Social Clubbing In Deadwood

The Big Guy and I rode the Harley to the Black Hills the other day.  Because he knows that I am not a fan of the Bike Rally in Sturgis, he said we were really going there so we could visit our good friend, Dennis. Yeah, right—like I was born yesterday? I do love Dennis and always enjoy seeing him and riding through the beautiful Black Hills so I said, “PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME GO!!!!”

     First a little about Dennis; he and Big were friends long before I ever climbed up into that cabover Kenworth for the first time. He is one of our best friends and is a true motorcycle aficionado. At last count he had 13 of them in his garage, but that was week ago so he probably has one more by now.

     Over the years we have spent many days with him riding through the hills and we have had a lot of laughs. Back in the days when Dennis was known to throw down a few drinks, we watched in disbelief as he ran his Harley off the Nemo road and into the ditch, laying it over and skidding it through the weeds.  He got up, brushed the dirt off himself, picked up the bike and climbed back on. Meanwhile, the chick that he had ejected off of the back was having a major hissy fit about him skinning up her brand-spankin-new silicone filled ta-tas. She waited until we were having dinner at the Friday night Nemo fish fry to show us all her road rashed twins. Which brings me to point of this story.

Dennis, riding his Sunday afternoon bike

So we get to Dennis’ and Big decides that we should go to Nemo for dinner.  Mind you it’s a Saturday, which means the fish fry was last night and so tonight EVRYTHING will taste like fish because that’s all they serve is a bunch of deep fried crap. Dennis and I only agreed to go to Nemo because we like rehashing that whole bike wreck story and talking about Bimbo’s (not her real name) banged up boobies.

    I used my half a brain to order the fish, unlike you know who and you know who else. It was so bad that Dennis and I decided that this would be the last time we let Big pick where we eat—funny num-num stories or not.

Yes, that is the back of my head
and yes, I took that picture myself

     So the next night we decided to head to Deadwood for dinner. On the recommendation of a local we snagged a reservation at the Deadwood Social Club, which sits above the Saloon No.10, right on Main Street. It has an indoor dining room, but the real social scene seems to be outside on a deck which overlooks the shenanigans on Deadwoods main drag. Dennis is no food snob, but he does know and appreciate good food and he can recognize when a chicken fried steak tastes like fish.

     But back to the Social Club.
     We started off with an appetizer of a marinated jumbo shrimp that was curled around an Italian sausage.We likey! Big had what he always has if it’s on a menu and that’s the (Pork) Osso Bucco. It wasn’t totally falling off the bone, but it was very tender. It was topped with a mirepoix and served with rice, rather than the usual mound of mashed potatoes, but he said it was really good and it didn't taste at all like fish. He gave it an 8. 

Dennis had the Shrimp Scampi, which was not just your basic blah, blah, blah white wine, garlic scampi. Spinach and tomatoes came to this scampi party and it was really a nice dish.

I hit the jackpot with my entree which was called a Seafood nest. It was linguine noodes that had been fried and formed into this cute little upside down nest and then hidden inside it were shrimp and scallops, swimming in a creamy basil sauce. LOVED IT!  

     Here is where the story gets sad…we all dug in like some classless, biker heathens so I didn’t even think to snap a picture until we were almost finished poking it down the old pie holes. (Hence the above pictures)
     The Big Guy loves him some tiramisu and never misses an opportunity to order it for dessert. The Social Club's version of it didn’t disappoint. In reply to the waiter's question of how he liked it, Big described it this way: mmmm, firm and big; a definite 10. Huh? We are talking about tiramisu aren't we? The waiter just smiled as he walked away. Dennis laughed. Ahhh, I saw exactly what those lame brains eyes were focused on and let's just say we were not all looking at the same dessert. They were oogling the lovely (coughbullshitcough) biker lady at the next table with the bolt-on-boobs.
     I'm gonna have to let this one slide...I'd much rather go to the Deadwood Social Club than the Nemo Fish Fry, especailly if I have to listen to old hooter stories. 

This recipe is one of my own creations for Tuna Tacos with Black Bean-Roasted Corn Salsa. It tastes like fish because IT'S SUPPOSED TO! Go to the "Seafood" tab at the top of this page to view it.