Firebird Dreams

You can check out any time you like

But you can never leave.

The Eagles, "Hotel California"

When I moved South years ago I was just starting my junior year in High School. My dad put his finger on a map and I found myself in Panama City, Florida. I tell people that if you can find a Funk & Wagnall's encyclopedia from 1975, my photo is in it under the listing for "culture shock". Coming as I did from a town of 300 people in the North Woods. My new High School in Florida had 3000 people in it. At least there is a military facility in Panama City so I was not the only person with a "northern" accent.

I came to love a lot of things about the South after moving. Southern girls. Bar-b-que. Bourbon [eventually]. Much later, summer humidity. Southern rock bands like Skynyrd, Atlanta Rhythm Section, and The Allman Brothers. And Pontiac Trans-Ams.

The Trans-Am was THE car that all the top guys drove in my High School. All five of them. Gloss black. Gold Firebird hood treatment. Shaker hood scoop. Gold and black honeycomb wheels. 6.6 litre engine that would HOWL. Special exhaust package. Dual T-Tops. And the best thing....the gold tinted, brushed chrome dash. In which was deployed the best Eight Track tape system in the auto industry. You see youngsters, once upon a time they put music on magnetic TAPE. And they put the tape into hard plastic cases [as big as half a dozen Ipods] that you would plug into the TAPE PLAYER in your car. All the top guys had one. All five of them. Let me tell you, when you shoved that Eagles "Hotel California" tape in the dash and turned it WAY up, "Life In the Fast Lane" had a whole new meaning. You felt like Stevie Nicks was going to walk right up and get in that car at the next stop light. See, there used to be another band called Fleetwood Mac. And the lead singer was this amazing woman named Stevie Nicks...oh never mind. If I have to explain it...boys in High School in 1976 don't need any explanation of Stevie Nicks' power over us. For the rest of you...

Stevie Nicks, from her web site The Nicks Fix.

At least all this would happen in my imagination. I didn't own a Trans-Am and I never had the chance to ride in one until years later. When a pal let me drive his. He bought it on Ebay. Along with the "Hotel California" eight track tape. But the magic was still there. The sound system still worked. The 6.6 still howled. The sunlight still glinted off that gold dashboard.

Yesterday I read that Pontiac will be no more. Actually, for me, Pontiac has been gone a long time. Ever since they quit making the version of the Trans-Am I fell in love with in the mid-seventies. Now I spend my time in swankier surroundings than hanging out in a parking lot looking at other guys' cars. But every so often, late at night, in some hotel or another, I check out the 1975-77 Trans-Ams for sale on Ebay. And the dream remains...

Somewhere out there is a 1976 Trans-Am with my name on it. And I'm seventeen. And Stevie is waiting for me on that street corner...

Milwaukee Interlude

I am a Wisconsin boy but I live far from the North woods now. As a result, I was very happy to be able to travel to Milwaukee on business earlier this year. It was a short stay and I did not have much time to explore a part of the state that was virtually unknown to me.

There is a simple reason for my lack of contact with Milwaukee [and with the only other really "urban" part of the state--Madison]. We woods dwellers could conceive of no reason why we would want to travel "down state" to the city. People go to cities and don't return. Things happen to them there. Or, in the wonderful expression I learned from my father-in-law when I moved South, I "hadn't lost anything down there". Luckily, I now have sufficient experience with urban areas that I am not intimidated by going to them. Plus, a lot of the great restaurants and almost all the great saloons are in cities. By the time I arrived in the Badger State, however, a blizzard was arriving and I was weary from consecutive weeks of winter business travel. Feeling a bit sorry for myself. You know the mind-set. To combat this fugue, I applied the Epic technique of noticing the little things. And of finding a great restaurant. Typically, these two efforts saved my trip.

The airport in Milwaukee is friendly and nice. It has very pretty brass inlays in the floors showing different parts of the state and icons signifying things about Wisconsin history. Canoes, for example. Fish. BEARS. And the really nice arrowhead shown at the head of this post.

The downtown area is similarly user-friendly. When there is snow in the air, you are on a short stay and in a fugue, only good food and drink will suffice. When this occurs in Wisconsin, only German food will do. There is a particular restaurant that I planned on visiting during my visit because it was famous even when I was a child for very good German food. Karl Ratzsch's. This place is AUTHENTIC. You can tell from the doors...

Another [unfortunately] fuzzy photo from the Epicographer...

