Ishnala follow-up

Mitchell said he wanted to hear about our meal ...

When we got to Ishnala, about 5:30, we were told there was a 45-minute to hour's wait for a table. This did not surprise us, since they had warned us when we called to try to make a reservation. (They don't take reservations.) We went into the bar, picked up libations, chatted for a while and then wandered the grounds, down by the beach and so on, sitting on a bench and enjoying the pleasant evening until we were called to our table.

The bar is shaped like an arrowhead, so that you are surrounded by large windows wherever you sit, looking out onto the lake.

The tables in the dining area are spaced in such a way that everyone has a good, unobstructed view of the lake. The sun was setting and it was lovely. Cindy mentioned that she had never before been in a restaurant where every table was a good table, not just those next to the windows.

We had a delightful meal. We shared escargot -- which Peggy had recommended -- and fried cheese curds, because Michelangelo is a cheese curd fan and it is Wisconsin, after all. After salads, the waitress brought the entrees. Chris and Cindy had the special -- two lobster tails and a filet mignon to split. Michelangelo had the roast Wisconsin duck -- he had joked that a duck we saw out on the lake was going to be his meal. Tom had salmon and I, who normally do not eat much red meat, took the plunge and had a small filet mignon. Which was as close to being literally melt-in-your-mouth tender as any steak I have ever had. Michelangelo had Key lime pie for dessert, Chris had a grasshopper and Cindy and I had coffee after. Tom was abstemious.

Chris and Cindy, who are big supper club fans who had made the trip solely for the purpose of eating at Ishnala, declared it the supper club against which all others must be judged. I will take their word for it, my own experience of the species being so limited. It is featured on the cover of a book about supper clubs, which must mean something.

It is, as they say on the book, an old-fashioned experience. There is a 1950s feel to the place -- Tom says it has not changed at all from his memories as a youth. Unhurried but timely service, courteous staff, great food. A pianist in the bar crooning Sinatra and Dean Martin standards ... The one concession to modernity seems to be that the young women servers wore black uniforms instead of the faux Indian maiden outfits of yore. (I could not find an image of that to share, but everyone who used to go there remembers them.)

The only blot on the evening was that Michelangelo's car had chosen to die in a parking lot where they had stopped on the way back to our house after their successful river tour. Nothing would convince it to start. Fortunately they were only a few minutes from the house. The delay did make us a bit later than planned for Ishnala, but it timed out perfectly in practice. We left Michelangelo's car in situ and Sunday morning, he and Tom, after failing to ignite it again, summoned a tow truck to haul it away. We are now waiting (Monday morning) to hear from the garage about its fate.

Since the ladies had to return to Indiana, I took them to Madison where they caught a direct bus to Union Station in Chicago.

So it was an excellent weekend despite the unwanted adventure of the malicious Malibu.