Schmeckt Gut im Wisconsin

For the first time in my life I was ordered to the great state of Wisconsin in late August on business. I'd lived three years in Chicago and had only traveled to the Land of the Cheese twice, once for dinner and once for a weekend at Lake Geneva. That dinner trip was to a German restaurant in Kenosha that a co-worker's family ordered. The most memorable thing about that trip was that the restaurant was in the same neighborhood as the Jockey underwear factory.

This time around my business was in Milwaukee, home of countless brands and traditions of beer in addition to at least Laverne, Shirley and the Cunningham gang. I was expecting one smoke belching factory after another lining the shores of Lake Michigan wedged in between row upon row of two-story brownstones. What I found was a surprisingly charming city with an attractive downtown area, upscale clubs and restaurants along the canal and row upon row of pubs, clubs, bars and restaurants along Old World 3rd Street. One highly recommended eatery on that road was Mader's German Restaurant.

Traditional German food is not for the faint of heart or the heart healthy so I wasn't expecting so upscale an establishment. Still, the old world, hardwood decor lined with the to-be-expected selection of animal heads, exposed beams and beer steins welcomed me warmly to a country I have long considered a second home. Waitresses in traditional bosom boosting dirndls flitted about the place bearing plates of food and flagons of beer - the only thing missing was the German language itself. Equally and thankfully missing was the polka band, which to me is always out of place anywhere other than a beer hall.

I had had a hankering for Cordon Bleu for the longest time and my taste buds were unequivocally set on the dish of pan-seared veal or chicken breast stuffed with ham and Swiss cheese. Imagine my surprise, then, when this signature dish was nowhere to be found on the menu. The other staples were there, including a hearty goulash, several varieties of sausages and schnitzels, rouladen and roast chicken but no cordon bleu. Imagine my delight when, upon sensing my consternation, the waitress returned to my table after telling the chef of my dilemma and informed me of his decision to prepare my request off-menu and from scratch!

For all of the things Mader's didn't have they truly have it where it absolutely counts the most: ultimate dining flexibility. The food was hot and plentiful with strong presentation and every measure of taste and flavor that I expected. With German food I don't want mild, subtle or suggestive hints of old world goodness. It has to be full bodied, robust and hearty to the last morsel, taking me back thru decades of good memories from nearly every corner of the country.

I went back to Milwaukee three weeks ago on business again for only one night. There was only one choice for supper that evening and this time, half an hour before closing time, the Wiener Schnitzel was even better than the Cordon Bleu.

Gotta go.

Wandering in Wisconsin

I found myself heading to Milwaukee, Wisconsin one early Sunday morning in the middle of a three-week business trip around the country. Having once lived in Chicago the extent of my travels in Cheeseland included Kenosha for dinner at a German restaurant and one weekend at Lake Geneva, a popular lake retreat for suburban Chicagoans and locals alike. Much of Wisconsin remained undiscovered country.

I'm of the mindset that no matter what team is your personal favorite, a trip to Lambeau Field is about as compelling a pilgrimage for a true fan of football as traveling to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. As a fan of the Dallas Cowboys the idea of going to Green Bay, site of the infamous Ice Bowl, was one born entirely of respect for the game and the history. I am in no way a "Cheesehead," counting the Packers as one of the Cowboys' three great sibling rivalries.

In 1960 the Dallas committee owned the rights to "Hail to the Redskins" and forced George Marshall to vote the Texas expansion franchise in to the league before they would sell the song back to him. The Cowboys were born and followed Green Bay's lead to the New York Giants to find a new head coach. Vince Lombardi went north to Green Bay in 1959, Tom Landry down to Dallas the next year and...you know the rest.

Off to the northlands I went along I-43 for the two hour drive from Milwaukee and, upon arriving in this hallowed hamlet, the smallest NFL market in the country, I promptly got lost! I figured it was small enough and the stadium large enough to see that dead reckoning alone would do the trick. I'd passed a few signs that said "Arena Stadium" and dismissed those as belonging to some local community college or high school field. Uh...no. Those were the signs I should have been paying attention to all along. After driving along the waterfront I stopped in to a gas station and was told I was only a few blocks off the mark.

I discovered the needed intersection at, naturally, Lombardi Avenue and noticed a large green edifice off my right hand shoulder. Not quite as big as I thought it would be as I drove up to the longest serving professional football stadium in the land. Still, a pleasant chill ran through me as I gazed at the unassuming, quiet and yet somehow still energized building. I was and then again wasn't surprised to see tailgaters in the parking lot despite the fact there was no game that afternoon.

Tours were available for $11 every 30 minutes starting in the Hall of Fame on the lower level but I deferred; Cowboys fan, remember. Most of those names would have meant precious little to me and I preferred not to pay for a tour reminding one and all of Bart Starr's exploits over my 'Boys that cold winter day in '67. Still, the extensive pro shop was truly a model for other franchises, offering enough clothing and gear to cover every occasion, including custom jerseys stitched on the spot for truly discerning fans. Outside the stadium I saw the practice field across the parking lot between which players ride the bicycles of the youngest fans, a singular ritual among many created on these grounds.

Green Bay in the off-season of late Summer is a pleasant small town and the people friendly and accommodating, richly steeped in Upper Midwest accents, Packers green and hospitality. On game day I don't know that they'd be as welcoming to a Cowboys fan but for that one day in August, the football swords were sheathed for the plowshares of comrades. I'm glad I went.

Gotta go!