risk and, if they do, they will “loosen your tie at the door.” That’s merely a polite way of saying “cut it off.” It’s policy.

Originally established in 1968 as a snack bar, the Oaks has the feel of an old ranch house. Along with a collection of photographs and assorted tsotchkes, thousands upon thousands of decapitated ties hang from every wall and rafter, trophies not-so-surgically removed from every poor fool who has ever wandered in wearing one.

Amongst the many idiosyncrasies of its decor is a live tree growing up out of the floor and through the roof in one of the dark, cave-like dining rooms. I mention this only because I think we all know how hard it is to find a restaurant with flora bisecting its structure these days.

(It is so dark inside that it was impossible for me to get decent pictures. You can find much better ones here.)

Curiously, they also had an old, pull-handle cigarette machine, something I hadn’t seen for 30 years or more. Being bargain priced at $4 per pack it was no surprise that it was empty.

Legend has it that the Oaks was a favorite of the infamous subject of Frank Zappa’s “Son of Orange County”. Like so many others, I’m disappointed that the proprietors weren’t a little sloppier when they cut off Richard Milhouse Nixon’s tie; while they were at it they could have done the world a favor and had a slip of the scissors with his dining companion and pal Bebe “I’m not a crook either” Rebozo as well.

trabuco_10 nixon_rebozo

 

The restaurant is located just over 3 miles northwest of Rancho Santa Margarita, in Trabuco Canyon. Although it’s such a short distance from the neighborhoods of cookie-cutter McMansions of suburban Orange County it may as well be one hundred miles and as many years away. It’s pretty astounding in this day and age that there are still places where urban sprawl and rural horse ranches exist in such close proximity and be completely separated in time and space.

I shouldn’t be surprised. There are many, many places like this in the greater Los Angeles area. Still, it never ceases to amaze me. To find such hidden gems you must either be a local or truly adventurous.

(An episode of California’s Gold by my favorite TV personality, the late, great and singularly inimitable Huell Howser, gives you a sense of what the area is like. It can be found here, by golly.)

I ended up at the Oaks thanks to my good friend and musician extraordinaire Mike Hamilton. He wanted to play tourist/tour guide for a day and just had to take me there. Having grown up in the general vicinity, he said “You’ve got to see this place.” I’m glad I did. Now I can say I’ve “Been there, done that.”

The Oaks is kind of a pricey place. But they did have some reasonably priced stuff. For example, Monday through Thursday they offer 10 oz. and 16 oz. prime ribs dinners for $22 and $26, respectively. Most dinners are served with garlic bread, house salad with homemade Italian dressing, choice of French fries or baked potato, and western beans.

Sure, the prime rib specials are not a ridiculous deal like Virgin River Casino offers. But how many severed neckties are you going to see at the Virgin?

Because the Oaks is a famed steak house I ordered the … Italian Spaghetti?! It’s described in the menu as “Angel hair pasta nest with our 31 year old recipe including premium tomatoes, Italian sausage, and a time-tested combination of fresh herbs and spices. Served with garlic toast and house salad” ($14). Naturally, I couldn’t help myself. It just sounded really good at the time. And they’ve had 31 years to perfect the sauce! How could I go wrong?

As it turned out “going wrong” turned out to be extraordinarily easy.

Although the pasta was perfectly cooked, the sauce was incredibly bland. It was sadly bereft of anything that might add some pizzazz, like, say, a really good “Italian sausage and a time-tested combination of herbs and spices.”

The salad was a small plate of iceberg lettuce not-too drenched in the house-made Italian dressing, which was likewise pretty bland. The dressing seemed to be more of an oil-and-vinegar affair comprised of more oil than vinegar. Even the addition of a generous amount of pepper couldn’t zest it up. Thankfully, the garlic bread was really, really good.

Because Mike is a vegetarian he ordered the “Set-Up”, which consisted of salad, garlic toast, fries or baked potato, and western beans ($10); he got the baked spud. Of the two of us I think he had the better meal. Moreover, because he was still hungry, the waiter brought him another salad gratis.

If nothing else, the service is great at this quirky, old-school hideaway. Should I ever go to Trabuco Oaks Steak House again, however, I think the wise thing would be to order something they’re famous for. Maybe a steak. But when have I ever been wise?

