Celebrate the new year... Asian style.

• KAT ROBINSON

The ever-popular Chinese New Year celebration dinner is scheduled for January 29th at Chinese Pavilion Restaurant in Sherwood. But you have to get your ticket in advance. The nine course dinner always features a little something for everyone. You could read about last year's dinner here...and when you're good and excited about the food, give Wilma or Teresa a call at (501) 244-2490 and reserve your seat. Gotta do it quick — reservations are due tomorrow. It's $26 for adults, $18 for kids 8-12 and $10 for kids 4-7. More information can be found at the Facebook event site.

The Ruins of Monte Ne.

The dreams of an American entrepreneur deteriorate by and under the waters of Beaver Lake

A monolith stands on the shore of Beaver Lake. The tower rises three stories above the shoreline, seemingly serene and calm from a distance. On closer approach, the colors shout out, obscenities and names and other graffiti spattered across the face of the structure. If the light hits it just right you can see the graffiti is apparent both inside and out. You can approach it from land or lake, walk right up and inside, where generations of paint have layered the walls in the name of art and defacement.

But why is the structure here? What caused it to be abandoned on the lakeshore? The answer lies between the waters of Beaver Lake and the dream of an entrepreneur with ideas about Utopia.

***

I have heard whispers of Monte Ne all my adult life, but mostly from people who had heard it from others. An old friend who scuba-dived said he had been meaning to get up there for years. An acquaintance told me there was a resort under Beaver Lake that was part sanitorium, part summer camp. It sounded like “The Road to Wellville,” the 1994 movie about a 1920s health resort. A little research and a personal visit would banish those myths and solidify what Monte Ne really was in my mind.

***

The tower is a prominent feature from the ruins of Monte Ne, a resort built just past the turn of the 20th Century, a vision of one William Hope “Coin” Harvey. The entrepreneur came to this area of the Ozarks to build the resort. He purchased 320 acres of what was then called Silver Springs and renamed it Monte Ne -- a name he conjured up from Spanish and Omaha Indian words for mountain and water.

He used some revolutionary ideas in the construction of his resort -- including the utilization of slabs of concrete in many of the structures on the site. He combined this with more traditional construction methods. The two hotels constructed at the resort that made it to completion

were made from logs with tile roofs. These two structures called Oklahoma Row and Missouri Row were at the time the longest log cabins in the world.

He financed the building of the resort through the sale of his writings regarding free silver. His nickname, “Coin,” comes from his most popular work, Coin’s Financial School. He sunk $100,000 dollars (half his own, half from investors) into construction at the site. It wasn’t just about building the hotels. He had retaining walls built along the creek and lagoon and walkways constructed and even had a railroad assembled to run between the resort and Lowell to bring in guests. Those guests would disembark from the train and be escorted by gondola to the resort itself.

He built Arkansas’ first indoor pool in a bathhouse on Silver Creek across the lagoon from the resort. The downtown area he laid out had a livery stable, a bank (which used Harvey’s own scrip instead of American dollars), a grist mill, general store, and post office. His son Tom even ran a newspaper, the Monte Ne Herald, in the town.

The resort was something else in its heyday. I sat down with Shiloh Museum director Allyn Lord to talk about Monte Ne. She literally wrote the book on the subject; her Historical Monte Ne book came out a few years ago and is a great read with lots of photos from the old resort. “Monte Ne was a great destination back in its heyday. This was back before air conditioning. It was really cool down in the valley, even in the summertime.”

But some of Harvey’s ideas just didn’t take well with guests. He had a lights-out at 10 p.m. policy and reportedly wouldn’t allow sick children at the resort. He was a wiley sort. “He wasn’t crazy,” Lord told me. “Some folks think he was, but those were different times.”

It was a great dream, this nirvana in the Ozarks, but it was not to be. Harvey’s bank failed. The railroad went under. His son Hal died and his son Tom took off and left for good. Harvey tried unsuccessfully to run for Congress and his friend Williams Jennings Bryan wasn’t able to find a place for him in the Woodrow Wilson administration. These sort of things could turn anyone’s mind dark.

In February 1920, he published Common Sense, announcing his intention to leave a message for the future in the form of a pyramid. His plans called for a structure that would have been 130 feet high and which would have contained artifacts from the age preserved for the future -- a globe, newspapers, domestic items and things like record players and such. Harvey had a 165 foot retaining wall built, but that’s as far as he got on the structure.