The interior is what one would expect a Bavarian hunting lodge to look like. If one were at the lodge of a very top-drawer Bavarian. Think lots of steins. And horns. I was going to break my rule and take a photo inside the dining room but I was afraid of setting off a stampede. Hell, this may actually BE a Bavarian hunting lodge taken to pieces and reassembled in America. Do not mistake me on this. You ARE dining in an old-school German restaurant in Wisconsin. You do not expect nor want glass and chrome decor with techno-glam music in the background. The Bavarian decor adds a lot to the dining experience and to your ability to imagine yourself in the deep, snowy woods feasting during a long winter's night. Exactly what you want when dining on a selection of delectable treats like Konigsberger Klopse, meatballs in lemon caper cream sauce, [certified by a companion as as good as his grandmother's] and Beef Rouladen with potato pancakes [certified by me as fantastic]. Bring your appetite though. The "lighter fare" on the menu includes a sausage sampler. And since you are not that far from actual dark, snowy woods, the decor and cuisine combine to result in a very cozy and satisfying dining experience.

Everything I tried at Ratzsch's was very good. All washed down with multiple steins of fantastic German beer previously unfamiliar to me. This beer was also the real item and got better with each stein. An odd thing. I find that ALL beer gets better after multiple steins. Anyhow, for dessert, another diner said that the apple strudel was better than he had eaten in Munich the week before. It certainly looked good. Uncomplicated, light and fresh with lots of apples and a generous dusting of powdered sugar. The expression on this fellow's face as he was eating it confirmed his delight. The coffee was very strong and fresh. Just the thing to accompany a little glass barrel of Jagermeister.

You do not need to do much research to confirm how good Ratzsch's is. You need go no farther than to apply my fool-proof test of a great restaurant immediately upon looking at the KR menu and it would pass with flying colors. When the after dinner drink list includes the venerable but rarely seen entries Brandy Alexander, Grasshopper, Pink Lady and Golden Cadillac, you are in a great joint. Better to add a "first appetizer" course and lay in a Golden Cadillac or two. Then on to the meatballs and a "light" sausage sampler. Then a Rouladen. And a Strudel. Or a Schaum Torte.

The next morning, I was still in a gourmandine hangover when I got back to the airport on my way out of town. I felt sorry that I could not stay longer in this very welcoming city and have at least one more go at the Karl Ratzsch menu. And those Grasshoppers and Brandy Alexanders. But it was not to be. Just as I felt the gloom of a truncated visit descending, I saw a sign in the airport just past the TSA checkpoint. A sign the likes of which I have never seen before. I do not think another sign like it exists anywhere. I just stood there and laughed out loud...

Precisely what I needed. Recombobulation, indeed.

I had a marvelous visit to Milwaukee and I cannot wait for a return trip. To recombobulate in my home state. You see, my father-in-law was wrong. I had lost something in Milwaukee. And somewhere during my forty hour visit, I found it again.

A Grand Port In A Storm: Ice In Louisville

For years I had a recurring dream. I'm standing in the lobby of the Seelbach Hotel in Louisville. One of the grand places. With a flower in my lapel. A woman walks in from the street. She is very well dressed. Gorgeous hair. Everyone looks at her but she looks at me. She walks up to me and we embrace. Outside, snow is falling. It is Christmas time. We retire for a drink in one of the darker corners of the marvelous bar just off the lobby. The rest of it remains a little...obscure.

I started having the dream after the first time I was a guest at the Seelbach. A long time ago. This hotel is so grand, the staff so gracious, the food so marvelous, that although there are plenty of other fine places to go in Louisville I am always tempted to just stay within the hotel when not attending to whatever tedious matters may be paying my way for that trip. My experience has been that the wonderful places have this effect. Hotels. Verdant glades. Certain golf courses. Most trout streams. The entire Shenandoah Valley. They inhabit their own place in your soul. Allowing you to go back whenever you wish. From any location.

A few weeks back, I happily found myself at the Seelbach once again anticipating a week in residence. The facade of the hotel is impressive and welcoming at the same time...

The lobby is timeless...

And the bar...I'll return to that hallowed room in a moment.

This was a very lucky trip in several ways. First, I made a good new friend in the course of the work-related activity. A fellow who shares my tastes in dining and imbibery. A reader of The Epic as it turns out. Even luckier in the event was the fact that my amazing assistant had scheduled all of my appointments across the street from the hotel. For the whole week. As someone who hates driving in unfamiliar streets, this was a tremendous gift. Which became particularly significant the second day. When I awoke to see this view out my window...