And so we roll.

Trabuco Oaks Steak House, 20782 Trabuco Oaks Dr, Trabuco Canyon, California

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Tio Wally Eats America: Red Lion BBQ

Greeting from Spokane, Washington
N 47° 39.5297’ W 117° 24.6509’ Elev. 1903 ft.

It’s been a few months since my last post. So, with your indulgence, I’m going to share the great and wonderful thing that has happened to me in the interim: I went to a movie …and dinner!

I saw The Wrecking Crew, a documentary about the 20-or-so guys (and Carol Kaye) who played backing tracks on virtually every other “hit” recording made during the ’60s. I hoped it would be an intimate look at the making of (if you’re over age 50) the “soundtrack of our lives.” It wasn’t.

The movie played at the Magic Lantern Theatre in Spokane, an “Art-house cinema, opened in 1931, showing documentaries & independent & foreign films on 2 screens.”

The theater itself is a bit of a throwback to the ’60s. The room we sat in, with a total of nine viewers, maxed out at 33 people. Thirty-three! I suspect that was counting the three chairs of orphan theatre seats and the five chairs of various provenance aligned against the back wall. There may’ve been 33 seats; I didn’t count them. It’s lovely, old-soul school venue. I liked that. They still served bottomless (metal) bowls of popcorn for $4! I liked that, too.

Movie-wise The Wrecking Crew was kind of a wreck. It had no timeline, no flow that I could find. While it was fascinating to see a the few odd interviews and a lot of still pictures of many, many great musicians, it was ultimately unfulfilling.

I hoped it would be more of a behind-the-scenes peek at the guys (and Carol Kaye) who played on everything from “The Pink Panther Theme” to “Last Train To Clarksville” to “Bernadette” to “The Beat Goes On” to “God Only Knows”. (I like this version of the last one much better.)

The Wrecking Crew (Carol called it “The Clique”) was a very, very, very busy group of musicians. Unfortunately, the movie consisted mostly of stuff you can find — often in more depth — on YouTube, and comprised little more than a weak compilation of readily available material.

Still, it felt good to cough up $8 to Denny Tedesco for his attempt to compile the material, kind of. And it’s always worthwhile to toss a buck at The Magic Lantern. Money well spent, to be sure.

Equally exciting was the après-movie dinner adventure to another throwback from the ‘60s: the Red Lion BBQ & Pub (Est. 1960).

I first became acquainted with the Red Lion BBQ in the latter-80’s back when it was really funky and dive-y. I was cajoled into playing in a blues band by my friend Carmine. Carmine is the best — my all-time favorite drummer — I’ve ever had the good fortune to work with. But I loathe the blues. Hate ‘em! Passionately!! It’s a genre shamelessly hijacked and played abominably by white-guy hacks ad infinitum, like myself. It’s a really boring genre.

Still, I was lucky. The band wanted a keyboard player and I wanted to work with a former Disneyland balloon boy/salesman. Kismet ensued. I played with them long enough to learn I really, really hate the blues.

(To make ‘60s connections with the movie even weirder: Carmine was formerly a sideman/percussionist for The Beach Boys, albeit that was in the ’70s. Fun, fun, fun.)

Life is a tangled web that can’t be undone, it seems, especially when there’s an asshole like me ever-ready to provide a reminder. I suspect it’s akin to standing on Main Street U.S.A., the lowliest Cast Member on the lot, desperately trying to untangle some hopelessly interwoven string to the blue Mickey Mouse balloon some dimwit from Des Plaines wants, while battling Fresh Gale-level Santa Ana winds. In my dreams I would be there, of course, in my best Nelson Muntz voice, yelling “Haw, Haw.” A tangled web, indeed.

I was married when I played at the Red Lion. Band members got half-priced food. It was the only time my wife ever waited up for me to get home from work — if she knew I was packin’ ribs. That’s quite an endorsement.

I ordered the Red Lion Super Combo ($31.95/feeds four) for my two friends and me. It’s a choice of three meats: Pork Tenderloin, Beef Tri-Tip, Ribs, Chicken or Salmon, that comes with Fried Bread, Onion Rings and two sides. I got ribs, ribs and chicken for the meats, and BBQ Beans and Potato Salad for the sides; other side offerings are French Fries, Cole Slaw and Corn-on-the-Cob (seasonal).