He did, however, complete an unusually shaped amphitheater he planned to rent out to bring in more money for the pyramid’s construction. The twenty foot high, 140 foot long semi-circular structure was built without an architect. It was very irregular but could seat anywhere from 500 to 1000 people at a time.

The Great Depression pretty much ended Harvey’s pyramid dream. By that point he had sold off the hotels, which continued to do business under other operators. The Oklahoma and Missouri Rows spent time as the Ozark Industrial College and School of Theology until 1932.

Harvey wasn’t quite done yet, though. He formed The Liberty Party and gathered together a presidential convention at Monte Ne in 1932, the only presidential convention ever to be held in Arkansas. He expected 10,000 people -- he got just 786 delegates who nominated him as their presidential candidate. The party ended up merging with the Jobless Party and Harvey ended up running independent, coming in 6th in the election with just 800 votes.

He was done. He continued to write his newsletter, The Liberty Bell, until his death in 1936. He was entombed along with his son Hal (who had died in 1903) in a concrete structure, along with many of his books and papers.

The buildings were sold off and used for other purposes -- such as training facilities for the Arkansas Guard and facilities for a girls’ camp.

What truly took out Monte Ne, though, was the encroachment of Beaver Lake. The Corps of Engineers determined in 1960 that the lake would inundate Monte Ne and made moves to buy up the land all around there. The log structure portion of Oklahoma Row was purchased and moved north, where it can still be seen, sagging by the side of Highway 94.

However, the Corps expected Beaver Lake to cover all of the old resort. Those levels fell short, which is why you can view much of what’s left behind today.


***

So what’s left of Monte Ne today? I’d heard my share of rumors, from “it’s completely submerged” to “it’s not worth your time.” But curiosity got the better of me. I did my research, looked up the site on Google Maps and figured out how to get down to it off the highway.

Photographer Grav Weldon joined me for the journey to northwest Arkansas. We passed through Rogers and out Highway 94 to the community that is Monte Ne today. It’s not much -- a collection of houses and mobile homes clustered around the Monte Ne Inn Chicken Restaurant at the intersection of Highway 94 and the Highway 94 Spur -- though we did sight an old fashioned windmill on a lawn.

But where were the ruins of Monte Ne? We found what we thought might be the most accessible point as we came in view of Beaver Lake. With a severe drop-off from the asphalt and no discernible shoulder, Grav asked if I’d stand in the road and divert any traffic that might come around the corner as he went down the bank to capture shots of the tower he could see in the distance.

I was excited about that tower. Being able to see it so clearly meant we had a chance of getting something visual to go with our story. A quarter mile further we found a gravel parking area off to the right side of the road -- and several cars, too. Out we went, out down the most obvious path over a guard rail. There was a sign, undoubtedly something along the lines of “Keep Out” or “No Parking” or something, long painted over.

Usually this would be the point where I’d carefully stand by at said sign while Grav took the big camera and went about his job chronicling places he probably shouldn’t go… but not this time. There were half a dozen people scattered along the path ahead, the path that stretched on to the tower.

Footpaths have been forged in the grass for some time here… and more gives way to concrete, not a sidewalk or roadbed but what turned out to be the roof of the basement section of what was once Oklahoma Row. There was one hole I noticed, big enough to trip into but not wide enough to allow one to fall all the way through.

You can stand on a corner of the building, no guardrail or safety net in place, and potentially trip off and hit the rocks below. The vantage point overlooks what was once Silver Springs below. Now you see houses on the opposite bank, a boat dock and water.

I followed Grav out to the tower. The sun was heading towards a setting in the southwest, nearly behind the tower itself, very bright and blinding. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t see the graffiti until I got close.

There’s all sorts of tags on the outside of the building, mostly around the base of the structure but a few high up around the windows overhead. Daredevils must have taken great pleasure at pointing out how far they got from the portals when they managed to tag out at such precarious angles. It still didn’t prepare me for the inside.

It was like stepping into a kaleidoscope, paint in places a half inch thick where vandals had sprayed their thoughts on the wall. The ceiling, the floor, even the fireplaces had not been spared. Much of the interior was splattered with profanities and crude images -- in fact it took much work to find things to shoot that could be included in this magazine. Through the pane-less windows the far shores of Beaver Lake could be seen, populated with trees and homes. Water light echoes flickered on the ceiling in the front rooms.

