Gastronomically Speaking

GASTRONOMICALLY SPEAKING

"Door County, huh! Did ya ever eat at the White Gull
Inn?"

"Hell no I haven't, and I'll tell you why. First of
all it's way down the peninsula in Fish Creek. Second, they
specialize in Fish Boil and that tells you a lot about it.
Third, it's not even built as a restaurant. It's in a house
that looks to be a hundred years old. Fourth, it's named
after a bird which is filthy, raucous, disgusting and a
plague on an otherwise nice world."

"Oh, --- a --- we --- kind of like the Door County fish
boil"

That's the trouble with people today. Some one said,
"Fish boil really tastes great." Probably a restaurant
owner who sells one of those disasters for $15.00 a plate
with food costs of $1.25. Then the whole Midwest flocks to
Door County to eagerly pay their money and consume one of
the most insipid, unimaginative, rip-offs I've ever seen.
You don't throw fish with potatoes and onions into a black
pot, boil it over, then serve it, and call that a good meal.
Even its origins are against it.

Fishermen in the 1800's, just off the fish boat with
smelly hands and stained shirts, looking for a quick, cheap
meal initiated this dish. We're talking poverty here.
These guys, although hard working and honest, are not the
ones I want to emulate gastronomically.

God knows I'm no food expert, but I know a good eating
experience from a rotten one. Once ate at one of those bed
and breakfast which served a one price dinner for $75 bucks
a pop. With facial expressions and fancy words, the waiter
recites the menu from memory.

Bed and breakfast means wooden chairs like you'd have
in your garage and a table scarred with time. Can't even
remember what the meat was, but the vegetable was string
beans, three to be exact. Most emaciated beans I ever saw,
about four inches long and placed strategically on the
plate, no doubt by a cook, oh excuse me, a chef who was
wearing a tall white hat in case anyone peeked in the
kitchen. Can't wait to get back there and give 'em what's
left of my money.

Aside from food, there's a lot more to good dining.
Let's talk seating. My luck is to get the table nearest the
rest rooms. No special menus or discount for the rest room
table, just the pleasure of a nod and smile to everyone as
they pass by. As I walk into a restaurant I can just hear
the hostess say, "Now here comes a rest room table kind of
guy."

Just about as bad is being seated next to the waiters
station. The comings and goings for coffee, clean linens,
and table service can give you the feeling of being seated
on the freeway. Also you can be privy to conversations
between the bus boys as they congregate, regaling each other
of their latest conquests.

But the absolute worse table is by the garbage and
dirty dish collection area. The traffic is always heavy and
the clink of dishes and glasses is music to the ears. In
all fairness I suppose it could be helpful in making a menu
selection - to survey and smell the uneaten portions.
"Let's pass up the Brussels sprouts, my dear, I have reason
to believe they aren't the favorite tonight."

Then there is smoking and non-smoking. What good does
it do to get the nonsmoking table right next to the smoking
section. I respect smokers. In fact some of my best
friends are smokers, but--you know the rest.

I keep asking, "Why is it always me?" I don't wear
plaid jackets with flannel shirt and tie. I leave my
motorcycle helmet outside on the bike. I don't "come on" to
the hostess. Yet, as I survey a nearly empty dining room at
5:00 on Tuesday afternoon, I'm greeted by a tawdry glance
and, "you have a reservation?"

(Then thought but not actually said) "No, we were just
driving by and seeing your sign for immediate seating and
not seeing any bodies lying about with obvious food
poisoning; decided to grace you superb establishment with
our money."

"One moment, I'll see if we have a table available."
Upon returning from the empty dining room, she condescend
with, "It will be a few minutes while we prepare a table."
The only question now is, will it be the rest room table or
the garbage area table.

* * * * *

Last winter the wife and I spent a week at a condo in
Door County. My inconsiderate wife has the poor taste to
come down with the flu. I didn't have the good sense to
leave and file for divorce, and instead spent two solid days
and nights of my vacation watching her moan and run to the
bathroom and make the most disgusting retching noises
imaginable. (This is not the positive part yet.)

After two solid days she was blanched white and
weakened to the point of staggering. I was getting weak
myself eating cold meat sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and
supper. She consumed in all, about an eighth of a can of
Seven Up during the two days, and I thought it was time to
treat her to a "good" meal. Well you guessed it. The
restaurant chosen was the infamous White Gull Inn. She
didn't care to get any further from her bathroom then that.

At least the advertising indicated "no fish boil
tonight." We arrived and entered the 100 year old building.
Once inside we were greeted by a poised and professional
hostess who led us immediately to our table. The dining
room was clean and bright. Rest rooms were conveniently
located off the lobby which I appreciated although the wife
might have preferred them closer. The only other couple in
the room were holding hands and whispering sweet nothings.
No doubt she didn't have the flu.

As the waitress approached our table and I noticed she
wasn't chewing gum or coated with green eye shadow. We
courageously ordered a complete dinner with a fried fish
entree.

Each item served was exceptional: cocktails, soup,
salad, rolls and finally the fish. A nearly perfect
evening. We stared lovingly into each other eyes as we
savored one of the best meals we have ever experienced.
Even the classical guitar playing its ear jamming bit of
culture three feet away couldn't spoil our a wonderful
evening.

Would I go there again? Frankly, no. Let these fine
memories of the White Gull Inn remain. Why destroy that.
And, it's still named after that disgusting bird.

But now, when someone tells me they went to Door
County, I can join the crowd and say, "Door County huh! Did
ya ever eat at the White Gull Inn?"
END

Story ID:	392
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Door County Wisconsin USA
Year:	2000
Person:	My Self