The plate arrived with four onion rings at the top of the stack. This disappointed me. They may’ve been very good onion rings if they were hot and fresh. But I’ve been ruined by Cheddars.

The Super Combo’s half-dozen fried bread were a cross between a good biscuit and a bad donut. I’ll admit fried bread, or Indian bread, is not easily done. Executed correctly, it’s like a funnel cake, with the airiness of a donut and the texture of a slightly failed-risen roll. Red Lion didn’t do fried bread bad but, well … Where’s the cornbread, Mama? I want my cornbread!

The four onion rings and fried bread were piled atop half of half of a BBQ chicken (I think) and what looked to be a rack-worth’s of pork ribs.

Having experienced RudeRibs (see Cheddars link), I knew I’d been spoiled forever when I took the first bite. It didn’t melt, didn’t succumb to the tooth, didn’t readily give up its God-pork goodness. They required gnawing, followed by unnecessary chewing. I’m not a Gnawer. Chewing hurts my feelings. My internal voice said: “These ribs were better before I’d experienced RudeRibs.” And so it goes.

The chicken, however, was so profoundly perfect that my friends and I thought we’d found the best damn chicken this side of heaven. It was … perfect. Never have I had better barbecued chicken. Ever! Anywhere! Swoon.

Moving on, the potato salad was very good. Tasted homemade. The baked beans much more so. Perfect. But that chicken …the chicken …oh, my, god.

I wouldn’t recommend seeing “The Wrecking Crew” unless you’re completely unfamiliar with the prodigious body of work the guys (and Carol Kaye) accomplished; I would direct you to YouTube.

I would, however, highly recommend slathering your face with obscene amounts of Red Lion BBQ chicken should the opportunity ever arise. You won’t regret it.

Red Lion BBQ & Pub
126 North Division, Spokane, Washington

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Tio Wally Eats America: The Chop Stick

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Stockton, California.

Greetings from Stockton, California
View from space Elev. 32 feet

I couldn’t run across The Chop Stick in a million years. Someone had to tell me it was there; I learned of its existence years ago from a musician friend. And everything is so wrong about the place for a land yachter. It has a true “Park the yacht? Seriously??” location, strictly limiting my visits to nights and weekends.

Hell, even the address is suspect: The Chop Stick isn’t really on N. El Dorado, where I park. The hole-in-the-wall take-out-only restaurant actually faces a side street, E. Vine, I think. Who knows? I’m driving a 75-foot-long (currently) 78,000 lbs. land yacht so most residential side streets don’t pique my interest too much, if you catch my drift; i.e., weight + height + length = it’s not a car!

The restaurant is located at the furthest-from-the-road end of the building. The N. El Dorado corner is occupied by a laundromat.

03 chopstick_outside 2

There is no dine-in at the Chop Stick. You can carry it out or they will deliver it to you. You enter the building to an anteroom with a counter, a cash register and a trusted face behind it at one end. It’s a very small, sparse room with few chairs, but it has a giant window through which you can watch “the wok magic.” It’s very cool.

While I was waiting for my order I talked to a 60-year-old local who had also been coming there for years. Before the Chop Stick he “always went to a place called Ernie’s over on Highway 120,” he said. One of his earliest memories was of his dad taking him for Chinese food when he was four years old (possibly Ernie’s). I enjoyed his story. I should’ve paid more attention. I would’ve but I was pressed for time (not to mention equally pressed for brains). I was also hungry.

I ordered Beef with Tomato Chow Mein with pan-fried noodles ($5.30) and, at the counter guy’s suggestion because I wanted a lot of vegetables, Pork Chop Suey ($5.55). I watched as a chúshī assembled the ingredients for the Beef with Tomato in a large bowl. I watched him expertly slicing two Roma tomatoes in half, in eights, in sixteenths. I watched the ingredients hit the wok. Yum.

When he was done with his magic I watched as he put the contents in a to-go box, nursing every bit of sauce from the wok. He then slid the box across the table to a woman who went to some freakin’ steamer thing and, with a food-service-grade gloved hand, grabbed a handful of pre-cooked noodles and threw them in.

