The fish was the worst piece of fried fish I’ve had on this tour. My wife’s fish was equally tough and dry. The crunch was perfect, but the fish was immeasurably dry. I picked up the piece of fish with my hand, this is a bar after all, and took a bite. Instead of breaking open, as a piece of fried cod should perform, this cod just compressed under the pressure of my fork. My hand applied the pressure, the fork pressing into the battered exterior. The human brain is a an amazing creation, and it knows just how much pressure a hand holding a fork should have to apply in order to break through a piece of soft cod. I knew there was trouble when my fork first, and barely, touched the fried cod. Because I’ve been a patron of Harpoon’s for years, I had high expectations that they would deliver on their typically better than average bar fare. In spite of my immediate disapproval of the takeout cups, the rest of the dinner looked delicious even if the portion size looked small. The sides were served in plastic take-out containers, stacked on top of it all. The first glance proved three golden pieces of cod with a large, flat potato pancake underneath. A few minutes after we finished the calamari the fish was served. They likely swallow pills dry and purposefully bathe in lukewarm water. Should you ever find yourself with someone who casually and delicately eats fried calamari, you must distance yourself from them. We greedily ate it, which is the only way to eat fried calamari. But the calamari was tender and the breading light. It was a decent sized portion, not necessarily generous. The calamari was brought out first, within five or six minutes. The sides of applesauce, coleslaw and tartar sauce are included. The Fish Fry, according to the waiter, was a single serve portion of fried, beer battered cod, with a single potato pancake (the single pancake returns to vex me). Harpoons makes no equivocation and serves theirs with cocktail sauce, the way God intended. When ordering calamari it’s a toss up between restaurants that serve it with marinara sauce and those that serve it with cocktail sauce. Without hesitation the calamari was recommended. I asked if any appetizers were worth my consideration. Once we were situated at our high-top for two nearest the porch and lakeside windows, the pleasant waiter was table side to take our order. There’s an old boat hanging from the ceiling, sports on the televisions, and generally upbeat crowd that would make me comfortable with my mom and dad or my daughter in tow. It’s like a dive bar that looks cool and doesn’t make you regret entering the second the door pulls shut behind you. The booths were rebuilt with reclaimed barn wood a year or so ago, and they’re quite nice. The primary dining area consists of a long bar surrounded by some high tops and a few booths. There’s a large screened porch that was understandably quiet on this chilly Friday evening. The restaurant is across the street from the lake in Williams Bay, but it still classifies as lakeside to me. It’s with this understood bias that I entered into that dark establishment last Friday night. The waffle fries are the best french fry on any menu in the county. The brisket sandwich is as smoky and tender as it might be anywhere. I took some time off from Harpoons after that day, but in recent years the in-house smoker brought me back. Followed by a scribble that must have been his signature. On a hot summer afternoon in the early 1990s I stood nervously in that parking lot in my dirty lawn mowing clothes while Harry Caray autographed a receipt for me. Unlike the other restaurants I’ve visited, Harpoon Willies matters to me. I’ve been there more times than I can count, but this was the first time I’ve ever ordered the fish. Last Friday, my wife and I went to Harpoon Willies in Williams Bay. Should I drive to East Troy to some restaurant that someone on this blog said I should visit? Or do I stick to the staples, to the restaurants that everyone knows? Visiting the unknown might be more fun, and if I visit the unknown and the fish is awful then at least I won’t offend anyone in my home town. The process of deciding which establishment to judge hasn’t been as easy as you might think. Last Friday marked my twelfth consecutive Friday night fish fry, at my twelfth different restaurant.
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