There were no staircases -- but through a hole between floors I could see more paint above. Some taggers had obviously taken great joy in climbing up into the top of the structure. “Climbing is discouraged,” Shiloh Museum director Allyn Lord later told us. Yet I found several shots on the internet while compiling this story of people -- even church youth groups -- who see climbing up into the tower as a goal to achieve.

It’s a shame, really. The tower is on the National Historic Register, but there’s no money to restore it or even keep vandals out. “There have been efforts to have it made a state historic site, with no success,” Lord told me. We shared a similar notion, that it would be fantastic if the state could come in and take over the acres currently owned by the Corps of Engineers and make it into some sort of park.

After exploring the rooms inside the tower we walked around the base. It was apparent that people had crawled far under the structure, considering the proliferation of trash and the remnants of a sleeping bag. I would later learn that the old crawl space is usually inundated with water. I can’t imagine why anyone would be interested in crashing underneath.

Off to the west side of the point, we could look back and see what we had been standing on. With the water down we could actually walk right up to what was once the basement of Oklahoma Row.

We waited until a couple managed to come back up from their inspection, then took a look inside. The basement level rooms weren’t used for housing -- except for a small room on the north end of the structure. That room contained a fireplace, a small room with plumbing that had apparently once been a bathroom, and much rubble all over

the floor. We’d later discover that access to that section was usually unavailable.

After that exploration we walked back along the shoreline to the east, passing the tower and following a long pipe that I assumed had once been underground. Time and erosion had washed away the dirt around it.

We came upon an inlet, and while Grav darted down to shoot what was left of the base of the wall I walked back into the woods and found what I assume was once the fireplace for Missouri row. It and a few short staircases are all that remain of the row. You can tell by looking at it how the different mantles sat, all at different angles and all, I assume, with their own conduit through the chimney. This structure too has been tagged with spray paint, though not to the extent of the Oklahoma Row tower.

And next to this remnant in time? A boat ramp into the lake. There were another half-dozen people along the landing, fishing or talking to people who were fishing.

We’d discover later on that we missed one important sight -- that of the tomb of William Harvey and his son Robert, sitting on private land on the opposite side of the boat ramp. The tomb itself is cracked, apparently from being moved when the lake was created to avoid being inundated.

The problem with the location of the ruins is that it’s impossible to shoot them well from the land. Grav and I set off to see if we could find out way around to the other side of the inlet so he could get a better shot.

We doubled back along the highway until we came to a side road. It took us up a decently steep hill on a narrow band of asphalt. The first view through the trees came at a house hanging onto the land above the lake bank. Grav jumped out, went and knocked on the door and asked permission to shoot.

The light was starting to fade, and there were lots of branches in the way, so we looked for another spot to try our luck again. We drove further along and found a side road that ran close to the lakeside. But there still wasn’t a good shot.

Finally Grav asked me to stop -- he’d seen something unusual way out on what appeared to be a peninsula. I sat with the car, watching the neighborhood dogs smell at the wheels and give friendly barks while he jogged through a yard and down a good ways. I caught sight of him later almost a half-mile away right on the edge of the water.

Turns out the little peninsula he was on is usually an island, and if the water was lower you could actually see the top of what was the amphitheater. However, the Corps of Engineers rarely lets the lake get even as low as on that particular day, and there was not much for him to shoot in the fading light of the afternoon.

But what he was able to capture was the vision of the remaining tower, standing on its own in the pinkish glow of the sunset on the point, a final reminder of what Harvey tried to accomplish. It’s not a resort, but it is a remnant of a different time. Will it be saved? That’s a question only more time will answer.

***

Tip: The water levels for Beaver Lake on the day Grav photographed the ruins were at 1120 feet. The top of the amphitheater is clearly visible at 1113 feet. In December, the Army Corps of Engineers issued a notice of low water levels, and those levels fell to 1113 feet the week of Christmas. If you’re interested in viewing the amphitheater and would like to monitor the water levels, you can review a daily water level report here.

***

The Rogers Historical Museum has both an exhibit on Monte Ne at its facility and an on-line exhibit to peruse. Tour “Buried Dreams: ‘Coin Harvey’ and Monte Ne” at the museum, open 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Monday-Saturday at 301 W. Chestnut in Rogers. Call (479) 621-1117. You can find the online article here.

