Schroeder’s

The Food Snob
“There’s no place to eat,” I whined to our editor, who has become accustomed to my histrionics. He calmly suggested Schroeder’s, noting that it is a popular lunch spot at the crux of the Monitor’s fiefdom. It was lunchtime, we were hungry, why not? It was also a reunion for our Without Reservations crew, since Chowhound left our company for greener pastures and more benjamins.

One glance at the menu told me all I needed to know.  There it was, Genuine Broaster Chicken, my favorite way to eat a bird. While others pondered, I scanned the fine print, and there, in italics, was another gem: Schroeder’s Homemade Chicken Pot Pie – Frozen to Go – $7.25. Now dinner was solved too. 

My two pieces of white meat chicken ($7.25) reclined on a giant pillow of mashed potatoes (recommended over the fries by our friendly server). The chicken was piping hot, moist and flavorful, with just the right meat-to-crispy-coating ratio. The potatoes were mashed in-house, but I’m not a fan of throwing garlic in everything. Fortunately, the gravy was pristine, tasting of nothing but chicken, dairy, salt and pepper.  The side of cole slaw was a bit heavy on the mayo for me, but everyone’s tastes are different. My meal was so good, that I barely grabbed anything from my companions’ plates. And I was too distracted by the chicken to order dessert.

That night I popped the pot pie into the toaster oven, and was delighted again.  Bits of chicken were swimming in that same gravy, the onions, carrots, celery and potatoes appeared to have been cut by hand, and the crust was flaky and just right.  A far cry from Swanson’s, and four times as large.

I could kick myself that I worked for 10 years just a stone’s throw from Schroeder’s and never stopped in. This is my kind of place:  friendly service, homemade comfort food, big windows, free parking, and reasonable prices.

The Cheapskate
I, too, can’t believe how long I worked a few blocks from Schroeder’s and never even knew it was a restaurant. It always looked like just another dimly lit neighborhood bar, with maybe popcorn and poppers on the lunch menu.

And for a moment I thought my impression was right, because we accidentally entered through the bar door, and through the murky mood lighting I saw drinkers but no eaters. We must have looked dazed and half-starved, because the bartender didn’t say a word, just pointed toward the door to the restaurant side of the building. It was like night and day entering the bright, spacious café with plenty of window booths and the smell of good, homey food.

I ate the special of the day-the Meatloaf Dinner plate-and it was glory days for a Cheapskate-two slabs of juicy meatloaf, a giant mound of mashed potatoes, and a little bowl of mixed vegetables-everything doused with bunches of brown gravy. The plate must have weighed 2.5 pounds, all for under $7.

“Notice the light gravy for the chicken and dark gravy for the beef,” began the Food Snob, who can somehow turn even plain old gravy into the basis for a pedantic monologue. She said more, but it sounded like that Wa-Waaaa-Wa-Waaa noise that the grownups make in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

I have two pieces of “constructive criticism” to offer the fine people at Schroeder’s: 1) Way too much oregano in the meatloaf (but I still managed to eat both slabs); and 2) We are now in an age when coffee has to actually taste good-I had bad decaf with a chemical aftertaste (not to mention fore-taste and during-taste).

The Snob’s cole slaw was just fine with me (“too much mayo” is not a phrase that has ever passed my lips), and the Bachelor’s pan-fried walleye was very tasty, (I stabbed a piece while distracting him by saying, “Hey, do you think that dark-haired, sloe-eyed beauty over there looks lonely?”) The Chowhound’s fries were also just fine. Other than those teensy samples, I stuck to my own plate because-even for a Cheapskate-I definitely got my money’s worth at Schroeder’s.

The Bachelor
There are no walleye in Minnesota. That’s right – while you’ll find all sorts of other finned beasts, squishy invertebrates, flying carp, skunky-smelling weeds, 10 trillion rusting Hamm’s beer cans, and at least one wallet that contains a fake ID I cherished when I was 19 – you will find no walleye lurking in any of our 10,000 lakes. I should know. I swear I’ve plumbed the depths of each and every one of our sky-blue waters. I’ve tried everything from Shad Raps to Lindy Rigs to sucker minnows to tossing a few M80s over the side of the boat in hopes of blowing these mystical creatures from their watery lairs. But nothing. Therefore my verdict is in: we can safely lump the “walleye” together with such fairytale creates as unicorns, jackalopes, snuffalufaguses and low-maintenance single women.

So you can imagine my astonishment when I looked down at my lunch plate at Schroeder’s to see a lightly pan-fried “walleye” sitting there just as plain as day. Yes, a walleye!!! As my shock subsided, my heart swelled with boundless gratitude when considering the extraordinary lengths the good people at Schroeder’s must have gone to in order to locate, trap and transport this rarest of rare creatures. It must have taken a team of divers, icthyologists, and seers, months and months of research and international exploration to find the one walleye that still exists in the world and bring it to my plate. And all for only $7.25!

Still reeling with disbelief, I gingerly cut my fork into the lightly seared, golden brown flesh and lifted it slowly to my gaping maw. Would I wake up with a mouth full of pillow? No, it was real, and it was delicious. It tasted like fish.  The mashed potatoes tasted like potatoes.  And the sloe-eyed beauty?  Well that story’s for a different publication.

Schroeder’s
605 Front Street
651-489-9633