The return reader will conclude that I have been having something of a problem with ice storms this year. They seem to follow me about. This one was really terrible and made all the national news channels. Three inches of snow with two inches of ice on top. As an added challenge to a southern city. The storm was a natural disaster that took away electricity from hundreds of thousands of people. All of our work activity was cancelled. And I was marooned. The photo at the head of this post is of a horse statue just outside the hotel doors. Crusted in ice. The Wisconsin boy in me had to get out and take a walk. Also, there are two great Irish Pubs just down the street. I had to see if their proprietors had need of legal advice, you see. So, off I went, noticing a planter by the hotel...

A very hardy evergreen tree...

More ice and snow decorated plantings along the sidewalk...

After passing by the Irish pubs [one closed, one THANKFULLY open] and a bite of lunch, I had had enough of the blowing snow and retreated to my Seelbach room to plot my next move...

Amazingly, the power was still on. After pondering the view out the window a bit, and determining that I could not get a flight out of town for at least another twenty-four hours, I decided that the first thing I had to get was a couple of packages of batteries for the flashlight I always carry in my bag. As I entered the hotel sundry store, I noticed that the young lady behind the counter was in a state of some distress. It seemed that a friend was babysitting her four month old son. This "friend" had just called and informed my new acquaintance that she was leaving the clerk's apartment for some other abode and that she was taking the baby with her. Any mother worth her salt would be similarly disturbed. In the extreme. The young lady explained to me that there was nobody to cover her post at the register because so few people had been able to come in for work and that she really needed the job but that no matter what happened she was leaving to reclaim her baby from the "friend". Understandably so. Thus began my stint as a volunteer hotel sundry clerk. After a bit she returned with a VERY cute baby boy and I was on my way, batteries in hand. Marooned people have to help each other, after all. Besides, she had gorgeous hair.

A bit weary after my hike through the ice and snow and my impromptu work as a cashier, I took a nap. Go back to the photo of my room. Who could NOT take a nap? Then I dressed for dinner and oiled down to the Seelbach Bar which lies discretely behind these doors...

The plaque above the door states that the bar is recognized as one of the fifty best in America. Without question. They have live jazz. They have dozens of bourbons, as is proper in Kentucky. Once you go behind these doors, your cares tend to flee. Out into the ice and snow. The bar goes back to prohibition/speakeasy days...

The fellow sitting with the elegant lady in the FINE fur collared jacket is me. Or someone just like me, anyhow. After chasing away the horrid weather with a couple of neat bourbons, I headed up one floor to one of the great dining rooms you will find in any hotel. The Oak Room.

The headwaiter, Jamal, was taking care of everyone that night. The first time I dined at the Oak Room I had my favorite dish of all time, Tournedos Rossini. A Rossini was not on the menu this night, but when you start with perfectly prepared scallops topped with quail's eggs along with a warm potato salad, how can you go wrong? Here is the menu that was offered that night: http://www.seelbachhilton.com/oakroom_menu_winter_2009.pdf . Every item I tried was superb, as has been the case every time I have enjoyed dining at the Oak Room. One thing was a total surprise. They apparently make a vodka in Kentucky called "Rain". Jamal offered me a martini made with Kentucky vodka. It is a testament to how much I admire and trust this gentleman that I would even consider the notion. It sounded about as appealing as drinking Russian bourbon. Maybe it was just the appeal of the Oak Room. Maybe it was the fact that the hotel was encased in ice. Whatever the reason, I took the challenge and found this Bluegrass vodka very, very good. The bottle is pretty too...
Do not misunderstand me. I am not throwing over my beloved Stolichnaya for Rain. I can say however, that I have had a lot of vodka in a lot of martinis and Rain is very good. I'll certainly have more on my next trip to the Seelbach. And there will be another trip, of that I am confident.

This afternoon I was drudging out some report or another. Then I saw myself. In the Seelbach lobby. An ice storm howling outside. In the lobby though, the world is warm and filled with culture, bourbon, cuisine and experimental alcoholic beverages. The door opens to a swirl of snow flakes. I turn and a lamp just catches the color of the flower in my lapel...

The Seelbach Hilton, 500 Fourth Street Louisville, KY 40202-2518

Epic Hideaways: The Bombay Club, New Orleans

Hideaway: (Noun); A place to which a person can retreat for safety, privacy, relaxation, or seclusion; refuge: His hideaway is in the mountains.

Or in The Big Easy. One could convincingly argue that the entire French Quarter is a hideaway. Certainly it has been utilized with great effect over many years for this purpose. By artists. Smugglers. Outcasts. Writers. Criminals on the lam. Ex-spouses. Even by lawyers seeking refuge from the press of daily practice. Or by some combination of all of the above.