***

Read this story and much more, including The Birds, in the February 2011 issue of Arkansas Wild.

What goes in grits?

• KAT ROBINSON
• WITH GOUDA: Cheese grits at B-Side

Ah, grits. That southern breakfast-time stapled beloved by many and cursed by Yankees divides diners left and right. I discovered during my breakfast research that you're actually more likely to to find hashbrowns than grits at most Arkansas restaurants — a big surprise to me, considering the reasonably cheap price of the staple.

Wintertime is undoubtably the best time for grits; like oatmeal, sugared rice and Cream-of-Wheat they have the power to warm the body and soul from the inside. But what to put in the corn mash to make it palatable and appetizing? Some go for sweet with sugar or a little honey, others for savory with bacon and cheese. I've had it with such simpleness as a little beef bologna and American cheese slices and dolled up with sundried tomatoes and such. I've even been served polenta on so many occasions. Still, I find it best with salted butter and a shake of pepper. How do you like your grits?

Pieday: Bourbon chocolate chunk pecan at Greenhouse Grille,

The Greenhouse Grille's Bourbon Chocolate
Chunk Pecan pie hits all the right notes.

I’ve talked about a whole lot of different pies with this Pieday feature; now I’m going to close with the best one I had, anywhere.
That’s the Bourbon Chocolate Chunk Pecan pie from Greenhouse Grille in Fayetteville. I keep dreaming of it. I’m surprised I haven’t accidentally eaten my pillow dreaming about it. It’s that good.

All the chocolate you can handle.

• KAT ROBINSON

No kidding... imagine an event where you could walk in, pay $10 and consume all the chocolate you can put in your mouth over six hours time? Well, few of us are that gluttenous, but there is indeed an event like that. The 7th Annual Chocolate Lovers Festival will be held in Eureka Springs February 11th and 12th at the Best Western Inn of the Ozarks.

The festival has expanded this year — there's a seminar Friday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., "Experiencing Life Through Chocolate." There's a St. Valentine's Ball that Saturday night. The big event is "A Celebration of Chocolate," where you go in and get your little take-home box and fill it up with all the chocolate you can muster. And taste. Last year there was everything from chocolate covered cherries and nuts to four different chocolate fountains to hot chocolate to chocolate coffee to chocolate covered just about anything. Amazingly chocolately. You'll walk out smelling like chocolate.

For more information, check out the website.

Fuelin' change.

You can tell a lot about a person’s age by talking about gasoline -- not just the prices but how getting gas has changed over the years.

Did you know that at one point in time, Little Rock was home to the largest gas station in the world? No? Neither did I until the other day, when I discovered a postcard from the 1950s of 555 Inc., a block-sized service station near what was then the big Arkansas River Bridge.


In Steven and Ray Hanley’s book “Little Rock,” “The 555 Inc. Auto Center at the intersection of four major highways, billed itself as ‘The World’s Largest Service Station.’ Since it took up an entire block at Third and Broadway Streets, the claim may have been factual.” The building, which stood catty-corner from Robinson Auditorium, had what was considered the largest dance floor in the city, called the Rainbow Garden, in the 1940s. The building was torn down in the 1960s for an insurance office.

Of course, that was before my time. While I have no recollection of sitting in a gas line in the 70s, I do remember how different the process was back then. I remember going with my godmother to the full service station -- how you didn’t even have to get out of your car for a fill-up. There was an imprint board the attendant would give the driver to fill out as gas was delivered to the tank, the windshields were washed and the hood was popped so the attendant could check out the fluids. She’d always hand back the board with a five dollar bill.

There wasn’t much inside the average service station. The little office was just the tiniest waiting area, a couple of seats usually, with a counter for the clerk and maybe a cigarette or Coke machine. It was rare to find anything more than a rack with gum and mints as far as food goes.

That had all changed by the time I hit the road at 16. Gas was 69 cents a gallon, though it was about to skyrocket to 89 cents a gallon a short time later with the war in the Persian Gulf. There were convenience stores by that point, selling everything from cola to bait and tackle, and you did your own pumping.

Still, you had to go inside to take care of your business, which is why I think convenience stores prospered. After all, if you have to walk in to pay your bill, you might as well grab a drink or a candy bar while you were at it.

