Grand Forks: A History of American Dining in 128 Reviews Read online

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  OCTOBER 7, 1987

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  To me, it’s embarrassing when companions make noisy complaints in restaurants. In fact, I avoid complaining even when asked by the waitress if everything is OK. I usually just nod my head and say everything is fine.

  But one of my friends tells me, “You are wrong.” She maintains that it helps the restaurant when you let them know what you don’t like.

  OK. I’ll concede you should let them know. But I think you should do it politely.

  Recently, a friend complained that the iced tea we were drinking in a local restaurant was so weak it was nothing more than water. She asked the waitress if we could have some fresh iced tea. Within a short time, the waitress came back with iced tea that had some color and flavor. I think the restaurant will serve better tea now that they know the diluted, stale tea they were serving was not acceptable.

  The same goes for service. A reader called to tell me she had read a nice write-up about a local restaurant. She said she and her husband had gone there with a reservation. They were left waiting and stranded. They didn’t know if they were ignored because they were wearing jeans. But, she said, they wore nice jeans with neat shirts. Still, they had to wait so long after they finally were seated that they got up and left.

  “Don’t tell me, tell them,” I suggested. I encouraged her to tell the manager how they felt and ask if they did something wrong. I think the manager will appreciate it.

  This business of rushing diners keeps plaguing me. When I go out to eat, I like to relax and visit with my companions. At some restaurants, the plates are snapped away from us as quickly as we take the last bite—sometimes before we finish.

  I know, I know. Waitresses are instructed to remove dirty plates promptly. I think they should wait until everyone at the table is finished.

  One day, I was lunching with a friend who had a lot to tell me. I ate my lunch as I listened. By the time she got around to serious eating, the waitress had whipped my plate away. My friend, I could tell, felt uneasy eating alone. So she took a few bites and set her fork down.

  To avoid such situations, I now purposely leave a little something on my plate and pretend I am still eating until everyone at the table has finished.

  One of my pet peeves about some restaurants is that they serve imitation seafood without acknowledging it. For instance, we were told the special at a Grand Forks dining room was steak and lobster for $8.50. I jumped at the offer, only to find the lobster was some kind of fish reconstituted in the shape of lobster tail. It even had red markings painted on it. Ick.

  At another restaurant one evening, a friend ordered a crabmeat salad. When it came, there were little hunks of reconstituted fish in the shape of meat from crab legs. But it clearly was not crab. When we asked the waitress about it, she didn’t know. And when we asked her to go and check with the cook, she came back and told us it was not crab.

  North Dakota has a truth in menu law that requires food to be represented correctly. If the menu says crab, then it better be crab. If the menu offers buttered toast, then real butter must be used on the toast. The restaurant needn’t serve butter on toast. It may serve a substitute. But it must not say that it is butter.

  From the other side, I had notes from a waiter, a waitress and a motel maid after I wrote a column with the theme that these people earn every red cent they get. Those waiting tables point out their wages are in the $2.85 range and that they depend on their tips. The waitress said she doesn’t mind sharing, or “tipping out,” 8 percent to busboys and 5 percent to the bartenders. But she resents being required to tip out to the cooks. She’s says it’s against federal wage and hour law regulations. But she’s afraid to complain because it might bring on retaliation from her employer. In other words, the ax.

  Waiters and waitresses work long shifts with no prospects for getting a raise. They work irregular hours. They must handle the heat in the kitchen. The waiter wrote, “So the next time a waitress or waiter leaves your check and tells you to have a good day, remember to tip them well because chances are they’re not.”

  The motel maid said she works for low wages and few—if any—tips. She said, “We have to clean up some of the most revolting messes ever known to man or beast.” She says she never realized what a maid has to do until she tried it herself. “You are either bending over a bed or on your hands and knees. By the time you’ve made 18 to 20 beds, you can’t stand straight. You should follow a maid one day, and you’d agree.”

  Neon Lights, Burgers, Malts Are Topper’s Trademarks

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  OCTOBER 21, 1987

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  Neon lights announce this is a hamburger grill and malt shop. You swing off North 42nd Street and into a large, paved parking lot. You give your order at the counter. They ask your name. You take a seat. They call your name. You pick up your burger and proceed to an extensive topping bar. There you can put anything your heart desires on your burger.

  You take your malt—in the metal can. You eat your burger, your fries and your malt. Or maybe you prefer a soft drink. You can have free refills from the machine in the dining room.

  This is a happy place. This is Topper’s.

  On our first visit, there were quite a few people. On our second stop last Thursday night, all the tables but one were full. We sat down at the last table and looked around. There was a couple at the next table enjoying each other. As they talked they would put their heads together. Then she spoon-fed him the last of her malt.

  Ah, yes. This is the reincarnation of a 1950s malt shop, and it is done well. The walls are white. The accent colors are pink and green. There are neon lights. There is a nickelodeon. On one wall, there are checked running shoes arranged in a trail with a sign saying, “Let’s dance.” Near the front, there are plastic records in various colors just swinging in the breeze.

