This Just In ...

Kevin Fischer is a veteran broadcaster, the recipient of over 150 major journalism awards from the Milwaukee Press Club, the Wisconsin Associated Press, the Northwest Broadcast News Association, the Wisconsin Bar Association, and others. He has been seen and heard on Milwaukee TV and radio stations for over three decades. A longtime aide to state Senate Republicans in the Wisconsin Legislature, Kevin can be seen offering his views on the news on the public affairs program, "InterCHANGE," on Milwaukee Public Television Channel 10, and heard filling in on Newstalk 1130 WISN. He lives with his wife, Jennifer, and their lovely young daughter, Kyla Audrey, in Franklin.

Culinary no-no #383

Culinary no-no's

The Sundara Inn and Spa at Wisconsin Dells has won critical acclaim and numerous awards and rightfully so. The facility and experiences are fabulous.

Before Sundara started charging two arms and a leg, Jennifer and I several years ago headed there for a relaxing getaway. While Jennifer was enjoying a massage, I took advantage of Sundara’s Purifying Bath Ritual, a self-guided ritual that included:

  • Rainfall Shower and Exfoliation
  • Soothing Body Mist
  • Aroma Steam
  • Cooling Rainfall Shower
  • Hot Pool
  • Cool Plunge Pool
  • Relaxation Lounge

The Relaxation Lounge is the area overlooking the outdoor pool where folks can go post-spa treatment or just to take it easy in their spa robes on comfy reclining lounge chairs.

The place is quieter than a library with the only sound being the turning of magazine pages. No one speaks. No one looks at one another. There is a complete void of facial expressions. There are no TV monitors screeching ESPN or CNN. It is silencio amundo.

Normally I’d join Jennifer in a couple’s massage but I can’t recall why I sat this one out. So to kill time after I doused myself in that relaxing multi-stage bath ritual, I curiously examined the spa menu, the offerings of which would constitute three culinary no-no blogs.

Disheartened that late morning not to find anything near eggs benedict or banana split pancakes, I rejected the leaves and roots and grains and sandwiches filled with anything but meat and opted for wheat toast, strawberry preserves, and some sort of tea that had at least five adjectives before you got to the word “tea.”

Being a tea lover I knew my beverage would satisfy, especially on a cold, Wisconsin winter day. However, the wheat toast didn’t have a light tan hue. It was dark brown. Hard. Slices of concrete.  Arid. Drier than the best martini you’ve ever had. And somewhere around $7.

Swallowing was difficult and when I couldn’t hold back a few coughs or clearing of my throat, others in the lounge looked at me as though I was interrupting Sir George Siolti conducting Beethoven’s Fifth. My wife was in bliss and I was choking on toast I normally wouldn't order, even if it had raisins.

Buck up, I told myself. I can get through this because later that night I’d be ordering the Super Duper Queen Maleficent Texas Longhorn cut of prime rib at a great Dells restaurant, Field’s.

Toast. Seriously. How do you **** that up.

I’ve written about our regular Sunday stop after church. My favorite is the chopped sirloin with eggs special. The meat is always perfect. The scrambled eggs are always perfect. The hash browns are always perfect. The toast?  Inconsistent.

How does this happen? Shouldn’t someone very early in the morning when the joint opens set the toast at that perfect position and if anyone so much as touches face termination?

Having said that, I can live with imperfect toast. I simply smear it with oodles of orange marmalade or dunk it in my egg yolk. Toast is toast. Not exactly the parsley throwaway on your dinner plate, but if my steak and eggs and potatoes make the grade, I’m fine (I used to work with a guy at WUWM who always tossed the Wonder bread that came with his ribs at Speed Queen).

To repeat what I’ve conceded many times in the past, I’m just a humble Midwesterner who may not realize or fully comprehend the latest and greatest food trends that are born on either coast. But I’m pretty sure I can smell what fits under the category WOW and what’s el stinko.

Meet el stinko.

No way, Jose!

There’d better be slice after slice of picture perfect roast beef in there before I buy.


Actually this might be a yes-yes! Good for them!

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