Lodge Beer and Grill

Unless you've got a few Midwestern winters under your belt — with those five months of frigid, all-consuming solitude that push you just to your breaking point and then a hair more — you're probably missing out on at least a fraction of the appeal of the Lodge. Sure, it's an affable place no matter your geographic heritage, but for ex-pats from well above the Mason-Dixon line, the Lodge is like a little piece of the motherland. Though the varnish on the "log cabin" walls is a bit shiny and the beer selection far superior to what you'll find in the average deer camp, there's comfort in the familiarity of a steel pail nailed to a picnic table and filled with peanuts in the shell. And while you wax nostalgic with your "hunting" buddies about that time you ran your four-by-four off the two-track, a visit from a perfectly tanned waitress in short-shorts and a knotted flannel top reminds you that paradise is only a few safe steps away.

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