  The hamburgers are good. They are even better when you add tomato, lettuce, pickles and onions. The malts are ample. For $1.85, you get a malt with 15 ounces of ice cream and three ounces of milk. And the ice cream is homemade. There are 16 flavors available, and you can have it in plain or sugar cones. Topper’s even has tiny cones that go with the children’s meals, or separately for 27 cents.

  Ideas for flavors come from the customers, according to Jane Borman, who, with her husband, John, operates Topper’s. She said new flavors are added regularly to the repertoire.

  The Bormans are succeeding in a location where several other restaurants have failed. What they did, she says, is to change the image of the place. People seem to like it. And the location close to Crown Colony theaters and UND [University of North Dakota] seems to help. It’s a happy place to be—a good place to go on a cloudy day if you enjoy being around people.

  The tables are covered with yellow and white plastic cloths. There are salt and pepper shakers made from canning jars. Plastic containers of mustard and catsup are on each table. And there are little trays of Trivial Pursuit cards, which people seem to enjoy as they wait for their food.

  There’s no real menu at Topper’s. You just read the board above the counter as you come in. You can order burgers, bratwurst, hot dogs, tacos, fish or chicken sandwiches, pita clubs, chili or vegetable soup. You also can get beer or wine at Topper’s. In fact, there is one section of the restaurant partitioned off by empty cardboard beer cases.

  My idea of fun is eating a hamburger loaded with toppings. I like to go and let my imagination run wild. The french fries look great, but I try not to eat them. My first choice at Topper’s is a hamburger and a cone. For variety the other night, I tried a fajita pita, and Constant Companion had a bratwurst.

  Topper’s succumbed to a fire and the site is now home to a bank.

  Mr. Steak Aims to Be the Gathering Place for Birthdays

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  NOVEMBER 4, 1987

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  They greet you and seat you promptly at Mr. Steak restaurant. They bring on food a cut above your run-of-th
e-mill fast food restaurants and a cut in price below your top-drawer restaurants. Mr. Steak has been perking along steadily in Grand Forks for 15 years. On two visits within the past week, they were packing ’em in.

  People have come to depend on the restaurant. Senior citizens like the discount. Parents like the attention given their children. People celebrating birthdays go there for a free steak.

  We went there Friday night for a quick supper. I was going on to the play at the Fire Hall Theater. You could tell by the green sweaters that many others were going on to the Sioux hockey game. We were seated in a nonsmoking section of booths, and Matt was our waiter. I didn’t ask Matt his last name, and he didn’t ask me my first or last name. He was a good waiter. Friendly, but impersonal.

  I chose chicken strips for $5.99—without the salad bar, which makes it $4.99. That’s something I like about Mr. Steak. You can have $1 off if you don’t want to go through the salad bar. You still get a nice little loaf of warm whole wheat bread and your choice of potato. And your entree comes with an edible garnish of lettuce and orange slice.

  Constant Companion ordered the traditional cut steak, also at $5.99. He elected to forgo the salad, but he requested the “hot, buttery mushrooms.” That brought him back up to $5.99. We were well pleased with our food.

  We made another swing into Mr. Steak for lunch Sunday. I took a trip through the salad bar and had a cup of soup for $3.99. CC chose the Reuben sandwich, even though he knows every restaurant has its own idea about Reubens. He found Mr. Steak turns out a pretty good version.

  Seating is comfortable. In the evening, there’s a soft light from the hanging lamps above each table. Plants in wicker baskets and tiny vases of permanent flowers on the tables add to the surroundings. The carpeting softens the slam-banging that goes on in some crowded restaurants.

  Among the pluses for Mr. Steak: Large glass glasses of ice water are served promptly; potatoes are extra good; the baked potatoes are reds; the Mr. Steak fries are thick wedges with skin on, done to a deep golden brown; the hostess gives you the precise brand name and cost of wines or beer; and they serve an average of 100 to 110 free birthday steaks every week.

  Mr. Steak is no longer in business.

  Krumkake Served with Scones at High Tea in Bismarck

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  DECEMBER 16, 1987

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  High tea has come to North Dakota, and it is doing very well, thank you.

  On the second Monday of each month, between the hours of three and five o’clock, David’s Restaurant at Logan and Third Streets in Bismarck holds high tea. Seventy-five to 100 women (and a sprinkling of men) from central North Dakota show up.

  They pay $5.25.

  In Bismarck’s version of the English high tea, guests are welcomed with Concord red grape or cranberry juice in dainty aperitif glasses. They are seated at tables with white crocheted doilies beneath the glass covers. At each table, there are individual tea pots. Many of them are English bone china.

  Since Lupe Barbere—who operates the restaurant with her husband, David Barbere—is a tea drinker, she brews the tea herself. She uses tea balls and only English teas, and she is enthusiastic about the response to the teas, which she has been holding for six months.

  “It’s time-consuming to make the foods,” said Barbere, “but we are getting it down to science now. We serve thinly sliced cucumber and egg slices on little open-face sandwiches. We serve them with English butter with herbs mixed in as spreads. We also have chicken pâté and ham spreads on tiny sandwiches. Last month, we had asparagus spears sliced diagonally on sandwiches. We bake our own scones and serve them with clotted cream and jam. Then we make bars, pinwheels and cookies. And,” she continued, “it isn’t really English, but we make krumkake and rosettes. The Norwegian people around here like that.”

