Bucket List #1: Mickey’s Dairy Bar

Well, this morning Karen and I knocked off the first item on my list of 50 things to do before I leave Madison.  We got brunch at Mickey’s Dairy Bar.

The original idea was to go to Mickey’s bar bar, this great, super old and, let’s admit it, super trendy bar on Willy St the night before, toss back a few, have an old-fashioned slumber party after that, and then go to Mickey’s Dairy Bar in the morning, to say we conquered both Mickey’s.  Plus, Mickey’s (DB), we think, is better enjoyed after some sort of strange night out or quirky experience anyway.

Mickey’s is not a place to “meet up for brunch”.  It’s a place you tumble into, unwashed, after a night of doing something you probably shouldn’t tell your parents about.

When we got to Mickey’s bar bar last night however, with roomie Chris in tow, there seemed to be some sort of karaoke extravaganza taking place.  It was hot, it was crowded, there was an off-key screeching sound ricocheting in our ears.  We didn’t stay long.  Instead we walked down to the Weary Traveler and got beer and food at 1am, but that’s another story.

Back to Mickey’s this morning.

The crowds were out of control, but that is definitely part of the experience.  You come in, wait like a hawk and then fight for a seat usually at a common-table among strangers.  You order from a menu posted overhead, just far enough away to make it a challenge.  They are famous for their literally pan-sized pancakes, as well as their malts and egg scramblers.  The first time I went, back in freshman year, the guy sitting next to me tried to order three pancakes instead of the usual two.  The waitress openly laughed at him.

Karen and I ordered the exact same thing: griddle cakes and coffee, and a chocolate malt split between us.  How cute.  The cakes are about an inch thick and cover the entire plate, each, and they’re stuffed full of oatmeal and spiced apples and raisins.  Yum.

Karen and I ate probably half of a pancake each and took the rest to go.  Here’s what just her leftovers looked like:

Don’t be fooled.  She’ll not eat again for probably 10 hours.

I also had to say goodbye to the ridiculous pile-o-footballs statue across the street, outside Camp Randall Stadium.  Whoever designed the piece was a terrible artist who seriously needed to get laid.

It has become tradition to “salute the phallus” whenever you are nearby.  You know, out of respect for Badger Football.  Or something.

Well anyway, there you have it.  Goodbye #1: Mickey’s Dairy Bar, a UW Madison tradition.

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~ by Rachael on January 29, 2011.

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