TFW Woodworking

While I could make this a blog about the social awareness gained from international travel, I thought I would share our very recent experience with local travel in our home state and the most satisfying part about that experience; the food.

This year we’ve opted for more local vacation options. Things seem to be a bit weird overseas with a noticeable shift in the way locals perceive and react to Americans these days. I’m not saying last year’s trip to the Mediterranean was confrontational, but some of the locals on the streets, shop keepers and restaurants seemed to treat locals with a little more joy and positivity than we experienced. I mean everyone was happy to take our money and it would be a stretch to say we felt completely unwelcome, but when you were spotted to be from the U.S., sometimes human reaction towards you would change slightly. It just happens. If you are not a fan of our government and who is these days, those reactions are purely and justifiably reactionary.

It’s always more comfortable to travel locally because it just is. You most likely know the interstate system already, and some of the smaller towns dotting the map along your route. Gas is always a predictable price, though always higher in smaller towns farther away from distribution points and ports. Hotel and motel options are well known and off peak season pricing (like in early April) is a welcome discount for travelers looking to avoid the Summer throngs of people clogging up those same towns. I just can’t stand those entitled Karens and Camerons elbowing their way in front of you at a street corner so they can cross the intersection first. Their time is more valuable than yours, don’t you know?

And so, we took a weekend trip across the state from the East Coast of Michigan to the West Coast of Michigan. Bay City to Ludington was our travel plan, shifting our gaze from the third largest lake in the world (Huron) to the fourth largest, (LakeMichigan). Both are always fresh; but sometimes frozen. That joke is copyrighted by some tee shirt designer somewhere, but whatever. Sue me.

We hit a few cool towns along the West coast, stopping at places where natural dunes took over the landscape. We were prepared for rock hunting as well, bringing boots and a plastic bucket along with us to find some pretty ones that would be added to flower pots back home. Though a sunny 49 degrees, the crashing fresh water waves were shockingly cold. Still, we combed the beaches and picked out a spot on the shoreline where other rock hunters weren’t. I was amazed to see a number of people out here, braving the higher cold winds off the water, wearing winter hats constantly sticking numb fingers into the clean surf to snag a brightly colored piece of rounded pink granite with streaks of quartz. It was a good day.

After a full day of driving and searching for lighthouses and rocky beaches, our stomachs began to grumble and we started to talk about dinner plans. We had spotted a few recognizable restaurant chains on the main route into Ludington, and I think selecting a Culvers or an Applebees or a Ponderosa might be a safe choice but definitely not a creative one. One of the things we have learned over the years is that the best food is often local food. It’s usually sourced from local farmers and produce suppliers and it’s journey from the grill and out to your table doesn’t involve the opening of a frozen plastic bag and 3 minutes in the microwave.

The best, stick to your ribs food comes from local restaurants that have been around forever. The sort of place that the locals go to because they can always count on quality and a reasonable price. The type of place that is usually busy, but always seems to have room still available for a two-top. (That’s restaurant lingo for a table for two).

In Ludington, that gem of a place is called the “Old Hamlin” restaurant. It’s been around since 1926 in the same building on Ludington Avenue, about 8 blocks away from the water’s edge. It’s old. Of course it’s old. The décor is not anything deemed to be modern. It’s a dark but still comfortable vibe here as you’re met at the front entrance by a glass case at eye level featuring a couple fresh, 5 inch thick lemon meringue pies. The chairs and booths are all in dark stained wood and look like they were made by an Early American furniture designer from the 70’s. The decorations on the wall are limited to a maritime theme with numerous pictures of active freighters that could be seen from the local shore.

If your dining experience is heavily influenced by the color of the wallpaper or the hipster tchotchkes permanently screwed to the walls, then you are missing the point of “eating local”. Sometimes the dining experience shouldn’t be more complicated than the friendliness of the wait staff and the quality of the food. Painting a written picture of our dinner choices won’t do the meal justice, but I want to describe the whole experience from the order to the delivery at our table.

This was a Friday night at 5:30 PM. Our server looked like she should be retired but was happy to greet us and appeared to really like being there, working the dinner shift. I spotted something on the menu that is a litmus test for me on whether the restaurant is any good at all so I asked, “It’s a toss up between the fresh perch and the meatloaf. What would you recommend?”

“Well, people in town complained when we took meatloaf off the menu, so you won’t go wrong there.” she replied.

I thought this was telling since we were here, in a local fishing town, where fresh fish is always available. “I’ll have the meatloaf then”, I smiled back at her. My wife decided to have the lightly breaded Pollock with fries, because fish and chips seemed like the right thing to do, again, in a coastal fishing town.

The Bread. Oh My God. The Bread.

