Hello, it’s me!
The day started out so full of promise:
- An asphalt plant was just a quarter-mile from our rig and the smell of tar permeated the rig, complementing our morning.
Then we drive north, toward the tip of Door County. Somebody appears to have built the road to accommodate a mailbox. #hownice
We drive past Gills Rock and on to Northport, the far north tip of Door County. Mom considered taking the ferry up to Washington Island. I played with a new friend and surveyed the area – assessing threats.
I tell Mom “ALL CLEAR” … but Mom says the trip would eat up the day and we’re running out of days so we turn around and head back down the island.
And that’s where the fun ended.
Mom and Dad decide to eat lunch, which is great except just how many calories are they planning on ingesting on this trip while I’m stuck in the rig?
Apparently this place in Sister Bay served classic Swedish food with a Door County twist. Mom enjoyed an elaborate grilled cheese sandwich off of the meny (aka menu).
Dad inhaled a Swedish Meatball sandwich.
Both Mom and Dad enjoyed the ambiance.
Mom and Dad eventually returned to the rig – a place where I had been stranded in 70 degree comfort for two hours. I looked for schnibbles but all I found were books Mom bought in the adjacent gift store.
And then Mom and Dad elected to partake in unsettling activities.
- Paying a bill.
- Touring a gift shop or two.
When they finally got serious about enjoying the day they decided to drive for three hours on lousy Wisconsin roads.
We drove around the north side of Green Bay and pointed our compass toward Iron Mountain.
We crossed the Menominee River and entered Michigan, our 9th state on this trip.
Careful not to pass, we drove to … wait for it … wait for it … a supper club.
I looked on in horror as Dad waddled inside for more food.
Mom and Dad enjoyed the surroundings … including Packers Super Bowl Trophies. I didn’t realize that’s where they were stored, who knew?
They sat at the bar, ordered drinks, and placed their order.
After ordering dinner, they were assigned to Table #9 where salads were offered as a pre-cursor to the featured meal.
Yes – there was a dimmer at the table … allowing a user-configured lighting experience., something marketers call #personalization.
And then the featured meal arrived, or so I am told because I was sitting in the RV.
I know, I know, you are baffled by what you are seeing.
- Mom = Steak Oscar with Twice-Baked Spuds.
- Dad = Broasted 1/2 Chicken and Gnocchi with White Sauce.
There are only a handful of broasters left in the world … 72% of them are in Wisconsin (go fact check it, I dare you), and the broaster leaves the chicken boiling hot on the inside and bursting with juice. I can’t speak for the Gnocchi. Dad believes it is the best way to cook a bird, and I for one am not going to die on this hill arguing the fact.
For once in his life, Dad thought of somebody other than himself. He brought me schnibbles of broasted chicken, sans skin. #hearthealthy
I supped like a King.
For a brief moment, I felt like I was part of the team … part of a club … The Supper Club if you will.
Here’s the 411 … I’m a bit cranky. We parked the rig and set up for the night, where I threw a fit before passing out from consuming a tiny fraction of a broasted bird. I think tomorrow needs to be all about me. You can’t blame me, either. We’re 3,600 miles into this trip and all I do is sit in the rig and hold down the fort. Hopefully Mom and Dad have an adventure planned for tomorrow, or somebody might be on the receiving end of a knuckle sandwich … and not a sandwich served at a Supper Club.