Yesterday, I posted an entry about our little road trip to Sweet Pea’s Bar & Grill in Geneseo, Illinois. Road tripping is our thing. We’ll go anywhere. Sometimes we keep it simple and drive along the Mighty Mississippi and decompress from the day. Sometimes we take longer drives and talk about our work days, our boys, our life goals. And other times, we might venture up into Wisconsin and find places to explore and eat in restaurants that look inviting. Scott the Hubs and I are not complicated. We enjoy our time together and it’s really that simple. We find lots of things interesting along the way of our travels- grottos and holy places, state parks, scenic outlooks. It’s not for everyone but that’s how we roll. That kind of travel will always trump a trip to the beach or another country for both of us. The upside to that kind of travel is that we live a very cheap life, and we often find endless riches along the way.
Cheesy. I know. And speaking of cheesy…
On Saturday, we did some road tripping around Illinois and Iowa, and eventually ended up at Timmerman’s Supper Club in East Dubuque. Now, before I go any further, can we just talk about the word “supper”? That word conjures up a whole mess of homesick feelings of my mom, my grandma, and my old house in Aledo. “Supper” was the last meal of the day. Not dinner. Dinner was reserved for what most people call “lunch” and here’s why. My grandma moved here from Scotland when she married my Papa Sam. She was forced to quickly acclimate herself to farm life, as Papa Sam was a farmer in Mercer County, Illinois. On the farm, for “dinner”, which was the mid-day meal, Grandma would catch a chicken, chop its head off, defeather it and fry it for Papa, his farmhands and her family. She mashed potatoes and made home-made gravy. She baked pies. That was the biggest meal of the day. And on Sundays, when I was a kid, we almost always had Sunday Dinner at Grandma’s and we knew what we were having by the way Grandma smelled when she came to church.
Supper, however, was what we ate in the evening. As the farm life faded and my mom grew up and married, started working and had us kids, supper went from a lighter meal to the meal my mom made for us when she came home from work, with the exception of Sunday after church. My mom was a wonderful cook, just like her mom. Our lunches became light and supper became the heavy meal, and it was always amazing.
Fast forward to my adulthood…now that I’m older and many significant and much-loved parts of my childhood are no longer existent, life consists of small triggers that bring back floods of memories- things like the sound of bagpipes, the smell of a freshly-plowed field and of course, words like “supper”. I hear that word and I get an ache deep down in my soul and I want to be a kid again, because at some point, when I entered adulthood, somehow that all changed and “dinner” and “lunch” replaced the words I used all my younger life. So when I see “Supper Club”, I don’t hesitate and I’m tying a napkin around my neck.
When Scott announced that he was taking me to East Dubuque to Timmerman’s Supper Club, I was locked and loaded. This trip would be our first time there and the drive was lovely and relaxing. We didn’t have a reservation but since we were getting there later, we took our chances. Timmerman’s was a busy place, serving kids from 3 different area proms and there was a bit of a wait. Instead of leaving and finding another place, we simply bellied up to the bar at 7 PM and were seated without a reservation by 7:45. Again, we’re empty- nesters now; we have nothing at home waiting for us, so seat me at 10, I don’t care. Besides, Mary at the bar was super- friendly and I instantly made friends with some other women sitting next to us at the bar, so time flew.
One of the first things you’ll notice about Timmerman’s is that it sits high on the bluff, just after you cross the Mississippi into Illinois from Iowa. The views from the restaurant and bar are spectacular, even if you’re not seated by a window. Mary told us the huge building across the river in Iowa is a “nunnery” and that when they shine a hugely bright light from the building, it means one of the nuns has died. I fully expect Scott to do the same thing from our roof in Bettendorf when I… you know.
The service was wonderful. I’m going to admit something right here, right now, in front of all of you that many of my very close friends and immediate family already knows… I love to be waited on. In fact, I like people to actually anticipate what I want before I ask. My friend, Julia, is phenomenal when it comes to this quirky thing I have. When she used to help me with my staging/cleaning/painting business, I would often think things like, ‘I need a phillips screwdriver’ or ‘I need a smaller paintbrush’ and before I could make my way down the scaffolding, Jules would be there, right behind me, handing me exactly what I needed. Now, with that said, I’m not an ass, I swear. I don’t get upset when people don’t anticipate my every need. But when it happens, and people can read my mind, I’m over the moon with gratitude. My point is, this is the kind of restaurant where you can expect that kind of service. Friendly waitstaff, a maître d’ that remembers your name and what you look like and then quietly finds you at the bar to announce your table is ready, smiles from all the people working there and a never-empty glass of water. Heaven on earth.
We each had the 6 oz. filet and Scott the Hubs ordered his topped with blue cheese, which made me slightly jealous after we received our food because that blue cheese was friggin choice. For reals. The filet was magnificent- perfectly tender and a real, true medium doneness. (I mean, really, is there a better food than steak? I can tell you, when I pass a field of cows, I actually thank them all, out loud, for being steak.) The soup and salad were good and Scott the Hubs had a potato so fluffy, I thought he might smuggle it home and lay his pretty head on it at bedtime. I opted for steamed broccoli in place of the starch and since there was plenty of real butter on the table, I enjoyed every bite of it. What kind of nut job eats steamed broccoli without butter, salt & pepper? Not me. I slathered that bright green pile of vegetable goodness and had no shame whatsoever in having to wipe the butter off my chin.
Now, before you go an look up their website and the menu, let me prepare you…the prices are a little high, but I’m willing to pay more for great service and an excellent meal and that’s what we got at Timmerman’s. We don’t eat out like that very often-usually we’re small, local restaurant frequent flyers but since we hadn’t seen each other much lately, we decided to treat ourselves. So if you’ve got an upcoming celebration or just never go anywhere and want to splurge a little, this is your gig.
Perfect Saturday. We had great conversation, we met nice people, we ate fabulous, blog-worthy food and we had a peaceful, quiet trip together (well, until Scott the Hubs almost hit a racoon with the car on the way home and screamed really loudly). Enjoy a road trip to East Dubuque and then tell me all about it. Happy travels, readers!