The HobNob has been a featured guest in Ron Faiola's "Wisconsin Supper Clubs: An Old-Fashioned Experience" book, but there's a good chance a few Milwaukeeans are unaware of this tucked-away primo spot. On our recent Sunday drive, AJ Page and I decided to mix it up a little and head south of the city. Usually we veer north or west, but we wanted to keep the variety spicy. We were not starving yet, but knew we would be soon.
We first considered Kenosha, then decided to take some back roads through Racine. No offense to Racine residents, but somehow we found ourselves riding through a rather rough and run-down section of town. Lots of abandoned buildings and a decidedly shady vibe. For a good sweaty twenty minutes, it seemed no matter which way we turned, we could not shake this discomforting area. Since we'd let the battery run down on the phone and misplaced the charger, we had no Siri to bail us out, either.
"Why can't we get out of here?" I queried with increasing anxiety. "I really don't dig this."
"I don't know, I don't know. This is not a good place for the lights to take so long. You're not mad at me, are you?" AJ returned.
It's moments like these that are character-building for the "let's get lost" traveler, and fortunately we were not at eachothers' throats by the time we finally reached a highway sign entrance. Breathing huge sighs of relief, we soldiered on near Lake Mich. All of sudden, looming out of the darkness, surrounded by charming little motels, was the cheerily retro Hobnob sign, complete with a neon light-spotlighted martini glass. I swear I heard an hallelujah chorus sound off somewhere.
"Should we go here?"
"Yes," I emphatically stated. After the harrowing journey, there was really no question to be considered in my mind. I trusted in my heart of hearts that this place would save us.
As we were about to enter, a small group leaving smiled and said to us emphatically, "You should eat here." We stepped in further and I spotted a panorama view of our serene blue lake just past the long bar. Brocade wallpaper, brass antiques,deep reds and purples, and bronze statues welcomed us on all sides. My inklings were confirmed. This was the place we must eat – no matter what the cost.
I asked the hostess straightway if we could be seated to have a view of the lake, and we lucked out being the last ones sneaking in to the veranda (it was now 8 p.m.) to do so. We received the perfect corner seat, with a breathtaking view. A small white boat could be made out making a straight line across the water. I was instantly happy. There were just a few tables of retirees keeping us company, and the rumblings and laughter from their conversations became amusingly animated as the night and specialty cocktails wore on.
The service was attentive and the food was top-notch. The guy who advised us to dine here had not been kidding. We slurped homey chicken pot pie soup, crunched crisp dinner salads with extras like garbanzo beans, and savored our main courses. AJ opted for the petite filet with potatoes au gratin. I went with a baked potato and the most amazing plank broiled salmon I think I've ever ingested in my life. You could smell the pleasant aroma of the wood and it carried over into the fish. It was so tender, juicy, and buttery it simply melted in your mouth with every bite. As if it needed it, it was finished off with a light coarse mustard glaze. Cocktails were in order after our drive, and we went with a French Martini for me and a Gin & Cran for driver AJ.
You've got to love a place that has the added touches of rollers on the velvet high-backed dining chairs and offers you both soup and salad, plus dinner rolls. They also insist on patrons slowing down to enjoy their dinner experience, explaining how they like to treat each item as a course and that you should allow yourselves a couple hours at to enjoy everything. Listening to the strains of Frank crooning softly in the background and noticing the glimmering chandelier in the reflection of the window, I basked in this opportunity fate had provided us.
(Note: in the last entry, "Some Camping is Better Than None," I described The Hamburger Haus as if it resides in Dundee. Not technically true. It actually has a Campellsport address, but folks who visit Dundee often stop there, as it butts up a mere 9.5 miles away.)
