Dining in Dives

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Dear readers, you may recall that Russ and I have a penchant for fine dining. When we travel, we try to hit at least one gourmet restaurant per trip. Featured on this blog in recent years have been The Rhubarb Restaurant in Edinburgh (with its rhubarb-themed drinks and a Châteaubriand Angus steak platter for two), The Wharf on Grand Cayman (with lobster, and you can feed the shells to awaiting tarpon fish off the dock), the Mariposa in Sedona (with juniper cocktails and mejillones con chorizo, a mussel and sausage appetizer), the Von Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe (with a lingonberry spritz and quail/venison dinner), and the Eiffel Tower Restaurant in Las Vegas (with its grand Marnier souffle), to name a few.

More recently, our dining experiences have literally taken a dive. We’ve been exploring the cheapest (but tastiest) places we can find. Whether this shift is because we’re both retired and on fixed incomes or simply inspired by the fun we had last year at the Czech Grill in Grand Cayman—where we wrote on the walls and enjoyed our sixth wedding anniversary with ribs, potato salad, a tabby cat, and a handsome rooster—the change is noticeable.

We’ve experienced several memorable meals this past year, dining in northern Minnesota/Wisconsin dives. Our definition of a dive is a place where we can buy dinner for two for $40 or less. Many times, this even includes adult beverages and the tip! We have friends who also love dives, and they’ve introduced us to a few.

With that in mind, here are six of our favorites, listed in no particular order. Each offers its own unique charm, and we’d happily return depending on our mood.

The Alborn Tavern is a family-owned, small-town restaurant and bar in northern Minnesota. If you like a place with crumbling vinyl seat covers, pool tables, dart boards, and meat raffles, this is the place for you! BTW, a meat raffle is a community fundraiser where people buy tickets for the chance to win packages of meat, usually steaks, roasts, and bacon.

Art on the door of the El Toro Lounge.

The El Toro Lounge and Wilbert Café is a historic stopping place and local watering hole along the highway that leads to Canada. It used to be THE place to stop when Greyhound bus routes ran between the Iron Range and the rest of Minnesota. Now, it mainly serves locals, anglers, and snowmobilers. Diners can get breakfast all day most days of the week. There are also bingo nights and Friday fish fries. We celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary in the lounge.

Near the El Toro is the Dawghouse in Canyon, Minnesota. The renovated restaurant has a more modern feel than the Wilbert Café, plus there’s a large and lovely event venue suitable for hosting a wedding reception or party. There are even customized racks so that snowmobilers can hang their helmets and gear while they eat, and an outdoor patio that’s dog-friendly.

Diners order dinner at Gordy’s Hi-Hat.

Gordy’s Hi-Hat in Cloquet, Minnesota, is a family-owned burger joint that’s only a few years older than me. It’s well known for stellar customer service and a family atmosphere. Guy Fieri, with the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives television show, has even dined there. If you’re more into salads and coffee, stop next door at their Warming House. We celebrated my recent birthday at the Hi-Hat with a Swiss-and-mushroom burger, fries, and a hot fudge malt. I highly recommend the malt!

The Anchor Bar in Superior, Wisconsin, wins “best burger” almost every year in local competitions. Their burgers are homemade, cheap, and good. The fries are plentiful. But what’s most notable is the maritime décor. Ship ropes hang from the ceiling, sailing books line the shelves, ore boat photos grace the walls. It’s also been featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. The clientele is mixed, from doctors to longshoremen, from college students to truckers. The cashew burger is my fave. Look for the ship’s anchor outside the door.

The aftermath of a meal at the Anchor Bar.

Tired of burgers? Try the India Palace in downtown Duluth. It offers a plethora of Indian food options with levels of heat friendly to Minnesotan palates. There are also vegetarian options. It’s known for tandoori chicken and curry dishes. The service was very good.

True to this trend, we plan to spend our seventh anniversary this week at another local dive. If it’s any good, I’m sure you’ll be hearing about it!

Please feel free to share a link to your favorite dive in the comments and tell us where it’s located!

World’s Laziest Photographer

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Lately, I’ve been feeling like the title of this post. I haven’t gone on any special photo outings. Maybe winter has something to do with it. It’s hard to take photos with gloves on and coldly painful to take photos with them off, even for a few minutes.

