I was somewhere northwest of Grand Rapids when reality began to sink in. First, it was highly unlikely that the posted speed limit was in fact 69 miles per hour as the spray-painted sign seemed to suggest. Second, that the car I was driving was not mine. Finally, that it had been over 24 hours since my last cup of coffee and I was in desperate need of a reprieve.
My contact in that part of the state (the lady at the gas station I filled up at) recommended two places. The one that served a “lovely breakfast buffet” back in Deer River sounded like a good idea, but it didn’t start until 10:30am. As it was 9am, I was in no position to wait it out for another 90 minutes. My body verging on collapse of both mental and physical faculties I knew I needed to press on. Her second suggestion of THE TIMBERWOLF INN would have to do.
The drive was nice. It was a beautiful clear day in northern Minnesota and I quickly found myself lost in the view. Occasionally a question would pop into my mind, like “Is any place in northern Minnesota that is an on/off sale liquor store fit to have a sign posted claiming that they are a ‘fine foods’ distributor?”
Soon I passed into a postage stamp sized town called Talmoon. The predominant attraction of this town seeming to be, as denoted on a large sign off Highway 6, HAYSLIP’S CORNER. Per the sign, HAYSLIP’S CORNER was “The Oldest” bar in Minnesota. Also that it was infamous. More questions arose, mainly concerning their use of quotation marks around “The Oldest”. Was this theoretical? Was this a direct quote?
My contact’s directions soon took me past another breakfast location called THE PINECONE. The parking lot was empty and it looked quaint. Patio seating looked inviting, but I moved on (erroneously) to my predestined location.
Not far up the road from THE PINECONE came bad omens. There, painted in white lettering were two old tires hanging on metal posts. The first warning “STAY OUT” the second “NO TRESPASSING”. In literature, this kind of thing would be considered foreshadowing. In reality it was good advise for anyone asking directions or going door to door asking if you‘ve found Jesus. In this part of the state, it is just best to assume they have, and that they believe that if Jesus was strapped, Mel Gibson’s career might look very different today.
I had spent a large chunk of my life avoiding my own Heart of Darkness, I would not find my self subject to the kind of backwoods justice of a Ya-You-Betcha version of Colonel Kurtz. I pressed on, though more weary of the potential for stray shotgun fire.
The TIMBERWOLF INN is first and foremost a hotel. There just happens to be a dinning room in what doubles as the lobby. A strange fact I realized halfway into my first cup of coffee when someone stood up to pay for their breakfast and room at the same cash register. The total being added up by hand. The tax figured out on a calculator. How quaint.
The breakfast menu was limited. The normal fare of cheese, ham or farmer’s omelets were to be expected. As nothing stood out, I chose my go-to breakfast of two eggs, hash browns and toast (which cost a pleasant $4.95).
The few other customers seemed to be locals. Their conversations went from neighbors they disliked to local high school sport stars. I had expected xenophobia and mild racism, but instead got typical small town banter.
The cook came out to say hello to the other guests and knew them by name. The waitress/concierge was cheerful and happy to serve.
The meal itself was quite good. Two eggs over medium were done perfectly, a feet that I have seen messed up in some of the more highly touted breakfast locals in The Twin Cities. The hash browns were very flavorful and only slightly greasy. The flavors being what had been made for each diner previous to my arrival. The way that hash browns should be.
When eating, and writing about hash browns, I find that the noun least appropriate to good hash browns is purity.
Overall it was a good meal at a good price (less than $7 including bottomless coffee). But I needed more.
It wasn’t so much that I was physically hungry as much as I was mentally curious. Had I made a mistake in bypassing THE PINECONE? What was it that gave me pause on my initial quest?
It took no more than entering the small eatery that I had my answer. Everything from the increased natural lighting, to the décor (a small flat panel TV with cable. A nicety I had been without for over a week) to the substantially larger menu (which had my rural Minnesota ambrosia of Biscuits and Gravy) to the various coffee bean confections colorfully printed on a large overhead board behind the cash register.
So many wonderful questions came to mind. What is a “caramel steamer”? Is it as dirty as the Cleveland variety?
How good is the “pizza voted best in area”? What is this “area” they ambiguously refer to?
How long would the old man at the table let me lean over his shoulder, watching him eat his own Biscuits and Gravy (yes, it should be capitalized, I like it that much) before finally letting me take a bite?
Still being full from by very adequate breakfast at The Timberwolf, I resigned myself to something sweet. The ambivalent teenage girl behind the counter recommended the cinnamon rolls. They came in two sizes: normal and jumbo.
Now, I don’t know who the people are that can pass on the idea of getting a jumbo anything, but they are not the kind of people that I want to party with. This is northern Minnesota. If they want to give you more, take it and be kind about it. They know the 2nd Amendment by heart up here.
Getting back in my car, the smell of the warm roll (that completely filled the inside of my large to-go Styrofoam container) covered in melted frosting filling the questionable air within the confines of the car that wasn’t mine I got back on the road. My eyes set on new destinations.
Should I ever find myself back in Marcell, Minnesota, or anywhere within acceptable driving range, I will surely indulge at THE PINECONE again. My only hope is that the cinnamon roll will taste as good to the person whose car I took as it does to me.
Next article: Deep Fried Bliss...
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