For those of us who grew up in small towns in the Upper Midwest during a certain age, the term "supper club" evokes a certain memory.
You automatically think of a classy place with dark-paneled walls with maybe even some velvet accents, leather booths, dark shaded chandeliers and the air of importance. Supper clubs were the small town older, more sophisticated sibling to the town's greasy spoon or cafe. Supper clubs were only open in the evenings, and there was a premium placed on the Friday and Saturday night seats.
The entire idea of going to the supper club was an experience. Remember, going out to eat four and a half decades ago was an event, a luxury, something to cherish. And if you were going to the supper club, you were going to get dressed up to do so.
Going to the supper club generally meant multiple courses, with drinks of course, but also with food you wouldn't normally be serving at home: steaks and seafood and broasted chicken. Generally there were soup and salad courses, your entrees with delicious sides and always a decadent dessert.
In short, the town's supper club made a statement about status, about food, about experience, in all an experience that would be hard to explain to many a restaurant-goer nowadays being much of those staples about supper clubs have been lost.
So that is why Shelley and I were so thrilled to find the Davenport Supper Club and Lounge in Davenport, N.D., in our searching of rural, southeastern North Dakota. Since my brother moved to the area, we have been looking for places near his town to take him out for a bite once in a while, and one of the first two that we found was this one. But we just found our way to it this weekend.
Full disclosure, our hopes heightened by the supper club's sign atop the front of the building were soon dashed on the shore as we walked in to find just your regular, ol' small town bar. To be fair, once you walked into the entryway, there were two doors, a glass door to your left that led you to the "Dining Room," which was obviously closed, and one that led you to the right, into the bar.
As you walked in there was a very flattened "V" shaped bar that looked like something large and heavy had sat atop the "V" and pushed it's vertical sides outward, creating more of a bowl shape. Beyond that lie two tables that sat six people each, and then further back sat the bathrooms. But to the right (east) and up about a 1-foot step sat a room with a couple of more tables, a pool table and a few of what looked like might have been original leather booths from a day and age that this place may have been a true supper club ... but had long since past.
Let's just be honest: At that point, our enthusiasm was tainted because we knew we weren't getting that supper club feel from our younger days on that trip. And worse yet, it seemed that we had walked in on the locals happy hour, as about eight men sat either bellied up to the bar or at one of the two tables on the main level. Nearly everyone stared at us, like, "Who the hell are they?"
Further tainting our first impression, the waitress walked over with paper menus, and what tasted like flat beers. My first thought was, "Well, I don't imagine that Blue Moon on tap gets ordered her often," as I looked around the room to the predominance of Budweiser bottles and little plastic cups with mixed drinks in them.
But, nonetheless, we forged on. ... In for a penny; in for a pound as they say. ... We were there, and it was a half hour drive at the least to another place to eat. And so we made the best of it.
My brother ordered a Philly sandwich with au jou and fries. And Shelley and I each had ribeyes, hers a 12 ounce and mine a 16. We both ordered the sauteed mushrooms side, and she finished with a loaded baked potato and me with tater tots. (Yes, childish, I know. But I would walk a long way through a desert for a good tater tot. Just sayin'.) We each received the obligatory house salad of a handful of lettuce, some bland croutons and a couple teaspoons of ranch dressing.
But let me tell you, that's where all of the ordinariness and the "meh" of the place stopped. ... Because when our steaks arrived, it was show time. Each of our steaks arrived with a heaping pile of perfectly sautéed mushrooms, and the right amount cracked pepper. And I can tell you that those steaks were worth another 30 mile drive out there again. Mouthwatering is a word that comes to mind. And both Shelley and I get pretty judgmental about our beef. And talk about big! ... She requested a box to take home about half of her steak and most of her baked potato too, but even I had to take a good half of my steak and mushrooms to eat the next day. ... Seriously, I couldn't eat it all! ... And that is saying something!
Completing the trifecta, my brother also had to take home half of his sandwich and fries. And reported that the sliced beef on a hard roll bun was good. (But my pickiness wouldn't have allowed me to describe it as a Philly.)
OK, OK ... yes, Shelley's load potato didn't seem anything special, my tots were good but not life changing, my steak didn't come rare like rare is supposed to be, and almost everything else was just good. But, those steaks though! ... I seriously would drive back for one of those ribeyes again, and I highly recommend that you do so too.
Look, neither Shelley nor I recaptured that feeling of nostalgia that we were both looking for when we found a small town place calling itself a "supper club." No lie, we wanted to walk in and be transported back to the classy supper club days of our youth, but the Davenport Supper Club and Lounge is not that.
However, it seems to be a popular local watering hole, with a friendly wait staff and a cook that obviously knows what he is doing with a piece of beef. If you find yourself in the area, stop by, order the ribeye ... and there's no need to thank us. We were rewarded for our visit already.
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