Pay-at-the-pump is probably the biggest difference I’ve seen since I started driving. Now you don’t even have to worry about going inside, just stick a card in and pump and go. There are now completely automated stations where nary a soul will greet you. In some cases, it’s a good idea… but when you’re out in the middle of nowhere and need assistance, it kinda sucks.

I’ve watched gas quadruple and even quintuple in price in 20 years. I recall it was just 99 cents a gallon any time I filled up during the 90s when I lived up in Jonesboro, and what a scandal it was when gas prices hit $2 a gallon after 9-11. Of course, I saw the $4 a gallon gas there a few summers ago -- the most expensive gas I’ve put in my vehicle was $3.99 a gallon and I winced with every gallon I purchased. Like most of the rest of the nation I breathed a sigh of relief when prices sank again.

I got to thinking about the changes in our gassed-up lives the other afternoon. I was waiting for a chance to pull into a pump at the Conway Kroger store so I could use my grocery-induced 10 cent discount. Gas is back up again… even with my discount it’s $2.81. The sun was setting, there was a short line at every pump and I shared a small piece of chocolate with my daughter Hunter as I waited while my tank was filled. You know, in all that time I don’t think the pumps have sped up a lick.

And I was thinking -- you know, I don’t really want to be rich and there’s nothing I’m just dying to have. But if there were any amazing, unbeatable present anyone could ever bestow on my family, it’d be a card that granted unlimited gasoline. Or a way to get around ever having to pull up to the pump again.

Hemingway's Cats at His Key West Home.

The polydactyl cats that live at the home Ernest Hemingway spent his later years at in Key West have always fascinated me. Now I finally have a chance to meet them on the premises.

Petit Bistro, Jewel of North(west) Arkansas.

There’s a little jewel of a restaurant in the far northwest corner of the state. It’s a diminutive little restaurant on a large plot of land, and it’s offering up a lot of big ideas and dishes.

The place? Petit Bistro, open since April 2010 on Walton Boulevard on the north side of Bentonville. 30-year old executive chef Dane Main of Winfield, KS is creating dishes for just about every budget.

Photographer Grav Weldon and I sat down with Chef Dane on a blustery Friday evening to discover what makes the guy tick. We talked over iced tea and the fabulous dip of the night, a honey mustard garlic dip strong on fresh garlic, served up with crispy shards of breadsticks.

Main has been shining his culinary star since his college days. He progressed through culinary school in Charleston, SC and on through the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY. Main did some time at Big Guy’s Subs and Bakery before this break. Owner Dario Amini asked Main if he’d be interested in a new operation, and in April 2010 the two opened up Petit Bistro on Walton Boulevard north of Bentonville’s downtown district.

The house itself dates back to 1903. Before life as Petit Bistro, it was a smokehouse joint. The Bistro sits in the front of the nearly eight acres of the property. Out back there’s a patio bordered by a spring that originates on the property, that’s 52 degrees year-round. During the summer months smooth jazz and laid back tunes grace the open space. It’s a creative use for this little property, a creativity that matches up well with Main’s funky mix of cuisines and cultures.

“It’s really eclectical, a mix of French dishes, food that resembles Mediterranean cuisine, an Asian influence,” says Main. “We’re not pinned down to one sort of idea.”

Part of Main’s ability to keep such a fresh and inventive menu going comes from the boss, who’s allowed him to shape his own sort of menu. “I have 100 percent creative control over the menu. But I still take suggestions.”

One of those suggestions came from Amini, who came up with Petit Burgers -- three adorable Kobe beef burgers seasoned with mint, salt and pepper served up on diminutive custom Brioche buns with Bleu cheese and caramelized onions, topped with cherry tomatoes and tiny dills. They’re one of the menu items that will stay; Main plans to change the menu four times a year, with just a few items remaining from one season to the next.

That’s not to say that Main sticks strictly with the menu. He’s been known to dilly-dally with impromptu specials. The complimentary dip he serves up with breadsticks changes almost every night -- some nights it’s an olive tapenade, other nights a red pepper coulis, still others a fruit compote. He also has a great time with desserts.

“A lot of the operation is in the show, and a lot of it is instinct,” says Main. “If the night is perfect and the group is right, I’ll come out with my Bananas Flambé. The bananas in flame, the sugar sparking, that’s the sort of thing people remember when they leave. It’s not just good food, it’s the presentation.”

