thelocaldiner.com

John Harrington of the IR reports:

The 2.5 million red-blooded American men aged 18 to 34 who buy Maxim magazine each month will likely drool even more than usual at the September issue. In addition to the magazine’s standard fare of scantily clad models, “actresses” and NFL cheerleaders, there’s a feature on “America’s Top 10 Meat Hogs” – artery-clogging sandwiches piled high that only a carnivore could love. And checking in at No. 2 on the list: The Nuke, a longtime staple at Helena’s own Staggering Ox.

(For some reason the article doesn’t appear on the IR’s website, and the Gazette’s headline refers to a “Helena burger,” which would come as a surprise to the folks at the R&B, Rialto, and Stinkyburger.)

The Staggering Ox, a ferny deli with other branches in Missoula and Spokane, is gradually taking over a local strip mall with its sprawling two-story dining hall cum art gallery–a big improvement over empty retail space. (They once advertised wi-fi, but I don’t whether they still have it.) The Ox calls its sandwiches “Clubfoots,” and they come in hefty cylinders of white bread baked in coffee cans. The winning Nuke (Ham, Turkey, Roast Beef, Swiss, Provolone, Sharp Cheddar, Lettuce & Sauce) actually is on the tamer end of the Ox’s topically-named (and apparently trademarked, but I haven’t figured out the html for the tiny “tm” symbol) Clubfoot sandwiches, which range from the “Yo Momma Osama” (Gyro Meat, Bacon, Black Beans, Gorgonzola, Pepper Jack, Onions, Salsa and your chioce of sauce) to the “Mount St. Helens” (Ham, Turkey, Roast Beef, Pepperoni, Turkey Pastrami, Swiss, Provolone, Sharp Cheddar, Monterey Jack, Mozzarella, Onions, Green Peppers, Mushrooms, Black Olives, Sunflower Seeds, Lettuce & Sauce).

The Clubfoot bread doesn’t add much to the sandwiches other than extra dough, but it’s worth tearing out some of the relatively bland bread to get to the Ox’s daunting selection of ingredients (often from Montana, including roast bison at times) and tangy homemade sauces. You might say that the fresh deli-style Clubfoots don’t belong with true “Meat Hogs” like first place winner the Fat Darrell at R.U. Grill & Pizza in New Brunswick, N.J., which Harrington describes as “a gut bomb featuring chicken fingers, fried cheese sticks and french fries stuffed into a hoagie roll.” Maxim’s Meat Hog article isn’t yet online–and I personally don’t subscribe (honest!)–though I’d be interested in what else made it on this list.

The Staggering Ox
400 Euclid in the Lundy Center
(406) 443-1729

We planted our garden just before the wedding planning got crazy, then became its absentee landlords during weekend planning trips, honeymoons, and other weddings. Between weeks of neglect, and Lena’s “early harvest’ of our onion, beet, carrot, and pea seedbeds (she dug a foot-deep trench through it), I had nearly given up hope.

But earlier this week, after yet another weekend away from what was left of the garden, I noticed Lena gnawing on a big green roma tomato. Lo and behold, several more had managed to swell beneath the undergrowth. So I ran out, grabbed a couple of stakes, and opened them up to more of the ripening sun. Now they just have to beat the frost.

We had no idea what perennials and bulbs had been planted by our predecessors, and there was only so much mulching could do to clean up the beds. As it happened, there was a whole lot of morning glory looking to climb a trellis we had removed, so instead it strangled the herb garden (pictured). But I noticed that our herbs were hanging on among the weeds. It looked like there were salvageable leaves of rosemary, sage, basil, and oregano, along with hearty stands of fennel, peppermint, and (thanks to Spot’s tending) catnip. Autumn had worked late pulling together her classroom, and I smelled an opportunity.

I threw some frozen gorgonzola-walnut and sundried tomato-cheese ravioli from the Real Food Store into a pot, and picked some herbs. The rosemary and sage went into a saucepan with browning butter, then over the gorgonzola ravioli. The basil and oregano went into a simmering can of crushed tomatoes (alas, not our own), then over the sundried-tomato ravioli. Delicious. Next month we’ll have tomatoes, and next year veggies, but this week herbs will do.

Lauren Etter and Janet Adamy report ($) in the Journal about the morel rush now happening along the Whitefish Range west of the divide. A fascinating local market develops around the wild crop, with impromptu buyers popping up along roadsides to pay the pickers who roam last year’s wildfire burns in search of the fungal delicacy. There’s plenty of incentive:

Pickers here are selling a pound of fresh morels for about $3.50, which is low, they say. Wholesalers are selling fresh morels for as little as $8 a pound, not quite half last year’s going price. . . .

Cooks love morels, which have a spongelike appearance, because of their nutty taste and extraordinary ability to soak up sauces. A pound of morels sells for as much as $40 at fancy food stores like Dean & DeLuca in New York.

