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Ingomar was the biggest town on the Milwaukee Road between Roundup and Forsyth, with a population exceeding three hundred in the 1930s and the self proclaimed title of “sheep shearing capital of North America” according to Don Spritzer’s Roadside History of Montana.

Nowadays its claim to fame is the most famous bar in Montana most people have never visited, the Jersey Lilly, established in the former home of the failed First National Bank of Ingomar in 1933. Doug Ardary’s canonical (and apparently out of print) reference work, The Pub Crawler’s Guide to Montana’s Small Town Taverns calls the Jersey Lilly “one of Montana’s most famous and most loved taverns . . . worth going 100 miles out of your way to spend some time there.” For those of us taking U.S. 12 due East from Helena to Miles City, however, the Ingomar turnoff came up just in time for dinner.

We arrived at dusk during a break in a daylong rain storm, and as we pulled up we feared the darkened bar had already closed. But as our headlights shot past the hitching posts and over the boardwalk into the dining room, we spotted a dozen faces seated around several tables. So we walked in and heard from the hostess that the storm knocked out the power, but if we didn’t mind eating in the dark she would be happy to serve us dinner. (It turned out the faces belonged to some local ranchers who were on their way to ride in the Bucking Horse Sale parade.)

This would be an especially rustic Jersey Lilly experience, with an absence of electricity supplementing the usual shortage of indoor plumbing (outhouses stood off the boardwalk around the corner). The emergency exit floodlights shone on a table in the corner, so we pulled up some chairs and used the light to read the menus. One item we could order without a menu: Bill Seward’s renowned beans. An order of those and chicken fried steak would make the meal for most of us.

Our server brought out a knit potholder with our silverware and bowls, then set down a well-worn saucepan filled with a deep brown bean stew. After a day of roadtrip jerky and trail mix, we greedily ladled the stew into our bowls and supped. These were pot beans, a staple of chuckwagon cooking, in their own thick gravy flavored with chunks of smoky ham, a little salt, and a balance of secret spices for body. It was as simple and perfectly satisfying a dish as exists in high plains cooking, and for that reason a rare find in fancier kitchens.

Just as I was finishing my first bowl of beans and reaching for seconds, the chicken fried steak arrived. I didn’t bring a ruler to the table, but I’d guess the flour-and-pepper dredged chopped steak measured almost half a square foot. Four inches in, just as I was starting to fill up, I discovered the bean gravy made a good steak sauce. One bowl later I had cleaned my plate.

As we were paying up, the lights came on and we could see the beautiful and enormous back bar. We also got a closer look at the mounted moose head on the opposite wall–at first we thought it was just the bad lighting, but it actually had a cigarette in its mouth. It was time to hit the road before we could ask about the smoking moose, but we’ll be back to the Jersey Lilly. Even if it takes us 100 miles out of our way.

Jersey Lilly Saloon & Eatery
NW Corner of 1st Ave & Main St
Ingomar, MT
(406) 358-2278

602 Main Street
Miles City, Montana

This is a classic Montana supper club, in the dusty river town that was the end of the line for the great cattle drives that inspired Lonesome Dove. Main Street Miles City, lit by old neon bar signs, was where we would dine on our first night in Montana.

The Hole in the Wall is anything but. After the darkened entrance, a long, high, mahogany bar looms to the left. This is the kind of massive woodworked bar that would be a treasure in a big city tavern, and you’ll find them up and down Main Street in an old cowtown like Miles City. The dining room is an afterthought, tucked in the back under ornate tin ceilings and cavernous brick walls covered with cowboy murals and taxidermied animals surrounding a central fireplace. It was filled with families, known by name to the staff.

A newcomer to Montana might wonder why we had to get up and go to the bar to place our drink order, and why the food came from the lunchcounter kitchen at the 600 Cafe next door. Montana is tight with its liquor licenses–long story–so bars and restaurants often team up to provide a complete food and drink experience, with separate bills for each. I’m not quite sure how I financed it, but they made a tasty Pauline.

Let’s cut to the food. The distinguishing feature of a Montana supper club is steak bookended by endless accompaniments. For Autumn that meant, well, endless accompaniments: a salad bar where everything but the lettuce had dressing preapplied. Good chicken soup though, but that might be a reflection of eating road food for five days on the way from New York.

But you don’t see value like this in New York. Lobster tail (which made Autumn suspicious) for twenty bucks with everything. I had a decent 12 oz. T-Bone (one of the smaller cuts), with saucy salad bar, mashed potatoes topped with perfect brown gravy thick with mushrooms and bacon, fettucine al fredo (are you kidding?), all for $12. That would have cost at least $60 at Peter Luger, and–a sad Montana irony–the beef would have been much better in Brooklyn.

Still, a fitting first meal in Montana.