Mickey's Tavern, Madison WIWe had dinner at Mickey’s Tavern on Willy Street because it’s guy night and I didn’t know what to make. Weirdly, now I do. Now, I would like to make a big pot of chili, but at five-thirty as I was driving along Willy Street and getting closer to the grocery store every minute, I didn’t have the foggiest idea what I wanted to make.

Luckily, there was Mickey’s, and they have the most delicious BLT, and they have eggplant sammies, and they have this thing called sexy fries, which is a big plate of thinly-sliced, deep-fried potato liberally sprinkled with grated parmesan cheese and red pepper and I can’t stop eating it no matter how much they pile on my plate, even though I feel as if I’m going to pop like a big white zit. And they have Lake Louie Warped Speed on tap. Holy crap, I love that beer.

We sat on the patio because this will probably be the last Thursday this year that it will be warm enough outside for us to sit on Mickey’s patio and eat dinner, and even today it was maybe just a few degrees over the line on the cool side for us to do that, but we did it anyway because, as I said, probably last time. I hope I’m wrong about that.


image of beerStepping out from the patio after dinner at Mickey’s Tavern last night, we spotted this amazing tandem bike with attached sidecar and had to stop to take a good, long look at it.

It appeared to be largely home made, and the side car was equipped with an electric motor to give an added assist to the pedalers, no doubt for when the side car was carrying passengers.

The candy stripes are a particularly nice touch.

image of beer


As she was driving across town yesterday afternoon, making a mental list of all the things she would need from the store to make eggs Benedict for dinner that evening, My Darling B realized that dinner and this lovely day would be best enjoyed at the same time on a patio, and that’s how we ended up at a table on the patio at Mickey’s Tavern on Willy Street.

That reminds me of my favorite joke: What’s Irish and sits in the sun all day? Paddy O’Furniture. You might have to say it aloud to get it.

It was the perfect day for dinner on the patio: The sun was still well above the trees because the lizards (I can’t help but think of politicians as lizards since re-reading So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish last weekend) made us set our clocks back an hour and it was shining down on us at an angle that was just right, keeping the patio warm enough to sit and eat without a jacket. A breeze swept away almost all the cigarette smoke, not from the two young ladies sitting right next to us, but from just about everyone else. A couple of puppies were wandering around, making friends. Toddlers were squealing with delight as their parents teased them with french fries. And two glasses of cold beer were close enough at hand that both of us could relax and let go the cares of the day.

Thank goodness for patios. And beer.


Thursday night is guy night, the night I’m in charge of putting food on the family, and while I could have taken My Darling B straight home and burned some animal flesh on the Weber, instead I suggested that we spend the evening relaxing on the patio at Mickey’s Tavern with a couple of beers and some really great food, because tonight is destined to be the last really nice Thursday evening of the year before the weather takes a turn toward the truly craptastic.

It’s still early in the season, but nearly all the leaves that are going to turn color have already turned, and quite a few of them have taken their death dive to lie all dried up on the ground, waiting to crunch under the eager shoes of kids everywhere. We’ve already had quite a few dark and stormy weeks, but the last few days have been warm and sunny, probably to lull us into a false sense of security, then WHAM! comes the ice and snow.

So I figured, Let’s enjoy it while we’ve got it. I had the MickeyBurger (I think that’s what it’s called), a third-pound of deliciously spiced beef on a sourdough roll. I thought I’d be able to save half of it for lunch, but I must have been hungrier that I thought because I finished it off. B tried the special, beef tacos. She almost, but not quite, finished hers off – not that it wasn’t scrumptious; it was just more taco than she could handle.

The patio was only half-full when we got there but, by the time we left about an hour later, it was packed with lots of happily noisy guests who must’ve had the same feeling I had when they got out of work for the day and couldn’t bear to be shut up inside on such a beautiful evening.

hum ditty

Dinner on Thursday night is my job, so it’s been known as guy night for many, many moons here in Our Humble O’Bode. I gave up trying to cook anything that couldn’t be grilled over hot charcoal, and most of the time I take the easy way out and treat My Darling B to dinner at one of our lovely local restaurants, which is how things worked out tonight. Around about three o’clock in the afternoon I thought, We haven’t eaten dinner at Mickey’s in ages, and immediately the thought was stuck in my head for the rest of the afternoon: A hot sandwich, or maybe a pizza, with a cold beer on the patio at Mickey’s. It was a no-brainer.

At about quarter to five I started cleaning off my desk so that, by ten till five, I was marching up the hallway toward the front door, where I would normally wait by the curb for B to come pick me up. Humming a happy tune, still thinking about that sandwich and cold beer on the patio, I hit the front door and stepped out onto the side walk … then turned on my heel and went right back inside to wait in the lobby after I hit the wall of humidity that was waiting for me just outside the door. There was no way they’d have enough beer at Mickey’s to lure me out onto the patio tonight.

We still went there for dinner, though, and sat right under the air conditioner.

Hobson’s Choice

Picking me up after work this evening, My Darling B advised me that for dinner we could go have pizza at Roman Candle or go have pizza at Mickey’s. Hobson’s Choice, in other words. We ended up at Mickey’s, largely because we didn’t have to double back through traffic to get there.

Both of us were ravenously hungry and each ate half a sixteen-inch pizza without stopping. B paid for it later with a bloated tummy and begged me to hold her hand while she walked around the block. I agreed, because I’ll agree to practically anything so long as I can hold on to some part of her for even a little while.

Eating half a pizza didn’t bother me much because … well, I don’t know why. I didn’t skip breakfast or lunch, but by supper time I was hungry enough to eat the asshole out of a dead rhinoceros. And thank you, Ron Howard, for giving us the best simile ever uttered by a major movie star. Is that a simile or a metaphor? Does it even matter? Not in this case.