Joe's Griddle and Grill, Harrisonburg, VA

Joe’s Griddle & Grill

Thursday, August 18, 2016

My grampa passed away yesterday.  Marvin Glover. Bon Voyage, Grampa. 

I woke up hungry. Probably a coincidence as I usually wake up hungry, but the death in the family was all the excuse I needed to stuff myself with a dopamine-releasing monster brunch.

I wanted to go somewhere I’d never been before and this place was “potentially a hidden gem,” according to my attorney.  Joe’s was formerly Southside Diner, I’m told, oozing with orangy lights and a greasy trucker vibe.  But it has been re-imagined (or ‘redeemed’ like Pamela’s Secrets).   

This diner is on the outskirts of town, right off of exit 243.  It is a truck stop and fueling station, sure, but the inside was much nicer than I had expected.  It was all shiny with black and red tile; there were live plants and photos of local landmarks hanging on the walls; the lighting was soft and the booths comfy.  Truckers were at the bar digging into huge breakfasts and flirting with waitresses. 

The menu had a lot of variety.  They serve Southern style food like liver and onions, country fried steak, seafood like catfish and fried shrimp, and they got pasta, steak, burgers, soup, salad, BLT’s, grilled cheese; a little something for all tastes.

The restaurant is connected to a convenience store that sells sunglasses, CB’s, chips, petroleum jelly, pizza rolls, Virginia shot glasses, and those flakey Mennonite fried pies you can get on the South side of town.  Everything you’d need for a life on the road.

My coffee came in a small mug, as usual.  I tell you, a restaurant with big coffee cups can expect to impress me.  Our waitress was on the ball, though, and my brew never made it down to half a cup.

The news was on the TV.  It was the first time I’d seen news in a while and it was interesting.  Commercials shared dirty dirt on Hillary Clinton.  The anchors lamented Trump’s candidacy.  The whole  shebang was a cocktail of fear for the elderly who desire it. 

We ordered food like it was our last meal on Earth.  And it’s a good thing we were eating at a truckstop with that feast in front of us.  I like to think it appeared that we were on the road and hadn’t eaten in days.  Otherwise, ay caramba.

I ordered a Patty melt and fries.  My attorney ordered the steak and cheese with fries.  And we shared three sides – hash browns, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. 

It was while waiting for our brunch to arrive that I noticed the fuel station/diner’s slogan, “Eat at Joe’s and get gas.”

The patty melt tasted a little McDonald’s-eque, and with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and buttery toast, was just what the doctor ordered.  (I’m the doctor here.)

The steak and cheese had a soft bun and green peppers and the French fries were crispy and seasoned.

The mac and cheese delivered comfort and the potato sides were, bleh, but I hate potatoes anyway so don’t take my word for it.

After all that and three cups of coffee, gluttony kicked in and we got a few Mennonite fried pies.  They are all delectable but let me just say that if god was a flakey-crusted dessert, They would be the coconut one.

Joe’s was better than expected and gave me what I thought I wanted.  Thank’s, Joe’s!

Amanda out!

Cuban Burger, Harrisonburg, VA

Cuban Burger

August 16, 2016

The girls are back in town!  The girls are back in town!  Natalie is finally back from Spain where she has been getting her Masters Degree and we hung out on Tuesday.

I was very excited to see my friend.  Had she changed?  Had I changed? 

She arrived and I showed off my house and tried to make her laugh.  She told my roommate the story of When Raccoons Broke Into Our Cabin and Stole Our Food in 2012.  Classic.  We debated on where to go for lunch while we drank wine and she invited me to her wedding next summer. 

I hesitate to share my worst fear on the internet where it could be used against me, but let me just tell you that I have a strange phobia and Natalie said that her wedding reception will be featuring some specimens of those things I am so afraid of.  Just don’t look at them, she says.  Just drink more, she says.  We will see.  Almost a year to think about it, though.  More on that never. 

We decided to go to Cuban Burger.  I’ve been there a number of times and had no worries about taking Natalie there, as it is always top-notch.

So, Cuban Burger has happy hour every single day from three to six.  Appetizers and drinks are half off and Spanish beers are $2.  And starting at seven, I found out, the burgers are half-priced on Tuesdays.

Allow me to set the stage.  Sultry Cuban music plays on a hot summer afternoon.  It’s broad daylight outside, but inside, the lights are dim.  The décor is dark and white following clean lines.  People speak softly and perhaps that’s why it feels like a speak-easy.  The space is divided into a bar area and a dining area.  It is is not your typical burger joint.

We slinked to a table assisted by my friend Alcinda, who was hostessing like a pro.  And we were waited on by my buddy Adrienne, who is as smooth as the restaurant itself.

I excused myself to fix my lipstick.  In front of me, the bathroom doors featured a picture of Lucille Ball on the ladies’ and Desi Arnez on the mens’.  Inside, the floor and walls were covered in beautiful tiles.  After enough time of squinting at myself in the mirror, I returned to the table. 

Drinks had arrived.  I squeezed lime into my Tecate.  We discussed the restaurant and decided that our only concern was the wobbly table.

We devoured the yucca fries that we had ordered with our beers.   Let me tell you about their yucca:  They have a soft inside, a crispy, flakey outside.  They are potato-like but softer and tastier.  They are served with a lovely spicy creamy green sauce.