On the production end, the forest service charges $100 for a season harvesting permit and $500 for a buying permit in National Forests (commercial harvesting is banned in wilderness areas and Glacier National Park). For those prices and the cost of a tent to live in, one picker-buyer profiled in the Journal article said he could earn $800 a day all season, but he also faces high theft rates and vigilantism by armed pickers protecting “their” territory. It’s no place to raise a family, but he does: his wife and three young children share the tent.

This St. Patrick’s day many Montanans lamented the closure of the M&M Bar after 113 years of 24-hour service. So here’s some great news (on the 100th Anniversary of Bloomsday, no less):

BUTTE — The M&M Cigar Store, a landmark here for more than a century but closed 14 months ago in a bankruptcy case, may be reopening soon.

Bud Walker, a real estate agent and Butte-Silver Bow commissioner, said he hopes to reopen the bar by late summer.

He said the family partnership deal with owner Patty Lisac, including its liquor license, may close in July.

So raise a toast to Commissioner Walker for taking up the mantle of a Butte institution!

And if you missed the opportunity to buy the M&M (asking price $195,000, but some construction needed to bring it up to code), you have several other chances to own a piece of history, from the Irish Times (the M&M’s St. Patty’s day stand-in), to the Anaconda Company’s pay office, to the Dumas Brothel (”America’s Longest Running House of Prostitution”). Let’s hope they all end up in good hands.

Our foodie friend Jen posts about supporting local agriculture. Helena’s local food partisans shop at the Real Food Store, which recently won organic certification from the Montana Department of Agriculture.

Helena is lucky to have such a large locally-owned market as the Real Food Store, organic or not. With few exceptions, it features some of the best of Montana-made foods, from Willy D’s Sweet Hot Mustard to McAlpine Ranch Pork. Real Foods boasts a wall of nearly one hundred different spices in bulk (including several strengths of chili powder and curry), and the best sausage selection I’ve seen anywhere: from chorizo to merguez to bratwurst to hot italian turkey sausage (which we ate last night), their butcher has a way with the spice rack and meat grinder. These cheese selection at Real Foods beats Safeway and Albertson’s. Their deli and hot food bar serves up organic turkey sandwiches and shepard’s pie, as well as pizzas baked on nutty whole wheat crusts. And, true to their base constituency, they peddle a couple dozen granolas by bulk.

All that, combined with long business hours and prices that often meet the national chains (and beat them during their regular and widespread sales), proves that a home-grown grocery store like Real Foods can not just keep up with the big boys, but thrive.

Wheat Montana, a vertically integrated seed-to-sandwich grain operation based in Three Forks, is a “Buy Montana” success story. We always stop there on drives between Helena and Bozeman for a sweet roll or sandwich and to top off the gas tank, then drive past the fields that fed us along Highway 287. Their bread selection has something for everyone: Multi-Grain, High Fiber, Low Carb, and even No Wheat.

James Larcombe reports in the Tribune that the proprietors, the Folkvord family, shared some of the secrets of their success in Great Falls recently. One of the secrets is distribution and marketing through mega-corporations:

Wheat Montana is working on a deal that could bring Starbucks products to its retail deli operations. A trial run in a Kalispell operation boosted sales by 40 percent, Folkvord said.

The small Montana company also has found success in working with Wal-Mart, the nation’s largest retailer. In fact, about 40 percent of the company’s bread sales take place in Wal-Mart.

“They actually found us,” Folkvord said. “They are always interested in regional products.”

The Three Forks man traveled to Wal-Mart headquarters in Bentonville, Ark., to make a presentation to corporate officials. The meeting went well, with Wal-Mart simply asking Wheat Montana to price its products as low as possible.

“These guys welcomed us in, without any slotting fees or upfront money,” Folkvord said, noting the Wheat Montana’s allotment of space on Wal-Mart shelves has grown. “They’ve been very easy for us to deal with.”

Wheat Montana also learned the value of lean operations and reducing overhead from Wal-Mart. Controlling costs helped the company weather a significant sales slowdown in 2001, which came after a boom in flour sales apparently driven by Y2K millennium concerns.

I would rather see Wheat Montana partnering with homegrown businesses, selling Montana Maid coffee and distributing bread through the Real Food Store. But love them or hate them, a small business can learn a lot from Starbucks and Wal-Mart. If some of that discipline and know-how helps Wheat Montana grow profits and jobs here, then is a deal with these corporate devils really so bad? We’ll see.

Like Dave, and maybe with a little guidance from Sam, I’m looking forward to getting to know steak better. For us, that meant picking up some ribeyes and tossing them on the grill for the season’s first cookout. I’ve been grill-deprived for the past few years, so I sat back and watched our friend S take charge. His steak philosophy was essentialist: buy the best cuts you can find (he found them at Van’s Fairway), and eat them rare. The results were persuasive.

I’m picking up a grill this weekend, so I can start working out my own steak philosophy. Pragmatic sirloin, corn-fed, gas grill, and a quick marinade? Or fundamentalist porterhouse, grass-fed, charcoal, with only a rub of salt and pepper? While I’m a pragmatist at most things, I think I may be a steak fundamentalist.