BUT, I managed to snap a few when we were at our cabin last week. The weather was a crazy mix. Rain came first. After it stopped, the tree branches were coated with gleaming necklaces of raindrops. I commented to Russ that if I were a real photographer, I’d be out there with my camera, capturing the magic.

Nope. I was too lazy. Then came another bout of rain, which turned into dime-sized hailstones. We watched them fall from under the safety of our cabin’s metal roof. The hail stopped, and then a bit of snow drifted from the sky. It added a layer of white to the ice on our lake. The ice had begun to melt, especially around the edges, but was in no danger of disappearing any time soon.

The next weather treat on this crazy day was sunshine. The air temperature shot up from the 30s to near 50 degrees F. The temperature difference between the lake ice and the air formed a mist that added an air of mystery to the landscape.

This was too cool to miss. Even though we were in the middle of something, I apologized to Russ for the interruption, tugged on my coat and rubber boots (too lazy to tie the laces on my other boots), and slogged outside with my camera. I took the shots you see here.

After I returned inside and we ate supper, we watched a television show as the sun began to set. I happened to look away from the TV for a moment and noticed the mist enlarging and glowing in the sunset. Too lazy to venture outdoors again, I just turned around on the couch and snapped the last image in this post out our deck window. (I love how there’s a little spot of blue sky in it near the top.)

Reflecting on that day, I realize that sometimes being “lazy” simply means finding beauty in the moments right in front of us. While I might not have energetically chased every shot or braved the cold for hours, I still found magic through my lens—whether it was from the warmth of my cabin or the comfort of my couch. These small acts of noticing and appreciating remind me that inspiration doesn’t always require grand effort; sometimes, it’s enough to simply be present and open to what unfolds.

The Tulip that Dared to be Different

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We bought nine white tulips last week to bring a bit of spring into the house. About a foot of snow still lies on the ground here in northern Minnesota, but the increasing sunshine has us impatient for winter to leave.

Once we brought them home and arranged them in a vase, I noticed that the tulip flowers were hiding inside their green leaf sheaths like the heads of shy turtles. But after a few days, they began to grow and emerge. One had a tinge of red to it, so I was curious to see what it would look like as the flower opened more. The fresh bouquet looked gorgeous as big white and fluffy snowflakes fell outside. Outdoors, spring had hidden its face once more.

A few more days later, the flower fully opened, and I was surprised to see that half of one petal was a deep ruby red. I was expecting an inner ring of red or something—not this. I asked my friends if they’d ever seen anything like that. None had, but some said we must be lucky, that it was like finding a four-leaf clover.

I turned to the ever-useful internet and discovered that this phenomenon is called sectorial chimera. Sectorial means that only one section of the flower is affected. Chimera means changeable or mixed. In scientific terms, it means that the flower has a mix of genetic tissues. My tulip was a white tulip that also contained red tulip genes. For some reason, the redness was expressed in a single petal. In a way, my friend was correct. Like a four-leafed-clover, this tulip was a unique genetic mutation.

There’s some info also on the internet that symbolically, the white flower represents purity and peace, and the red petal, a streak of hidden passion. “Together, they convey a deep emotional connection and the beauty of love in all its forms.”

I just wanted a sense of spring but received so much more from a simple grocery store bouquet!

Returning Good Fire to the Land

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A fire crew member monitors the Nov 2025 cultural prescribed burn on Wisconsin Point.

A story of mine appeared in the April/May 2026 issue of Lake Superior Magazine. It covers a project I’m involved with that’s designed to bring back the Ojibwe tradition of prescribed burning on Wisconsin Point, a long sandspit on Lake Superior. The Ojibwe once lived in the red and white pine woods there until they were moved to reservations in the mid-1800s. Before then, they would set small, controlled fires to keep brush down, encourage plants like blueberries, and help red pines sprout. They call these fires “Ishkode,” or good fire.

I first heard about this practice a few years ago while I was still working as a science communicator for Wisconsin Sea Grant. The organization funded research that studied tree rings and fire scars on Wisconsin Point and its neighboring sandspit, Minnesota Point. I reported on the project by writing articles, news releases, and producing a podcast.