It’s one thing to be given creative control in a big city kitchen. But the kitchen at Petit Bistro is smaller than many home kitchens. Main and his sous chefs operate in a space that’s absolutely claustrophobic; a well choreographed ballet between the chefs combined with a fastidiously organized workspace that extends upwards through the use of multiple shelves is all that’s keeping the kitchen symphony from disintegrating into cacophony. Still, the chefs managed to allow Grav and I a chance to experience the constant motion of the tiny space without a single collision.

And what you’ll find in that kitchen… while we were standing there, we noticed mussels, shrimp and pasta being sautéed and flipped gently at the stove. Tiny Kobe beef patties were charbroiling on the tiny elevated grill. One chef put his touches on the tightly composed mountain of Steak au Poivre before sending it out.

Chef Main has been very interested in the locavore movement, reaching out to suppliers and searching out items to bring into Petit Bistro. “We try hard to use local products and our Farmers’ Market. We’re hoping to start our own herb and vegetable garden. Imagine vegetables picked and cooked on the same day.”

Grav continued to watch and shoot while Chef Main and I sat to chat some more. We shared notes about our children; he has two daughters, eight year old Aliya and two year old Jaelyn. Main came to the area after his culinary education to rejoin his family, who had moved from Kansas to northwest Arkansas in the intervening years. He brought with him his childhood sweetheart, Melinda, who he dated from the age of 16.
But Main’s interests haven’t just been in the culinary arts. He’s had a country band, which he describes as “red dirt” --- and a couple of years ago he performed in front of 16,000 people during semi-final rounds of American Idol. “Two years ago I decided to give it a shot. I was 28 -- that’s the cut-off age -- and it was something I’d always wanted to do.” Main actually made it through the second round of judging.

He has a pipe dream. “I’d love to be able to head in the direction of Nashville in five years with my music.” Main’s band was quite active before Petit Bistro started up, but the busy life of a restaurant’s executive chef has kept him from performing these past few months.

For now, it’s all about the restaurant. Petit Bistro recently added lunch. Main says he has a great team of chefs and bartenders who have been with him since the start of the endeavor. They seem comfortable and friendly not just with the clientele but with each other.

Grav caught one of the girls making up the restaurant’s signature cocktail -- a Basil, Mint and Rosemary Martini full of lime juice. The levels of green are pretty on their own below the sugar-encrusted glass rim; one is first struck with the fresh flavors of basil before the bite of rosemary becomes apparent. The vodka based martini finishes cleanly.

Main says he loves having musical acts come in on the weekends. There’s a patio out back perfect for basking in a sunset during the summer months with a nice smooth jazz trio or quartet. Main says he and his boss have fiddled around with the idea of getting a jam group together for the holidays. I can see that; the team the two have put together flows well in the tiny space.

I noticed something while we were there… over the two hours of our interview, customers flowed into the space… and stayed. There’s no rush to clear tables for new seatings at Petit Bistro. In fact, a group of eight were already into their cups when we arrived and stayed until the eatery closed much later in the evening, the constituents rambling and laughing together over small plates and drinks, obviously enjoying themselves. I asked the chef about this. “We’re casual here. This is a place for people to come and enjoy themselves. We’re not concerned with getting them in and out in an hour.”

You’ll find all sorts of folks inside the restaurant -- couples enjoying a romantic dinner, friends out for a drink, executives from northwest Arkansas’ power companies breaking bread together. The wine list accommodates them all -- from the $19 a bottle LaVielle Ferme Rose to the $883 Chateau Margaux-Bordeaux 1998 Premiere Grand Cru. Main confirms the Chateau’s not a red herring; it’s purchased on a pretty regular basis.

Menu options are similarly varied in price. We sampled a few of the chef’s dishes -- a Caprese Salad ($9) generous on the Mozzarella was an early favorite. The Escolar Puttanesca ($19) was a surprisingly hearty whitefish dish; the firm and buttery escolar held well against a bed of cilantro-enhanced Basmati Jasmine rice, paired with roasted asparagus and topped with a sautéed mélange of grape tomatoes, sliced garlic cloves and capers.