Thanks to Ed for the kind mention on his blog, which is as close to big media as we may ever get. Close observers notice from his Sleeping Giant Brewing Co. hat that Ed’s a crypto-Helenan.

Speaking of beer, Ed drew my attention to the brewing feud between a St. Louis liquor distributor and Yellowstone Valley Brewing Co. When I lived in Billings, some friends and I dropped by George and Jay’s unassuming warehouse brewery–back when they were still building their taphouse bar–and they treated us to a short tour and brewing lesson. These are excellent Montana microbrewers who view beer as a celebration of local ingredients:

Milled under the Cretaceous Rims of the Eagle Sandstone – A paleo beach in Montana!
Brewed from waters of the Yellowstone River – the last free and wild river.
Fermented in the shadows of the majestic Breartooth Mountains.

Who doesn’t love a poetic geochemist brewer?

Well the David Sherman Corporation, purveyors of Everclear grain alcohol and Rebel Yell whiskey, does not share George and Jay’s appreciation for the unique Yellowstone river landscape. According to David Sherman, Yellowstone Bourbon was developed in 1854 by Kentuckian J.B. Dant; it’s name came from one of Dant’s salesmen who visited Yellowstone Park in its inaugural year of 1872: “He had the idea that if the name Yellowstone were put on a bottle of good whiskey, chances were good that the folks out West would buy it, and since the park was receiving publicity, the name would stick in everybody’s mind.” I can’t tell if the “folks out West” buy much Yellowstone Bourbon, and I haven’t seen it in many bars here.

Trademark law is more complicated than it should be because each case depends on a particular court’s view of what may or may not confuse consumers, which is hard to predict. Unfortunately, this uncertainty drives many bigger firms to threaten smaller ones, because judges see a plaintiff’s diligence in enforcing a trademark as evidence of the brand’s value. While the article notes several examples of Montanans successfully standing their intangible ground (Montana Knits of Dillon beat Claude Montana, and the Golden Nugget of Troy beat Las Vegas’s Golden Nugget), the costs of a trademark infringement lawsuit often force the little guy to give up his brand. In the end the dynamics of trademark law probably lead to overprotection of brand names in circumstances when no reasonable consumer would be confused.

If Yellowstone Brewing can’t afford to defend the lawsuit, it would be nice to see someone take up their cause pro bono, or for a public interest group or law school clinic to jump in. That may sound strange, but clear and evenhanded enforcement of intellectual property law benefits the public as much as robust real property law; there are all sorts of nonprofit conservation groups that champion the property rights of the small landowner–how about the intellectual property rights of the small brandowner?

We knew when we found piles of deer scat in our small fenced yard that we would have trouble eating food from our garden before the deer did. I saw a family of three deer on the way to the supermarket a while ago. And last week, as I walked home from work, two fully grown does stared me down from the middle of the sidewalk, one block from our house in the middle of Helena.

According to a recent New York Times article (reg. req.), there are 50 times more deer in America–25 to 30 million of them–than there were a century ago:

Across the country, deer cause 1.5 million traffic accidents, $1.1 billion in vehicle damage and 150 deaths a year, according to the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety, in Arlington, Va. The highest populations occur where guns are banned.

“Back in the early 1970’s, Princeton banned the discharge of firearms, and deer-car collisions went up 600 percent,” said Susan Martka, a wildlife biologist for New Jersey’s Division of Fish and Wildlife.

Now the gardeners are getting even–they’re hiring sharpshooters and bowhunters to protect their greens. Do they make gardening aprons in blaze orange?

A few months ago some friends took us on a drive out of town to the shores of Hauser Lake on the Missouri. The destination was a classic Montana roadhouse, and in the late winter dark beyond the bar service lights illuminated pleasure boat docks. We blew through the smoke and the din of video poker machines and entered a glassed door to a small sanctuary on the north end of the building. This place had a story behind it: Cody Smith, a young Californian who was introduced to the restaurant business at his uncle’s place in the Madison Valley, and later came to the Lakeside Resort for a year-round clientele.

The timbered walls gave way to a quiet whitewashed gallery of food-themed prints, and about eight tables topped with linen. A pleasant server presented us with our table, and a short menu and wine list. The selection of entrees were what you might find at the kind of supper club you’d expect on the county road we took–chicken, salmon, lamb–but the preparations were inspired, eclectic, even delicate. I can just remember the calamari, and salmon in broth (tomato?). I also remember looking forward to exploring the rest of the menu in future visits, maybe when summer came around and the lakeside deck at the end of the dining room opened.

But before I made it back to Hauser Lake, Smith left and the Lakeside returned to a tavern. I wasn’t too surprised, since it was all so unlikely to begin with: an inventive and ambitious chef, dedicated to great ingredients and paired with a room with a view, serving year-round at a summer season lakeside bar fifteen minutes outside of Helena. Still, at a roadhouse on some county road far from the resort towns, another Cody Smith will come along. Let me know if you find him.