Last year, a few months before I retired, I heard that the Ishkode group was looking for help with communications. I immediately volunteered, and you can read about the results in my article. I’m happy to say that last fall, Ishkode successfully returned to the point for the first time in 159 years. And nobody got hurt! More patchwork burns are planned in the future.

As a result, I was approached by a different group that’s working to bring Ojibwe fire practices back to Minnesota Point. Although the two points are separated by a short span of water, they are different politically and socially. Not only are they in different states, but Wisconsin Point is uninhabited, whereas more than 100 homes line Minnesota Point, many of which are beachfront mansions. Wisconsin Point is owned by the City of Superior and the Fond du Lac Tribe. Minnesota Point is a mix of private, city, and state Department of Natural Resources property. There’s even an airport near the end of it.

Both fire projects are led by Fond du Lac tribal members. Except for those folks and me, most of the rest of the people involved in each project are different. Because of its complexity, the Minnesota Point group is much larger (about 40 people). I began helping them this winter and finally have everyone’s names and affiliations down.

Our goal is to conduct a prescribed burn on Minnesota Point this spring. It will be the first time in 180 years that a burn has occurred there. Things are falling into place nicely, and so far, public reception has been good.

I’m happy to have a hand in returning a missing piece of the ecosystem to the shores of Lake Superior. As one of our group members said, the burns will help the choked forests breathe again. These points aren’t the only places where the Ojibwe used to burn. Evidence can be found all around the lake.

For more information, check out my article in the print version of the magazine, or check the Wisconsin Point Ishkode webpage.

Smoke from the prescribed fire drifts through the pines on Wisconsin Point. The fire will help the beleaguered red pine population regenerate.

Pancakes, Anyone?

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Each of these ice pancakes is about three feet across.

Winter is loosening its cold, hard grip on Lake Superior. One sure sign of spring is pancake ice. Sorry for the misleading title—these pancakes are not edible. But I suppose they are, if you like chewing ice.

Pancake ice on Lake Superior with Duluth’s iconic aerial lift bridge in the distance.

Pancake ice can form in early winter, too, but in spring it occurs when the ice begins to melt and waves or wind blow the ice chunks around. The wind whistles over the lake, carrying the crisp scent of melting ice and the freshness of open water. The ice chunks slap against each other like bumper cars at a fairground. The pancakes form circles with ridges along the sides, their surfaces glistening under the pale, watery sunlight. Pancake ice can also form on open water when it gets cold and ice crystals freeze and then break up and are blown around. This phenomenon can also occur on rivers and in the ocean.

Sometimes the rotating, colliding ice makes sounds, but I didn’t hear any during Russ’s and my walk along Lake Superior’s shore the other day when I took these photos. Instead, there was only the whisper of our boots on the asphalt trail, and the restless sigh of the breeze—sharp enough to sting cheeks and make eyes water.

This year, Lake Superior experienced 27% ice cover. The last time the lake came close to being completely frozen was 2019. The long-term average is 61.5% ice cover, and I assume that average is going down as the climate changes.

During our walk, other signs of warming weather in Duluth were the white legs of everyone who wore shorts for the first time since October. Mind you, it was only 44 degrees F with a cold northeast breeze, but people are so desperate for spring that shorts seemed like a good idea! I even saw a bare-chested man wearing shorts, his skin turning pink in the biting wind. I was not so inclined. In fact, I had to raise the hood on my jacket and cinch it tightly around my face, feeling the rough fabric press against my cheeks as I tried to shield myself from the breeze once we turned around and headed back to our car.

But the pancakes and white legs are here on Lake Superior. Spring can’t be far behind.

Ever Feel “Invisible?”

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A friend of mine couldn’t believe it when a hotel clerk, with whom she thought she had a memorable encounter a few hours before, didn’t remember my friend when she saw her again. I shared a theory about this with my friend. I developed the theory from reading Going Gray by Anne Kreamer and I turned it into a speculative fiction short story titled “Invisible.” But you’ll have to read my story to find out what it is! No freebies here. Although the story itself is free.