But our favorite dish, hands down, was the simple yet beautifully composed Spinach Pear Salad ($9), a salad inspired by a popular dish from the now defunct The Sanctuary Restaurant. It’s a sliced pear poached in a fantastic aged Madeira with cinnamon and nutmeg, served on a bed of baby spinach with candied walnuts, fine Bleu cheese and dried cranberries drizzled with a Chambord vinaigrette. Chef Main specifically designed this dish as a challenge to strike balance with all flavors -- sweet, sour, savory, salty. This dish has it all. That pear alone is the most fantastic thing I’ve put in my mouth in a long time.

Burger joint of the week: Feltner's Whatta-Burger

• KAT ROBINSON
• SISSY: Whatta-Cheese with Lettuce, Tomato, Mayo

There's likely not much more I can expound upon when it comes to Feltner's Whatta-Burger... same flat burgers, same American cheese, same big bag of fries that you've been picking up for years when in Russellville for Wonderboy games. So I'm not going to. However, not mentioning Whatta-Burger would be akin to not mentioning The Butcher Shop for steaks or Star of India for Indian food. There are just some thing that are a given. Read what I had to say about Feltner's at Serious Eats.

The Last Days of Album-Oriented Rock.

When I was growing up, I wanted to be a radio DJ. At the time, all disc jockeys seemed to be guys (hence the term “jockey”) so I didn’t figure I’d ever actually do the job, but the idea of being the person spinning the records and talking to thousands of people in their homes and cars was exciting.

I grew up in the infancy of FM radio. Steely Dan’s song with its bright “no static at all” pronouncement is still one of my favorites. I wouldn’t get my appreciation for AM radio for another decade or so but I loved to listen to the music on just about any station out there.

My break came when I arrived at college and started working at the college radio station there. I met my husband there. I spent hundreds if not thousands of unpaid hours (one credit per semester) digging myself into the mechanics of radio. I played my own novelty show at night, classical in the daytime and jazz in the afternoon. I was smitten.

Those early days took me into other stations and eventually to KARN Newsradio in the mid-90s. Though I longed for the freedom of choosing my own music and romancing the airwaves, I settled for and started to enjoy writing and collecting the news for broadcast. The job there would lead me on to my first television job and to bigger and better things.

There was a romance to being on the air back in those days… back when the playlist was loose and the music was rolling. I started out with vinyl in 1991, even though the world seemed to know by that point that compact disc was the way to go. Late nights in a pizza and Jolt cola induced haze (or pick your poison), finding the perfect follow-up to each single and answering callers, taking requests and dedications or just listening to what they had to say. Seems crazy anyone could make money that way.

Apparently the big corporations feel that way too. In the past decade and a half so many of the stations around here have gone to automation and a standard playlist. With some, I could go to almost any other major city in the US and find a station playing the exact same playlist over and over again. With others… well… outside of a few personalities here and there… I dunno. There’s just not much old radio out there.

That’s part of the reason I listen to Beaker Street. Clyde Clifford’s show’s been running on and off since 1966 -- before I was born, indeed -- first with KAAY and then with KZ 95, which became Magic 105, and today with The Point 94.1. It’s the oldest such show between the coasts. Yeah, it’s a little spacey and sometimes what I hear at some point or another just doesn’t agree with my ears. But that’s the gem of it all. It’s album-oriented rock, and that’s what I grew up on. Today what you hear is single-driven -- how are you really going to tell if the album’s any good if you only hear what some record executive thinks you want to hear? Oh, don’t get me started.

The Point has decided to drop Clyde’s show after its February 6th broadcast. The powers that be over there say it’s a purely business decision. I’ve been the victim of purely business decisions myself over the years, and it’s a shame when the bottom line begins to be more important than everything else. But that seems to be the way things are these days.

I don’t want to lose Beaker Street. It’s been a soundtrack for a good part of my life. Clyde’s introduced me to all sorts of musical craziness that’s stuck with me over the years. I’m hoping that if The Point doesn’t figure out a way to keep him that one of the other big stations around here offers him enough to bring his stacks and stacks of wax, the turntables and whathaveyou on over. Beaker Street is in so many ways living history, a part of what makes Little Rock and even Central Arkansas what it is.

And that’s about all I have to say about that.

Home cookin' at Eunice's.

A good plate lunch can be the difference between a good afternoon and a strung-out, digestively rugged one. Really good plate lunches require decent portions, comfort foods and experience. All those things can be found at Eunice’s Country Cookin’ and Soul Food in Fort Smith.