I have a long love affair with New Orleans. One of the things that so enamours me is the way you can walk down a side street in the French Quarter and just discover some marvelous little place to eat or drink. No matter how many times you may have walked by that spot before. There is simply no better place in my experience to look for a first class hideaway. And there are many of them there.

Conan-Doyle held that the perfect hiding place is in plain sight. This is especially true when you want to find a spot where you can sit, listen to good music, have a few fine cocktails, and eat very well prepared food. Due to a physical or metaphysical thunderstorm perhaps. Or due to some other cause of a need to seclude oneself for an unspecified period of time.

Not many people from out of town know of this place. Yet it is always well frequented. The atmosphere of mystery emanating from The Bombay Club begins when you find the front door. It is not hard to see. In fact, it is painted red. With a Union Jack draped about it. The trick is in the door's location. In plain sight. At the back of a hotel parking garage. To a known thrill seeker like me, a lot is added to a bar by the fact that you may be run over just walking INTO the place.

Once inside, however, whatever it is that you are hiding from will fade into the background as soon as the door closes behind you and you see the fabulous bar piled with common and exotic liquors...

Look closely at the bar stools...

There is a nefarious design feature of a lot of the little walls surrounding public parks these days. Rounded or even pointed crests which discourage anyone from lingering by sitting on the wall. A lot of bar stools seem to be of the same design philosophy. Not at the Bombay Club. These are professional equipment. Upholstered for the long hideout. Here is another shot of the bar looking back toward the front door on the right...



The place is decidedly clubby feeling. It even has great sofas...



A useful feature of a good bar in my experience. As well as of an extended stay hideaway. The sofa area is next to where one of several very good jazz pianists ply their craft. No doubt hiding out also. As they will. The bar is well stocked and the bartenders are first class. A night or two ago, I came to the BC after a fine meal with my pal The Colonel. A bartender new to me gave us a friendly greeting. I gave her my fastball. The Stinger. And she grinned an impish grin [my favorite kind for a lady bartender] and put one right in front of me. Not a blink of an eye. Needless to say, the martinis at this bar are GREAT. From close observation of the professionals behind the bar at the BC on more than a few occasions, I can tell you I have never seen them flinch in reply to a drink order. Or miss one. Or have to look one up. Bar tending of the old school reigns here. As it should in The Big Easy.

You can take chums here when they want to try exotic drinks in privacy. How about my favorite blended Scotch? Where I live you can't just find Pinch everywhere...

They have it here. How about an excellent Cognac favored by The Colonel which is flavored with just a touch of the finest Vanilla? Got it. No problem. Navan [by the fine folks who bring us Grand Marnier] is right up there on the top shelf...

A snifter of Navan with a cup of the BC's outstanding local coffee can cure a LOT of ills, real AND imagined.

Did I mention that the Chef is also top notch? How many parking garage hideaways can say that? Steak Frites with herb buttered wild mushrooms. Oysters Rockefeller. Crab Cake with Mirliton Slaw. Don't know what Mirliton is? Then put yourself on a train, plane or whatever and come find out. You won't be sorry. How about my favorite Roasted Scallops with potato-corn hash and chimichurri sauce? Or The Colonel's favorite, the Bombay Filet with melted Stilton cheese and chive mashed potatoes and just a drizzle of bordelaise. Packed yet? Ready to go?

If not, I have one final item that should tip you into immediate hideaway mode. Along one wall of the Bombay Club, they have private dining booths. With wood paneling, small banquettes and little candles. If you need an intimate hideaway for yourself and a co-conspirator, it doesn't get any better than this. You can just see the booths at the left of this photo...

Just the sort of spot for serious plotting. Escapes. Overthrows. Juntas. Engagements. Those sorts of things. Here is another shot of these booths...

If you look closely, you can see the portrait of Winston Churchill on the back wall. Right where it belongs. Overseeing the goings on. There is another sofa back there too, in case the one by the piano is too far away for you to reach. To the right of Winston's portrait is a little outdoor patio enclosed by high walls for privacy. They tell me cigars are smoked out there. I wouldn't know.

One night not that long ago, I spent a wonderful evening in one of the Bombay Club booths listening to the piano player, having drinks and dinner. And yes, I was the only occupant of the booth. Whiling away the hours. My hideaway within a hideaway within a parking garage. Untouchable.

Such a place is The Bombay Club. Not to be confused with the somewhat similar name attached to a chain of Interstate Exit joints. This is the real item. Take the smallest travel bag you own. The battered old leather one that is made for a quick escape. Toss in a few items. Like that book you have been meaning to read. Come hide. I'll see you there...

The Bombay Club, 830 Conti Street, New Orleans, Louisiana.