Time Capsule Dale

Meet LV’s newest columnist—a Gen X townie who goes to bed in the ’90s and wakes up in modern day IC/CR.

It had everything a southeast side Iowa City resident would ever need: happy hour specials and the best damn scalloped potatoes and ham in Johnson County. I’m talking about Roxie’s on the corner of Muscatine and 1st Avenue. If I’d known I was going to hurtle nearly 30 years into the future after a random Cup Night at The Q, I wouldn’t have taken Roxie’s for granted. Or the 50 cent refills on Cup Night.

Hungry for some comfort food, I wander from my apartment past a stream of automobiles, not a single one a growling ’70s Chevelles or orange Ford Escort. There are “Help Wanted” signs on every window I pass, including the shiny Kum & Go that used to be the Gasby’s where I’d buy chew and 24-packs of Rolling Rock on paydays.

I peer across the street to where my beloved Roxie’s should be and see a quadrant of businesses. I pass on the pizza place that tells me I have to bake it at home, and I can’t afford a cellular phone (who am I, Zack Morris on Saved by the Bell?). An establishment called Mesa 503 looks promising, though.

Inside, a Salvadoran family cooks up pupusas. I order with little idea what I’m buying, but when the pupusas come out, they’re something to behold—like if a quesadilla and a pita had a baby! Hot, fluffy and cheesy. I nod to the family in the kitchen and salute them with my last bite, which I chew with some red cabbage slaw and rich salsa. Thirsty. I could use a marg. Maybe Senor Pablo’s has stood the test of time?

I walk out, and fall on my knees like Charlton Heston at the end of Planet of the Apes. 830 1st Avenue is sprawling concrete, the textbook definition of “pave paradise and put up a parking lot.” A giant Hy-Vee sits where the trailer park was.

Where were the Paulsons? Was little darling Corey all grow’ed up? Was the knight’s armor melted down to make ammunition during some war I missed—Y2K, maybe?

A young man wearing a red Hy-Vee shirt (something familiar, at least) helps calm me down, assuring me there are still plenty of softshell tacos and margaritas to be found in Iowa City.

“At least we still have La Casa and Gringos,” I manage to utter. He lets out a chuckle, then goes back to collecting carts.

—Jay Goodvin

Interactions

haha—I used to volunteer there & when They Might be Giants played, all the bouncing from the crowd felt like the balcony was going to give. Good work to all who are planning this show. —Genie M.

A great music festival with lots of thought and preparation behind it in one of DM’s best gems, Hoyt Sherman Place.

—Wendy H.

Letter to the editor: New traffic cameras around Iowa City spark concern (March 23)

Welcome to California. —Christine H.

New art project with black Krylon and a spray nozzle! —Josh C.

LV wants to know: What are some of your favorite dishes from bygone local restaurants?

The vegetable stack from Giovanni’s. Delicious. Also, the vegan miso soup dumplings from Dumpling Darling. They got me through the early days of the pandemic. I was crushed when they closed. —Anne A.

Tres Leches Cake from Banditos. Nearly anything from Augusta (I’m including their Oxford location). Augusta is my favorite overall restaurant in my adult life—burgers, tenderloin, fried chicken, gumbo, pecan pie, turducken...all amazing. —Charlie M.

I miss Hungry Hobo so much, as well as Gringo’s. I will never pass an opportunity to say how much I miss Paul’s, either, but that’s off topic here. —Jasmine E

The blackened catfish from Atlas. Anything from Mekong. The duck from the southside location of Yen Ching.

—Aprille C.

The tenderloin from Atlas w/the flash fried potato patties and chutney! I ate two at one sitting while pregnant! —Jill A.

Baby burrito with queso from La Casa! Blackened chicken, mashed potatoes and apple crumble dessert with ice cream from Ground Round! —Sandy T.H.

The Mill’s curried chicken salad sandwich and the Iowa Waltz pizza, and the “on an island in Iowa” cocktail. Smoky Alvarez from Cheba Hut. Ancho rubbed chili pork tenderloin medallions from Atlas. Pita Pit. Lou Henri’s breakfast (all of it). Grandpa’s Coffin cocktail from Social Club. —Kyle

Bacon. Wrapped. Dates. from Devotay.

D.

—Dawn A.

Cheesecake from the Sheep’s Head. Fresh spinach pasta from The Kitchen. Fried mushrooms from the Mill. John’s had a veggie sandwich that I loved as an undergrad. Carrot cake from Bushnell’s Turtle. Croissants from Great Midwestern Ice Cream. Fruit pizza from the Green Pepper. Brandy Alexanders from Canterbury Inn. Loaded home fries from Salt Fork. Anything that David cooked at the Motley Cow. —Regenia

B.

