Lake Geneva Restaurants

I have driven great distances for food. I fish in the dirty rivers of Kenosha in the fall to catch salmon, sure, but mostly to stop by Oliver’s Bakery. Should I fail to catch and release a single fish, the day remains a success if Oliver’s is open and if the crullers are freshly fried. If I catch a dozen silver salmon, and the wind is light and the sun warms my skin without dictating a sweat, but Oliver’s was closed, well, then, the day would be a disaster. I contemplated a flight to New York last fall just to eat a Doughnut Plant peanut butter covered and jelly filled doughnut. I have driven to Chicago more times than I can count to sample some of the finer fare that the city has to offer. I have stood in line for an hour at Hot Doug’s and devoured duck fat fries at a rate that causes Doug to check the walk in for reserves. I have driven through horrible rush hour chaos to tie into the Three Little Pigs sandwich at the Silver Palm. I have pursued individual obesity with fervor.

But these are familiar foods done well, and they have not been my only aim. I have sat in Blackbird and picked at barely warmed sturgeon belly and bloody blood sausage while lamenting my hatred of prix fixe menus. I have ordered several small plates at The Purple Pig, and chomped on fried smelt that tasted slightly more fishy than fish oil flavored gum only to leave early and eat a comforting, later dinner at Eggcetera. I have discovered the joy of the tarte flambee at Balsan in the Elysian Hotel, and applauded their ability to refine basic dishes without requiring the assistance of liquid nitrogen and foamed this and dehydrated that. I have endured the diminutive plates at the Girl and the Goat, and while I’m happy a Chicago girl is indeed Top Chef, I do not enjoy splitting two scallops amongst four diners. Particularly when those two scallops cost $19. You’re right. I did get a spoonful of broth for that price too, my bad.

I have eaten miserable food far and wide, and would put the odds of ordering a fully delicious, satisfying meal at 1 in 30. That includes you, Chicago. Note I said satisfying in my description of what a good meal should be. Two bites of a delicious thing does not make for a fine meal, it makes for a fine two bites. You heard me ING. And Nostrano in Madison for that matter. Frontera receives a pass for preparing small plates before it was the new, angering norm. I travel to eat not because I like to travel, but because I like to eat. I love to eat. It’s a problem. I’m like Rivers Cuomo but instead of liking sugar in my tea I like it in my coffee, with heavy whipping cream please. And since I love to eat, and perform my own embarrassing camera-less, fame-less rendition of Man Vs. Food at my own dining room table most evenings, I must discuss something that I’ve been putting off for quite some time. The state of the Lake Geneva restaurant scene.

The scene is not crowded, unless you’re counting sheer numbers. There are restaurants galore. Each one promising the best fish fry. The best breakfast. The best brunch. Many promise these things, but most fail miserably. I ate a pizza at a newish pizza place and was told that the owner had spent years perfecting his craft. I sent a text to a friend on the way out that read “this guy just worked on this his whole life and ended up with a pizza that tastes just like Red Barron”. I ate fish fry last year at a then new restaurant, and declared it quite good. I returned the next week and the same order was dreadful. I ate fish fry two weeks ago at another restaurant and ordered my customary one piece fried, one piece broiled. The broiled was dry, no surprise, no indictment. It’s hard to broil frozen cod and have it taste good. The fried? The fried was flaky but firm, well seasoned, and supported by a flavorful crust. It was, in short, the best fried fish I had ever greedily stuffed into my mouth. And so, as is my bent, I ordered another two pieces, fried. What the waitress delivered minutes later looked the same. It smelled the same. But beneath the perfect crust hid a nearly frozen fillet of cod. My perfect discovery turned into another shameful display of inconsistency.

Lake Geneva is a town filled to overflowing with tourists and vacation home owners, and residents. The town has style, grace, and cache that most can appreciate and few would debate. Yet the restaurant scene remains enigmatic at best. There is no demand for local chefs and their restaurants to reinvent the wheel as their Chicago friends are doing en masse. There is no reason to embrace small and smaller plates, and offer two scallops in broth for $19. There is no outcry for more serious fare, or whimsical fare, or international flare. There is only my simple demand for consistency. I do not need truffles and wagyu, I need only crisp fries and fresh lettuce, and properly sourced chicken. I need discerning owners who understand what food should look like and taste like and who do their best to put that on my large plate.

Last Friday, I was at a Fontana restaurant. This restaurant is consistent, which is why I like it. I usually order a wrap of some sort, and substitute cut tomatoes for a cherry variety. When I do this, and add some Tabasco, the result is predictable and flavorful. It’s the predictability that I crave. I have ordered this dish, and in the way that a McDonald’s hamburger will never taste new or fresh but always the same, I have embraced the consistency of this simple, underwhelming dish. Last Friday, I ordered something new off a new part of the old menu. The new sandwich held promise, but the meat- a meat typically impossible to dry out- was dry, while the undersized bun found a way to be paradoxically soggy. The meal was a letdown, and I craved the humble consistency of my typical wrap.

A new bakery in town, strangely named the Sweet House Of Madness (I’ve been told school children picked the name) holds great promise. Their almond croissants are on par with the Julius Meinl pastries that Steve Dolinsky told you to eat. The bakery will be a success, as their initial efforts have proven to me to be consistent, which is the flavor that I most crave. That and marzipan.

It’s not that Lake Geneva isn’t trying. New restaurants are making concerted efforts to elevate their menus, and Medusa might be the best restaurant in Lake Geneva that could easily go toe to toe with many of the finest in Chicago. It’s that good. But it’s alone at the top, and others, like the Grandview and the Hunt Club can offer memorable dining experiences intermingled with entirely forgettable ones. Inventive menus mean nothing if they lack consistency. If flavor is the hallmark of good food, then consistency is the hallmark of good restaurants. There are other bright spots that should not be missed. The bagel sandwich’s at Boatyard Bagels are winners in my book, with fresh ingredients and solid combinations. The burgers at the Abbey’s Waterfront are among the best you’ll taste, and Gordy’s calamari appetizer is probably the most consistent fried calamari I’ve ever eaten. The fact that they serve it, properly, with cocktail sauce instead of marinara as some restaurants are want to do is another positive.

Gage Marine is opening a new restaurant in 2012. I have high hopes for this place, not because I hope they find a source for Morels, and forage for early season ramps to include in weekend brunch omelets. I hope for consistency. For burgers plane and simple, but forever juicy and salty. Though some Gruyere in place of American cheese would be appreciated. I look forward to ample salads with fresh ingredients. I long for chefs with the courage to see plated food ready for delivery and toss it in the garbage if the bun looks a touch dry, the salad lifeless, or the cheese yet unmelted. I look forward to a day when Lake Geneva the epicurean can compete with Lake Geneva the vacation destination. We don’t need to reinvent the wheel in a way that makes Graham Elliot proud, we just need to fix this wheel that has been wobbling since John Brink ate his first venison burger and declared it a touch dry and in need of a pinch of salt.

Photograph by Ideal Impressions.