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Stallis. Westallica. Whatever your preferred handle for our Liberace-yielding neighbors to the left, it’s hard to broach the blue-collar burg of West Allis without invoking a smirking air of derogation. But what’s wrong with corner bars? Kid Rock’s got some jams, and Chevy’s made many a fine Camaro through the years. Really, most of this stuff is part of the stereotypical strokes that the rest of the country paints Midwestern types in anyhow.
So, maybe we could embrace ourselves, our cheese and our sausage – our cheese and sausage Shoppe – and take West Allis seriously for once. Maybe it’s time to take an objective and hungry look around, to get west on Lincoln or National, to reassess an area that, in actuality, can equally boast new and old, downhome and stylish, the cafe and the dive, ol' fried Americana alongside the cuisine of Peru. Maybe it’s time to note the diversity and soul of Milwaukee’s long underrated underbelly. And, yes, once again, take new appreciation in that silly, wonderful glut of corner bars.
7. Ka-Bob’s
The dash is not insignificant. There is actually very little focus on kabobbery or anything Middle Eastern here. It's all really much more Bob-ish, with the usual suspects of wraps and burgers, solid Buffalo-sauced wings, and bar food upped to the entree level. It also has a factory-line sheen feeling like a too-new baseball mitt in need of some spit and hard knocks. But the complaints pretty much end there. The spanking new venture features a creamy white flat bread pizza, rife with milky cheddar sauce, salty smoked brisket, caramelized onions, lots of garlic and pepper essence, and spoonfuls of drink accompanying appetite-kill. Also of note is a truly inspired take on curds: the nuggets are swaddled inside a sturdy blanket of cheddar, bacon, and jalapeños, the whole exterior fried to a fortified crisp, the inside left warm and silky, it all sided by a tangy chipotle ranch. There is also maybe the surest sign of a new western frontier for the Milwaukee foodie scene – grilled pineapple as a side. Is this dirty ‘Stallis or Bay View? Or just proof of how far the succulent tentacles of the Food Network have reached? Like the rest of the list, maybe it’s just an inspired alternative.
6. Chilango Express
There’s an idea, an entrepreneurial notion exercised in places like Oklahoma and Texas, one of downhome practicality and cowboy-hatted idealization, of gas station barbecue. West Allis spins this her own way – Chilango is a gas station taqueria. Maybe it was just out of real estate suitability, or bar-centric calorie convenience, but such is the brilliance it doesn’t matter: Your car needs gas like you need tacos. So at the Petro Mart at Beloit and Lincoln, you can get both. Simple, succulent jobs fried up on the flattop, served fast and friendly, are ideal for a midday rev-up or post Happy Tap or Rosco’s or Alibi downshift. It’s impossible to go wrong with the greasy chorizo, heavily-seasoned pastor, soak-it-all-up torta, or really anything topped by the 1-2 salsa combo: there’s a peppery zinging red and a cilantro-leaning green, feeling like the hothead/cool guy tag-team of Westbrook and Durant. Sure it’s a utilitarian and no-frills joint. But these are tacos with a purpose after all, for the on-the-go, back-to-work, or, yes, next-bar set. And with that we have no problem. If only we could pay at the pump.
5. Fratelli's
Cruising down Lincoln it’d be easy to miss Fratelli’s, or just mistake it as another in the line of corner West and South Side pizza joints. The neighborhood-y sort of pies most Milwaukeeans grew up with: greasy, cheap but satisfying toppings, cheese slithering along Chicago-ish-thin crust squares. But what makes Fratelli’s sing, what warrants a trip from any 414 ‘hood, is the Italian beef. In truth picking the best such sandwich in Milwaukee, or any non-Chicago city, is like trying to pick a favorite Adam Sandler movie. For some reason nobody outside of the 312 really knows how to do this messy meat regional specialty. But here it's close. Tender, paper-thin folds of slick roast, folded back over themselves in infinite layers that stack towards the heavens, pack a powerful, Mediterranean-seasoned beef punch. The a jus, or pan juices, whatever, is liberally applied, soaking through by the time you get the sandwich home, some bites of the soft 8-inch hoagie roll eventually taking on the texture of a salty, saucy sponge. Add giardianera for proper crunch and spice. And while we abhor tinkering with such authenticity, a fat fella case could definitely be made for the Widow Maker: said Italian beef sandwich, in ½ pound form, topped with bacon, cheddar and grilled onions. It's unclear whether the name signifies potential death to the eater, or the unfortunate, gassed soul with whom he or she shares a bed.
4. Taqueria Buenavista
There’s probably a better salsa, somewhere in the known world. Maybe. But, for our money, the creamy jalapeno in the little plastic container from Buenavista is the most perfect meat-topper this side of the Rio Grande. With just the right kick, green chile pepper essence, creamy texture, and a certain no se que (is it salt? With salsa it’s generally salt), it can even make Taco Bell or from-the-can Goya beans pop – so a friend told us. But the tacos here, especially, are flavor-carriers all their own. The chicken can change a strictly-steak orderer’s mind. The birria is a deep and dark offering of hangover-killing goat stew. Even the slightly gringo ground beef order has something worthwhile going on – namely, it’s a perfect crumbly bed for that salsa. No matter the meat of your order, ask nice enough and they’ll give you more little containers of the heavenly green stuff than you deserve. Soul-up even the saddest of home-cooked meals for days to come.