Secret Pizza, lemon chicken from Givanni’s, Billy’s Favorite at Vito’s, smoked salmon eggs Benedict from The Wedge (downtown), Brad’s spicy tofuwich at New-Pi, “the pile w/eggs” at Rossi’s Cafe, margaritas from Gringo’s, any dish from Redhead in Solon, trout pate from Linn St. Cafe. The Chill and Grill gets an honorable mention, but to remember what we ordered I’d probably need to be hung over. —Heather H.

Ice cream from Great Midwestern and lunch specials at the Kitty Hawk! —Rod S.

All-American Deli at Old Capitol. For all I know, it was horrible, but as a college student in the late 1980s, I enjoyed it.

—Stephen C.

Thank you. I took over ownership of it in 1986 and operated it until 1996 when our lease expired and the mall would not renew our lease. I was told that they only wanted chain stores in the mall. Very disappointing. I cried when we had to auction off all of our equipment and belongings. —Mary

L.B.

I miss The Sub Shop at least 3 days per week. The Dagwood or The Veggie sandwiches were my top two favorites. Creamy Garlic dressing on those of course. —Donald

P.S.

cold cucumber soup. Devotay everything, but especially paella and polenta. Mouth watering thinking about it * sigh * . Oh, and Giovani’s seafood pasta. —Billie

J.B.

So many things from the Red Avocado but the chocolate chip cookie bars, the banana espresso smoothie, YUM. I still make that at home. —Susanna

R.

Wow! What a beautiful honor to be remembered fondly enough to a decade+ after for a meal, a dish, an experience that stuck in someone’s memory to be mentioned years after. Food & eating is so transient in nature, it’s sensoria’s and vanishes within seconds, but sometimes hits deeper and stays there as a highlight for the unsuspecting adventurer. As cofounder of the Red Avocado, a restaurant that was hardly recognized for how truly pioneering it was, especially in it’s time, this post means more than words can explain. Thank you for remembering and for sharing! —Joshua G.

Best Steak House on the corner of Iowa and Dubuque. Nearly paper-thin steaks, a baked potato, for a couple bucks. Favorite after school meal for me when I attended Central. —Jerry N.

The polenta with broccolini and mushrooms from Taste on Melrose, and the Angel hair pasta with Gorgonzola, spinach and pine nuts from Mondos. Oh, Electric Goat from Givannis, all of Salt Fork Kitchen (can I loop in the Lincoln Cafe in Mt Vernon?), and the pizza with Brussels sprouts and balsamic and whatever else was on it from Forbidden Planet. And I’m not even a vegetarian!

—Andrea S.B.

I literally dream about the wings at The Local Craft sometimes... Good stuff.

—Taylor F.

The twice baked potatoes at the original Bob’s Your Uncle. The Spin-Art (spinach & artichoke) Chicken at Okoboji Grill. Everything on the menu at Salt Fork Kitchen (and yes, I tried it all.) —Patty

K.

I miss Linn Street Cafe and the fantastic wine dinners. We also miss Frank Bowman and the delicious food that he made there.

—Joan A.

Devotay took over the location of my grandfather’s office. Took my sweetie for a first date there. —Carol C.

Banana cream pie from Bushnell’s Turtle. That’s what I chose for my reward after getting a vasectomy (and that’s saying something!) —Dickie C.

Read more reader recommendations at LittleVillageMag.com

Little Village is honored to present the winner of the IC Speaks’ 2023 Page Poetry Contest.

AN AUTOpSY

By Althea Downing-Sherer

Eyes drift over glazed glass, watching evergreen like motion pictures. New-moon rocks loosen their shadows into the windowsill and the floorboards consecrate my footprints in a layer of dust. This skeleton of a home holds hieroglyphics in its popcorn ceilings.

Shoulders are held at the same angle as the window frame before them, soft winter sun ghosting over half a face.

My papercut giver, My dog-eared page.

An arm is like that of my shriveled ivy plant, reaching out to meet me in a feeble attempt at life.

Features are arranged in asymmetrical monotony, a pair of blue false prophets pretending to be gray blink in synchrony. Voices unspool in unscraped cacophonies: Talk to me.

My sanctuary is ripped in half like a twoleaf clover, the only witness Sunday-morning light. And my hardwood skin and clothbound soul are finally affirmed as something impermanent.