Review Part III: Post-Review Analysis

I expected Fieldstone Grill to be somewhat fancy, potentially tasty, and a little overpriced. It ended up being not particularly fancy, not particularly tasty, and a little more than a little overpriced. I expected different flavors, gourmet twists, but I got barely any flavor at all, and (upon a recent return visit) not even a metal cup for my fries. I thought that Fieldstone Grill was not my culture. I was right, but not in the way that I expected.

Which, I suppose, was always a possibility. It was a bit of a stretch in the first place to say that visiting Fieldstone was in any way culinary tourism. If anything, Fieldstone is a lack of culture. Sure, they try to associate their foods with various various ethnic cuisines or with the local community. But the "Greek" turkey burger served on ciabatta suggests that they're not really concerned with the authenticity of such associations.

While our reading on culinary tourism focused primarily on ethnic and geographic cultures, it did also talk about connotations of class as a cultural signifier. Perhaps if there's any lesson to take from this experience it's that high price does not necessarily mean authentically fancy food.

Fieldstone Grill Review [Revised Draft]

When the cup of chicken soup arrives, it rests atop a lace doily. Unfortunately, the journey from kitchen to table was not a gentle one, and whatever this presentation was intended to communicate has been lost to a sea of soup that now sits in the saucer, drowning both the doily and the soup spoon handle.

Presentation is a problem here at Fieldstone Grill, a roadside establishment just off of US 131 in Portage. Perhaps its location is one of the factors that make it difficult for Fieldstone Grill to achieve the successful blend of fine dining aesthetic and middle-class occasion destination it seems to be shooting for.

Its red and white exterior looks more like a barn than a restaurant, while the patio could be confused for an outdoor food court / picnic area, not unlike one you might find at a museum or zoo. The interior, however, while somewhat cavernous in the center (the peak of the “barn”), is a warmly lit, quiet space, sparely and tastefully decorated. A large fireplace, built from the titular fieldstones, manages to be impressive without making the place feel like a ski lodge. Windows along the back wall provide a view of the adjacent wetlands.

Back outside, the patio chairs turn out to be more comfortable than they look, and the view, again, makes for a surprisingly enjoyable seating area.

Fieldstone Grill's culinary offerings, however, suggest that the view from the parking lot is, in fact, the more truthful representation. Chef Jason McClellan is described as an “old soul,” which apparently means that he cooks with the deteriorating taste buds of the elderly in mind.

Whatever flavors might be in the chicken soup are overpowered by the uncharacteristic spiciness. The ravioli with vodka cream sauce is certainly ravioli, and the sauce certainly contains cream, but any further deductions as to the ingredients of the dish are difficult, if not impossible.

The salmon and the perch are distinguishable only in that one is dry, lightly seasoned, and the other is slathered in butter, as are the soft, easy to chew green beans that accompany it. One wonders if the cold, flavorless mashed potatoes were added to the plate simply for texture.

Desserts can be comprehensively described as “various forms of sugar.” The triple-berry cobbler tastes like spongy bread pudding whose sweetness is probably from some sort of berry. The tiramisu is both sweeter than tiramisu usually is, and disgracefully bland. What is the point of serving tiramisu that could be easily mistaken for the spongy, grey cobbler?

The flourless chocolate cake is definitely chocolate, but dispel from your mind images of traditional Italian flourless cakes, baked with almonds and perhaps dusted with powdered sugar. This is just melted chocolate, with a consistency somewhere between pudding and fudge.

Admittedly, the vanilla ice cream served with each of the desserts is not disappointing, but, with the exception of the cake, it would have been better on its own.

It should be noted that these foods are from Fieldstone Grill's special Mother's Day menu. Lacking from said menu are many of the appetizers, salads, and entrees from the regular menu, such as the sesame-crusted tuna, grilled salmon salad, and Bell's Oberon Fish-n-Chips. Also missing are all of the burgers, sandwiches, and pizzas.