3. West Allis Cheese & Sausage Shoppe
Many know the name from the stand that holds down the meat and cheese corner of the Public Market, for the out-of-towners and weekend warriors that cram the Third Ward these days. But the original location feels like the exact opposite. It’s the kind of neighborhood café where fellow Stallians meet for good strong coffee, where you can read the paper and have biscuits and gravy backed by Sportscenter's soft glow. But then pick up your week's pastrami, your dinner party's 12-year cheddar at 60-bucks a pop, your two-tone curds, your miscellany of soft cheese spreads, maybe your housemade pickled fare along the lines of habenero garlic cloves. They also, shoulders-shrugging, unassumingly sling the best bloody in Milwaukee, and curds so fresh you can still hear the squeak through the fry wall. There are sandwiches like the Sriracha Melt, with ham, pepperoni, mozzarella, jalapenos and that eponymous spicy mayo. Or there’s the parochial, yes, but deceivingly brilliant Cheezy Joe: a grilled cheese with sloppy Joe on white bread. It's a buttery, salty, crumbled meat and melted American bit of afternoon delight. A recent trip found the proprietor trying to lure us back the following Thursday for "two dollar brats, two dollar beers." It's all quite the package. And sure, as a one-stop neighborhood deli, done Milwaukee-style, it still lacks the name and history value of your Groppi's, your Glorioso's. But in many ways, it's actually better.
2. Chef Paz
It could be said, what with C-Viche making the case for best new restaurant in town, that Peruvian food is having a moment. Though that sounds far too foodie-ish. Especially when this family-run, family-friendly neighborhood joint slings pitchers of Pisco Sours that render anything craft cocktail or Yelp-y or part of a trend-based movement as downright silly. It should just take one sip: a frothy, citrusy burst of Brandy-ish booze refreshment, with a subtle edge of syrupy sweet. It’s truly a drink perfect for a hangover, for a summer night, for limey post-workout refreshment, or, well, for when you need a drink. If you find yourself on the wagon, the distinct chicha morada – a purple corn, cinnamon, clove glass of alchemy – serves similarly in fruit juice form. And then there are all the solid reasons to be here. One can start simple, maybe with an impossibly tasty chicken empanada, moist and flavorful and the best kind of greasy, kicked up by a creamy, garlicy green hot sauce. You can also go bold by requesting the scorching habanero mix that is strictly a pro-level-tongue siding. Spread either over any of the meats - the lomo steak is a juicy, succulent slab served a textbook medium rare. Or you could try something with the huancaina - a cream cheese sauce the color and texture of Velveeta, but with a silky finish like, well, there might be no North American food writing analogy. There's “jungle” dishes like cecina, Chinese-leaning plates, heavy with soy sauce and vegetable-y wok-iness, ceviches also abound. There are bean pancakes and fried rice and cheese gratin. There's “aphrodisiacal” concoctions of shellfish. Everything comes from some kind of “high flame” and faraway-feeling smorgasboard of the Native-Spanish-Asian-seafood culinary mélange that is Peru. And it all makes some kind of demented, delicious sense, adding up to the kind of place you’d stumble upon in a far-flung Chicago or New York ‘hood, and not believe your ethnic food luck.
1. Tomken’s
Even when Tomken’s is too bright, half the patrons seem beyond smashed on Derby day mint juleps, and they have 86-ed the lamb burger app, a venture way out on Greenfield is warranted. Friendly Fried Chicken is right there below the name in the marquee, so out of cultural curiosity some should be ordered. Once oil-bathed in love it comes ensconced in a cloth napkin like a newborn’s blanket, protecting all steaming juiciness and skin crispiness, making clear they take their Canola-work seriously here. And while solid, it’s hardly the best bit of frying on the menu. The curds are the old Palomino kind that everyone bemoans the absence of in Bay View, the pickles crisp and fortified and fantastic, especially with a side of any house wing sauce. And then there are the chicken wings themselves. Points East yet reigns as undisputed champion, but here it almost feels like the cook is a western-relocated understudy to the Jackson Street fry-sauce-grill method. How tender and moist the inside seems almost an afterthought, such is the crispy, charry skin. Salty, big-balled Buffalo panache is grill-marked right into said casing, blue cheese evening it all out and slicking the gullet for quicker mouth passage. There is a breaded option – but why? These grilled might be the ultimate Milwaukee runner-up. But if the city who gave birth to this king of bar snacks can teach us anything - it’s that there’s no shame in losing a Super Bowl.
The whole presentation, sided by enough Louie’s Demise’s, left us sated and wistful, and a bit nostalgic for a long ago wing odyssey to a ‘Stallis joint named Magoo’s. It’s now called Fourth-N-Long. And, according to their online menu, still serves wings. Are they still great? Who knows? We only have so many appetites. And after a minute in the neighborhood they feel like spit in the endless sea of corner bars, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dives. It almost brings a tear to ponder the unchecked potential for greasy menus, for hidden gems. For fish fry’s and friends, pizzas and piscos, beefs and brews. At the least it leaves some inspiration, to get back on that western road, soon, and see what else so many have been missing for so long.