“Invisible” was recently published in Creative Wisconsin magazine, which is published by the Wisconsin Writers Association. I joined them a few years ago when I had a Wisconsin-based publisher and job, even though I don’t live in Wisconsin. I’ve taken a few classes from them, and I’ve attended two of their writing conferences. They’re a great group!

You can find my story on page 18 in the March 2026 issue here.

On the Dunes

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Ice off of Minnesota Point in Duluth. Each of those slabs in the foreground is the size of a person lying down. The ridge behind it is about fifteen feet tall. (I popped a squat to obtain this viewpoint.)

On the Dunes
By Sara Teasdale

If there is any life when death is over,
   These tawny beaches will know much of me,
I shall come back, as constant and changeful
   As the unchanging, many-colored sea.

If life was small, if it has made me scornful,
   Forgive me; I shall straighten like a flame
In the great calm of death, and if you want me
   Stand on the sea-ward dunes and call my name.

I recently stumbled upon this poem while leafing through a stack of old, yellowed pages—poems I had once painstakingly typed on a clattering Underwood typewriter during my high school days. Back then, before the convenience of photocopiers, I’d wander the library aisles, selecting poetry books that called to me. I would borrow them, then sit for hours, as I copied lines that stirred my soul. I imagined that I’d refer to these pages often, though, they have gathered more dust than fingerprints. Now, rereading them, I’m flooded with nostalgia, peering through a window into what once moved my younger heart.

Poet Sara Teasdale lived from 1884 to 1933. She is characterized as “neurotically intense,” and it’s said she moved in the company of poets like a “recessive flame.” She had a tempestuous affair with poet Vachel Lindsay. Later, she married a businessman but then divorced him, retired to seclusion, and in the end, died from an overdose of sleeping pills.

Her poem struck me because I’d just meandered to the beach in Duluth with Russ. If you’re not familiar, we are blessed with a long sandbar at the mouth of Lake Superior. Of course, the beach was snow-covered. The lake’s power was on full display in the form of huge piles of ice piled high about ten yards offshore. I had my phone with me and was tempted to brave the ice to take some photos, but I hesitated, not knowing if the ice was safe. I am well acquainted with the vagaries and dangers of this Great Lake.

However, two other people walked out to an ice ridge in front of me. They survived, so I figured I’d be okay if I followed in their footsteps. I ventured out, and these photos are the result. I was glad I braved the ice to share them with you! Russ wisely remained onshore. I’m also glad that the little adventure didn’t hasten my death so that Russ would need to stand on the dunes and call my name when he wants me. 😊

Winter Fog

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My fair city of Duluth, Minnesota, has donned a silvery veil these past few days—a haunting fog that drapes the world in mystery. I don’t know about you, but I adore the hush and wonder of fog; here, I am home. Each morning, the temperatures bite, and the fog cloaks every branch and rooftop in crystalline frost and shimmering ice.

Restless for movement, I ventured out, camera in hand, into my transformed neighborhood. The roads glittered treacherously beneath a thin armor of ice, so I strapped on my boot’s iron claws. Each step crunched with possibility. The world was both dazzling and dangerous.

As the sun coaxed the temperature upward, ice shards crashed from trembling trees and sagging power lines. Splintered branches, felled by the weight of winter, littered yards and tangled themselves in lines above. Once, a cascade of ice from a power line narrowly missed me, which sent my heart pounding. But I pressed on, determined to witness the spectacle to its end.

Who knew a simple walk around the neighborhood could be so exciting?

Winter biking in Duluth.

Unrestrained: An Interview with Anthony Bukoski

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Image of Tony Bukoski by Diane Merchant

I spent a memorable afternoon with Superior, Wisconsin, short story writer Anthony Bukoski last summer. We discussed his book, The Thief of Words, which was published in 2025 by the University of Wisconsin Press. Tony’s stories feature white collar-blue collar tensions that belie his time spent in both worlds. The Thief of Words focuses on such themes as loneliness, longing, dislocation, assimilation, and generational conflict.

Thanks to the kickboxing workouts I’ve been doing for the past four years, our interview ends in a surprising way! You can read about it in Hypertext, a digital literary magazine published in Chicago.

I thank Tony for this opportunity and Hypertext for publishing it. If you’re looking for something to read, please check out Tony’s book.