Eating like animals

Where the Goats Are

By Rick Horowitz

SISTER BAY, WI -- "You have to go to Al Johnson's," everybody says. "They've got goats on the roof."

As recommendations go, I've heard better.

Al Johnson's is a restaurant -- the most famous restaurant in all of Sister Bay, WI (pop. 789), the most famous restaurant in all of Door County, where restaurants are only slightly outnumbered by boat shoes (Green Bay's on one side of the peninsula, Lake Michigan's on the other) and T-shirt shops. People wait an hour or more for a chance to eat at Al Johnson's. License plates outside Al Johnson's sport state names that aren't even in the neighborhood.

And it's all because of a couple of goats (then again, how many do you need?) traipsing across the grass that covers the sloping roof, posing for tourist pictures, munching away.

Kind of puts the "graze" back in "grazing," doesn't it?

Nobody seems to mention the food at Al Johnson's (Swedish, more or less) as the reason to go there. It's goats, and goats alone. Which raises the big question: What does it all mean? Or more particularly: Are goats on a roof enough to get you inside a building? Whose endorsement carries weight with you?

And for that matter: Why didn't Connie Francis ever sing "Where the Goats Are"?

"You have to try Fred's Curd World -- all the truck drivers eat there."

You've heard that one for years. Not that truck drivers are restaurant critics with tattoos, exactly. But you figure that when it comes to food, those guys aren't going to throw their money away. And mostly, you figure that they get around; they've had the chance to sample plenty of places. If Curd World is attracting the 18-wheeler crowd these days, there must be a reason for it (beyond lovely Vera at the register, of course). So you take your chances and belly up to the counter.

But where have those goats ever been?

The goat boy leads them up the special goat-ladder in the morning and leads them back down at night. It's not as if he says, "So, what'll it be today, fellas? Al's, or that pizza place down the block?" Naturally they're at Al's -- Al's is all they know!

Then there are celebrity endorsements, some semi-famous someone taking to the air to swear that Fred's Curd World is the place to go for all your dining needs. Maybe the celeb really likes the place, or maybe not, but either way, you figure he or she's been paid a decent bit of change to spread the word. You may go anyhow: The celeb's been known for good taste, say, or you're even hoping a little bit of that celebrity glow will rub off on you.

But what can goats rub off on you that you wouldn't want to get rid of right away with steel wool?

And taste? We're talking goats here. Don't goats eat garbage? Don't goats eat everything? What kind of recommendation is that?!

Then you start thinking that maybe the garbage is the key. Those goats look pretty healthy up there; they must be getting plenty to eat. But which way does that work? Does lots of garbage mean lots of (presumably satisfied) customers ordering lots of meals? Or does lot of garbage mean lots of leftovers? If the only members of the Clean Plate Club have four hooves and a tail -- well, what's that worth to you?

Enough, apparently. I did it. I gave in, tossed logic -- and garbage -- aside and joined the throng waiting for a meal at Al's. Swedish pancakes. Swedish meatballs. Not great, not bad.

Worth the wait? Who knows? It's not everyday you get to eat in a place with goats on the roof.

Where's the 50-foot-tall Drive-Thru Wonder Wiener when you really need it?

Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist, TV commentator and public speaker.