  The restaurant makes sure there are slices of lemon on each table. Four girls in pink pinafores do the serving, and they come around with hot water to add to the tea for those who think it seems too strong.

  As high tea progresses, there is usually informal modeling of fashions by one of the Bismarck stores. In December, there was a presentation by Anderson’s State Fur. There is piano music in the background.

  The teas not only add a touch of glamor to a late afternoon in Bismarck, but they also bring in business at a time of day when the restaurant isn’t busy. Lupe Barbere herself has never been to high tea in England, but she knows all about it from reading. And she has had high tea at hotels in San Francisco.

  “There,” she said, “many guests have brandies with tea. Not many order brandy here in Bismarck. This is a more conservative area.”

  David’s is no longer is business.

  The Pantry Brings Blue Plate Back to Grand Forks

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  DECEMBER 30, 1987

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  The blue plate special is back. The old-time lunch bargain of the 1940s has returned to Grand Forks with the opening of The Pantry. This is a downtown restaurant at 109 N. Third St., in the building formerly occupied by the Girl Scouts. It’s well located for people who work or do business downtown, with a handy back door to accommodate quick entries from the alley.

  The blue plate isn’t what it used to be. At The Pantry, it’s an almost elegant meal of something like three pastas blended with cheeses, or beef stroganoff with a French flair. It is served with vegetables (yes, vegetables are back, too) and wedges of French bread. And it isn’t 98 cents. But for these times, The Pantry’s blue plate is almost that reasonable at around $3.50 or $3.75.

  Since the deli-style restaurant opened here early in December, it has been drawing longer lines for lunch each noon. And customers have started trickling in all afternoon, sometimes just for coffee and dessert. Paul Ringstrom, who operates The Pantry with his uncle Warren LeClerc, says he is looking to expand hours after the New Year.

  It seems as though they have a good thing going here. I was attracted to the place even before I got through the front door. I like the blackboard out in front on the sidewalk, where in various colors of chalk, you can read the specials of the day.

  Once inside, you queue up. And while you await your turn, you have a chance to look over the foods in the delicatessen case. When you give your order, you get a wooden block—the kind children used to play with—and you take it to your table. Before long, they bring out your order and find you by the letter on your block.

  On a recent lunch visit to The Pantry, I ordered a house salad, and added chicken salad for a grand total of $2.97, including the tax. Constant Companion asked for the blue plate special, which was beef stroganoff. It came to $3.97 with tax.

  The food is good. So good, in fact, that I went back twice after my initial visit. After lunch one day, I had a chance to visit with Ringstrom, the chef. He told me he has loved baking ever since he helped his grandmother as a child. Ringstrom was born in Devils Lake and grew up in California. He is a graduate of Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y., where he majored in hotel administration. After graduation, he spent a year in Europe. From the time he bought his first croissant, he has had a passion for French food. So strong, in fact, that he has learned the language, and puts a French twist in almost everything he bakes.

  Ringstrom has worked in hotels and restaurants enough to know he wants to help make the decisions. And going into business here with his uncle gives him that opportunity. At 25, he is enthusiastic as he launches into his business. The Pantry will succeed, I predict, if it keeps its quality of food at reasonable prices. What this takes is hard work, and Ringstrom and LeClerc seem ready.

  As in all businesses, there are rough spots that need smoothing out. But they are managing to handle unpredictable numbers of customers and stay relatively serene.

  My suggestion would be to have the waiters and waitresses slip into aprons and pink pinafores to lend a more professional look. With a little more training, the waitpersons could do a better job in serving and clearing tables.

  On the positive sid
e, The Pantry is like a gem. It adds one more option to the variety of eating places in downtown Grand Forks. It will draw me back because of such details as pepper mills on each table, making it possible to help yourself to coarsely ground pepper; slices of lemon in the ice water; wooden boxes in which sandwiches are served; dishes with red and blue designs, which are so much nicer than institutional-type plates, cups and bowls; lace curtains on the windows; and the chance to help yourself to a free mint out of a little machine as you leave.

  Gramma Butterwicks Has Soup, Pot Pies Waiting

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  JANUARY 6, 1988

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  Grandma puts a little too much salt in her soup, but otherwise it’s very good. The beef is plentiful and tender. The vegetables are cut in chunks just the way I like them.

  I learned about her vegetable-beef soup when we stopped into Gramma Butterwicks Family Restaurant on South Washington Street on Saturday. When it was first built in 1960s, the restaurant was known as Sambo’s. Then it became Seasons. Up until a week or so ago, the place was known as the Crestwood Restaurant. All of a sudden, it sprouted a new sign. “Gramma Butterwicks.” It made me curious.

  What I found was the same restaurant with a new image and a very appealing menu. It makes you feel good all over when you come to the children’s part of the menu marked, “Grandchildren’s menu.” And then if you’re more than 60, you like the next page. It’s the seniors’ menu, “for Gramma’s friends 60 years and over.” She likes her senior friends so well, in fact, that “Gramma” offers them free apple pie with dinners served between 4 and 9 P.M. on Sundays.