11 chopstick_mass noodle

I’m not an authority on Chinese cooking but I’ll bet someone (perhaps the Baby-faced Chinese-Elvis-meets-Danzig son of Floridian restaurateurs Jason Lam) may have seen this technique once or twice and can back me up on this: Pan-fried noodles are fried/heated in the pan, perhaps a wok! And then the contents are, shall we say, combined.

The Beef with Tomato tasted great. Unfortunately it was buried under the impenetrable mass of noodles suitable for Great Wall repairs, at best. The essence of the dish being so good made it doubly disappointing. I don’t have a large bowl or a wok to re-mix it in. I don’t have a NucroWave® with which to to heat it. In short, I don’t have a sink with running water to clean the utensils I don’t have to mix and then nuke the noodles to a level of resuscitation that resembles pan-fried noodles.

Again, I’m not an authority on Chinese cooking.

By then I was very sad. Then it got worse. The Pork Chop Suey was equally disappointing. It wasn’t even worth taking a picture of. The vegetables I so desired tasted like … flavorless celery-crunchy stuff. Bland. Nothing.

This isn’t right. There are many, many people taking food out of the place. And they’re happy, as I once was. A bad day? Bad ordering?

Bummed out. Next time I’ll get …?

And so we roll.

The Chop Stick, 1304 N. El Dorado, Stockton, California

Oh. One more thing ….

Greetings from Slickpoo, Idaho
N 46° 19’ 01” W 116° 42’ 40” Elev. 1749 feet

I’ve wandered around a bit since the very first Tio Wally Eats America post appeared on the Me So Hungry food blog, on the 8th of August 2011. In nearly 150 posts from the Southeast to the Northwest and the Northeast to the Southwest, with a stop or two in between, I’ve been very blessed to’ve eaten some great food and even more blessed to have the privilege of sharing my experiences with you.

But all things must pass. Thus, this is the last Tio Wally Eats America post … unless I run across something really interesting, of course. While this news may mildly disappoint some, like my frequent commenter-pal Thistle, it will surely elate others, like the blessedly long gone world-class ass-troll Stinky Goldberg.

The reason for this sadly bidden farewell is, quite simply, that I am no longer sailing the cement seas of America. This is not because I don’t want to; it’s that I can’t physically do it any longer. Long-haul yachting catches up with the best of us eventually. And no matter how smooth the ride may seem, the constant vibration eventually wreaks havoc on one’s musculoskeletal architecture. Moreover, the repetitive stress of simply holding a steering wheel for 60-70 hours a week takes its toll as well. In short, it’s too painful for me to continue.

That said, I want to thank everyone who ever read my posts. More so, I want to thank Jason for his generosity in letting me contribute to his Me So Hungry food blog over the last few years.

Here’s hoping that all your dining experiences will be fun and that you live long, happy, healthy and delightfully demented lives. Keep it interesting.

Until then … muito felicidades e bom saude. Grande abraços.

And so we roll … to a complete stop. (You may now unfasten your seat belt. Please exit to the left.)

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Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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Tio Wally Eats America: X-mas Message

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Boring, Oregon.

Greetings from Boring, Oregon
N 45° 25’ 48” W 122° 22’ 25” Elev. 508 feet

We hope everyone is having a great Xmas.

Although I’m flattered to be parked on SE Wally Road in the town that bills itself as The Most Exciting Place To Live, Xmas on the yacht this year is a little disappointing.

I’m going stir crazy and the SS Me So Hungry’s crack lead navigator, my evil twin Skippy, is driving me crazy. I found this animated clip that depicts how bad it is. I will be accurately portrayed by the interminably calm, cool and collected Ren Höek, while Skippy will be played by the inimitable Stimpson “Stimpy” J. Cat.

Actually, it’s not that bad. We were able to find a halal turkey.

TURKEY_W-_NO_PORK small

Unfortunately, we have no way to cook it.

Happy Holidays, y’all.

And so we roll.

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Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

 

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Tio Wally Eats America: The Gearjammer Restaurant

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Union Gap, Washington.

Greetings from Union Gap, Washington
N 46° 34.128’ W 120° 28.390’ Elev. 960 feet

When I was a kid my mom used to say “Go to a truck stop if you want good food.” Her reasoning was that it must be good if all the truckers were eating there. I’ve mentioned this before only to correct the fallacy of that belief.