It was only minutes until we would be able to order those half priced burgers and the wait would be over.  I love those burgers.  Fifteen more minutes until seven?  Natalie checked the time on her phone.  5:42. Wait what.   Ahhhhhhhhhh!!  I thought that it was almost seven, but it was only almost six!!  Another whole hour?  What to do, what to do . . .

We bounced.

Walked over to the Dodger for $3 rails.  But after a bit the jazz was getting to be too much.  (Aside: Natalie if you have jazz at your wedding, that is seriously the last straw.)  And so we giggled back to Cuban Burger for those burgers, man!

Cuban was hopping at this point.  We sat at the bar.  I ordered my favorite burger there.  The Buenas Dias burger.  The very meal that changed my mind about runny eggs long ago. 

The wait was longer than usual, but like I said, they were hopping.

Here’s a picture of Natalie’s Buenas Dias:

The burger was smoky and topped with thick bacon, teensy potato fries and a runny egg.  It was totally satisfying and large.  Does not come with fries, though. 

Natalie had to get going to do wedding stuff so we said our goodbyes.

We had a good time.  I’m glad that happened.  And at the time, neither of us knew that the next morning my grandfather would pass on and that in less than a week both my and Natalie’s fathers would be leading the moving funeral service.  Life is interesting like that, isn’t it? 

Shout out to Alcinda and Adrienne who helped us have a splendid restaurant experience. Shout out to Natalie and may she find an outlet for her creativity.  Shout out to my family who I love so much, even if they think I’ve been distant.  Shout out to myself, who I love too.  Shout out to Cuban Burger, the maker of the best sweet plantains in town.  And shout out to you, reader, for reading this and being a lover of life.

That’s all for now.  Amanda out!

Finnigan's Cove, Harrisonburg, VA

Wednesday, August 10 , 2016

It was a dark and stormy night . . . and I was hungry!  So a friend and I decided to drive around our town in search of sustenance.  I was excited about writing my first local restaurant review.  We talked about trying out Jalisco’s, as we had heard good things.  But after getting dressed and bojangling, it was late evening.  Jalisco’s was closed.  No worries.  On to the next magical eatery.  La Milagro, the grapevine had whispered, serves delicious food at great prices and so we drove to that forgotten corner of mid-Burg. No luck; it was closed too.  Hunger was beginning to get the best of us and our problem-solving skills were getting erratic.  Passed El Sol and I still don’t know if that place is open to the public but there was a private birthday party full swinging in there.  Oh god; Hardee’s was mentioned but I could not stoop; I could not stoop.  Tacos El Primo: closed.  It was 9:45 and I knew what we had to do.

Finnigan’s Cove.  How freaking fitting is it that I do my first review of my own favorite restaurant? 

                                             

These pictures are of the signature alley between the downtown parking deck and courtsquare, on the side of which is the entrance to the tavern of the modern mariner.  First, and most importantly to an avid smoker like myself, Finnigan’s is the only restaurant or bar in town that allows smoking.  Yeah, you heard me right.  This place is so chill.  The music is always perfecto with 90’s punk and alternative.  The nautical theme is cozy with ropes and dark woods and hues of navy blue.  Scattered around are a few arcade style traditional bar games.  

Comfortable seating sits atop a floor of parties past aplenty.  Sports aren’t the main event and the two TV’s are muted, leaving room for intimate conversation among friends.  It is a local hang out.

But back to the crisis of nosehairs.  I mean food!  It’s the reason I was at Finny’s and it’s what all the people are aching to read about.  Fine.  I’ll tell you.  It’s amazing.  Delightful.  The burgers are a shoe-in on my Harrisonburg Top Five Burgers list.  And that’s in spite of it being a seafood restaurant.  Pretty impressive.  The fries are really the best in town.  I maintain that position.  Large, crispy, salty, a little greasy, you get the idea – but not really - until you try them.  There is a salad bar, which I’ve had on a number of occasions, a salute to you vegetarians out there, but it’s located in the non-smoking section so you have to walk by all the suits and grampas - a salute to you, too, suits and grampas.  Moving on.  The bar also, I found out by reading a sign, serves gluten-free beer if anyone is in that market, the gluten-free good-time market.  Y’all should have a dating app.  You probably do.  Moving on.  Okay, so like I said, it was late, almost ten PM, and that’s a lot later in Harrisonburg on a Wednesday.  At that hour, Finnigan’s menu is significantly whittled down to foods you want when you want food, if you know what I mean.  So, since I recently started eating meat again (after pretty recently stopping), I had some good choices.  I chose tenders in honey BBQ sauce with fries and blue cheese dressing.  Me amigo ordered tenders in Caribbean jerk with fries and ranch.  We ordered the food at 9:58, two minutes before the wing sauce menu goes down to the bare minimum.  Score.  Okay, skip to the food arriving, oh happy day. 

My six giant chicken wings were totally slathered in sauce.  They were cooked to perfection.  Perfection!  The blue cheese was creamy and tangy and, best of all, chunky.  The fries were spelled f-r-i-e-n-d-s.  Perhaps it was the late hour, but the Caribbean Jerk, which is typically their tastiest sauce, was a little light on the Caribbean and a little heavy on the jerk this time.  Perhaps it was the hour.  When you look at this food photo, you need to understand the scale.  The fries are big.  The tenders are big.  The plate: big.  That ramekin of blue cheese: deep.  That food did not stand a chance and neither did my hunger.  I was satisfied.  Well almost.  I can smoke in there, remember. 

All I’m saying is, next lucid dream, meet me at Finnigan’s Cove.  Amanda out!