Meanwhile, the four-cheese ravioli with sausage vodka cream sauce has been downgraded for Mother's Day to three cheeses, sans sausage. The salmon, normally a pan-seared dish hailing from the Mediterranean, is now decidedly American, chargrilled and served with (surprisingly tasty) dumplings. The Mother's Day menu seems less special, more rip-off, especially at $25 per meal plus appetizers and drinks a la carte.

Fieldstone Grill is a series of conflicts: a jaunty menu with less-than-jaunty prices; a barn housing a restaurant; a soup-soaked doily. It is up to them to resolve these conflicts. Much easier to resolve is the conflict of whether or not to eat there.

Omnivore's Dilemma, Part I - Reading Response

I must regretfully but emphatically disagree with my peer on the degree of boredom associated with Michael Pollan's chapter on Zea mays, commonly known now as corn.

First, as someone with a fascination for all things linguistic, I was very interested to learn that corn once referred, not simply to maize, but to any grain, "even a grain of salt" (Pollan 25). Surely I'm not alone in having wondered, at least once, what 'corned beef' had to do corn? I don't see how one could be bored when told that a word which, for their entire life, has been inextricably linked with the image of an ear of corn (or corn-on-the-cob, in my case; what can I say, it's a tastier image), whose fundamental identity is that food, could once have referred to anything from wheat to a grain of salt.

Second, is it not at least mildly interesting to learn that the food which, of all foods, is possibly most responsible for the existence of our country, that this food which is so perfectly suited to human cultivation would in fact have died if not for that relationship? If humans had not started to eat corn at precisely the time that we did, it may very well have drastically changed the course of history.

Third, you know you've always wondered where the term 'corn hole' came from.


Fourth, I would argue that having a farming background should make this sort of thing more interesting. As I've mentioned, I worked on a farm over the summer, and the corn started to come in just before I left. After spending two hours picking corn by myself (at sunset), I'm certainly more interested in it than I was before. But maybe that's just how I am. I also don't get people who use computers everyday but aren't the least bit interested in how work. Experience means little without understanding.

(Also, I would be much more bored hearing a spiel from a state park ranger who's only giving the tourist-friendly, cliff notes version of the history of corn, and is only there because he's being paid to be there, not because he's actually interested in it. Say what you will about Pollan, but he is definitely interested in corn.)

Fieldstone Grill Review [Workshop Draft]

When the cup of chicken soup arrives, it rests atop a lace doily. Unfortunately, the journey from the kitchen to the table was not a gentle one, and whatever this presentation was intended to communicate has been lost to the sea of soup that now sits in the saucer, drowning both the doily and the handle of the soup spoon.

The Fieldstone Grill seems to have a habit of hiding its attempts at a fine-dining aesthetic. The red and white exterior looks more like a barn than a restaurant, while the patio could be confused for an outdoor food court / picnic area, not unlike one you might find at a museum or zoo. The interior, however, while somewhat cavernous in the center (the peak of the “barn”), is a warmly lit, quiet space, sparely and tastefully decorated. The large fireplace, built from the titular fieldstones, manages to be impressive without making the place feel like a ski lodge. The large windows along the back wall provide a pleasant view of the adjacent wetlands. Back outside, the patio chairs turn out to be more comfortable than they look, and the view, again, makes for a surprisingly pleasant seating area.

The food, however, suggests that the view from the parking lot is, in fact, the more truthful representation. Chef Jason McClellan is described as an “old soul,” which apparently means that he cooks with the deteriorating taste buds of the elderly in mind. Whatever flavors might be in the chicken soup are overpowered by the uncharacteristic spiciness. The ravioli with vodka cream sauce is certainly ravioli, and the sauce certainly contains cream, but any further deductions as to the ingredients of the dish are difficult, if not impossible. The salmon and the perch are distinguishable only in that one is dry, lightly seasoned, and the other is slathered in butter, as are the soft, easy to chew green beans that accompany it. One wonders if the cold, flavorless mashed potatoes were added to the plate simply for texture.