That the food is “automatically” good at a truck stop isn’t remotely true. Indeed, the reason truckers eat at truck stops is quite simple: There is enough room to park their big-ass rigs! That is not to say there aren’t notable exceptions where the food is really good.

The Gearjammer Restaurant, located in the Gearjammer Travel Plaza at Exit 36 on I-82, is definitely one of those notable exceptions. I’ve eaten here a number of times. It’s reasonably priced and the food is always quite good. Since I ended up stuck here for Thanksgiving, and I knew they’d be open, I took advantage of it.

The Thanksgiving Dinner Special consisted of generous portions of white and dark meat turkey with homemade gravy, dressing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, yams/sweet potatoes, corn, a roll, and a choice of soup or salad for $11.29.

16 UG_plate

I started with the soup du jour, potato. This was possibly the best potato soup I’ve ever eaten. Thick and creamy, with big pieces of potato and celery, and bits of bacon, this soup was incredible. In fact, both the waitress, Patty, and I agreed that it was “To die for!” So good was it that I’ll now be calling them to see when they have it.

The plate of turkey with all the fixin’s was huge — about twice as much as I could eat — and all of it incredibly tasty. I should’ve asked the chef, Michael, when I talked to him but I think that, with the exception of the canned corn and yams, everything was homemade. He told me he’d spent two days putting it together … and it tasted it.

The turkey was incredibly moist and topped with a great turkey gravy. And it was a lot of meat. The dressing also was really great and, thankfully, not full of sage, a spice I truly abhor. The mashed potatoes tasted homemade and had more of that great gravy on it. Although the yams were missing those crusty little melted marshmallows they were wonderful, too.

What can I say? The whole meal was so good that I had to personally thank Michael for all his hard work. He had definitely made my day by preparing such a tasty and satisfying traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

Because it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it, I ordered a piece of pumpkin pie ($2.29) — my favorite — to go. And yes, it came with real whipped cream.

The whole meal was so huge that I ended up with an ample portion of what I consider to be the best part of Thanksgiving — leftovers. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any bread to jam it all onto to make a grossly oversized sandwich. Still, it was fantastic all over again.

Apart from a lack of family and/or friends to share it with, the only thing missing from the meal was pitted black olives … and perhaps children’s fingertips to attach them to.

I hope all of you enjoyed Thanksgiving dinners that were equally satisfying and hope that the rest of your holidays are likewise happy, healthy and suitably festive.

And so we roll.

The Gearjammer Restaurant, I-82 Exit 36, 2310 Rudkin Road, Union Gap, Washington

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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Tio Wally Eats America: Miner’s Drive-In

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Yakima, Washington.

Greetings from Yakima, Washington
N 46° 33.9885′ W 120° 28.9558′ Elev. 988 feet

I first visited Miner’s Drive-In shortly after midnight. I presumed they’d already closed and the lights were just about to be turned off. As it happened the dining room didn’t close until 1:30 a.m. that night; 3 a.m. on Friday and Saturday.

02 Miner's_bldg

I’d never been here before and was charmed by it’s well-kept funkiness. The place as been here in various forms since it opened in 1948, and is still owned and operated by it namesakes, the Miner family.

I was sort of taken aback by the prices at first. It seemed a little pricey for a hamburger even though they’re actually priced about the same as Five Guys. There wasn’t much else open so I figured I’d bite the bullet and see how the burgers were. I ordered a Cheese Burger ($5.85) with everything. Much to my surprise Miners’ burgers are whoppers — bigger than a Whopper®!

It seemed to be a half-pound patty, served on a sesame seed bun with two slices of cheese, lettuce and onion, dressed with mayonnaise and a touch of ketchup. Not only are the burgers weighty, they’re also bigger around than my face. It must be eight inches around. It’s huge.

The first one I got came with three slices of tomato. The last one, however, didn’t; tomatoes can be added for 75¢. Quite frankly I don’t remember if I had them add tomato to the first one or not. Maybe they just screwed up … or liked my visage. I may have ordered them as I was pretty tired, extremely hungry and incapable of caring.

In retrospect I wish I’d added tomatoes to the second one because they really enhanced the homeyness of the burger. Although I put some of their 1000 Island Dressing-ish french fry sauce on the second one, it wasn’t quite as good as the first. Still, it was a hell of a meal for the price.