Dinner came with a crispy small salad and a hunk of fresh baked bread. It was a hand cut slice from a large loaf and I swear to you it was an inch and a half thick. It was heavy with the inner texture and chewiness of a good sourdough though it was a simple flavorful white. I took a first bite and then another and then a third and I could feel my stomach screaming, “faster damn it”. Half way through my mini loaf of bread I decided to stop because I thought I might need some of that bread to sop up any left over gravy from my meatloaf. Shirley commented, “I know. I have to put it down or I won’t be able to eat the fish”.

Dinner arrived quickly and the second test of a good restaurant was passed with flying colors. Shirley tried to eat a piece of the fish but couldn’t because it was too hot. I’m not sure there is such a thing as too hot for a piece of fish. I flaked off a smaller piece and tried it, sucking in some cooling air as it entered my mouth. It was crispy and amazing; really fresh fish without all that overly fishy taste. My meatloaf came with mashed potatoes and gravy as it should be, and the potatoes were real instead of that powdery fluff you get from KFC. The meatloaf was actually as advertised; two large pieces totaling well more than a half pound of meat. It was tasty but I could not finish it all. I took the second piece home because it will make for an amazing meatloaf sandwich, with mustard, onions and Colby cheese (as required by law).

The entire tab for two complete dinners with salads and two beverages was under $40. If you’ve eaten out recently at a TGI Applegans where everything you consumed was frozen just an hour before, you recognize the value here. The pictures of freighters on the wall didn’t bother me at all. As we were leaving, our server who clearly recognized us as travelers rather than locals said, “We’re open for breakfast too, starting at 7:00 AM”. I’ll talk about our second visit in a minute.

The food never ceases to amaze me as we travel. You can always find a local pub or restaurant that knows how to do it right. I remember back more than 20 years ago near our small cabin in another small town where the local diner was excellent as well. We always seemed to get the same waitress, who was friendly and tall and looked like she could kick most anyone’s ass. Half her time was spent at the diner and the other part of the day was spent working on her farm, tossing hay bales and medium sized animals around too, or so I imagined. The food there, especially the fresh grilled home fries and sausage were superb. “Home fries” for you McDonalds breakfast people, are sliced chunks of baked potatoes browned on the grill with butter.

The next morning after dinner at the Old Hamlin, we opted to eat at the hotel who at our check in boasted that they had the “best hot breakfast buffet in town”. After finishing that breakfast, I’m not sure if the “best in town” comment was because every other hotel in town had no buffet at all, or if we were just supposed to be grateful because breakfast was free. In any case we ate and we hit the road up to the Leelanau Peninsula. It was a picturesque and sunny day up on Highway 22 North, and we stopped along the way to see a lighthouse or two and pick up another colorful rock or two.

That night’s dinner was good as well, though a local Mexican restaurant to provide a change of ambiance and dinner options. It was also a popular place, well packed with patrons. I always gravitate to the Carnitas and it was very good. Shirley went for the non-Mexican, Mexican food. Her “Chimichanga” was created by an American restaurant called Chi Chi’s and probably not all that authentic in the language of Tex-Mex. The food was good and the Margaritas were average at best, but the tab blew me away. More than $70 for two people excluding tip. Shocker? The Margaritas were $13 each for a watered down, non authentic, cheap sour mix substitute for the real thing. Would it kill you to actually use Cointreau in a drink that is supposed to use Cointreau?

With the good food but overpriced experience fresh in our minds and knowing we would be leaving for home the next morning I asked, “You wanna go back to the old Hamlin for breakfast?”

There’s no point to waxing poetic about this restaurant a second time except to say that is was excellent again and reasonably priced. Like visiting Bob Evans, but with better quality ingredients and yes, they had home fries. Shirley opted for raisin bread french toast, and it was another massive cut of in-house baked bread where she could finish only half of what was delivered to our table. “Yes, she will need a box to go”.

The drive home was uneventful on this rainy Sunday morning. Breakfast was doing all it could to lull me into a nap as I zoned out on long stretches of US-10 heading East. It was just a short weekend trip to get out of the house but it was a good trip. We experienced some pristine beaches and cold waves, and got to see a lighthouse we’ve never visited before. We were also reminded that the old adage of “walking the road less traveled”, should include restaurants too. Skipping the national chain restaurants was the right thing to do not just because it supports local businesses, but because the food is just better. If you still feel that interior décor or national brand reputation is your basic minimum requirement before opening a door to a meal, then I guess I can’t help you. In fact you probably stopped reading this blog at paragraph six. The adventure however, is in finding those little gems in small towns you’ve barely heard of for that amazing pub burger, or that fresh perch, or in my case the locally favorite meatloaf. The experience is often so good, you might feel compelled to write about it.

I wonder how Karen and Cameron’s chicken broccoli pasta dinners were at Applebee’s.