The desserts can be comprehensively described simply as “various forms of sugar.” The triple-berry cobbler tastes like spongy bread pudding whose sweetness is probably from some sort of berry. The tiramisu is both sweeter than tiramisu usually is, and disgracefully bland. What is the point of serving tiramisu that's almost indistinguishable from the spongy, grey cobbler? The flourless chocolate cake is certainly chocolate, but dispel from your mind images of traditional Italian flourless cakes, baked with almonds and perhaps dusted with powdered sugar. This is simply melted chocolate, with a consistency somewhere between pudding and fudge. Admittedly, the vanilla ice cream served with each of the desserts is not disappointing, but, with the exception of the cake, it would have been better on its own.

It should be noted that these foods are from Fieldstone Grill's special Mother's Day menu. Lacking from said menu are many of the appetizers, salads, and entrees from the regular menu, as well as all of the burgers, sandwiches, and pizza. Meanwhile, the four-cheese ravioli with sausage vodka cream sauce has been downgraded to three cheeses, sans sausage. The salmon, previously hailing from the Mediterranean, is now decidedly American, chargrilled and served with (surprisingly tasty) dumplings. The Mother's Day menu seems less special, more rip-off, especially at $25 per meal plus appetizers and drinks a la carte.

The Fieldstone Grill is a series of conflicts: a jaunty menu with less-than-jaunty prices; fancy food with basic flavor; a barn housing a restaurant; a soup-soaked doily. It is up to them to resolve these conflicts. Much easier to resolve is the conflict of whether or not eat there.

Fieldstone Grill: Assumptions, Expectations, Anticipation

I'll admit that a restaurant with 'Grill' in the name does not immediately strike me as a “vivid entryway into another culture” or "a kind of travel or border crossing for [me] personally." But I don't usually go to Grills where they tell you who the chef is, or recommend wine pairings on the menu, where one of the appetizers costs the same as an entree. I don't usually go to places that serve ten-dollar burgers on shiny white plates, presented (judging from the pictures) like an artisanal creation, accompanied by french fries arranged like a bouquet of flowers in a metal cup.

In short, this is not my culture.

Expensive restaurants make me deeply uncomfortable. Part of it is that I associate price with fanciness, accompanied by uncomfortable clothes, mysterious etiquette, and more forks and spoons than any one person should need for one meal. The fanciness of the food is also a concern. I have fairly simple tastes; although they've expanded somewhat in the last couple years, looking for something to eat on some menus still feels like reading a Where's Waldo? book.

Value is also an issue. Why should I pay fourteen dollars for three pieces of battered fish and some fries (and some coleslaw that I won't even eat)? For that matter, why should I pay fourteen dollars for cheese ravioli with sausage vodka cream sauce when I'd be perfectly happy boiling some ravioli at home and throwing on some Prego. Why would anyone even want sausage vodka cream sauce? Sausage sauce? Sure. Cream sauce? Sure. Vodka sauce? Maybe, although I don't know what exactly vodka sauce would consist of or whether you would want it anywhere near four-cheese ravioli. But putting them all together seems unnecessary and slightly dangerous.

Then there's the price itself. My older sister has always been the one who spends money and, therefore, gets money spent on her. Starting in my early teens, I decided that I would try to offset my sister. Part of that was, when choosing between two or three things at a restaurant, I would pick the cheapest one. In the short term, it was a difference of a dollar or two. In the long term, I liked to think that, through this and other practices, I was saving my family a significant amount of money. So naturally, expensive restaurants bothered me, because they made my "job" that much harder. I've since stopped doing this as often, for whatever reason, but those feelings stick with me.

Having said all that, Fieldstone grill presents me with some contradictions. Yes, some of their food is expensive, and yes, some it comes with sausage vodka cream sauce. But the fact is, I kind of want to try that ravioli. And they do have burgers, and pizza, and pot roast, and overpriced fish-n-chips. And cheese fondue, which I want to always be a thing everywhere. Their tables don't have white table-cloths, or any table-cloths, for that matter. It actually looks pretty casual. So I guess I don't actually know what to expect.

The price still bothers me, though.