I went back the next day (after the second one) because I wanted to try their Bar-B-Q Beef. I was hoping it would be in the style of the now-defunct Spike’s Shack of Ritzville, Washington and, hopefully, just as good. Sadly, it wasn’t the nostalgic wet dream of Spike’s I was hoping for.

19 Miner's_BBQ beef 3

By the way, previously unbeknownst to moi Spike’s is still there but it’s now called “Spike’s Deli & Pizza,” and is located inside the Cow Creek Mercantile. I discovered this through the miracle that is the InterTubes. My gut feeling is that it was better before, when it was still in a poorly painted shack at the edge of an unpaved parking lot at the crossroads to There and The Other There (also recognizable as Interstate 80 and US 395). But who’s to know?

The Bar-B-Q Beef from Miner’s, while quite good, didn’t have the same humble funk and pizzazz as the ones from the early ‘80s Spike’s. Miner’s Bar-B-Q Beef ($6.70) consisted of a couple of slices of roast beef, warmed on the griddle, served on one of their mammoth sesame seed buns, with lettuce and onion and, in addition to the requisite barbecue sauce, mayonnaise. I’m recognizing a Miner’s pattern here: shredded iceberg lettuce, white onion, mayonnaise ….

They cut the sandwich in half and tuck each portion in what looks like coffee filters. I wondered about this at first. After biting into it, however, it made perfect sense. It was a smart move that saved much laundering.

I haven’t quite figured this place out. They must make something that will set my soul afire. I suspect I’ll find what it is eventually as I’ll be coming here a lot.

A couple of curious things about the place: One is that it was originally called Miner’s In-N-Out Hamburgers. Miner’s was founded the same year as In•N•Out Burgers. I wonder if trademark lawsuits ensued? Miner’s dropped the In-N-Out from its signage for whatever reason.

Another is that Miner’s signage used to tout “On A Sesame Seed Bun.” Being as Miner’s and McDonald’s were also both founded in 1948, I wonder: Did they run afoul of Ray Kroc and his legal-minded minions? Miner’s doesn’t flog sesame seed buns anymore.

These and many other questions remain unanswered. Like, Why the hell is Yakima billed as the Palm Springs of Washington? And, Why is it spelled “Yakima” while the Native American tribe from which it’s name is derived spell it “Yakama”? Inquiring minds want to know.

And so we roll.

Miner’s Drive-In, 2415 S. 1st Street, Yakima, Washington

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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Tio Wally Eats America: Rolling Hills Redux

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Corning, California.

Greetings from Corning, California
N 39° 52.4549’ W 122° 12.1464’ Elev. 289 feet

When I wrote about the Rolling Hills Casino buffet recently I noted that on Tuesdays and Thursdays the over 50 set get 50% off, and that they serve great prime rib every night. Well, I finally made it on a Tuesday. It was great as expected … and absurdly cheap. Almost Virgin River cheap!

The dinner buffet is regularly priced at $16.95. But there is a catch to getting 50% off for simply being upright and over age 50 — you have to have a Shasta Card, the card the house uses to track your gambling habits.

01a RH2_card

I’d gone in shortly after the buffet opened at 4 p.m. and stood in a long line for about 20 minutes or so. It was almost as if I was not the only person over 50 within a reasonable driving distance who was aware of this spectacular deal. Figure that!

It wasn’t until I got to the register that I learned you also had to have a Shasta Card. Starving and slightly miffed, I begrudgingly steeled myself for the inevitable ordeal of getting a card, but not before asking: Am I going to have to stand in line again? “No,” the nice lady said. “Go get the card and then just come back to the front of the line.” So I trudged over to the Shasta Club Card International Card Service Center Desk and signed up. It turned out to be pretty quick and painless. When I returned to the buffet they let me “jump the line” as promised.

They had all kinds of really great stuff besides prime rib that night. Unfortunately, I’d left the camera on the yacht.

One of the real standouts was Mediterranean Swordfish. I’m not sure what made it Mediterranean but the baked swordfish was quite good. In addition to the nightly offering of fried shrimp, they also had an Artichoke Encrusted Cod. It seemed a bit heavy-handed creamy sauce-wise, yet the fillets were still a little too crunchy for my taste. Cod is such a great fish that, well, it really needs to be beer-battered, deep-fried and served on a piece of newspaper with some malt vinegar and a snappy tarter sauce.

Another great delight was Stuffed Cabbage. I think RH’s stuffed cabbage is better than Chompie’s. Then again, Chompie’s serves sweet-and-sour cabbage rolls and that’s a whole ‘nother creature. Rolling Hills’ had a more traditional Italian sauce, a marinara basically. The cabbage was super tender and the meat-rice filling was exceptional.

Other unusual offerings that night were Deep Fried Zucchini (very good) and Deep Fried String Beans (stringy and rubbery).

***

Hoping to take advantage of my newfound find, I visited again late on a Sunday morning. It was disastrous. I went in and the throngs of people wanted to endlessly queue, like sheeple. I could almost hear the Seinfeld Soup Nazi exclaim: “No Eggs Benedict for you!” Curiously, there was no line for the omelette station. I got a spinach, bacon, mushroom and cheese omelette that was, well, sadly executed, flat.

The secret to making a great omelette is water. Water! Scramble the eggs with water, keep your pan at medium heat, pull the coagulating egg to the middle, then either cover it or flip and fold it. The water will evaporate. This makes for fluffy scrambles eggs too. Trust me.

***

I was there again the next Saturday. This time I had the camera but the battery failed after two pictures. D’oh!

I paid full price for the buffet minus the $1 off for being old and in the way. It was Mexican night that night, which was kind of disappointing. Not because it was bad but because I didn’t want Mexican food. They did, however, have Chili Rellenos which surprised the hell out of me. They were decent but, well, once you’ve had the good fortune to eat truly great rellenos from Lisa’s or Mariscos Uruapan all all other chili rellenos have a very high bar to reach.

To my delight they also had Pumpkin Pie — my favorite — that night. Unfortunately, they didn’t have real whipped cream, just that phony Cool Whip psuedo-whipped psuedo-topping psuedo-stuff in a giant tray on the strawberry shortcake station. Lord knows what that stuff is. It’s WRONG regardless. Geez, would it break the casino’s bank to spring for a can of Reddi-wip?

Pumpkin pie is divine. It shouldn’t be messed with. It doesn’t have to be homemade. A frozen pumpkin pie will do. But you must have real whipped cream. The perfect pumpkin pie is made by my sister, of course. She got the recipe from the back of a can of pumpkin pie filling. And she actually whips the cream. She’s a great cook and baker (two separate animals). She’s also very generous and very gracious. I think I heard her say “All devout TWEA readers on California’s Central Coast are cordially invited for slice of pumpkin and/or pecan pie on Thanksgiving.” With real whipped cream! Seriously.

***

Last Tuesday I hit the buffet again on half-off senior night with a Shasta Card! Twas $8.47!

05 RH2_plate

The prime rib was better than ever. And I was smart this time. I didn’t overeat and was wise enough to mix the creamed horseradish with the minced horseradish; the creamed is way too mild. Moreover, the prime rib was cooked perfectly rare. It was enough to make a Canadian James Brown scream: “Good gawd, y’all! Eh?” It was so tender and succulent and the au jus was perfect (not salty).

They also had scalloped potatoes. I thought they looked kind of suspicious in the chafing dish. They turned out to be really, really good. Rolling Hills also has mashed spuds and gravy daily which are really good, too.

I screwed up though. You see, they have this program where, if you have a commercial driver’s license, they will comp you $10 dollars cash or a ($10) shower credit if you play 100 points. I’ve talked to them a number of times but failed to ask basic questions, like “What is a point? Is it a penny? A dime?” So don’t ask me how it all works. Ask Uncle Russ.

They gave me $10 credit when I got the card. But the card is only good for slot play. I can’t play slots. I don’t like the noise or the mindlessness. More so I hate the people who play slots. They stare at the machines, the flashing lights, the spinning icons. They’re the glassy-eyed living brain dead.

I played Blackjack to earn my required play; one hour to earn the credit. Thanks to my prowess as a world-renowned card counter, I’ve lost $35 so far. If I were smarter I’d know that the reimbursements are somewhat less than my outlays. But I’m not that smart.

One day I’ll hire a mathematician to figure out how much Rolling Hills Casino’s freebies are costing me.

And so we roll.

Rolling Hills Casino, 2655 Everett Freeman Way, Corning, California

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.

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Tio Wally Eats America: Lumberjacks Restaurant

I’m happy to have Tio Wally (long-time Me So Hungry reader) aboard to send in his eating adventures from across America. Here he is in Redding, California.

Greetings from Redding, California
N 40° 34.246’ W 122° 21.7406’ Elev. 541 feet

The yacht developed engine issues. In motorhead-speak: the tension adjuster failed, causing the serpentine (fan) belt to fray within an inch of its life. As a result my evil twin Skippy and I got to enjoy another motel adventure. Thankfully it’s quite a bit warmer — 70°+ — this time.

The last time we were dry docked we stayed in a funky motel that we rather enjoyed. It was New Year’s Eve and quite festive. This time not so much.

(If you’d like a chuckle, click on “festive,” scroll down to the comments section and read the time-delayed shit storm the post unleashed. One of the commenters actually implied I could get shot! Shot! But doggone it, Clem, you jus’ gots ta admit them thar Kemmererites is some darn nice folk.)

Suffice to say the motel, which shall remain nameless (Redding-South Motel 6), was not the Waldorf-Astoria. While it lacked the charm of, say, the Antlers in Kemmerer, it did have some interesting features, like the world’s most thought-out bottle opener and super-duper ultra-high-speed internet, among other memorable amenities.

During the ride to the motel the cabbie, Roadrunner Keith, told me about a nearby restaurant he had breakfasted at once. He said he thought it was over-priced … until his plate came. That sounded pretty good so we went and had breakfast for dinner.

03 Redding_lumberjack

Lumberjacks appeared to be a theme restaurant. Despite the log-construction decor and assorted saws and saw blades displayed along the walls, not to mention the over-caricatured French-Canadian mini-Paul Bunyan statue greeting you at the front door with an cocked-and-ready axe in his hand — Yikes!! — I couldn’t really discern exactly what the theme was. It’s very subtle. After very little thought I decided it must be an homage to the 1968-70 ABC teebee series Here Come the Brides.

Lumberjacks Restaurant bills itself as “Where the BIG BOYS eat!” After hearing what Roadrunner Keith had to say, I had to order the same breakfast he’d had: the Country Smoked Ham breakfast, a bone-in ham steak, two eggs, hash browns and toast ($9.49). I also got a side of country gravy that pretty much sucked.

13 Redding_plate

The ham steak was nearly a half-inch thick and covered about half of the 15” oval plate. It was sweet, somewhat smokey, and not the least bit salty. Indeed, it may well be one of the best ham steaks I’ve ever had. The slightly over-cooked eggs (I ordered over-easy) and hash browns were passable. A redeeming factor, however, was that they had assorted Smucker’s jellies and orange marmalade for my sourdough toast.

They have some interesting things on the menu, like banana-nut bread French Toast (“Our banana nut Loaf sliced and dipped in our French Toast batter”, $7.99). I had a dream about it that night wherein the waitress kept telling me that I had to really like banana-nut bread because, once I got it, I would be stuck with it. I’m still not sure if the dream was frightening or not, but it woke me up.

They also had some really nice looking pies and cakes, which I never did find on the menu. One of them was a gargantuan, truly colossal chocolate cake that I thought I’d get a slice of to go.

A slice of the behemoth, served with two scoops of ice cream and related sugar delivery systems, cost $8, according to the waitress. But what if you only want a slice of it? “We can only sell it with the rest of the stuff,” the waitress explained. WTF? How stupid is that? So I pleaded and cajoled, eventually dropping myself prone on the pine-colored carpet kicking and screaming “I just want a slice!”. Sorry, she said.

Although the cake looked great, I had to wonder: Who in their right mind would order a dessert that would outrival the giant meal they just ate? Not me. Or Skippy.

And so we roll.

Lumberjacks Restaurant, 501 E. Cypress, Redding, California
and eight other locations scattered throughout north-central California and one in Las Vegas, Nevada

Tio Wally pilots the 75-foot, 40-ton(max) land yacht SS Me So Hungry. He reports on road food from around the country whenever parking and InterTube connections permit.